Wok and Worship

Not my number.But even without the big payout, I knew I8217;d fully escaped the rat race.I was on the quiet island of Koh Chang, five hours and an outlook-shifting ferry ride from Bangkok, where palm trees ruled over beaches crawling with tiny crabs. The water was both warm and cool, perfect for swimming. Paradise.

And I8217;d arrived, serendipitously, just before Loi Krathong8212;a Diwali-influenced festival honouring the goddess of water. On the night of the full moon, Buddhists released home-made banana leaf boats on waterways throughout the island. Ironically, the flotillas that disappeared down every river and stream, with their loads of candles and coins, were also atonement for a year of water pollution.

The big stir at Khlong Prao beach was a festival at the local temple. The wat was a short walk from my bungalow and as I approached it, sound vibrated from the brightly-lit area. Inside the gate was none of the peacefulness or sobriety that I had expected to find inside temple walls.

Near the entrance, vendors sold leafy boats, cold drinks in plastic shopping bags and sliced tropical fruit. And the noise was overwhelming8212;on a makeshift screen, a classic action movie showed screeching warriors lock swords. Monks belted out blessings to passers-by, while some devout souls ignored the mayhem to offer knelt prayers. Young people had congregated at the basketball court turned disco, where a scantily-dressed emcee called out over the music.

At the back of the temple, a food court had been set up, and local beers were on tap to wash down grilled shrimp and squid, noodle soups or any of the myriad skewers on sale. I settled down and filled up on tangy rice noodles with seafood, sipping on a draught of Chang and watching the crowd cast out the old year8217;s troubles and welcome a new year of good luck and good food.

Two days later, I was plunged into a very different scene8212;one whose origins were miles from its physical location.On a flying stop back through Bangkok, it seemed a bit silly to stay in Chinatown rather than, say, somewhere closer to the airport. But Chinatown8217;s 200-year history was charm enough8212;older than the Thai monarchy8217;s presence in the city, the settlement had willingly shifted when the kings claimed the best land; the local Chinese population then carried on what came naturally8212;commerce. Now, two centuries later, the narrow lanes were crowded with dense foot traffic and vendors selling everything under the sun.

I made a beeline for the food market. Turning off the main drag into a narrow, mostly-covered lane, I was assaulted by the spicy, musty smell that is so unique to Chinese groceries.

And ahead, chaos began. Every kind of meat and seafood conceivable8212;plus plenty that I would never have imagined8212;hung from hooks, dried in baskets, pulsated in buckets. Ducks and chickens twirled naked at eye level. Vegetarians had to be in the minority here.

Tucked away between the stalls, dry goods stores sold sacks of spices and bottles of soy sauce, fish sauce, sesame oil. I picked up a few flavourings recognised from descriptions on restaurant menus. The thrill of a good purchase came with selecting the perfect wrinkly, vacuum-packed bag of Oolong tea.

I might never use these provisions, but half the fun was in reaching out into this odd and exotic world. I strolled along8212;sniffing, staring, soaking it all in. All too soon I8212;like that rat8212;would be scurrying back to my familiar hidey-hole home.