A Tour Through Bangkok's Museum of Death

Welcome to Bangkok’s casual, fun for the whole family retreat from the heat! Siriraj Medical Museum located just on the wrong side of the Chao Praya river, accessible by foot or taxi and with air conditioning included in the $2 entrance fee. If aborted fetus’ preserved in formaldehyde and mummified rapist murderers is your jam, then treat yourself to a museum that satiates even the most grotesque visionaries.

But in all seriousness, we were curious. I mean, how many times are you going to stand face to face with some of the worst consequences a human life can offer? Myself and a couple friends conjured the idea to visit the forensic museum in between beers and liquor shots, but we didn’t make the connection that alcohol withdrawal in all it’s nauseating regrets wouldn’t go well with staring at organs damaged by booze and embalmed infants .

Now, whatever freaky fetish gets you off at night, Siriraj is sure to shrivel back any inclination of pleasure, or normalcy, and nothing can really prepare you for it. Upon entering we were immediately surrounded by glass cases filled with an assortment of different sized dead babies, some with intestines hanging out. Their medical conditions varied from Thoracopagus conjoined twins to malformation of the development of the fetus and “Cyclopia with proboscis,” where the eye is centrally placed in the area normally occupied by the nose, and in place of the nose is a limp umbilical cord.

No amount of information or knowledge could justify my repulsion, but we continued on, secretly amazed by this living nightmare of the dead.

If you’re sensitive to suicide and disease, then this whole building is a trigger-warning. The next section was photographic with one image of an arm with self-inflicted knife wounds adjacent another titled “Suicide: Amputate Cut Left Wrist,” showcasing a de-handed arm.

But the magnus opus in this opera of despair was the mummified body of a famous child rapist and murderer: Si Quey. Standing in front of his shriveled body, I held my stomach, hoping gentle rubs would prevent vomit from escaping my throat. Then I noticed that beside me everyone was bent over, cupping their hands over terror stricken faces. The full body of this undeserving human gazing down at us.

At that point I had called it quits and skimmed past the displays of common heart diseases, types of cancer and cardiac functions to something a little more bearable: the Parasitology Museum. Lovely pictures of intestinal worms exiting a man’s anus seemed better than organs with acid burns and bullet holes. The parasites came in different sizes ranging from microscopic to the size of an arm and in shades of yellow, white and brown. Roundworms, flatworms, liver flukes, disease carrying insects and organs of patients infected by parasitic organisms joined our misery until we sped towards the exit.

I'm sure we had planned some temple-hopping that afternoon, but our downcast eyes and stomachs led us back to our hostel to contemplate the state of our own poisoned bodies. So my advice for future generations is this: do not go looking at dead babies on a hangover. That cheap no-name brand tequila warmed from sitting on the same shelf for years until the bartender poured you too many shots, isn't the greatest precursor for a day spent looking at formerly diseased, now preserved, livers and children.