The Green Mile

 The Green Mile

Dr Henn, the mysterious owner of The Atlanta Hotel, was the first to tell me of the raised walkway or 'Skywalk' which connects the relatively new Benjakitti forest park with the older, more venerable Lumpini Park; two green spaces in Bangkok's urban sprawl. The two parks are divided by the Witthayu Road; one of Bangkok's busiest traffic thoroughfares; only a complete fool would attempt to cross these lanes of death. Ten years ago, I was that fool. Having ill-advisedly ventured into the tsunami of traffic, I chickened out half way across, eventually arriving back tearful and shaking and in need of clean underwear on the pavement where I started.  

I had planned to do the 1.25 mile Skywalk early in the morning but, naturally, overslept.  I seem to have exchanged jet-lag induced insomnia for daytime narcolepsy.  By the time I left the fan-cooled interior of The Atlanta Hotel, the Bangkok 'air-fryer' had already been set to 'crispy'. I passed through the hotel foyer opposite and out  the other side onto Soi Nana.  A right turn and five minutes later I was at the gates of Benjakitti Park. Much as I like the idea of a forest park, IMHO a piecemeal approach might have been better. I seem to remember that the area had a number of mature trees which provided welcome shade from the withering heat. Most of these have been felled and a sort of 'tabula rasa' plan has been implemented which, no doubt, in two or three decades or longer will be wonderful with mangroves, orchards, lakes, wildfowl and wetlands but, at present, it looks like the Wagner Group have been through it. Tarmac roads, renovated shells of old buildings and concrete pathways store and radiate heat throughout the day with little respite.  The great thing about the Skywalk is that it catches even the slightest breeze being some 20 feet above the ground.  

The individual who coined the alternative name 'Green Mile' may have been colour blind. True, the walkway surface is green but as you leave behind the potentially green space of Benjakitti, you find yourself walking above a rather charming predominantly brown shanty town, the inhabitants of which have not been slow to take commercial advantage of pink, sweating, overweight farangs like myself providing us with food and drink in a variety of ingenious ways. I was particular taken with the giant roof menu and the bucket and rope which acted both as a means of payment and food delivery. 

Nor are the four lanes of traffic death which comprise Witthayu Road noticeably verdant as you pass over the bridge to the north side of Lumpini Park. I used to use the main gate about 100 yards to the south but, now it's on my morning walk circuit, prefer to amble along the pavement on the shaded north side of the park checking out the astounding array of delicious and cheap local street food. No sanitised, politically correct menus for the farangs here.  Pork leg complete with trotter stewed slowly in a spicy, soy sauce flavoured broth served with pickled greens and rice. An organ meat and offal stall which specialises in turning tripe, pancreas, lung and an array of other unmentionables into wonderfully delicious dishes. There are all manner of vegetable and fruit to be had here. Did I imagine it? Did that stall owner just say 'All you can eat for 50 Baht (£1.50)!' Really? There's another challenge that needs to be taken up. I shall return to that tomorrow!

I circumambulated Lumpini grateful for the shade of its mature trees and the breeze from across the lake. Heading back towards the entrance, a small cluster of undergrowth addressed me in what was clearly a Russian accent:

'You are Engleesh, yes?'

How did the small cluster of undergrowth know? Was it my shorts, my knees (still white enough to be satellite tracked from space), the handkerchief carefully knotted at each corner on my head or the flood-lit Union flag strapped to the back of my head (with apologies to The Goons circa 1963).

'I'm mostly English,' I stammered with as much dignity as I could muster.

'Pliz. Don't be silly', came the response.

The undergrowth parted to reveal a sunburnt, shaven-headed, thin and slightly cadaverous-looking Russian dressed in denim shorts and - rather disconcertingly - a badly stained 'Hello Kitty' teeshirt which had not aged well.

'You are eezer Engleesh or younot, pliz.  Eez not a difficult question.'

I agreed that for the purposes of our conversation, I was  'Engleesh'. 

'I am Artyem..... 'Rashion' from Sankt Petersburg.'

We shook hands and I made a mental note to either pass my hand through a dental autoclave or just have it amputated. My usual over-reaction as, despite the lugubrious Baltic delivery, Artyem was quite fun. We danced around what each of us was doing in Bangkok and what we did for work. It appeared that Artyem found the notion of paid accommodation an insult to his anarchist convictions and had come to an arrangement with the park keepers regarding one of the benches. This, he told me, freed up funds which allowed him to eat. Indeed, he, too, was attracted by the 'All you can eat for 50 baht' street food offering. 

'I only eat once a day' he lamented...... but what a meal it was. While I toyed with my braised pigs foot in broth, Artyem moved from one end of the group of stalls to the other with the feeding efficiency of a cloud of mature locusts. The sheer quantity of food belied his near skeletal frame. When I made my excuses and left, he was in his forth batch of dishes and talking animatedly about the liver kebabs he had obviously lined up next. We parted amicably having avoided discussing the small herd of elephants which had foregathered.  Ukraine, Putin, politics generally, the ever present danger of open upper storey windows in Moscow and, of course, Pussy Riot. The food was good, the conversation congenial but it was too hot to dance around these for an extended period. The Atlanta Hotel beckoned with air-con and a shower. I set off and retraced my steps back along The Green Mile.