Red Shirt Rally Days 32 & 33: Songkran Respite

 Traveling in a Tuk-Tuk

Nonthaburi, Thailand

People forget, amidst the raucous fun of the water fights, that Songkran (Thai New Year) is a holiday of solemn remembrance, that water is a gift and a blessing to be poured over the shoulders of a Buddha statue and upon the hands of the elder generation. For the moment hostilities between Red Shirts and the government have ceased. Deadly weapons on the street have been replaced by water pistols, hoses, squirters, even bathing bowls have been pressed into service, so dire is the need to have fun; a fun-loving three-day drenching despite the emergency decree forbidding gatherings of more than 5 people.

For Songkran, we decided to stay close to home because of the uncertainty of the political situation, afraid that if we left the city, the roads might be closed either by the government or by the protesters. Jamaicans have a derisive term for people who become tourists in their country of residence, dry-land tourist. Nonetheless, it was either go out or stay at home and be a prisoner of the sort of siege mentality that is now taking over the city. So on Monday, we visited Wat Traimit in Yaowarat (Chinatown) and on Tuesday we visited Koh Kred (Kred Island) in the middle of the Chao Phraya River.

There is a wonderful story about the Buddha statue in Wat Traimit. Also known as the Temple of the Golden Buddha, Wat Traimit has a three-meter (10 foot) tall solid gold Buddha statue that was made during the Sukhothai period. It is at least 900 years old. At the time, the political situation was precarious (nothing has changed) and so, to protect the statue and to prevent it falling into the hands of the invading Burmese, the image was covered in stucco. This hidden treasure was forgotten over time, until a piece of the stucco cracked when the statue was moved, revealing the glint of gold.

We picked up Nicky at his house and went down to Yaowarat to meet his mother, Lek, at the temple. She told us that she and her sister went to the temple school when they were little children. Her brothers were taught separately by the monks, as is the custom. We had also wanted to see the Chinatown Heritage Museum but it was closed Mondays and we didn't know that. Another day, another trip.

Still, there is a lot to see in Yaowarat. There are temples in unexpected places tucked between shophouses and popping up at the end of a dark alley.  We walked down streets and alley-ways, most of the shops were closed for the holiday. I had never seen Chinatown so quiet before. The mantra still stands: if you have it someone will buy it. Just not today.

We went to Lek's store to say hello to her brother and after that we set out again. Lek led us unerringly through a maze of streets and alleys, straight down one of those t-shaped alleys. At the end of the stem was another temple. I could see the goddess Kuan Im (Quan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy in the Chinese pantheon) in her avatar as the Avalokiteshvara (AH-vah-low-key-tesh-wah-ra), with a thousand arms, each wrist tied with sai sin or sacred string. The original multi-tasker, I thought. We were actually looking for lunch, but even good restaurants in Chinatown are secrets.  At the end of the crossbar on the right was a tiny place no bigger than my dining room filled with people patiently waiting to be fed. Unfortunately, all the tables were filled.

Since we were disappointed at lunch, we went in search of Jao Mae Tuptim, the Ruby Goddess Mother, and my guardian. This trip took us into Pahurat, known locally as the Indian Market, which is well known for fabrics and the site of the Sikh temple with its golden onion domes. Right next door was the temple of the Ruby Goddess Mother, dark and mysterious and smelling of smoke. She didn't have multiple arms, just a kind  face, the tiny figure of her attendant draped in strings of pearls,  offerings from her devotees. In 2003, when I first met the Ruby Goddess Mother on the advice of the fortune teller, the temple attendant had pointed out the Avalokiteshvara to me. It now seems that she hadn't wanted to disappoint me for traveling all the way from Bangkok and not see the Goddess. So she had pointed to the Avalokiteshvara instead. After all, the gods (and goddesses) are in heaven and you're praying to the same place. The Chinese religion, I've found, is eminently pragmatic.

Lek and I each shook a prayer canister and a bamboo stick fell out. She got number 13 and I got 20. We found our fortunes in a numbered rack on the wall. Mine said that after a period of adversity, riches will come. Soon. Lek laughed and said, it always says "soon" never says when. As a Jamaican, I can understand that. Soon come.  All in due time.

After our trip to Chinatown, the next day we headed north along the river to Koh Kred. Koh Kred was deeded to the Mon people over two hundred years ago by the Thai king for helping defend his kingdom.  The Mon originally came from Burma and today they are potters, creating a distinctive unglazed orange pottery with highly decorative patterns etched into the clay while it is still soft enough to work.

The day began with a drive to the northwest suburbs of Bangkok, to Nonthaburi. Underneath the Rama IV bridge is a different world of boats selling kway teo rua which you can eat out of a bowl sitting on straw mats spread in the shade of the bridge. From here, we parked the car also under the bridge, and got on a long-tail boat to Koh Kred.

After a 5 minute boat ride, we alighted in Koh Kred. We walked along the raised walkways adjacent to the river and turned inland a bit. It looked like some Bangkok neighborhoods must have looked 60 years ago; pastoral, a bit broken down, but proudly faded.  We passed a disused turtle kiln and a dusty museum where I snapped this picture of a map of Koh Kred.

Outside was a shady stall by a trickling creek, where they still make cafe boran or old-fashioned coffee filtered in a muslin strainer. The lady there told us the history of the island. They are very proud of their Mon heritage and the children go to school learning both Mon and Thai. Very enlightened, I thought. Andy paid 60 baht for his cafe boran and he got to keep his coffee cup, a glazed ceramic mug.

We rented bicycles to bike around the island but the narrow elevated walkways were crowded with children celebrating Songkran, and I was afraid to collide with them, or worse, fall into the river (there are no handrails). I went back to the bike shop and waited for Andy and AJ to come back. Meanwhile, I made considerable headway into Stieg Larsson's  The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I wrote about it to the Evergreen Book Club, this Google Group that Fei Min and I belong to. It's a busy book, packed with every conceivable trope in the crime thriller genre. But that's for another discussion.

Back at the river again, we were herded into this shed with 50 other people, other dry-land tourists escaping Bangkok for a day. We crossed the river into the city, leaving behind this other world that is a step out of time.