Sweet nostalgia

Bang Phli, east of Bangkok, was conceived as a new city in the late 1980s - at a time when Thailand was dying to become a newly industrialised country. Factories were built for manufacturing everything from sneakers to family sedans, accompanied by soulless apartments for the workers. Then and now, it's easy to ignore Bang Phli and its traffic, waves of dust and ugly concrete buildings.

The place barely registers on weekenders' hit lists. But before you exclaim "Get me the hell out of here", let the area reveal its magic beyond the ugly facade.

Tucked away behind the new Bang Phli is a charming old riverside community and marketplace. Chinese merchants, says history, came here in the mid-19th century and built their wooden shop-houses by the Samrong canal. Sunthorn Phu, a great poet of that time, journeyed by boat to Bang Phli and was impressed enough to write about it in his travelogue.

"The riverside community," said the poet, "is isolated in a vast paddy field. People build their houses around the temple, whereas the hustle and bustle of the marketplace is sprawled aside the canal. Our boat gets stuck in the mud, so we have to get help from the water buffaloes."

Fast forward to the 21st century. The vast paddy field has made way for new villas and an industrial estate. The water buffaloes are long gone, replaced by ubiquitous Japanese cars. But despite the changes, time seems to stand perfectly still in the old marketplace.

I visit Bang Phli and its old market on a Sunday morning. This neighbourhood, lost in time, appears as a blossoming Eden to anyone tired of the modern contrivance called the shopping mall. Here, the serpentine canal flows through leafy orchards, while wooden houses built in the early Rattanakosin period display unique, timeworn panels and facades - and a strong sense of originality.

This old market makes the chain supermarket on the other side of the canal look like a huge pile of concrete - which it is.

Like the increasing number of visitors who come to the old market at the weekend, I begin my exploration by strolling along the pathway leading from the Temple of the Big Buddha. Turning right, I pass a small shop selling fighting fish. Across the small wooden bridge over the canal, I find myself in the middle of a party. There's loud music and dancing going on in front of a large old house. The community is celebrating its 140th anniversary, but I was expecting something a little more subtle and old-fashioned.

Poking my head into the house, I see a huge woman in an armchair. Dressed in a white blouse, sarong and long white socks, she puffs on a cigarette, laughs heartily and claps her hands to encourage the dancers.

"What's going on, brother?" I ask one onlooker, expecting to find out more about the chain-smoking woman.

"Medium," the man mutters.

"Medium what?"

"Medium. Spirit. Fortune-teller," he says.

This happens to be a ritual - a medium ceremony. The huge woman claims she can receive messages from the dead. Many people, who mistake a fortune-teller for a psychiatrist, come to her for answers to their problems. I want to jump the queue and quickly ask for the next winning lottery numbers, but instead I stroll further along the wooden path beside the canal in search of a culinary adventure. The old market at Bang Phli is actually getting quite popular among weekenders foraging for tastes from their youth.

Here, down a narrow alley, khanom nam dok mai, khanom dok sano, klip lam duan, kluay buad chee, salim and other home-cooked desserts beckon the sweet-toothed with their affordable prices. You could probably buy a few of these disappearing confections at some shopping malls, but the old market makes them seem more of a genuine treat.

The southern end of the Bang Phli market is a lovely neighbourhood, more like a living museum.

The wooden shop-houses have survived fire and property developers for more than a hundred years. The locals are friendly and if you listen carefully you'll hear the latest news and gossip among the merchants and shoppers. Many Chinese shopkeepers still sell old-fashioned things like bamboo fish traps and traditional wedding suits - just as their ancestors did. Meanwhile, a stone's-throw away on the opposite side of the canal, the giant supermarket churns out everything from fat fish to soap powder to flashy new televisions.

I follow my nose and take a little more time for my own exploration through the market before ducking into a noodle shop.

The family of three who I share a table with exchange comments about how they like or dislike their pieces of sweet rice cake (khanom krok). Across the narrow walkway, a high-heeled, forty-something woman with her designer handbag negotiates for two cups of sweet camomile at Bt5. On the corner is a small shop selling rice cakes, where a couple of men crack back-slapping jokes at two female students in super-tight uniforms.

Over my noodles, I think I have discovered something special. The chain stores and supermarkets might have plenty of fat fish for everybody and few really need to master the art of the fish trap these days. But many people do long for an old-style marketplace offering a big dose of sweet nostalgia. The old market at Bang Phli is one of those few remaining places.

Phoowadon Duangmee

The Nation