December 2009
...Weaving beneath the high walls of Thammasat U., along streets selling Buddhist art and amulets. In front of nearly every amulet stall is a man with a monocle to one eye, examining the quality of the stones. Monks swathed in saffron peruse Buddhist statues carved of wood and stone. And there is of course food: fruits and chicken and fish. I get some chicken fried in garlic, washed down with a whole coconut. The vendors aren't pushy at all, not bothered if you don't buy...
...sunset cocktails at The Oriental. Not the Bamboo Bar made famous in the writing of a generation of scriveners, but out on the patio beside the river. At the next table, a pair of Dubai businessmen have a meeting with a well-dressed, quick-talking Thai woman. This interweaving of the region is foreign to both my American and Japanese selves. It speaks a completely different vocabulary, dialect, language. Southeast Asia and its complexity of linked cultures intrigues...
...another night on the Chao Praya, eating on the patio on the opposite bank of the river. Neon lit dinner boats cruise slowly past, some with bands playing on board, traditional dancers somehow finding balance on one foot. Tugs pulling barges laden with sand represent the economic spectrum's other end, their dark hulking forms blocking any light emitting from the opposite shore. After dinner we go next door to the Patravadi Theater, to watch an eclectic mix of Thai and modern dance and musical styles. The lead performer dresses in the traditional way, but has the look and moves of a butoh dancer...
...an uninspired walk through the Grand Palace, and its attached wat, one chedi looking like a wedding cake, and another chedi a solid piece of gold that makes me think of the equally absurd Asahi Brewery Sperm. Outside again, I look once again through the palace gates, flanked by lethargic looking guards. A far cry from the erect poses of Buckingham Palace. I'd love to see a pair of these Thai guards frolicking barefoot on the grass behind, guns down, playing frisbee...
...Wat Pho massage not quite as good as I remember, but a good review of my own Thai Massage training. (The last time I was here I was lured in by a beautiful young Thai girl, only to be worked on by a pair of hands decades older. Fishing for farang.) Afterward, we walk the wat at night, having it mostly to ourselves. Being alone with the reclining Buddha is a rare treat, and we linger long. A nice consolation to Bangkok's smog is that the light amidst the forest of chedi is as lovely as it gets, though it is impossible to capture on film, despite Hollywood's moniker of 'magic hour'...
...Miki and I join the 'cool' of Khao San Rd., sitting at a cafe table and watching the world. Thai girls in scanty dresses hustle street traffic for business. One of them can't be more than 11 years old, but already looks hardened. In sharp contrast are the hill-tribe women, tottering along and selling their headdresses and noisy wooden frogs. Slick Sikhs grasps hands of passing travelers and greet them with, "You are a lucky man!" Music pulsing, pulsing, less like a heart filled with excitement but more like a cerebrum on the brink of hemorrhage. Backpackers lurch by, the ones with their packs on looking like they just stepped off the moon. Their bags are huge these days, and what's with the rain covers? I hate how the farang always keep these packs on, clustering in small shops and blocking the way. Carts, vendors, punters--everyone--rushing suddenly to the curbside when the cops occasionally pass through...
...riding the river buses up and down. Boats of all sizes. Most pleasurable to the eye are the roly-poly brown ones that plod across like top-heavy turtles. Cops on jet-skis jump their wakes, slalom the clumps of river weeds drifting slowly by. Long-tailed engines like dragonflies. The city's extreme poor are housed in shacks along the banks. The flow of the river counts time in its own unique way...
...Climbing the lego set that is Wat Arum. The lazy alleys behind, monks dozing, children queuing in their boy scout uniforms...
...life in Asia is life lived on the streets. (I've always thought of Kyoto in the same way, that most Asian of Japan's cities.) There seems to be little separation of life and work. The movable feasts of cart and boat. Food displayed in inflated bags...
...Imported personalities such as Ronald McDonald and The Michelin Man 'wai' in front of their respective shops...
...the dainty way that Thai women handle money...
...the birthday bash for the King. They love him here, his photo everywhere, in various poses and at various ages. My favorite is him playing the sax. For his bash, there are fireworks and Xmas lights strung from trees. One street is closed to car traffic, but packed with bodies dancing and singing to some live band, apparently incredibly famous...
...Khao San Rd, Sunday dawn. Twenty-four hour Burger King. Broken bottles down the streets...
On the turntable: Kevin Seconds, "Heaven's Near Wherever You Are"
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