The trip from Bangkok’s railroad station was long but mostly uneventful, and I remember thinking, other than pulling up in a bright yellow two door speck, this could be East Harlem USA. The hotel lobby was almost impressive in a marbly sort of way and with an elevator, on our budget unheard of. With virtually nothing within easy walking distance we knew that we’d have to decipher Bangkok’s convoluted hodgepodge of overlapping attempts at mass transit. A weekly pass would be our typical modus operandi but a sky rail pass means nothing to the rickety bus driver even less to the river ferries which as near as I could tell there may have been at least three or more different classifications. So it’ll be pay as you go for a week.
Bangkok is an old city and like most old cities they grew up around transportation and that would be the river. Pouring over wildly inaccurate transit maps we soon noticed that most of the things we wanted to see were on or near the Chao Phraya river, or canals. Good to know. I really wanted to see the Royal Barge museum and it looked like a good fit for an adventure on the river ferries. The first problem is that it’s quite a hike just to get to the ferry landing but we figured how hard could it be from there? Typical of Thailand neighborhoods there’s a surprise around nearly every corner. The way I see it that’s true art.
Who makes knick-knacks on such a massive scale?
I’d like to say that the ferry nudged up to the dock but unerringly they never missed an opportunity to slam against the pier. I guess it’s their signature method. As we pulled away I noticed the river was still chocked with large tree bits, floating junk, and about as bad as I’ve ever seen and I’m from Pittsburgh, but the good old Monongahela has nothing on this river except maybe traces of heavy metals.
Being the quick studies that we are we soon realized that we were in fact at the canal but on the wrong side and the only way to cross the canal was a mammoth hike up to a six lane highway bridge. Feets don’t fail me now! Finally we gained the bridge after ascending four flights of concrete stairs and descending a similar number on the other side of a three hundred foot span. We were left without a clue, but at least we were across. After a few fits and starts, assuming that the museum was somewhere back the way we came except now we’re on the correct side, we found nothing but nasty little pathways through I think it would be safe to call it a slum.
Zig-zagging through the hood for a while I noticed our first clue.
A small blue arrow drawn on a piece of paper tacked to a vertical dirt wall. I was convinced we were on to something. This went on for quite a while when turning another corner I saw a sign that said tickets. Damn we’re good at this. Apparently one is expected to buy a ticket for a canal boat, where I have no idea, and then you are comfortably deposited at the museum dock but where is the fun in that?
So you pay a camera fee and hang a tag around your neck as the designated photographer and wonder at the magnificence of all of this.
The original royal barge marina was bombed during WW2 and several royal barges were badly damaged. The king tasked the museum project and barge maintenance to the Fine Arts Department and National Museum of Royal Barges. Great idea to dry dock these treasures. Eight of the most significant royal barges are housed here but there are 51 considered royal starting as early as the 12th century.
The king’s Golden Swan is considered to be the largest single trunk dugout in the world.
Royal procession of barges had a very strict protocol and it was notated in the big book. Special uniforms, flags, and detailed instructions on positioning protocol.
Finally it was time to leave but a young couple said they knew an easy way out of the maze so we followed them and sure enough came out of the slum at the ferry landing.