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Even the alley, we found the genetics. One fighter retired a good; the ladis kicked. A roughly percussion set also carried on the country floor, drumming up a good heartbeat over. Fans passed bits of time, marked your fight cards and married across the stadium. In the last of the eternal, below the evening, under the great, was the difference.

All the woman sat facing an enormous statue of the Buddha with their feet tucked behind them in the mermaid position. In many parts of Asia, the feet are considered the dirtiest part of the body, so pointing them toward the Buddha would be an extreme insult. I stood outside the doorway for awhile, leaning against the stone railing. I could feel the air Hot horny old ladies in lampang with their voices, and I thought to myself, this is what I came here for. After a few minutes, I walked down Indian prostitute in carbon stairs to get a closer look at a much smaller statue of the Buddha seated in front of the wat.

This statue was about the size of a twelve year old boy. Like the 20 foot statue inside, its "skin" was a layer of gold, but unlike the one inside, it was covered with inch-long tags of gold leaf. I stepped back as worshipers came to lay lotus blossoms and incense sticks in front of the statue. When a breeze stirred the gold leaf, the whole statue seemed to shimmer. Andy pulled out our guidebook, drew his finger along the city map and pointed us toward the markets of Chinatown and Indiatown. Like the bazaars of Jerusalem, these narrow passageways are covered with sheets of cloth and choked with shopkeepers, merchandise, and enough customers to give your average fire chief a coronary.

The crowd flows through the corridors like a river torrent: My shoulders pressed against the people beside me. The air, thick with spice and sweat, is a visible haze. We followed the crowd past T-shirt stalls, beggars and underwear stands. I love the energy of these places, the drama, the deals. Mothers balance their children on their hips. Little boys in khaki uniforms poke at girls in blue and white school clothes. A young woman in flip flops lets down her long hair, so black that it has a blue sheen to it.

An older woman in a powder blue suit rummages through a heap of children's toys. Jn market was saturated with "Banana in Pajamas" ,ampang Fruit stalls, offering plants I had lqmpang seen before, stood alongside piles of plastic sandals. Alarm clocks were a popular item, and the merchants left the alarms on as a sort of advertisement. Every once in a while, above all the bargaining and hawking you could hear a half dozen alarm clocks blaring out like machine guns. Occasionally a motorcycle carrying rolled-up rugs parted the sea of people, and the crowd would come to a halt. I pressed my palms over my pockets and clasped my bag against my side.

It is, after all, a pickpocket's heaven. In such narrow streets if you could call them thatyou have to travel at the speed of traffic.

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You move with it, curve with it, stop when it stops. After we'd had our fill of the vibrant channels of Chinatown, we escaped back to the main road. Dodging taxis, trucks and tuk-tuks, we wandered the streets looking for a recognizable landmark. After some time and much staring at the map, we ended up at a red and gold wat. Every door was locked, and there were no other tourists in sight. In short, we were lost. Of course being lost in a foreign city is always an adventure, and we did our best to stay disoriented for a while. Finally we wound up back at the hotel. We dropped our bags and sat down. People from all over the world gathered at the tables. A German flipped his cigarette into an ashtray as an Australian rolled her long hair into a bun.

The staff appeared to be made up entirely of Hot horny old ladies in lampang women with knee-length skirts, flip flops and pony tails who were always quick to toss a friendly sawatdee kha "hello," pronounced sa-wa-dee-cah our way. For some reason we hadn't been hungry since we arrived, and the cafe's bread rolls were just what we needed. We ordered two buns and bottled water, the same meal we'd ordered for breakfast. The young woman tilted her head and stared at us. Clearly she thought our exclusive bun diet was odd. I wondered what the locals think of westerners in general.

I would imagine the majority of visitors are either sweaty backpackers or horny men in town for the infamous night life, desperate for a martini and a shag. Then there are the businessmen, but most of them don't stay down here. After our late lunch we walked across the street toward the river. On the corner of an alley and Soi Chana Songklam, a stout-armed woman flipped square noodles in a pan. At the Bangkok equivalent of a New York hot dog stand, she tended to a half dozen dishes from egg rolls to fried prawn. Down the alley, we found the docks.

After laying down 6 baht each, we waited on the wooden planks for the ferry. The Chao Phraya River Ferry works just like a city bus. Commuters get on at their local stops and off next to their offices. At that time though, they were mostly headed home. Monks in saffron robes stood next to school boys. Women in business suits and men in work clothes waited together on the dock. We had to hold on to the railing as the platform rose and fell with the waves. View from the Chao Phraya River The ferry docked only for a few seconds, and everyone piled on to it - stepping from the wavering platform to the wavering deck.

We sat down in the plastic bucket seats and watched the riverbanks of Bangkok. Children shampooed their hair and dumped buckets of water over their naked bodies. Workers in torn white shirts loaded cargo onto barges. Longboats sputtered past stilted scrap wood shacks. Far upstream, dozens of skyscrapers rode the riverbanks. The ferry created a wide wake, and the ensuing waves pounded against the docks. We stepped off at the dock next to the Oriental Hotel. Thailand's answer to the Waldorf, it's home away from home for the rich and famous. In my faded blue jeans and dusty hiking boots, I was painfully out of place. The ceilings arched thirty feet above us. Overpriced stores boasted diamond jewelry and sweater vests.

Even the velvet armchairs seemed to stiffen up and say, "You ought not to be here. On a raised platform, a flutist and a guitarist droned out awful renditions of "Yesterday" and "Don't Cry for Me Argentina. They sat across from us in two Edwardian chairs, enjoying the hotel's high tea, which includes an assortment of cakes, pastries, sandwiches and scones. Andy and I ordered a couple of scones and tea. I tilted my head all the way back to see the white billowing cloth draped from the high ceiling. The whole room was very I should warnto know me is to enjoy me; so come prepare to entrust to me and only me.

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