Ayutthaya...

So yesterday I finally arrived in Ayutthaya, the old capital of the kingdom destroyed by the invading Burmese army in 1767. It was founded in 1351 and was one of the richest and most powerful of the kingdoms in what became Siam, with strong links to Portugal and France throughout its later history. The city sits between the Chao Phraya, Lop Buri and Pa Sak rivers, and it was essentially an island fortress at the heart of one of South East Asia's most economically and militarily powerful kingdoms. It's former glory is obvious from the vast ruined temples that can be found around almost every corner as you move around the city, the naked red brick from which they were constructed shows through the last remaining flakes of mortar, eroded over hundreds of years since the fall of the city to the Conquering Burmans.

I hired a bicycle yesterday afternoon, and set off around the city as the sun was  beginning to sink towards the  horizon, the red brick of the ruined chedii glowing in the rich orange glow of the sun. At Wat Mahathat I found the famous Buddha whose head has been swallowed by a Boddhi tree, his serenity permanently preserved in its embrace. The sun had almost set, and most of the other visitors were hurrying back before dark, so I was able to spend some time with the Buddha, and drink up the peace of the evening.When the sun disappeared in swift South East Asian style, the bats began to pour from the ruined Chedii where they've made their homes, and the air was run through with their piercing calls as they went into the darkness to hunt. The ruins are illuminated for a few hours each night, attracting all manner of winged invertebrates, who are given a brief, smiling welcome by the swift and deadly mammals winging through the air.

 

 The Chinese New Year celebrations which dominated the city throughout the day were exploding with noise and colour when I finally found my way back to the area in which my guesthouse is located. Circus performers from the north beat drums and fire-breathing dragons danced on towering poles high above the crowd. Fireworks screamed and thundered, music filled the air, and from everywhere came the smell of delicious food being fried in red hot oil. I tried some Malaysian lamb skewers, glistening chunks of hot fat placed between the flavoursome lean meat, and it was the best lamb I have ever tasted. I had to keep walking around until I was hungry enough to go back for more. I watched Thai dancing, and sat down in front of a street theatre. The performance seemed to be endless. The play was performed all night, the saga unfolding with new characters emerging onto the stage each time I strolled past. The stylised speech and expansive gestures of the kaleidoscopically-attired players was joined at intervals by an eerie music of quarter tones and complex rhythms. The melody, sometimes shared by singers and musicians, was entrancing, and their musical skill was overwhelming.

Today I took my bike around the circumference of the island and across the bridge to Wat Chaiwatthanaram, and enormous temple opposite the southwest corner of the island. Most of the ancient Buddhas have lost their heads, but in several places the ornately-decorated mortar that must have made Ayutthaya an awe-inspiring spectacle can be seen. Ancient timbers of carved teak remain in a few places, and the deep blue dye of the Buddhas' skin can still be seen. I wondered if the conquering Burman army had decapitated the Buddhas, or whether they had been taken to sell to Orientalist collectors over the years. The clash between the kingdoms must have been truly terrible to have laid waste to such a large and powerful place, and I couldn't help but think about the savagery of the violence that destroyed an entire kingdom. The Portuguese, and to a lesser extent the French, had been instrumental to the design and construction of the fortifications that protected Ayutthaya from its enemies until the late-eighteenth century. Not far from the ruins of Wat Chaiwatthanaram is a Portuguese settlement, and St. Joseph's Church, a large eighteenth century church still in use today. It was receiving a thorough clean when I went inside, the Thais working inside automatically removing their shoes when they crossed towards the altar and dais. One lady hurried over to turn off the radio out to allow me to pray in peace.

Heading back to the island I was struck by the contrast between the peace of the river temples, and the frantic bustle of the city itself, though to be honest, most places appear calm when compared to the controlled chaos that is Bangkok. The street stalls are preparing for another night of celebration, and the circus performers whose drums woke me this morning seem to be ready to tumble and fall through the air as dragons and demons once again, and I'm already anticipating another night of  raucous entertainment and delicious food, though it's only been a couple of hours since my second lunch. I think tonight I might brave the papaya salad with raw soft-shelled crab...