Quiet moment in Bangkok

Klong Toey market

I was heading down a narrow street into the Klong Toey fresh market when a familiar radio broadcast came on over a loudspeaker.

We were in the centre of Bangkok...but the same thing happens in villages and public places nationwide, twice a day.

The national anthem is broadcast on radio and television at 8am and 6pm. In villages, headmen play the tune over the loudspeaker so everyone can hear it.

My destination was a small outreach medical clinic run by Chulalongkorn Hospital, in the heart of the market in a poor part of town.

Twenty people were walking ahead of me. Any of them could be heading for the clinic. Last time I had to wait 20 minutes for the queue of patients to clear.

Ten seconds later, the advertisements stopped, and the national anthem started. People in front stopped walking. A man on a motorcycle turned off his bike.

It would be an exaggeration to say that life froze, as Bangkok is too hectic. But it did slow, as we paid our respects to King and country.

The Thais around me looked at the farang. I looked at them.

I like the national anthem, but I enjoy the King's anthem much more. In cinemas, it is accompanied by moving pictures of the King's life. The clip plays before the main feature. Whenever I watch it, I get teary.

The boyfriend knows this, and steals a look at me as the song ends. I do not disappoint. My cheeks are wet every time.

Half a minute later, the radio broadcast, as relayed through those scratchy loudspeakers, ends.

Activity on the street speeds up again, as if someone had taken his finger off an old vinyl record. The pace of life picks up.

Another 20m to go. People around me cleave into smaller groups.

Half a dozen appear to be heading for the clinic, but no. At the last moment, they dive off somewhere else.

Two people make it to the clinic's sliding glass doors ahead of me, but the waiting room is almost empty.

Inside the entrance, I talk to two staff behind a small counter, then take a seat. The clinic is so small, I can hear what the doctor is saying to the patient in her room.

Five minutes later, my name is called.

'I have come for more sleeping pills,' I said. 'I do not use them much, and take only half a tablet a day.'

I thought this good news would impress the doctor, who I had not seen before.

At hospitals and clinics in Bangkok, I have rarely seen the same doctor twice.

'Well then, we should keep you on half a tablet,' she said.

I left her office, and took a seat in the waiting room before staff called me to the counter.

They had divided the sleeping pills into halves, which is fine, but cut the number of pills normally prescribed.

I can see now I should have lied, and told her the problem was getting worse.

'How many pills are here?' I asked. The small, clear plastic bag in which they dispense these things looked suspiciously light.

'Ten.'

'And last time, how many did you give me?'

'Fifteen.'

'Why has the doctor given me less?'

'Maybe so you come back more often,' she said honestly.