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Tired of Bangkok’s traffic, Kornkit Disthan escapes to the “lung” for a glimpse of the Thai capital as it used to be
It’s known as the “stomach” to locals, an acknowledgement of the area’s form from the air. Visitors prefer to call it the “lung” – a green spot surrounded by industrial parks on the right bank of the Chaopraya River and the skyscrapers of downtown Bangkok.
On 17th-century maps it’s labelled New Amsterdam, a cluster of Dutch warehouses and settlements; later on, the ethnic Mon community moved here. Many old temples reflect Mon art and culture, while descendants of the first settlers are proud to demonstrate their identity at a time when other ethnic communities in Bangkok are being swept up in the cosmopolitan tide.
This undeveloped area to the south of the city was little known until a few years ago, when some cycling enthusiasts became the first to take advantage of its unused tracks. Word of the idyll in Bangkrajao soon spread, largely thanks to the internet.
At the time, getting to the lung wasn’t easy. Today, it’s a different story – you need only take a short leap from the ever-bustling Sukhumvit Road, get yourself a ferry ticket and hire a motorbike taxi or bike, and you are ready to start your exploration.
One sunny day, perhaps the hottest of the year so far, I walked along a narrow walkway that connects all six sub-districts in the lung. Sheltering under the shade of nipa palms, I discussed the past, present and future of the lung with Arpon Paantong, one of a few female village chiefs.
“Four decades ago this area was clustered with mango and banana orchards, but disastrous floods ruined everything,” she tells me. “Since then, people have gradually turned their back on the old ways of life.”
You can still see signs of the great flood, as the locals call it, on the walls of twin 300-year-old chapels said to be two of the oldest in the Bangkok area. The marks reach as high as 2m. The flood swept away much of the area’s heritage, including traditional houses and the locals’ agrarian way of life, but it only took a couple of years for the area to be restored.
After the government passed an urban environmental protection bill a decade ago, the people of the lung came to realize the advantages of eco-tourism, and some of them reverted to traditional lifestyles. One major initiative was to recreate the floating market, a lively trading venue that had died with the flood.
“We came up with the idea of setting up a new floating market years ago to attract visitors,” Paantong says. “It has since become one of Bangkok’s most popular floating markets.” City dwellers were excited by the local dishes and fresh produce, including delicacies from the Chaopraya River such as deep-fried young fern frond and wild ginger buds in spicy lemongrass paste. There are still issues for Paantong and the local administrative body to address, however, as souvenir shops outnumber traders selling goods from flat boats – a common sight at other floating markets.
The area’s popularity has, of course, made it attractive to developers, though some locals are determined to hang on to their land, whatever price they may be offered. “Who wants to be a millionaire?” one farmer laughed when I asked whether he had considered selling up. “When you see what Bangkok has become, I prefer to stay a little less rich here.”
The floating market is not the only attraction of the lung; many other local-run projects have been great successes. The Herbal Incense House small business has proven to be an unexpected hit with foreign tourists. The couple behind it are always happy to give passers-by like myself a warm welcome and the chance to see how traditional herbal remedies are prepared; their little store is often overcrowded with customers.
For a true guesthouse experience, spend a few nights at an old teak house standing alone under the betel nut trees in the sub-district of Bag Nam P’ueng. This is one of the lung’s hidden treasures. Bag Nam P’ueng and its surroundings feature a number of traditional Thai houses that can hardly be found in the middle of Bangkok, even in the old quarters near Khaosan Road.
I stayed in a mansion-turned-guesthouse purportedly built during the reign of King Mongkut in the 19th century. The lady manager told me it once belonged to a famous physician who was a member of the nobility; it is rumoured that slaves were chained up in the lower part of the house. “I told some guests a little of the building’s history and they complained that it was spooky,” she says. “They even asked me to accompany them to make sure that nothing happened, but I guarantee you will sleep soundly tonight.” She added jokingly that I needed only yell out across the river if anything did show up.
The guesthouse was passed down through the family but is now run by the local administration. It is a particular favourite for students conducting local social projects and botanical research; on the night I stayed I had one whole wing to myself, while a group of cyclists stayed next door.
“So much of Bangkok has fallen victim to the tourism industry; it’s amazing that this part is invulnerable,” said Sarod Meevongsam, a reporter and one of those cyclists with whom I shared the compound of the house. “The inhabitants have never shut themselves off from developments, but they are clever enough not to let these outside elements ruin their way of life.”
When night fell, with fireflies hovering over the woods, a small party began. A guest picked up a bamboo flute while the rest hummed a Thai folk song. It reminded me of the Bangkok in classic Thai novels, when the tallest structure in the city was just eight storeys high and the right bank was hidden in the thick of banana leaves and betel nut trees, and only connected by a labyrinth of waterways. Now it is a noisy motorway.
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