Sunset through the smog (left); Sapphires and Rubies (below)

City of Angels
By Stan Morse
March 16, 1998

The locals call it "Krung Thep" which means "City of Angles". To the rest of the world, it's Bangkok. I've been here for what has seemed like the longest week of my life.

I'd shrugged off warnings about pollution, safety and wheelchair accessibility. After four months on the road I thought I'd take this new challenge in easy stride. But from the first minutes in the airport, I knew I'd been wrong. Bangkok would be different.

In the bleak terminal, I stood in line waiting to be admitted by a stony-faced immigration officer. The wiry, middle-aged man in a military uniform scrutinized my passport, then stamped and handed it back without comment or smile.

At the currency exchange booth I obtained Thai baht, then walked over to where a man in a yellow coat was dispensing cabs.

"You need cab? 650 baht," he said impatiently. It was clear he wanted to process me quickly, and approach other passengers before the competition got them. I realized that being in a wheelchair meant nothing to him. It was a correct perception. The disabled are oddities in Bangkok. Later in the week a local would explain that people in wheelchairs stay home; a wheelchair on the streets of Bangkok is an extreme rarity.

I studied my wad of bills and peeled off 650 -- roughly US$15.00. I was handed a green slip of paper and shown where to wait.

It was 10 minutes before I found myself in a cab driven by a young man who understood probably more English than he pretended. It was 1:30 a.m., and we were cruising the tollway at nervous speeds.

He asked again where I wanted to go, seeming confused by the name of the street I'd given. I would later learn that Silom Road is a major boulevard. Any cabby would know it well. Fortunately I'd kept the hotel's brochure, which had a map. I showed it to him, but he still feigned puzzlement.

"You pay for hotel?" he asked, as if conducting a cross-examination. I'd been told to watch out for this. Cabbies are paid commissions for recruiting customers. The last thing I needed was to be changing hotels. "Yes, I've paid. I have special room." He seemed unconvinced.

"Special room," I said insistently, pointing at my wheelchair in the back seat. "Hotel has special room." He lapsed into a stony silence, and I knew I'd made my point. But I was hoping I hadn't angered him.

I had a brief image of being pushed out of the cab in the middle of the tollway. Just be cool, I told myself, and tried to nonchalantly watch the tall buildings of downtown loom up. After half an hour we arrived in the middle of the city at the Tower Inn. Other than having two steps -- and no ramp -- to the front door, it looked okay. I accepted the steps. What do you do in Bangkok at 2:00 a.m.? Threaten to go elsewhere? With that cabby?

Two young doormen lifted me up the steps, and I checked in.

At the room I discovered the bathroom entry was too narrow. With the bathroom door off, I'd fit -- just. But I had to get the door off. Otherwise, I'd have no shower in the morning. I turned to the porter and security officer (why we needed security, I don't know, but it made me nervous to think that on the 14th floor there was a security concern).

"Have to take off bathroom door. Can't get wheelchair in."

They looked puzzled, so I gestured with my hands, showing the width of my chair, then the width of the bathroom entry. And they finally understood.

"Get engineer," the porter said.

"No," I said, as he turned to leave. "Don't need engineer. Just take out pins. Door will come off." Surely, the three of us could pull the pins. But the porter left.

In five minutes the engineer arrived (with a second security officer -- making us a fivesome). He patiently removed all 12 screws that held the hinges to the doorframe, then took the door out into the hallway.

They left, and I went to bed.

It was two days before I left the hotel. Not only was I nervous about my safety, but every day was in the high 90's, and the air pollution was extreme. Bangkok has perpetual smog. Cars and busses constantly spew blue-white exhaust in the honking, swerving, congested traffic. The air is hot and humid and smells like burning newsprint and old rags, with a little oil thrown in for good measure. Your eyes quickly begin to burn. Fortunately, the room had a good air conditioning unit, which also seemed to clean the air.

When I finally went exploring on the second day, it took only two blocks to convince me I wouldn't be cruising the streets for entertainment. The curbs are uneven and broken-up in places, curb cuts are infrequent , and motorcycles frequently zoom off the street to park on the sidewalk. I was nearly hit -- twice -- in those two short blocks. And forget crossing the street unless it is absolutely essential. Drivers ignore pedestrians, and crosswalks with lights are rare. "On foot, on guard," is the rule.

I've used gloves when I ventured out. I'll throw them away when I leave. Disease is always a threat, even for simple things like cuts and blisters. One Englishman showed me his badly swollen foot, which had become infected because he'd showered and let the water come in contact with a tiny scratch. "You should have put a bag over your foot," he was told by a local doctor, who had given him an antibiotic injection and pills.

Mid-week I took a cab to the landmark Oriental Hotel. I'd been told by a friend not to miss it. It was "Old Empire". Marble floors. Opulent woodwork. Doormen wearing turbans. Bellhops ready to jump if a guest said "boo". It struck me as a place where wealthy tourists "get their feet wet" by walking a block or two beyond the hotel into the relative safety of close-by markets and shops. Then, they tell their friends they've "done Bangkok".

I left the Oriental, walked two blocks to a tailor recommended by a friend, and ended up ordering two wool suits. Costing a quarter of the price I'd paid for tailored suits back home, it was hard to resist. The final selling point was the tailor would come to my hotel for the second fitting. With fierce competition and hard times from the recent currency crisis, they'll do a lot to win your business.

I was then uncertain whether to hail a cab, or walk the mile back to my hotel. It knew it would be a tough mile to negotiate in a wheelchair. Still, another cab ride didn't seem much safer. My first cabby had missed several motorcycles by inches. And larger vehicles, like busses and trucks, had forced us to move aside. "Big" is boss on the streets of Bangkok. Only the speedy and vigilant survive.

Macho pride won out -- I chose the sidewalks. It was, in retrospect, a dumb choice.

I almost fell out of the wheelchair at one curb. I wasn't watching, and caught the front bar on the high cement, tipping me forward. No one paused to help as I teetered on the brink, almost spilling into the street. I still feel lucky to have pulled myself back.

I won't paint an entirely negative picture of Bangkok. Each place has its beauty, if you look hard enough.

I enjoyed shopping not just for suits, but also for Thai sapphires and rubies. There are dozens of stores on Silom Road selling loose stones and jewelry. It was interesting to examine thousands of dollars in stones, then wonder if the prices were true bargains. I had no idea, and decided a purchase was unwise.

I could have gone on tours. But they were mostly 12-hour affairs, leaving at dawn, returning near dark. I didn't want to see ruined temples, or people selling fruit and produce from flimsy wooden boats.

By the end of the week there was only one thing I wanted: to leave Bangkok, intact.