Asia 2008

Nearly twenty years ago I had dinner in Pucallpa, in the Peruvian Amazon. I swallowed a mouthful of something lava-hot, and within a minute sweat was dripping off the end of my nose. The waiter said the offending chilli was called an ají, and it was the hottest I have ever had. That’s the first time I can remember flowing rather than glowing.

Here I’ve been happy to be not too obnoxious, literally speaking. While more blubbery farang have been red and dripping, I haven’t been sweating at all. But then, it hasn’t been hot by local standards. That changed last night, when it rained. After a short shower, the humidity just went through the roof. At the same time I managed to get lost, and splashed through dark side streets taking a long cut. By the time I got back to the Skytrain twenty minutes later, I’d sublimed through mere moistness and was dripping from forehead and neck. It was not a good look, and to Thai noses I probably smelt like a durian. And in this humidity, once it’s started it doesn’t stop. So I went for a curry.

A walk around the ‘MBK Food Center’ is a touch offputting. Among all the other sweet and savoury aromas on offer is a smell that, to me, reeks of chicken gone slightly off. This does not inspire confidence in the freshness of the food.

But freshness probably has nothing to do with it. I smelt it in the Tokyu department store too. It is the putrid smell of Thailand’s most highly-prized fruit, the durian, which is just coming into season. Some compare it to a ripe cheese. Alfred Russel Wallace compared it to custard flavoured with almonds; perhaps he was sniffing a different kind of durian. In any case, even Thais find the stink offensive, and carrying them on public transport or into hotels is not allowed.

I tried some a couple of days ago with some sweet sticky rice. The flavour was sweet and savoury, the sweetness probably coming from the rice. A taste yet to be acquired. The brain says 'this is fruit' but the visceral signals ('no, it's old carrion') dominate. I’ll try to give it another go or two.

A quaint headline in today’s free daily, the Daily Xpress. Actually it wasn’t much of a story – Bangkok has more than twice as much particulate pollution as anywhere else in Thailand, gasp! (Cough, splutter.) Bangkok has 2.5 million cars, the rest of the country 3.9 million.

Here's a main road (Rama I) in Bangkok, with the Skytrain running above it:

Last weekend the concentration of PM10s reached 206 μg/m3 in Din Daeng and 140 μg/m3 in Bang Kungthien; the government’s defined ‘safe’ level is 120 μg/m3. Concentrations rise when the weather is cool, relatively speaking, as it has been. Like many others, I’ve been wearing a mask in the street.

See cleanairnet for up-to-date information.

According to the 2007 economic review of the Bangkok Post, less than one in six of Thailand's labour force paid income tax. 10% of these taxpayers paid 90% of the income tax.

So it's not surprising that Thai politics is dominated by various kinds of 'populism' - that is, policies dominated by pork barrel programmes. The wonder of it all is that Thailand is running both a small fiscal surplus and a fairly large current account surplus.

Room to expand the tax base is limited, however. 49% of the population works in argiculture, producing just 10% of GDP. Average monthly income in agriculture is around £60 a month, so there's little to tax. Incomes in financial intermediation and education pay six times as much, and the multinationals over twenty.

In R v Brown (1993), the House of Lords imposed criminal sanctions on certain sincerely consenting sexual acts between adults. An illiberal milestone. The court of ultimate error decided that the acts constituted violence and not were not solely within the sexual field; and it added that if actual bodily harm was inflicted deliberately, consent was no defence. The fact that the acts were homosexual may not have been irrelevant to their Lordships' distaste. The acts were certainly eye-watering: pouring hot wax down the urethra and nailing one's member to the table are the two that I remember, indeed cannot forget.

Given the choice between the acts of R v Brown and the trip I have just finished, I would choose the trip. But only just. The first leg, to Bahrain, was fine, the second leg rendered dreadful by a pair of sociopathic Frenchmen. I have now been awake for 25 hours and have yet to check into my room. The taxi driver spotted me as a basket case, didn't switch the metre on and made up an outrageous price.

While waiting for the room to become ready I wandered round MBK, which is great. (I only just resisted the urge to buy a new camera, knowing that I am at the moment incapable of rational thought.) I may spend the week there. Food is sold on every floor of the emporium. For breakfast I had some crispy pork with rice for 60p. (In my disassociated state I automatically added chilli sauce and chillies, which was unwise.) Which is just as well, because I can't get any money out of the ATMs.

But it's great to be here, after weeks of hassle. The culture shock is less than I got in Naples. So far.

This afternoon will hold a trip back to MBK to see Jumper, more grazing, and then a very early night.