A Prose Poem on My 57th Birthday

On my birthday, we drive down to Fisherman's Village, a little resort in Haad Chao Samran (Happy Kings Beach) on the Gulf of Thailand. The resort is packed with 40 little villas clustered on the beach. We love this little place, not only because it's small, but because it lacks the brassy impersonal feel of the bigger hotels and resorts. The area, too, is relatively undeveloped, since Hua Hin and Cha Am are where the hoi polloi like to unwind. Thus it has escaped the notice, for the time being, of the opportunists, social climbers, and sundry carpet-baggers from Bangkok. We are the only ones there; it is as if we have rented the place just for our private enjoyment.

For now, I have Haad Chao Samran to myself. There is something there, some quality of light, some trick or turn of the light, that makes whatever is commonplace seem strange. And new. Take this bird of paradise flower. They are a common sight by the ditches and canals in busy Bangkok, for they thrive wherever it is wettest. The bloom is ragged and slightly overblown from its exposure to the sun and the sea breeze. It will not last.

The coconut trees sough in the breeze as if lonely for company. I think of a short story by Italo Calvino, "The Enchanted Garden," about a magical garden that has an air of mystery hanging over it. Who owns it? Why is there no one enjoying the garden? The two children who trespass in that garden cannot really enjoy it either because they are afraid someone will find them and tell them to go away. They see a sad little boy inside the villa, obviously the owner of the house and the garden too. The children creep away. Perhaps they don't want to find out more. I, too, am content with what I see: the strip of land between the pool, the sea, and the endless horizon.

Thailand hasn't quite recovered from the recent political riots, still,  I don't recall an off-season this unattended. It's as if we gave a party and knew that half the guests wouldn't show up but went ahead with the party anyway. There is something sad and tentative about, as if an unsaid apology is on everyone's lips. The gentleman caller has failed to call on the lady. But because she is a lady, she retires to nurse her bruised dignity rather than complain about his lack of enthusiasm. 

There is really no one else in the garden to see the fitful blooms and their fading finery. Was anyone there to see them at their apogee? The amethyst blooms whiten with age in the gathering dusk. It is time to go inside. Soon. Mosquitoes whine their impatience to feed.

The little lizard posted his warning on the boardwalk. Then he climbed up the step and scuttled away. He left no editorial for me. No comment.

For dinner, in an empty dining room there is a table set for three. We eat a traditional Thai meal. First there is a soup, kaeng chud, a salty broth of napa cabbage, tofu, and bits of ground pork. The Thai like to spice things up, hence the little dish of nam jeem, a magical combination of fish sauce, garlic, lime juice, and chilies. A meal must include a Thai salad such as yum woon sen, salty, sour, sweet, and spicy;  a melange of slippery bean threads, slivered tomatoes, onions, tender Chinese celery leaves, and chopped chilies all served on a bed of lettuce.  Chinese kale (not pictured), crunchy and slightly bitter and served with nam man hoi or oyster sauce. And finally, to round out the meal, a kaeng, tender chicken slices in yellow coconut curry sauce sprinkled with slivers of chili and basil chiffonade. For dessert we cool our mouths with ice cream and fresh fruit. Andy's lime ice cream is a suspicious shade of green.
 

Daybreak. Last night's rain has washed away the heat and detritus of yesterday. It is cool. The mosquitoes have declared a temporary moratorium. Andy walks the beach and takes pictures of the day renewing itself.

Dawn's reflection. The light is muted in the windows. It must be a rule that a copy must be paler, denser, darker than its original. To reflect is to be open to receiving. I must remember that.

The beach. Layers of white tips and liquid mercury, gold sea-strand, and pink sand. It is hot. At breakfast I notice that another table has been set for two. Afterwards, I sit in the pavilion facing the sea. The sun climbs higher. It is hotter. I see a young couple walking on the boardwalk. Fisherman's Village is no longer just ours. In my bag, things to read, things to do. It's time to go. Am I ready to leave this place?

The Gimp's Perspective on Emporium

We went shopping at Emporium yesterday. Rather than hobble around on crutches and slow down Andy and AJ, I borrowed a wheelchair from the shopping mall.  It was free, too. AJ and I went into the Gourmet Market on the 5th floor to do some grocery shopping. It gave me a whole new appreciation of one of Bangkok's upscale supermarkets and what it's like to have limited mobility.

I couldn't push the cart and wheel myself around. AJ helped me. (He stepped out of view at just the moment I pressed the shutter button!)

Some items were clearly out of reach.

The main aisle was broad and inviting for wheeling around. But crowded.

This side aisle was not exactly wheel-chair accessible.

The view from the checkout lane consisted of a mélange of body parts.  I found myself eye to eye with babies in strollers. To its credit, Emporium did have a washroom for handicapped people.  But the garbage bin in there could only be opened by foot. If you were on crutches, you couldn't step on the pedal and maintain your balance on one foot. The hospital handicapped washroom also had a foot pedal trash can. Bangkok still has a long way to go when it comes to being thoughtful to people with limited mobility.

Gimpy Tales from Bangkok

In the past four years I developed a bony bump on my right foot that made it increasingly painful to wear shoes and even to bend my toes in certain Yoga positions. The Thai call it ta pla or fish-eye which is a very descriptive name for the common bunion, medical name, hallux valgus. So I made an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon to have the surgery on Friday, which is a Buddhist holiday on the calendar. See where x marks the spot!

When I woke up after surgery my right foot had saffron yellow toe nails and was encased in white gauze.  They put me up overnight on the 16th floor.  That night I was restless with itching, vomiting, and some pain. The nurse said the itching was a side effect of one of the anesthetics.  Worst of all, I was often woken up as soon as I managed to fall back to sleep to have my temperature, pulse, and blood pressure monitored.

The surgeon  discharged me from the hospital Saturday with instructions to take antibiotics and pain killers. However, I insisted on driving myself to graduation at school that afternoon, hobbling about on a cane. Andy shook his head and pronounced me "gimpy." Well, if gimpy means stubborn then I haven't missed a graduation since I came back and I wanted to be there at my last one.  That's me with the "Fabulous Survivors"of the senior class.

On Sunday I overdid it. I had breakfast in Starbucks Soi Thong Lo and lunch at Seacon Square, hobbling around with a four-toed cane and refusing to make any concessions to the pain in my foot. By afternoon, the foot began to swell and redden. We went back to the hospital where they called the surgeon. Fortunately he lived nearby so he did not have to fight Sunday traffic as we did.  He took off the bandage covering the wound and said, I have to re-admit you. You might have an infection.

They started me on IV antibiotics and gave pain killers as needed. Though the blood test was negative for infection, the surgeon insisted I stay till Tuesday. Besides the poking, prodding, and pumping, the nurses were sometimes spooky.  For instance, there was the nurse at the other end of the call button, day and night, who always asked me "Can I hell you?" Another one with the light cold fingers  gave me the antibiotics intravenously. I always felt cold afterwards. And the one who never failed to make me laugh, the Nurse of the Body Functions who greeted me  cheerfully, "how many pee-pee and poo-poo today?"

By now I had learned to respect the pain in my foot. I avoided putting any weight on it. I practiced hopping from bed to bathroom and back with a walker the nurses lent me.  But the nicest part of the second hospital stay was Mimi's carrot cake with cream cheese frosting.  It was the best medicine.

On Tuesday morning the surgeon discharged me.  Stay off the foot, he ordered, or you might have to come back. I meekly agreed. Life has now become a calculation of distance times access equals getting from Point A to Point B. At home, the step up from the driveway to the porch I estimated was worth a three-inch "hop." We went to the Club tonight but used the back entrance because it has a ramp.  I'm also beginning to realize how much of Bangkok is not accessible to people with mobility issues.

At home, Andy and AJ are my legs. On Wednesday, I went back to school. It was nice to have a fuss made over me! I borrowed the school wheelchair and my students wheeled me everywhere. They helped me take down all my bulletin boards because I couldn't reach and couldn't climb, of course. The teachers were so helpful and so kind.  I baked a cheesecake on Wednesday night. On Thursday, it was the last day of school, our End of Year Assembly. I managed to hop down four steps so I could be at the foot of the stage to say goodbye to the school. There are four of us teachers leaving and one retiring. We had a pizza and cheesecake party before the students all went home at noon. Before they left, I got them to sign my autograph flag book. Then on Friday, AJ came with me to school to help me finish packing up and clearing out my classroom. He went all over campus getting signatures on my check-out form. He supervised the janitor who packed my car with ten boxes filled with 19 years of teaching. His last stop was at Finance to pick up my check. We turned our backs on RIS/RIST for the last time and drove out of Perfect Place, the moobaan (housing estate) that leads to the main road.

And that's it. There won't be very many more letters from Thailand for a year (I hope). AJ and I are going on to our next adventure: New York City. We will both finish our degrees: his bachelor's at Hunter College and my doctorate at Teachers College.

Reactions

The Prime Minister came out and made his plea for cool heads and reconciliation, promising help to rebuild. The curfew is still in effect tonight. I don't know if there will be a curfew on Sunday night as well.

From what I've read on the blogosphere and in the English newspapers, people are divided, as is often the case in polarizing events such as this. There is much bitterness; bitterness for the Red Shirts that they did not reach their objective--although it must be admitted in hindsight that the dissolution of parliament was a long shot. Bitterness for the pro-government supporters that action wasn't swift enough and indignation that the government was powerless to prevent the arson fires that took place. Hundreds are jobless and perhaps ruined.

An enduring mystery is why the temple that was supposed to be a weapon-free zone had so many weapons and why there were six bodies there, all shot, one of them a young Red Cross worker. Then there are the pictures that got people buzzing: the Red Shirt leaders enjoying their incarceration in air conditioned bungalows at a border patrol camp.

Meanwhile, the person the government is accusing of bankrolling the protests is now denying he was in any way involved, much less its leader, though thousands saw and heard his night-time messages of encouragement. I am speaking of Thaksin, former Prime Minister and thorn in the side of every PM since his ouster in 2006, including his own party's. Not one has managed to hang on until the next election. His postscript is not yet written, partly because he has gone underground again, and mostly because he's so good at it. Pied Piper of Promises.

***
Recommended reading The Wheel of Life Turns at Ratchaprasong by Jeffrey Race. Race sees parallels and missed opportunities in Thailand's past and present. It seems the country is doomed to repeat its past (isn't that what they say about history too?) or until a hero arrives to save us from ourselves. Such a person has yet to make an appearance. Some of my Thai friends have expressed a yearning for the bad old days of dictatorship. Wishful thinking that's also not new.

Don't Believe Everything You Read on Facebook

Andy called: pack your bags, we're going to Haad Chao Samran for the weekend. The Reds are going to cut power to the city.

According to the Facebook site that we've been following for the latest news on the Red Shirt Rally, some Red hold-outs were going to attack a power station. Their staging area was reportedly just outside Bangkok at the property of a Red MP. Andy called all his friends. He told Mimi if she had to, she should take Mama to the hospital where she'd be safer than at home. Mimi said, just go. He called Boong and told her to look after Gigi.

We threw together a change of clothes for 3 days, swimsuits, sunblock, snacks, laptops and DVDs, and piled everything into the CR-V. We left the house and drove towards Bang Na intersection, a huge concrete monstrosity of elevated highways going over the river, up the river, beside the river and away from the river. Sort of like Washington DC's Mixing Bowl, only I'd say this is more like ruammit--a little bit of this, a little bit of that, and a whole lot of confusion mixed in because of the Thai predilection for giving incomplete directions; the infamous thinoon! or "over there!"

On our way, we passed the supposed staging area and saw enough policemen to deter any Red Shirt determined to be stupid. Andy checked the internet on his iPhone; the Facebook announcement had been retracted. We turned around. He called his friends. He called Mimi. He called Boong.

It only cost us Baht 20 for the toll.

In the Aftermath

School was closed today so we tried to visit some of our usual stops. The noodle shop outside Seacon Square was open but Seacon itself was closed. Uniformed guards and people frowning into their walkie talkies were wandering around the perimeter. The club was open but not crowded with the usual faces. There was even seating in Starbucks at the height of the afternoon heat. The supermarket was crowded though, but the air conditioners and the refrigeration units had conked out. The dairy products had been moved to buckets filled with ice. Most vegetables and fruit, except the expensive imports, were gone. No eggs for the second day in a row. Rather than risk food poisoning, I passed up anything raw and uncooked. We have enough food at home anyway; tonight we had skillet pizza.

The curfew hours have shifted from 9 p.m. tonight to 5 a.m. tomorrow and will extend to the weekend. So far, it is quiet in the streets, but the number of places that were set on fire by arsonists has grown to nearly forty. The city says that CentralWorld will have to be demolished; it cannot be saved. The worst is the terrible loss of life. Sadly, they found the bodies of at least six people, all shot, inside a temple that was supposed to be neutral territory in the middle of the fighting. The government spokesman said that emergency services received a call for help from the temple but guards would not permit them to enter the grounds.  It remains to be seen if the government will investigate what happened at the temple. To its credit, the Abhisit government has tried to be transparent and publish accurate figures of those killed and injured; a vast difference from May 1992 when estimates of those killed and injured ranged from a mere dozen to hundreds.

 

Red Shirt Rally Day 69: Descent into Chaos

The government has imposed a curfew from 8 p.m. tonight until 6 a.m. tomorrow.

Today the government soldiers moved in on the protesters at their Rajaprasong rally site. The Red Shirt leaders surrendered. One reportedly told the Red Shirts to stop fighting while another is said to have told them to keep up the fight. Leaderless, the protesters became a mob that looted and set fire to buildings, including a TV station. Five people died today. All this is according to reports from CNN and The Nation website.

All this tragedy happened on a beautiful sunny day. The school had let us out after half-day so I met AJ at the club. I went into the study room to surf the net for the latest news. The Nation wrote there would be a curfew but didn't say when. At 4 p.m. Andy left the office and went home. He said we should come home now. The club is closing early and there is a curfew tonight. At the club, the Thai members like to swim after 4 p.m. when the sun has lost its strength, but the pool was empty. AJ and I went immediately to Tops to buy food. The shelves were barely filled but I managed to get chicken legs and breasts, new potatoes, and small onions for a stew. I grabbed two liters of zero percent milk. Finally, after two days, there was fresh milk again. We joined the queues at the checkout just as the announcement came over the PA that the supermarket was closing.

On the way home, the English language Radio Thailand announced the curfew over the car radio. As we waited in the u-turn lane to enter our soi, I saw a dozen motorcycle riders drive by on the opposite side. The pillion passenger of one was carrying a long white pole with a sharp point. As they approached the cookshop on the corner of Soi Phung Mi, an old man came out of the shop and applauded. Some of them ducked their heads in acknowledgment.  The motorcycles continued east towards Bang Na intersection and as they passed out of sight, I heard two explosions. The first one was a deep boom, the second sounded like a fire cracker. As we drove deeper inside the soi, we joined a queue of  cars going slowly in our direction. A white Toyota had stalled on the bridge near the 93 Building, but once I got around it, we got home pretty quickly.  It's hard to believe; is the Red Shirt Rally finally over?

 From the kitchen window, neighborhood sights and sounds were familiar. The backdoor neighbor's dogs panted in the afternoon heat. Mongkut, the black and white, rolled in the road to scratch an itch. I saw our neighbor jog by. He always jogs in a green tee and red shorts. In the kitchen, I prepped the chicken and the vegetables for the stew. AJ washed and put the brown rice in the rice cooker. Then I heard the whirr of helicopters in the near distance. We have just heard that the Central World shopping mall in Rajaprasong is burning out of control.

Tomorrow the assessment begins: we tally the score and assess the damages. There's sure to be some finger-pointing.

Red Shirt Rally Day 68: Things Will Never Be the Same Again

photo from www.nationmultimedia.com May 19, 2010

Did you see the picture of the baby on top of the barricade?

Indeed, a Thai newspaper printed the picture that took up half its front page. There is a baby (eyes blanked out) sitting on top of the tires forming the Red Shirt barricades. In the background is "no man's land" the strip of asphalt that separates the protesters from the soldiers.  Was it a taunt to the snipers or a dare to the armed soldiers? Sensible people are appalled.  It's further proof, they say,  that the Red Shirts are ignorant and easily manipulated. I think back to six weeks ago when the Red Shirts held their mobile rally. It was peaceful. What has changed to make death a thing to challenge?

Death is also on show. Do you want to see something?  One of the Thai teachers whipped out her cell phone to show me a bird's eye view photograph of four bodies in the street. Somebody sent it to her, she explained. Three of the bodies show no signs of violence but the fourth body, a woman, her blood stains the street in a long dark red ribbon. No one can lose so much blood and still be alive. I turn my head away but I can't forget the image. This isn't mere sensationalism; the Thai press routinely offers graphic pictures for mass consumption. Viewing carnage is normal to the Thai. When is it too much?

To end the protests, the government should shoot all the protesters, this teacher said flatly, a quiet anger in her voice. Her visceral reaction shocked me.  But her feeling isn't unique to the Thai; she actually paraphrased my father. He once declared to a group of Americans that anyone caught committing a crime with a gun should be put to death. Like me, the Americans didn't understand the context of a speech act and looked away, embarrassed.  They didn't know the reason my father spoke like that was his anger at the powerlessness of the Jamaican police to put a stop to the country's murderous crime rampage. That was back in the 1970s and nothing much has changed since. Last year an average of five people were murdered every day in Jamaica.

What will stop the Thai from killing the Thai?

Red Shirt Rally Day 67: Death in the Morning, Civil Disobedience in the Afternoon

The general wounded by a sniper died this morning.  Described in the press as a "rogue" he was an officer who could have defended the status quo but he chose to join the Red Shirts' cause. Now his death represents the deep fracture in Thai society, a serious setback for peace and finding common ground. News reports say that the King is sponsoring Seh Daeng's funeral. Meanwhile,  protesters ignored this afternoon's deadline to leave the Rajaprasong rally site. 

What's unusual about these protests from, say,  May 1992, is how deeply it has entered the consciousness of the residents of the city.  Perhaps the protracted nature of the protests is the reason, but none of the previous protests ever took place literally on the doorstep of the middle class. Protest sites were Phan Fah Bridge and the Democracy Monument, symbols of protests past. Rajaprasong, with its gleaming office towers, proud shopping malls, luxury hotels, and well-appointed condominiums for the well-heeled, seems like an unlikely protest site.

The school will still be closed on Tuesday for students, but all the teachers have been asked to come in.

Red Shirt Rally Day 66: Uncertainty

The government has declared Monday and Tuesday "public holidays."

Since Seh Daeng was shot Thursday night, the violence has escalated; more people have died and hundreds more injured. The uncertainty about what will happen next has caused the postponement of the first day of school for Thai students from May 17 to June 1st. The international schools which follow the British/American school year are closed on Monday.

I got an SMS from a friend today, warning me to stay away from department stores and malls in certain parts of the city.  To create confusion, the SMS said, there are going to be grenade attacks in areas outside the Rajaprasong conflict zone. She didn't say who originated the SMS or where; it was a forwarded message. That just shows how hard it has become to separate fact from rumor, disinformation from the truth.

The government's waffling hasn't helped either. From setting emergency decrees that are largely ignored by their own people to threatening to enforce a curfew then backing off, it's hard to say that the leadership knows what it is doing. The overall impression is that it is as chaotic in the 11th army camp, where the PM  has  barricaded himself,  as it is around the Red Shirt barricades.

Red Shirt Rally Day 65: More Street Violence

First of all, let me assure all our family and friends that we are safe. As we live in eastern Bangkok about 10+K  away from the disturbances, we are not in the thick of things. However, we won't be able to go to mass since the church is very close to the protests.

Fresh violence erupted after the Red Shirt general was shot in the head on Thursday night. He's in hospital but is not expected to live.  The government had reportedly planned to isolate the protesters by cutting water, power, transportation, and communications in the Rajaprasong area. However, because residents of luxury condominiums there were not told to evacuate, those plans were shelved. Fighting Friday resulted in 10 more deaths and many injuries.

Many Thai are waiting and hoping for the King to speak to the protesters. Many believe that a word from him will end the standoff.  He has intervened in past crises but he has avoided any intervention this time.  I was thinking about that literary trope the deus ex machina, the unexpected intervention that saves the day.  In a world where retribution is complicated and power or lack of power is often contested, it's natural to wish for someone to end the predicament in which one finds oneself. Perhaps it's naive to expect to be saved from situations we ourselves created. If that is so, would Thailand return to the way it was before?

Red Shirt Rally Day 63: Tensions Rising

The government has withdrawn its reconciliation plan which included promised polls in November when the Red Shirt protesters made counter-demands and refused to leave the protest site. The tensions worsened tonight when Maj. Gen. Khattiya Sawatdipon, known as Seh Daeng, the Red Shirts' security advisor, was shot by a sniper. The government has labeled him a terrorist but the army denies it ordered an assassination.

Assassination is never the solution.

Red Shirt Rally Day 51: PR Nightmare or Disinformation?

This week has been a public relations disaster for the Red Shirts. This week they have barricaded themselves in the area known as Rajaprasong intersection in central Bangkok with piles of old tires and bamboo stakes. On Friday, they accused Chulalongkorn Hospital near the barricades of harboring government soldiers. Even though hospital officials assured them no soldiers were on the premises, they insisted on searching the buildings, alarming the doctors,  nurses,  and patients. Following the search, the Hospital decided that patients near the barricades would be moved to other hospitals.

The English newspapers published heart wrenching pictures of the move juxtaposed with pictures of the barricades. Manipulation of images by the media, certainly, but the Reds didn't help themselves either. They have been accused of violating patient rights. Though the Red Shirts have apologized, the damage has been done. As they have done before, the protesters have fallen back to their original positions in Rajaprasong. There they remain. Still.

Meanwhile, the state media is accusing the Red Shirts of plotting to destroy the monarchy. Accusing anti-government protesters of lèse majesté is an old ploy.  Critics charge that these laws have been used at times to muzzle dissent. The government needs to go beyond using ideology as an excuse to attack its opponents and instead seek real solutions to the current impasse. All this suspicion and counter-suspicion does nothing to ease tensions. What is needed is for both the government and the Red Shirts to sit down at the table and hammer out an agreement that will end the stalemate.

Red Shirt Rally Day 49: Standoff Continues

Yesterday, the Red Shirts attempted to leave their positions in Central Bangkok to go to Pathum Thani.  By the way, this is on the opposite side of town from where we live. It's not clear why the Red Shirts were going there. Perhaps it was to test the government's attempt to keep them hemmed inside the area called Rajaprasong intersection. Andy saw the procession from his office which is located in the northwest suburbs.  Later, I read in the Nation online, that a confrontation with riot police and soldiers resulted in the death of a soldier and several injuries. Later reports said the soldier was killed by friendly fire. In any case, the Reds eventually withdrew. Back to their original positions, presumably. And that's how it stands: no better, but a little bit worse.

Red Shirt Rally Day 43: Explosions in Bangkok BTS Station

I want to reassure all our family and friends that we are okay.

You have no doubt heard about the bomb attacks here in Bangkok. Last evening while commuters were going home, there were 5 grenade explosions at the Saladaeng BTS station in the business district. One person, a Thai, was killed and dozens were injured. This is so sad, because it seems that the stand-off will continue.

For how much longer? No one knows.

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.

The Butterfly of the Sea

 

We went to Puktien Beach on the western coast of the Gulf of Thailand, attracted by a sign that announced "The Best Seafood" was in this direction. Well, the seafood was okay but not great. Even better, we stumbled across this giant statue in the sea. She is Pisuea Samut, the Butterfly of the Sea, a giant who transformed herself into a woman when she fell in love with Phra Apai Mani, the eponymous hero of the epic poem by Sunthorn Phu.  Alas, their love was not to be.  No Juliet, Butterfly was spurned when Apai, who was no Romeo,  discovered her true nature. He ran away from her with the help of a mermaid and her parents. In anger, Butterfly killed and ate the parents. Nobody told Butterfly it was a big turnoff to do this because Apai took up with the mermaid instead of her.  If it was any consolation to Butterfly, there was no happy-ever-after for Apai and the mermaid either. He was truly a butterfly himself, flitting from woman to woman before finally settling down with the Princess of Lanka.