Bangkok 1992: A Blue Belly and Other Travel Disasters

My first visit to Bangkok in 1992 involved a medical scare, a suspiciously enthusiastic taxi driver, a python around my neck and a Thai massage that nearly became something entirely different.

Bangkok 1992: A Rather Unfortunate Start

In February 1992, I set off on what was to become my second big adventure in Asia. Seventeen days, four destinations: Bangkok, Hong Kong, Bali and Singapore.

Looking back, it was a rather ambitious itinerary. But I was 22, eager to see the world, and apparently convinced that sleep was something I could catch up on after returning to Munich.

My first destination was Bangkok.

I flew from Frankfurt on a Garuda Indonesia Boeing 747-200, my first journey aboard a Jumbo Jet. I was absolutely delighted. The aircraft was enormous, magnificent and, by the standards of the day, quite an experience.

The entertainment system consisted of a large screen somewhere at the front of the cabin. Watching a film required an unobstructed view past several dozen passengers’ heads, while the headphones provided sound quality roughly comparable to someone shouting into a biscuit tin.

Even the flight information was rather special.

Every now and then, a piece of paper was passed around indicating which part of the world we were flying over. By the time it reached the back of the aircraft, we were probably somewhere else entirely.

But a few hours before landing, I stopped worrying about the entertainment.

I developed severe stomach pains.

Not the sort of discomfort you get from eating too many peanuts. These were sharp, persistent pains that genuinely frightened me.

Sitting thousands of feet above Asia, I began wondering whether I would actually survive long enough to reach Bangkok.

Fortunately, the aircraft landed safely.

Whether I was equally safe remained to be seen.

The Mysterious Blue Belly

Somehow, I found my way to my hotel, which stood opposite Pantip Plaza.

I was exhausted, still feeling rather poorly, and decided that a nice warm bath might improve matters.

I undressed.

And froze.

My stomach was blue.

Not slightly discoloured. Not a faint bruise.

Blue.

Properly blue.

Now, I was only 22 and had no medical training whatsoever, but even I knew that human stomachs were not generally supposed to resemble a Smurf.

First the terrible pains on the aircraft, and now this.

Clearly, something dreadful was happening to me.

I had barely arrived in Thailand and was already contemplating the possibility of dying there.

Still, I climbed into the bathtub. If the end was approaching, I might as well face it clean.

For a while, I lay there staring at the bathroom tiles, contemplating my remarkably short career as an international traveller.

Then I noticed something peculiar.

There was a blue ring forming around the waterline.

How strange.

I looked at my stomach again.

It was considerably less blue than before.

A suspicion began to form.

I remembered the rather expensive new shirt I had worn on the flight.

A beautiful blue shirt.

A brand-new blue shirt.

A blue shirt that had never been washed.

The bloody thing had dyed my stomach!

I burst out laughing.

My mysterious tropical disease had turned out to be a case of excessive enthusiasm on the part of a clothing manufacturer.

I washed away the remaining evidence, climbed into bed and decided that perhaps I wasn’t going to die in Bangkok after all.

What had caused the original stomach pains remained a mystery.

But at least I was no longer blue.

Bangkok Had Other Plans

The following morning, despite very little sleep, I was ready to explore.

Before leaving Germany, I had carefully prepared a sightseeing itinerary and obtained a map of Bangkok.

This was 1992.

There was no Google Maps, no smartphone and certainly no helpful little blue dot telling you where you were.

As far as I was concerned, the internet was probably something the CIA used.

Armed with my map, my itinerary and an impressive amount of misplaced confidence, I ventured into Bangkok.

I soon discovered that my plans were not necessarily shared by the local taxi drivers.

For example, I hadn’t realised that negotiating the fare before getting into a vehicle might be a good idea.

Nor had I understood that a request to visit a famous attraction could occasionally be interpreted as an invitation to inspect a collection of spectacularly overpriced souvenirs.

My drivers appeared to have developed their own sightseeing programme.

One that involved rather more shops than temples.

Nevertheless, I eventually reached the Grand Palace and some of the surrounding temples.

And I was fascinated.

Bangkok was noisy, busy, unfamiliar and wonderfully exciting.

Everything seemed different from the world I had known.

After my first day’s adventures, however, I decided that perhaps a little professional assistance might be useful.

So I booked organised excursions through my hotel for the following two days.

A Python and Some Excellent Bananas

One of those excursions took me to the famous floating markets.

I had never seen anything quite like them.

Small boats moved through the waterways, their owners selling food and all sorts of other goods.

At one point, somebody rather unexpectedly placed a python around my neck.

This was not an experience I had included in my carefully prepared sightseeing itinerary.

Fortunately, the snake seemed entirely uninterested in eating me.

Which was encouraging, considering my medical drama the previous evening.

Another encounter was considerably more enjoyable.

I bought some fried bananas from a vendor selling them directly from a small boat.

They were absolutely delicious.

Sometimes the simplest things leave the strongest memories.

I also visited the Rose Garden, watched traditional performances, saw banana plantations and travelled to Nakhon Pathom, with its enormous chedi.

I photographed everything I could, absorbed countless new impressions and enjoyed discovering a country that was still completely unfamiliar to me.

By the end of one particularly long day, however, my feet had had enough.

I wanted a massage.

A proper, traditional Thai massage.

Surely that couldn’t be too complicated.

A Very Traditional Misunderstanding

I hailed a taxi and explained that I wanted to visit a massage parlour.

The driver immediately reached beneath his windscreen and produced a brochure.

Inside were photographs of attractive young ladies wearing remarkably little clothing.

Their professional qualifications appeared to extend somewhat beyond relieving muscular tension.

I politely explained that I wanted a traditional Thai massage.

Not a sex massage.

The driver looked disappointed.

I suspect a rather nice commission was slipping through his fingers.

We discussed the matter for a while.

Eventually, he assured me that he knew exactly the right place.

Traditional massage?

Yes, yes. Of course.

After a short drive – during which we may simply have circled the same block – we stopped outside a perfectly respectable-looking building.

I paid the fare and got out.

The taxi disappeared.

A friendly older lady opened the door and welcomed me inside.

For a moment, I wondered whether perhaps the massage was going to be a little more traditional than I had anticipated.

Then she led me to a large glass partition.

Behind it sat approximately two dozen young women, neatly arranged in rows.

Like merchandise in a shop window.

The lady invited me to choose one.

Oh dear.

This was precisely the sort of establishment I had been trying to avoid.

I explained again that I wanted a traditional massage.

Certainly, she assured me.

I simply needed to select one of the young ladies.

By now, I was thoroughly embarrassed.

I was young, rather shy and completely out of my depth.

So I asked the older lady to choose for me.

She selected a young woman who appeared to be roughly my age.

The young woman led me into another room, divided into smaller areas by curtains.

Then she handed me some massage clothing.

Massage clothing!

At last, a reassuring sign.

Perhaps I really was going to get the treatment I had asked for.

And indeed I did.

The massage was absolutely wonderful.

Afterwards, despite being only 22, I felt considerably younger.

I had survived my mysterious blue stomach, Bangkok’s entrepreneurial taxi drivers, an unexpected encounter with a python and a massage parlour that had initially looked rather suspicious.

Not bad for a few days in Thailand.

Before leaving Bangkok, I even treated myself to another massage after a long day of shopping.

By then, I had also become rather better at negotiating transport fares.

Experience, it seemed, was an excellent teacher.

Although occasionally a rather expensive one.

Not Quite the Bangkok I Had Planned

When I look back on those first days in Bangkok, I remember far more than the Grand Palace, the temples or the organised excursions.

I remember the confusion, the surprises and the ridiculous situations I somehow managed to get myself into.

I had arrived with a carefully prepared itinerary and the confidence of a young man who thought he had everything under control.

Bangkok quickly corrected that misunderstanding.

And yet, I loved the experience.

Those early journeys taught me something that would become increasingly important throughout my travelling life.

The best stories aren’t always the ones you plan.

Sometimes they begin with a stomach ache, a blue shirt and a taxi driver who simply refuses to understand what sort of massage you want.

And if nothing else, Bangkok taught me one extremely valuable lesson.

Always wash a new blue shirt before wearing it on a long-haul flight.

Especially if you’re prone to imagining your own funeral in a hotel bathtub.

More memories from the road: explore A Life in Journeys or browse our Travel Diaries.