Thailand- Tales of a Nigerian Nightworker

Everyone has their demons. Unfortunately, procrastination seems to be mine. This post has sat in my drafts for nearly a year now; one is neither ashamed nor irritated by the delay. In fact, it was imperative that I communicated exactly how this travel experience affected me.

Thailand in many ways, although still in Asia, seemed to be the complete polar opposite to Korea. From the fragrant spices, to the sounds, to the bustling people; it was duly noted that Koreas South-Eastern cousin seemed a very distant relative.

There was a gritty, underground charm possessed by BK; which required a level of appreciation and most of all stomach. Streets were not the cleanest,  traffic was constant, bordering on chaos and yet everyone seemed to be concerned far more with what I was doing.

A young woman who is forever trying to let my race be the last thing that dictates how I live my life. Unfortunately at times it is not  always about my own feelings, but the assumptions of those around me. A case of mistaken identity occurred many times when being referred to as a Nigerian prostitute. The demanding of my passport from  police officers while riding the water taxi, being pulled down alleys by expats men, the whistling and the slurring.. the money offering and the staring … Bangkok made me acutely aware of my blackness. And for the first time EVER I questioned my safety as a solo female traveller.

Spending the week in a luxury apartment block (which I foolishly forgot to snap pictures of) meant being miles away from the tiny studio, namely ‘home’ in Seoul. The condo was located in an area close to amenities, a station, and a massive mall. Far enough away from the touristic Khao San road to get some sleepBut close enough to hop on a taxi scooter to Siam to shop or visit the sites. The weather remained sweet and the food was to die for. And while the experience may not have been all one hoped for…it was still an experience.

Find where I stayed here.

 

 

 

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