Bangkok Expat Mama

The Wisdom of Douglas

(Himself [tall guy] does obligatory tank pose along with his boss [less tall guy] and boss's driver, Khun Suprien [guy in blue shirt]. They were disappointed to miss out on the dancing camouflage-clad damsels!)

I bumped into this kernel of wisdom last night:

"The major problem -- one of the major problems, for there are several -- one of the many major problems with governing people is that of whom you get to do it; or rather of who manages to get people to let them do it to them.

To summarise: it is a well-known fact that those people who must want to rule people are, ipso facto, those least suited to do it. To summarise the summary: anyone who is capable of getting themselves made President should on no account be allowed to do the job. To summarise the summary of the summary: people are a problem.

And so this is the situation we find: a succession of Galactic Presidents who so much enjoy the fun and palaver of being in power that they very rarely notice that they're not.

And somewhere in the shadows behind them -- who?

Who can possibly rule if no one who wants to do it can be allowed to?"

Huh. A timeless passage, n'est-ce pas?

Actually I should say that this excerpt bumped into me, because I've been reading a bit of "The Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" before going to sleep every night for the past few weeks. It's called "Ultimate" because this hardbacked tome comprises Douglas Adams's entire series of fantastic science fiction-meets-political-satire-meets-social-commentary-meets-sheer-comedy in 832 very heavy pages.

Despite loving every line of this literary gem, I occasionally start to nod off mid-read, in which case the anvil-like book drops -- smack! -- onto my face, thereby scaring the tar out of me and restoring a state of utter alertness. Oh, well, then I just read a little bit longer until feeling sleepy again; after all, who could rest without knowing if -- nay, how Ford and Arthur are going to outwit the natives of Golgafrincham?!

(BEM visitors who prefer parenting stories, recipes, life-in-Thailand tales, etc., will see their patience rewarded with imminent posts on chocolate cake, the new airport, and moving here with kitties in tow.)

Re-decorating with Political Flair

Breathless Bangkok Post reports of the past few days emphasise how warmly the apparent majority of Bangkokians have embraced the soldiers who rolled tanks into town last week. The coup's royal imprimature seems to have precluded any animated public dialogue as to the coup's kosher-ness. Instead we read stories with sub-headlines such as this one from Sunday's Post: "Armoured tanks can both destroy buildings and enchant children."

Move over, "Sesame Street".

It's no secret that Mr Thaksin's critics' base is here, and that his supporters' base was (is?) -- well, just about the rest of the Kingdom except for the South. But not all Bangkokians were born and reared here. Countless residents came to the Big Mango to seek their fortune after growing up in the provinces, and as they say in the southern United States, ya can take a feller outta the country, but ya cain't take the country outta the feller. I wonder how most salt-of-the-earth Thaksin fans are squaring their beloved monarch's judgment call with their fondness for the deposed Square-faced Man. I haven't asked anyone yet because the situation is still somewhat sensitive.

(Call me a pansy, but I'll consider the situation "sensitive" until I can grocery-shop at the Rama IV Lotus without passing armed soldiers on the footpath and several tanks in the carpark. Unless...maybe they were on their way to get groceries as well?)

My friend K., however, volunteered her opinion today. She's lived in Bangkok for seven years, but grew up shuttling to and fro between her pa's and ma's families near Phrae and near Chumpon. She still returns to their villages regularly so her little boy can know his extended family. K. has always loved and respected the King. She also sees Mr Thaksin as the first prime minister ever, misdeeds aside, even to pretend to care about "ordinary" people. So how does she reconcile her disappointment about his ouster with knowing that the revered person approved of said ouster?

The armoured tanks haven't enchanted K. In her home she has taken down all images of the revered person, that's how confused and betrayed she feels by what's going on. For a Thai, this is a drastic move. She said that she will re-install the images when Thailand holds the election promised by Gen Sonthi. She will support Mr Thaksin if he returns, rested and ready, after this interval in England. K. sees recent events as yet another example of Thailand's primate city imposing its will on the rest of the Kingdom.

K. is but one example. Who really knows how the majority of 65 million Thai subjects view Thaksin's ouster? A recent opinion poll reported that 80 percent of respondents support the coup and the CDRM. As long as this poll was conducted properly, the result reflects overwhelming confidence in the direction Gen Sonthi will take Thailand. Let's hope the interim government's actions will fulfill the apparent majority's expectations, and also prompt my friend K. to restore the cherished images of you-know-who in her home.

A Very Quiet Riot

Last night about 20 Chulalongkorn and Thammasat university students, led by political science lecturer Giles Ungpakorn, held a peaceful protest against the coup, on the steps of Siam Discovery Center. Most of them wore all-black clothing or sported black armbands. Mr Ungpakorn and a handful of students spoke with the media types peppering them with questions. The majority silently held up placards with messages such as "No to Thaksin, no to Coup" and, in Thai, "It's not reform, it's a coup!"

Journo types outnumbered the brave protesters at about five-to-one. TV camera crews jostled with photojournalists,who were tripping over reporters scribbling notes and getting bonked in the head by wayward boom mikes. Several students had donned kerchiefs or face masks to obscure their facial features, which proved a wise move as a dour policeman was lurking among the media, taking his own snaps which will, no doubt, end up in dossiers to keep track of which Thai citizens might continue to challenge authority. I tried to snap him doing it but never managed to time it right.

On one hand, it's a good sign that the military allowed the protest to take place. The new regime's penchant for censoring news led me to expect them either to prevent the demonstration or to clamp down violently on it. Thank goodness, neither happened. But...the powers-that-be have blocked the students' website, 19sept.org, and Mr Ungpakorn said that a military officer called him yesterday to "request" that he cancel the group's plans.

The protesters asked for the Council for Democratic Reform under Consitutional Monarchy (CDRM), led by Gen Sonthi, to: 1. Take soldiers out of Bangkok, 2. Reinstate the 1997 constitution, and 3. Lift the ban on media criticising the coup and political situation. They made clear that though they do not like Mr. Thaksin's administration, they don't believe a military coup can solve the problem.

I had headed over there expecting to see thousands of motosai taxi drivers and rice farmers marching on behalf of Mr Thaksin. I had forgotten, however, that once a certain revered person had given official blessing to the coup, it quelled nearly all potential opposition. To disagree with the military leaders' actions is one thing; to disagree with actions endorsed by a "certain person" is a horse of an entirely different colour. People go to jail for being perceived as disagreeing with or criticising this "certain person" in even ambiguous situations. The "certain person" in question probably isn't a fan of imprisoning others on such matters, but many fellows in authority keep the threat of it alive in order to keep subjects in line.

That's why yesterday's tiny band of protesters are very brave. They love the King as much as any Thai does, and surely they feel compassion for his having to make the agonising decision between continuing to preside over a corrupt, dysfunctional, caretaker-run democracy or to allow a coup-based, temporarily (?) military-run regime seek reform. But these 20 people risked injury and/or arrest in order to stand up for what they believe is right.

Sadly, I overheard several reporters griping as they left the hour-long event that they had no story, their lead story had gone up in smoke, wah wah wah. What, it's only a story if people get hurt? It's only worth covering if people get beaten up or arrested? To me, considering the circumstances described above, even if only one solitary person had turned up to bear a placard, there would be a story: somebody was brave enough in uncertain times to declare her beliefs in public. The protest's small number reminds me of the last man standing in Tiannanmen Square, who faced a column of tanks until the absolute last possible moment. Extraordinary times can bring out the extraordinary in all of us, no?

Business as Usual at the Pool

Here we are on Coup Day Plus Three. Unfortunately I haven't time for my take on the politics of the military coup because, thanks to government-owned T.O.T.'s blocking of all things Typepad, I only can view and update my blog during hasty visits to spots with free wi-fi between grocery shopping, ferrying my brood around to visit friends, finding Nathan decent "school shoes" that don't cost an exorbitant amount or feature large images of Ultraman or any of his compatriots (verboten by the school), engaging in the domestic project known as "Lyle's first spring-cleaning of document files since 2001", and finding time to, say, bathe.

Coup or no coup, I've had enough of T.O.T. I'm switching to True internet service next week.

Meanwhile, here is an email we received Wednesday morning, soon after dawn broke, bringing relief after a confusing night filled with rumour, half-truths, and tension. The message exemplifies the plucky "show must go on" attitude adopted by most of the people, Thai and farang, I've encountered since Tuesday night. Phrases in brackets are mine, not to poke fun at Alec's swim teacher, but rather to echo in a raw, unexpurgated manner my thoughts as I first read the email -- remember, this was before the coup panned out non-violently.

WEDNESDAY SWIMMING DURING THE COUP. SEPTEMBER 2006

Dear Lyle,

With the Coup that has occured we understand that this will disrupt all things including swimming. [You think?] All schools are closed and children / people are told to stay home.......We have decided that since many / most of our clients live in the buildings that we teach in, we WILL DO classes anyway. [So, people who drive through the city to get to class, you can choose: Keep your kid at home and miss the class you paid for in advance, or risk kid's life in the name of getting your bahts' worth!]

We regret the inconvience for those that do not reside in the buildings where we do teach [i.e. don'tcha wish now you'd splashed out on the posh flat with a big pool downstairs?], and fully understand if you do not come.....[You woos!]

Hope to see you all there. If you do miss class - then please remember that the make up class will be on offer in late november [on a day when your kid's best friend will celebrate his/her birthday and feel heartbroken if your kid instead take a swim class, so kiss those baht goodbye!]. Should the coup turn worse we may change our opinion ["may"?!], but for now we are still swimming! [Yea! Get psyched!]

Best regards,
Sam

We went to class.

(For more illustrations of this equanimical approach, please visit Lana in Phuket's site and a Thai mum's site.)

Today at 6p.m. there will be a demonstration to protest the coup, at the exceedingly posh shopping mall Siam Paragon, of all places. These are some brave people to risk jarring the whole "Hasn't this been a pleasant coup?" mentality. Let's pray that their demonstration is allowed to proceed and that the soldiers in the vicinity keep their wits about them and their fingers off the trigger.

A "Velvet" Coup?

These young fellows have been stationed round the corner from where we lived during our first five years in Bangkok, also within spitting distance of Soi Cowboy, which seemed subdued and bedraggled today instead of bustling with activity per usual. Some stalwart vendors had set up their dried-and-pressed squid carts and roti cookers, but customers were thin on the ground.

My three soldier buddies smiled and bashfully gave me permission to take their photo. After reading on Stickman that his friend had lost a camera to troops ornery that he'd taken photos of their tank, I made sure to ask before and wai them respectfully after taking these guys' snaps. Despite these soldiers' equanimity, locked and loaded weaponry in one's 'hood leaves a disturbing impression.

Sadly, for millions of people in the world, such images are part of daily life. And the soldiers aren't always as relaxed as these guys were.

I'm writing at the Foreign Correspondents' Club of Thailand right now, because my government-owned ISP (under the auspices of the Telephone Organisation of Thailand) has blocked all Typepad-hosted sites, and I haven't been able to work on my blog, much less see it or visit anything related to Typepad. Maybe the guys behind the coup took a lead from China and India, who have both blocked (i.e. censored) all Typepad sites from their citizens, lest their opinions expressed on such sites foment unrest in their otherwise tranquil society (!).

Last night I couldn't access Typepad and the consipracy theorist in me suspected that T.O.T. had blocked Typepad a la China and India, simply in a lame attempt to "purify" Thailand from pornography or political dissidence -- but even the most Oliver Stonie-ish part of my nature ever suspected that a "fifth column" of the government may have been locking down in anticipation of the coup. I trundled off to bed at 11pm, tsk'ing that I'd stayed up far too late to rise comfortably at 5:55am to get breakfast ready for Nathan before his early school bus. Little did I know that there'd be no reason to rise early, or that I'd end up staying up until 3:30am!

My friend Sarah sent an sms at 11:45pm that read, "School cancelled tomorrow, Wednesday, due to military coup." When my mobile first beeped, I thought it was my morning alarm clock and the first thought that shot through my mind was, "Gee, THAT was a short night. Are the nights gettin' freakin' shorter, or what?!" Then I saw Sarah's message and instantly I shot up and stumbled through the dark to get to our landline phone. (Pedro is working in Japan this week.) Instinctively, even at the age of 37, my first phone thought was, Call Mommy and Daddy!

Which I did, and Mom already knew what was going on from U.S. news coverage. We agreed to talk again later and then I called Pedro...who was blissfully snoring away in a Tokyo hotel room. I've always said the man could sleep through a train wreck. Now we know he can sleep through a coup. Har har. Poor dude had no idea what was going on back here.

Thanks to the folks at Ian's blog, our friend Paul in San Francisco, and my fellow blogger in HK, Tess, I picked up news before finally heading down to the Bangkok Post late this morning. Last night -- or early this morning, rather -- I saw about 15 minutes of the BBC and CNN before they cut to black. Local channels were playing Thai muzak along with montages of royal family images, which were frequently paused for brief statement by representatives of the "provisional governing authority" or whatever they're calling themselves at the moment; I've seen at least four different names so far. T.O.T. apparently blocked many news sites or panicky traffic had slowed the speed down to virtually nil.

Here at the FCCT, however, it's just an ordinary day and the non-T.O.T. ISP is working a treat. Too bad I've got to leave in a minute to head back to news black-out land -- or at least, at this point, a Typepad-less one.

Now that I've been out and about, post-coup life looks pretty much the same (so far, and only in the areas I've traversed: Ekkamai to the Bangkok Post building, then back to Asok BTS to Chidlom) as pre-coup life. The intrepid fruit truck guy was hawking his wares by loudpseaker insanely loudly this morning; contruction workers nearby were hammering away on a roof. Traffic, however, has nearly evaporated! Fabulous, we should have a coup every week if this is one of the benefits (kidding!). Many stores are closed, including certain branches of the coffee leviathan a.k.a. Starbucks.

My temporarily SAHM friend Corinna, a journo by trade, is working on a freelance story for a Canadian paper. Her interviews with soldiers, and her husband's perspective as Reuters bureau chief here, lead her to believe that this coup will pass without violence. Dare we hope that someday the annals of Thai political history might someday brand this as a "velvet" (i.e. bloodless and minimal acrimony) coup? On the other hand, Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra, of whose shenanigans the military brass apparently have had enough, hasn't returned to Siamese soil yet. What will happen when/if he tries to do so?

My editor at Guru is very calm about what's going on. He says coups come and go, but as long as the monarchy is here to stay, Thailand will be OK. I agree with him. And I hope His Majesty the King got more sleep than most of us news junkies/nervous nellies did last night, although I doubt it. He will not allow himself the luxury of real rest until a constitution is restored, martial law is rescinded, and his beloved subjects can live under a functioning parliamentary democracy.

Wise Winston

Message for the guy who reportedly keeps a bust of the fellow who made the following observation in his oval-shaped office:

"It's better to jaw-jaw than to war-war." -- Winston Churchill

Remembering Wilder Gomez & Jon Grabowski

The website 2996 commemorates the victims of 9/11 by randomly assigning their names to bloggers who volunteer to write a memorial to the person on their blog. When I signed up, 2996 sent me the name Wilder Gomez, his age (38), and where he died (in the World Trade Center).

A Google search revealed some poignant details about this man who died too young. One site features a photo of the mustachioed Wilder Alfredo Gomez grinning at the camera, seated in a relaxed pose -- a very handsome man. Having emigrated to the United States from Colombia in 1992, Mr. Gomez was employed at the WTC's Windows on the World restaurant at the time of the disaster. He tended bar and waited tables; after seeing his photo, I can easily imagine the dashing figure he must have cut behind the bar, whipping up cocktails and bantering with colleagues.

His aunt, Rosario Piedrahita, described Mr. Gomez as "a hard worker, a good father...He loved to dance and play soccer." She also noted that usually he started his shift in the afternoons, but on that horrible day, he'd been filling in for a friend since early morning. Set to become a U.S. citizen in January 2002, Mr. Gomez also kept loyal ties to and financially supported family members still in Cali, Colombia: his father, three brothers, one son, and two daughters (from an earlier relationship).

Family and close friends affectionately called Mr. Gomez "Chino". His wife, Tatiana, a Staten Island, N.Y., paralegal, left this heartfelt message at one memorial website: "She [their daughter, Stephanie] is so much like him and I see she misses him so much. This was not fair, my daughter lost her dad...I lost a good friend, and though we were separated, because we never divorced, I lost my husband. Part of my life was shared with him and I loved him so very much. I have a lot to thank him for. He was a wonderful dad and great friend. I love him for the father he was and the person he was...I thank God for him though a short stay I couldn't ask for a better person to have been my husband and Steph's father! I miss him. Stephanie, our daughter 7, misses him and life will never be the same without him. R.I.P Chino..."

I hope Tatiana, Stephanie, and everyone else -- in the States and Colombia -- who loved "Chino" are getting through their pain day by day. Five years have passed, so maybe living with the pain of losing "Chino" is getting somewhat easier, but how can people like me -- not directly affected -- ever be able even to guess what his survivors are going through? Wilder Gomez, you were brave to start a new life in the U.S. just a little less than a decade before that life ended in a horrible tragedy beyond your control. It sounds like you made the most of those nine years while you could, found love, took care of your family, worked hard, made a lot of people happy. As Tatiana wrote, rest in peace. Vaya con Dios.

For Jon Grabowski:

Erika Lutzner and I started working together in 1992, as copy aides at the Washington Post. At that time, I was slouching my way toward breaking up with a perpetually critical boyfriend who harboured major self-doubt issues that he projected onto me. Erika, meanwhile, was living with her long-time boyfriend from the University of Maryland, a tall blond guy named Jon. He was one of those affable, naturally beautiful people who have no idea how attractive they are. He was frighteningly smart. And he adored Erika. Oh, how jealous I sometimes felt of their comfortable love, but they were so cute together that hanging out with Erika and Jon was heart-warming rather than irritating.

Fortunately for me, they let me hang out with them a great deal. After moving past the brooding boyfriend, I somehow quite quickly fell in love with the person who is now my husband. But alas, he traveled a lot for work, so weekends frequently yawned before me without default companionship to explore the city. Erika was such a stalwart friend that even though we toiled together all week, she would always check if I'd be on my own the coming weekend. If so, she'd invite me along to see movies, go on picnics, roam the suburbs for cool consignment shops, and so on. That's why I got to know Jon more than I've ever known most of my girlfriends' partners. They also introduced me to many of their wacky, fun friends, and I felt lucky to feel part of their wide circle of friends from university, jobs, old neighbourhoods, etc.

Some of my fondest memories from the early 90s include riding around in Jon and Erika's car, listening to them genially bicker over which radio station to play, where to stop for lunch, which movie to see, whatever. They made me laugh with stories from their crazy lives, like the latest scoop from Erika's cooking school (she left the Post and became a chef) or something bizarre that their cats did. We saw many movies and ate a lot of good food together. They were fun to be 20-something with.

I served as a bridesmaid in their lovely, intimate wedding. Erika was more gorgeous than I've ever seen her; I'll always remember her dainty little Victorian-style shoes peeking out from under her strapless gown. Jon, usually so casual and downplaying his dash, looked unbelievably handsome. He was glowing the way people expect brides to -- he was over the moon to marry the girl he fell in love with as they worked part-time together in a bagel shop those many years before.

Then, when Pedro and I tied the knot in Florida, Erika and Jon didn't let Hurricane Erin stop them from flying down so Erika could join me as a bridesmaid. They didn't know a lot of our friends, as most of our socialising with them centered around their own friends due to Pedro traveling so much. But they dove right in and by the end of the wild reception, Erika and Jon were kicking up their heels with folks they'd never met until that night.

That's how they both are: Bold, unique, open-minded, warm-hearted, generous of spirit. Some people might have felt intimidated when facing Jon's impressive height or equally impressive intellect, but quickly he would manage to make people feel comfortable. He was easy to be yourself around. He didn't put on airs and he never expected other people to do so. His profound affection for and devotion to Erika were so real and so unflinching.

To make a long story short, they moved to New York where Erika started working as a chef and, as far as I can recall, Jon was working from home doing something with computers. Looking back now, I think I got that wrong. Erika's hours were so odd as a chef that usually when I called to say hi, Jon would answer because Erika was out working or in, sleeping after a long shift. Anyone who knows me at all knows I suck at staying in touch once people or I move away. Erika and I spoke in early 2001, when I told her we were moving to Bangkok, but then we lost touch with each other. I've made a few homeleave trips with the kids during which I planned to find her and say hi, but then I've always forgotten during the blizzard of catching up with immediate family spread through five states. Erika couldn't find me either when she tried a few years ago, because before this blog a search for me would yield nothing but my name mentioned in a Cavalier Daily alumni newsletter.

9/11 happened just after we moved here. People asked me, did you know anyone? Lose anyone? I thought hard about who might have been down there. Erika -- no, her restaurant wasn't down there, and besides, she sleeps late after working late the night before. Jon -- no, he worked from home (I thought), and why would he be down there at that time of day? I tried to call a couple times but couldn't get through because lines or whatever they use now in this high-tech age were jammed. Then somehow five years passed.

This summer, I Googled Erika to see what she's doing now, and to try to get current contact info for her. The first item that popped up showed Erika winning an award in a salad competition. Good news! Then the next item...was a memorial page for people who died on 9/11, and listed Erika as Jon's surviving spouse.

The floor fell away and something nasty rose in my throat.

The site mentioned that Jon had started working in the WTC just one week before the disaster. One week. (Today I met a woman whose son lost a friend there, who had started working as a chef at Windows on the World only three weeks before. What if, what if...rings through one's mind.)

Frantically I searched the web for an email address to find Erika. We are back in touch. I forgot to mention earlier that this amazing, pint-sized woman whom Jon loved unreservedly is also a poet. She does yoga. She still loves cats. She is surviving. She is everything that made her Jon's hero.

I still can't believe that I'm writing this. This can't be real.

Rest in peace, Jon Grabowksi, you inimitably eccentric, brilliant, witty, loyal chap.

ABCs of Bangkok

(The following ran in the 1 Sept. issue of Guru, the entertainment magazine that runs in every Fridays' Bangkok Post. I managed to eke this out through a miasma of jetlag, mind you, so it's very long and occasionally very, very lame (i.e. sections I, O, X, and similar). But if you sift through the chaff, you might find some wheat. Probably not enough to bake a loaf, but perhaps a wee bap or two.)

In a departure from the usual format, I’ve decided to create an ABCs of Bangkok to express my pleasure on returning yesterday to the City of Angels.

Before we begin today’s lesson, I should give credit where it’s due for the alphabetical inspiration: for the general idea, Janice Santikarn’s and Toni Skinner’s whimsical, illustrated “ABC of Thailand” board book for children (available at AsiaBooks, Kinokuniya, Bookazine, Books on 53, etc.) and for tweaking the idea into an adult versioin, Daniel Ziv’s and Guy Sharett’s affectionate, warts-and-all “Bangkok Inside Out” essay/photo compendium (available only, due to an absurd banning decree, at Bookazine).

A...
stands for Aw Taw Kaw Market. Six weeks of shopping to the strains of Muzak-droning in bland American supermarkets have made me hunger (literally!) for the sights, smells, and, most importantly, tastes of this Thai Cooperative Market across from Chatuchak Market on Paholyothin Rd. I like taking the subway out here to sample Thai desserts, fruits, curries and enticing foods I’ve never had before -- my hands always hurt by the time I get home, from carrying back so many bags of loot.

B...
stands for barbecue -- kai yang, to be more precise. Mmm, just writing about it makes my mouth water. The herbs and spices in the marinade make the grilled chicken taste so good, and crisps up the bird’s skin just right. The lady who makes it across the street from Sukhumvit Soi 49’s Villa Market cooks up a mean kai yang, as well as sublime som tam made to order. If I finish this column in time, I might just make it there before her cart vanishes at 3pm...

C...
stands for cinema. My first U.S. cinema experience in a long time helped me appreciate what an extra-special treat it is to see a film here. In the States, the equivalent of about 480bt often guarantees you no more than a mangy seat, a sticky floor, only one or two previews, and the feature film. Here, a much more reasonably priced ticket usually gets you a comfortable seat, attractive surroundings, seemingly endless adverts and previews (OK, I’m a sucker for those), the feature, and, most notably, the lovely ritual of spending a few moments honouring His Majesty the King. In the U.S., I reflexively kept wondering, when will we stand up to honour...oh, yeah, we’re not in Thailand, and anyway, whom would we stand up for to honour here? I’d refuse to do so for ole’ Monkey Face. (Is it 2008 yet?)

D...
stands for dogs. That’s right, I said it: Dogs. I love doggies and kitties, the more mutt the better, and as our felllow Bangkok residents they deserve to be recognized for the services they provide in acting as de facto guards; making use of sidewalk diners’ and street vendors’ scraps at the end of the day; driving away vermin; and generally adding moments of humour and affection to their human neighbours’ days. If you’re not yet charmed by the plucky nature of Bangkok canines, check out www.bkkstreetdogs.blogspot.com. If you’re so charmed by the pups that you want to help homeless ones by donating some spare change or adopting, please visit www.soidogrescue.org.

E...
stands for elephant, which seems particularly appropriate now as the Chiang Mai Night Safari aims to send five allegedly wild (i.e. endangered) elephants to China on 7 Sept. Conservation groups are fighting the move. I wish them luck. As you read this, only approximately 2000 native pachyderms still live in Thailand -- many of whom, only babies, troll the broken, steaming asphalt of Bangkok’s streets at their mahout’s orders, who hope to earn more money from passers-by in exchange for taking photos with them or feeding them fruit, than they would by toiling in, say, rice fields. Dragging living versions of the national symbol through cities this way is illegal but for some reason most authorities seem to look the other way.

F...
stands for food with a capital F. From the way I went on last week, and am now going on again, readers must think I’m the size of a house. I’ll let people who know what I look like be the judge. But who could not rave about the food scene here? (Oh no, this column is turning out longer than I’d expected; the Soi 49 kai yang lady might disappear before I get over there...quick, think of another option...oh, yeah, how about the noodle stall across the street from Ekkamai Soi 3? Mmm!) Better make the rest of the entries shorter...

G...
stands for gay. One of the things that six weeks in the contiguous 48 make you realize is how homophobic many of my fellow Yanks are (I said, “many”, not “all”, mind you), and it’s a relief to be back in a place where a tom can end her statements with a “khrap” if she likes; a dee can wear all the cosmetics he might want (actually, plenty of straight metrosexuals seem to wear makeup these days, too); transgender folks can live in the manner with which they feel at home, and so on, because most khon Thai seem much more comfortable with the fluid, often ambiguous nature of human sexuality. And that’s a healthy way to deal with whatever curve balls (no pun intended) life pitches our way.

H...
stands for Hua Lampong train station. Fine, call me a dorky trainspotter, but this place has it all: charming Victorian architecture; hordes of food hawkers; the constant spectacle of trains coming and going (parents of small kids, take note); a great location near Chinatown and directly over a subway station; and best of all: fantastic people-watching.

I...
stands for I don’t know. May I skip this one, Mr. Editor?

J...
stands for JJs, also known as Jatujak or Chatuchak Not-So-Weekend-Anymore Market. Not long ago if you’d visited this sprawling complex during the week, you’d not see much aside from the plants vendors. Now it’s quite the opposite. When I need gifts to take back to the States, or when I crave the kai phat met mamuang served in a fried taro root “birdsnest” at Toh Plue restaurant in the Dream Section, I hop on the Skytrain or subway to JJs of a weekday in order to beat the crowds.

K...
stands for kites, which my family love to fly out at Phra Ram IX park, Lumpini Park, or at Srinakarinwirot University on Sukhumvit Soi 23. Isn’t it cool that Thai language for kite is “wow”? ’Cause that’s what people often exclaim as they watch a kite dance about in the sky: “Wow!” Why, yes, it is a wow.

L...
stands for language. Bangkok rivals New York in being a polyglot paradise. In this coffee shop right now, for example, I can hear chattering in Bahasa Malaysia, a Chinese dialect, Thai, Swedish, and English. Far out.

M...
stands for massage, of course. To which I promptly treated myself after unpacking all of the bags we lugged back from the States. Just one hour of this per week can keep one sane and one’s blood circulating round in a healthy fashion.

N...
stands for the Neilson Hays Library, which offers peaceful respite from the tumult of downtown -- oh, and books to borrow as well. Art exhibitions, entertaining lecture series, and children’s story times also make a pilgrimmage to the Neilson Hays worth the time and effort. See www.neilsonhayslibrary.com.

O...
stands for orgasm. Just kidding! Did that wake you up? Sorry, I couldn’t think of anything for O.

P...
stands for poi, which are a traditional Maori dance prop from New Zealand. Expert poi spinners needing new equipment or novices seeking guidance should head to Soi Rambutri, off Khao San Road, and look for Khun Pat near the front of Bangkok Bar. He sells his gorgeous homemade poi and offers tips for beginners.

Q...
stands for quiver, as in “the coconut jelly quivered in a banana-leaf cup.”

R...
stands for rice, specifically red, or unpolished, rice. I ate entirely too much bread and potatoes in the States. Tsk, tsk. Red rice bursts with vitamins and minerals, and tastes nuttier and more interesting than khao suay.

S...
stands for Suan Lum Night Bazaar. Enjoy a meal in the beer garden , serenaded by local bands, before The Man flattens it and turns most of the area into -- you guessed it! -- another shopping mall. Just what downtown Bangkok needs.

T...
stands for taxi drivers, of motosai and auto. Ubiquitous, affordable, entertaining, usually courteous, these dudes make getting around at street level so much faster than in, say, taxi shortage-plagued Manhattan. Considering the rise in fuel costs, it’s shocking that their fares haven’t risen in at least five years.

U...
stands for “unusually high tolerance for noise”. You need to have it to enter BigC, Carrefour, TescoLotus, or MBK when they’re throwing a grand promotion.

V...
stands for Violet, the name of Jennifer Garner’s and Ben Affleck’s baby. Oh dear, I’m running out of ideas.

W...
stands for water, which we mustn’t waste as it’s not an endless resource. If we ruin this planet, we’ve nowhere else to go, people! (Pardon me for preaching, but I may as well if I’ve still got anybody’s attention.)

X...
stands for “XMen4”, because everyone knows that “XMen3” wasn’t really the end of the series. And we hope that the Powers-That-Be will replace Brett Ratner as director of the next one.

Y...
stands for...yo’ mama! (Apparently an obscure reference to urban-American taunting slang.--Ed.)

Z...
stands for zebra crossings which most long-time residents know to cross only when using extreme caution. Some foreigners, serene in their international right to procede any time through the pedestrian crosswalk, often stride blithely across despite oncoming traffic -- only to come within inches of being flattened like a roti by the wheels of a huge truck.

Raisin' Hell on Two Continents

Mom sent this; it's a hangover from homeleave. I just can't keep my mouth shut, now can I?

You might be startled by my declaring that I'm an "American Jew", which isn't exactly true...I don't truly qualify as a full-on American, nor do I practice Judaism. But 50 percent of my genes hail from my Dad's Russian Jewish family. Once a Jew, always a Jew. Never mind the strict constructionists' thing about "You're only Jewish if your mother is" -- during WWII that didn't matter. Full Jew, a quarter Jew, a Gentile married to a Jew, whatever: You got sent to the camps if you were the least bit "tainted" by anything Jewish. So if it counted enough for the bad guys, then it counts enough for me.

The statement that we have a "Jewish problem" sent shivers down my spine. We've frequently got an Israel problem, sure. But being anti-Israeli policy doesn't mean being anti-semitic. Let's be mindful to separate the government policy (Israel) from the faith and culture (Judaism).

He's Arrived!

Thank bloody goodness!

It's a boy!

At this moment I don't care if the rule of succession is fair or not, misogynist or not, anachronistic or not -- I just hope the long-suffering Princess Masako is feeling immense relief...