Bangkok contradictions

I look out of our fifteenth floor hotel window at the city sprawling below. Elegant tower blocks jostle for space with shanties. Spectacular wats gleam in the midst of shacks and a million street vendors line up alongside expensive malls. And there, stretching away to the horizon, an eight-lane car park. What on earth has happened? It turns out that nothing has happened. This is Bangkok's permanent traffic jam. There is no rush hour in the city. It's always rush hour. It's always slow. The city never sleeps.

Down at ground level the volume of traffic is overwhelming. Pink and orange taxis switch lanes constantly, tiny tuk-tuks find gaps wherever they can, and everything keeps moving. Slowly. And then it hits me. The noise. Or lack of it. I haven't heard a single car hooter. We start to listen out for hooters, making a conscious decision to listen out for hooters and sirens. We don't hear any. Nobody hoots, nobody loses their cool, nobody swears or gesticulates. To do so would be bad manners and decidedly "un-Thai". So Thais have the quietest, calmest, most chilled traffic jams in the world.

The Bangkok contradictions come thick and fast. Latter-day temples to finance and banking boast spirit houses at the front doors. Well-tended spirit houses, with daily offerings of fruit and flowers. This is a modern, vibrant city with a decidedly western-style economy. But it is also a Buddhist nation, with some 90% of Thais professing to be active Buddhists.

And I don't need to wait long before this fact is confirmed in the presence of two saffron-robed monks who dart across the road in front of me. The sight of them on this busy street is at first surprising, but we quickly become accustomed to it. What never fails to surprise is that the monks are walking past "Annie's Soapy Massage Parlour" and no-one bats an eyelid. Neither the monks nor the ladyboys and their pimps, touting for business among the food vendors. Everywhere there is food and fornication, piety and prostitution, and everyone seems rather chilled and laid-back about it.

For a city of about ten million people, living in a perpetual traffic-jam, eating constantly from street vendors, there is surprisingly little litter and absolutely no graffiti or apparent vandalism. The little spirit houses are left looking lovely, their offerings of pineapples, bananas, incense and flowers untouched, at least by mortals. Perhaps it is a sad reflection of life today in the UK that this should strike me so.

The biggest contradiction is in me. I came prepared to be a little nervous of this scary big city with its completely alien culture and renowned for its apparent decadence, and I fell in love with it almost immediately. It's big and brash and at the same time reflective and calm. How on earth does it do that? I've no idea, but I want to go back for another taste.