Allow me to paint the picture: It's evening and the crowd is so squeezed into the narrow pathways that you cannot change direction. You have no option but to move with the flow of the crowd. Vendors sit on the floor along the sides and centre of the street with their wares spread out on blankets; and lord what you can buy! Coloured fairy lights and lanterns glow out of the corners. There are Thai silk pashminas and skirts. Purses, carved soap flowers, dragons made of rope, little coats for dogs, beaded jewellery and t-shirts printed with Banksy-esque designs.
Temples line the road shoulder to shoulder with coffee shops and restaurants, and tonight their grounds are turned into spectacular outdoor food courts. I sit down next to an enourmous gong and a gold painted buddha and enjoy the foods of asia; curry puffs, phad thai, takoyaki, fried chicken and potato spiral washed down with cendol and Rosella red date tea.
The tinny sound of ancient speakers project the musical performances of various blind musicians, some doing tragically awful karaoke and others gathering a huge huddle of people as the flow of traffic is blocked by listeners. I watch a troup of four blind men sitting one behind the other rock out spectacularly as the baht notes fly into their busking tin.
In the early afternoon before the market is in full swing, I cross a through road and realise that everyone is stood still in silence. I stand with them confused until I am enlightened by the distant whine of the king's anthem, for which everyone is expected to stand and listen respectfully. It makes for an eerie break within the chaos of bargaining and the exchanging of notes and coins that is the market's usual soundtrack.
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