Last Moments in Bangkok

On the rooftop garden at Mahidol University International College (MUIC)
with one of our fantastic SEAS student coordinators, Pin Aramwittaya.

What would you do during your last days in Bangkok? A group of Carolina Southeast Asia Summer Program (SEAS) participants decided to spend those final days in luxury: going to the spa for 2-hour full body Thai massages (only 450 baht, the equivalent of about US$16), indulging with ice cream sundaes served in cut glass at Swensen’s (109 baht, or a little over US$3) and treating ourselves to manicures and pedicures (120 baht, or US$4) at the salon across the street from Mahidol University International College (MUIC).

Knowing we could never afford such luxury back in the states, we went from one shop to the next, relaxing first with the soft melodies, chrysanthemum tea and back-cracking wonders of the Health Spa. We continued on to Swensen’s, where we enjoyed ice cream sensations, like Chocolate Crunch (a mound of chocolate ice cream, drenched in hot fudge, sprinkled with chocolate chips and Cocoa Puffs and crowned with whipped cream and a chocolate-covered cherry). And then we spent a good hour and a half at the nail salon, picking through sheers and pastels, debating the merits of sparkles and veneers.

I tried my hand at beautiful cut fruit: cantaloupe roses and honey dew leaves.

But luxury aside, the most special last moments in Bangkok were spent with our new friends from MUIC. We spent our last afternoon at the university taking a cooking class, learning how to make some of our favorite Thai dishes, like Pad Thai (of course), but also mango salad, spring rolls and even how to cut fruit in Thai style, forming cantaloupe into roses and honey dew into leaves. And our new friends were with us, making intricate cuts into pineapple and watermelon and rejoicing and lamenting over each misstep as often as the rest of us.

Two friends in particular have stuck out in my mind, as I’ve returned home to the states. Pin Aramwittaya and Plai Kunjara, our student coordinators in Thailand, showed us around the university and Bangkok and truly made us feel at home in our new surroundings, while immersing us in Thai culture. Twiddling our thumbs with an entire blank Sunday in front of us and no idea what to do in Bangkok? They suggested shopping at the weekend market, told us how to get there and pinpointed particular shops for that perfect tea set for our moms or the best Aladdin pants for our friends (or, more likely, ourselves). Middle of the afternoon with nothing (aside from piles of school work) to do? They suggested taking part in dance and art club activities. Dinnertime, hungry and no idea how to read a Thai menu? They took us across the street to the best restaurants, described dishes, and, ultimately, ordered our meals. All this they did while balancing classes and midterms! (MUIC is on a trimester schedule, so students don’t get out for summer break until August.)

On our final night in Thailand, MUIC took us to Ban Nam Kiang Din, an excellent German restaurant with outside seating, overlooking rolling green lawns and a pond filled with black swans. At first we thought: this is our last night in Thailand. Why are we eating German food? And then we were told that the Thai royalty frequent the restaurant and our anticipation rose. Dishes of sausages, spicy crab meat, grilled bread and seafood fried rice came out on large white china plates, and our questions were silenced mid-gulp, our expectations more than met. We’d expected to feast on all our favorite Thai foods one last time, but I guess that’s why we took the cooking class. After all, when you can dine with royalty, who cares the origin of the cuisine?

Ultimately, that was my big take-away from Thailand: we could schedule activities and expect certain experiences, but ultimately when those initial plans fell through, different experiences – probably better experiences – were enjoyed.

Now that I’m back in the USA, I can even better appreciate the treasures of Thailand. We touched down in New York around lunchtime on Thursday, July 19 with a single mission in mind: to enjoy some good, American food. I ended up at an overpriced restaurant, where I spent $15 on a sandwich and fries. My friend, Lisa Li, quickly reminded me just how much that would have bought in baht: a Thai massage, for instance.

But while I certainly miss the lifestyle I could afford back in Thailand, baht aside, I find myself thinking not so much about how many manicures and pedicures I could afford back in Bangkok (is every week too much?) but rather where I would be and what I’d be doing with my new friends. Half a world away, it’s a question I’ll be asking ‘til our next visit, and whether in the USA or Thailand, I know that we’ll have no trouble finding things to do when we’re together again. Still, my vote is for Thailand. I could really use another massage!

What You’ll Find in the Forest: Notes from Trekking Through Erawan National Park

An all-natural alternative to the spa: Dip your feet in the falls at
Erawan National Park and let the fish eat away your dead skin!

After the hectic crowds of Bangkok what could be better than an escape to Thailand’s countryside? Better yet, why not really escape civilization for a few days with a trek in Erawan National Park? That’s exactly what the Carolina Southeast Asia Summer Program (SEAS) did for our last weekend in Thailand before returning to the USA.

Now I’m not an outdoors person, but I’ve been known to enjoy a few days in the wilderness (especially when a shower – hot or cold – is at my disposal), so I’d been looking forward to our time at Erawan National Park. I was especially excited when I learned that the word “erawan” in Thai meant “elephant,” and I had visions of awaking to the nuzzling of a long trunk. (I later learned that elephants can be quite vicious and was thankful that I never even saw an elephant – let alone was awoken by one – at the nature reserve.)

Saturday morning we arose early for a hike to a seven-tiered waterfall. On the way up we passed a number of gorgeous trees, one with a thick vine protruding several inches from the trunk and providing support for the tree. Each ascending level was more beautiful, with the water cascading over large rocks and trees bowing over the falls. We only shared the view with the monkeys, who peaked from behind tall branches.

In front of Erawan Falls.

We stopped at the third tier to dip our feet in the water and for some free spa treatment via Garra Rufa. These fish feast on your dead skin, leaving your feet baby soft. While SEAS was in Singapore we’d seen advertisements for this expensive treatment and had watched enviously as more affluent Singaporeans forked over their credit cards and took their seats by large tanks filled with the flesh-eating experts. That had been one experience we’d had to pass up, so I was overjoyed to have the chance to try Thailand’s free version.

The fish tickled as they kissed my feet. I shrieked and removed them quickly, but then dipped them back in the water and persevered. It was well worth the initial discomfort, for when I removed my feet a second time they were incredibly smooth.

I shoved my wet feet back into my socks and shoes and continued the hike. Later that afternoon we piled nine people to a truck bed and took a rocky 30-minute ride up steep roads and past beautiful rolling hills and farm fields to a peak, where we stopped for a quick picnic lunch.

Then, we continued our hike, this time up over 500 stairs to the mouth of a large cave. The entranceway was quite narrow, dissuading several of our more claustrophobic companions, from coming in. But once inside the cave proved humongous, our voices echoing off the stalagmite-covered stonewalls. Our imaginations were illuminated in the eerie light of our kerosene lamps and iPhone flashlights, making the stone protrusions look like climbing turtles and bearded men.

Stalactites hung thick from the top of the cave, but we were more interested in the floor. Our guide ducked under a small fence surrounding the foot of the cave and hopped to the lowest level, his chest just peaking out from the surface. Then, dramatically, he raised his lantern above his head and slowly lowered it to the ground. The light went out and we were in complete darkness. And then came the glimmer of a very small light, from the top of his cigarette lighter. We watched as the light descended and then flickered out. Our guide told us that the depths of the cave contained little oxygen and were unable to sustain fire. Still, despite that danger we were reticent to leave the cave.

We exited back through the mouth of the cave, blinking in the bright sunlight. Another 30-minute truck ride over hills dotted with temples brought us back to the seven-tiered waterfall, where we changed into bathing suits for a refreshing swim under the cascading water.

Once again, I awoke early for our last morning at the national park, where my friend, Pooja Kodavanti, and I took a sunrise walk through the forest, watching the sun peak over the edge of the horizon from a comfortable seat in the dewy grass. It was the perfect end to our sabbatical from civilization, and then it was back to Bangkok for a whirlwind last few days in the city.

When the Sun Comes Up at Amphawa

A Buddhist monk rows toward the dock for the early morning alms giving.

I’m not a morning person. At all. I’d much prefer to stay up half the night and wake up about 10:00 a.m. Still, under certain circumstances I can be persuaded to get up. To watch the sunrise, for example. Or, to take part in the alm’s giving ceremony in Thailand.

When the Carolina Southeast Asia Summer Program (SEAS) traveled into the countryside of Thailand, we got to do both. At Amphawa we awoke at 6:00 a.m., dressed in the dark and crept down the stairs of our homestay and into the early morning light. But our creeping was for nothing. Our homestay was already cooking breakfast in a large pot over the stove and women were socializing on the front porch. As we passed down a quiet lane, heading towards the riverfront, we saw many food vendors well into the cooking process, roasting kabobs over open flames.

A view of the river, shortly after sunrise.

The town seemed wide awake as we rubbed our tired eyes and wandered to the dock. Others were already gathered by the water front, legs crossed behind them (pointing your feet at another person is considered highly disrespectful in Thai culture), awaiting the monks who would row up to the dock in their canoes in order to collect our offerings of food and lotus flowers.

The first monk to approach us came with a driver and a canoe already laden with toast and sweets. An elderly Thai lady walked forward and handed him freshly baked bread, smoke issuing from the top. She presented the offering on a large banana leaf to keep from accidentally touching (and thus tempting) the monk. Upon receiving the bread, he blessed us all, holding up his hands and chanting rhythmically. The sun’s pale rays reflected over the water as the monk pulled away from the dock.

Later, we stuck out like a soar thumb as we descended the hill to a nearby farmers’ market, teeming with locals. We picked from roasted corn on the cob, bubbling in butter on the grill; chicken and pork kabobs; pineapple and watermelon bursting with sweet juices; mango sticky rice and sweet breads still warm from the oven. As we feasted, we returned to the waterfront.

Pad Thai, anyone?

As the morning deepened and more and more people awoke, so too did life on the river. Vendors selling fresh rose apples wet with dew and steaming Pad Thai rowed toward us, offering the later risers breakfast from a boat. We swung our feet from the edge of the dock as our friends enjoyed tiny dishes heaped with noodles and shrimp along with freshly cut fruit.

As I chatted with friends, I noticed a few young boys playing with reptilian toys as they awaited their own breakfasts. (While we seemed only able to order Pad Thai from the vendor who had pulled ashore, they all ended up with plates of roasted chicken over rice, an excellent alternative had we been able to communicate with our boat chef.) Suddenly, one of the kids let out a cry, and I watched as a crocodile flew overboard. All three boys flipped onto their stomachs and stretched their arms to catch the falling reptile, but to no avail. He sunk into the murky depths and they were left with one less crocodile and zero appetites.

We returned to our homestays shortly before 8 a.m., with an entire day stretching before us. And yet we’d already seen so much! I was almost ready to become a morning person. Except … except … except for the heavy weights that pressed against my eyes threatening a (mid?)-morning nap before I’d normally even wake up! 

They Called Us, "Beautiful" But ...

With students from a junior high school in Samutsongkhram.

Our last weekend in Thailand, the Carolina Southeast Asia Summer Program (SEAS) left Bangkok for the countryside. First we traveled to Samutsongkhram, where we visited a junior high school. We’d taken a tour bus, but the roads were so bad in Samutsongkhram, that our bus couldn’t make it over the bridge leading to the school. So, we got out and walked the rest of the way to the school, passing by houses with elderly women waving and smiling at us from the porch steps.

Our first view of the school upon our arrival was that of a large green with a flagpole in the center. But then we were welcomed by several teachers and directors, as children (the youngest were not yet five) in black and white uniforms peaked their heads out from behind the swing sets. The directors offered us cold glasses of homemade juice naturally died with the pigments of Thai flowers, which we gulped appreciatively. Then, unable to resist the quiet smiles of the younger children, we started a game of tag.

Most of us hadn’t had recess since graduating from elementary school, but we quickly discovered that it was still just as much fun (and rather similar) to how it used to be. We taught them London Bridge and Ring Around the Rosy, the latter of which was a rousing success despite the language barrier, which meant that we “all fell down” at all the wrong times.

The children spoke very little English, their vocabulary limited to “hello,” “what is your name?” and “beautiful,” the latter of which they called us for the duration of our stay, despite our flushed cheeks and sweaty everything.

With my special eight-year-old friend!

One beautiful eight-year-old girl with large dimples and hair cropped short attached herself to my side and never parted. Eventually, she led me to the seesaw, where we played, six children to a side. When we tired of that, we ventured to the swing set, which proved more fun in theory than actuality; as the swings had been made for little children, my feet scraped the ground with every push, no matter how far I drew up my legs.

Like always, recess ended all too quickly, and we were called into lunch: a beautiful feast of rice, vegetables and Tom Yum soup with shrimp. At first we assumed that the meal had been prepared for our visit, but then we discovered that this was only a slight alteration to a typical cafeteria meal; we overheard the teachers explaining to the students that today’s lunch wouldn’t be spicy because it had been especially made for “our American friends.” Still, this un-spicy meal had half our group glugging water and wiping their brows.

We ate at long wooden tables with a great view of some of the boys taking up a game of basketball. They played according to traditional rules, with two boys standing on chairs and holding baskets for the goals. Those not playing basketball amused themselves by setting magnifying glasses over little piles of sticks, and, unlike the countless failed attempts that I made in my childhood, they quickly had tiny bursts of flames at their disposal.

Several of us considered lunch an excellent time to take a bathroom break, but upon visiting the restroom we discovered just how wrong we had been: a gigantic fist-sized spider sat twiddling its legs from the toilet bowl. Each of us entered the bathroom sure that we could handle a small spider and left moments later assuring the next person they were better off squeezing their legs together.

After lunch, we toured the junior high school portion of the school. We were told that typically students in the country quit school after about the age of 14, when the expense (transportation and even school uniforms) become too much and they drop out to find jobs to help support their families. Therefore, in the last year of schooling at the junior high school, they put away the math, science and literature textbooks and instead hone vocational skills, learning how to sew, perform basic mechanics and prepare preserved eggs.

The girls spent a good deal of time in a classroom, which had been turned into a tailor shop, making hand-stitched shirts, as well as using sewing machines. Meanwhile, the boys congregated in the mechanics shop, where they learned how to make working light switches and other “basic” tasks, which would have fried my brain and set my hair on end.

Students demonstrate how to prepare the preserved eggs,
which they sell at a local market.

But my favorite station was where the students demonstrated how to make preserved eggs. When I’d arrived in Thailand, I’d heard rumors about something called 1,000-year-old eggs, a Chinese delicacy in which eggs are buried for a long time (I’m not sure if 1,000 years is exactly accurate) and then uncovered, cooked and served. I’m an adventuresome eater (during this trip alone I tried chilie crab, barbequed stingray and chicken’s foot as well as chicken’s butt), but an egg that old just didn’t sound appetizing. After all, I’ve seen the remains of eggs that stayed but a few days too long in the fridge; I didn’t particularly care to see the double curse of an extended period of time under the soil and subject to all the elements. So, whenever I’d ordered lunch at the university’s canteen, I’d always avoided the hardboiled eggs with the bright orange centers, assuming they were 1,000 years old and thus 1,000 times gross. However, at the junior high school I learned that they were no where close to 1,000 years old; caked first in a thick layer of dark, saline mud and then covered in a lighter layer of soil, the eggs are buried for a mere 28 days before they are unearthed and cooked. The director of the school explained all of this in Thai (while our own director translated), and then went on to describe how the children prepare the eggs to sell at a nearby farm stand. We were all eager to prepare the eggs ourselves, but were too afraid of the consequences of our unskilled hands. I contented myself with trying one of the eggs on my first opportunity. After all, a month under ground is nothing compared to 1,000 years!

As the afternoon came to a close, we had to leave the school for a second tour, this one at a posh secondary school. We were excited about the second tour but sad to be leaving our new friends. We walked hand in hand back to our bus (still parked just beyond the bridge). Most of the students walked barefoot, not taking the time to grab their shoes, which they remove before entering the classroom. The little girl who still stood beside me hopped from one foot to the other, the concrete burning the soles of her feet. One of the older boys slipped off his own shoes and gave them to her, so she shuffled along in shoes about five sizes too big until we reached the bus. It seemed like a scene from half a century ago, until extending her arm she asked me to write down my cell phone number and email address.

SEAS participants with the junior high school students.

“Beautiful, beautiful,” the students called to us, as we ascended the bus. But their compliments could as easily be returned, for I never spent a more exquisite afternoon with such pleasant, easy hospitality.

We were later told by our director that the students had been surprised and overjoyed that we’d taken the time to play with them; normally, those who toured the school looked down on the students’ poverty and didn’t socialize. All weekend the students had talked about what fun they’d had with their American friends. I was shocked and saddened to hear how others before us (none former SEAS groups) had reacted to our kind friends. After all, who could help but enjoy a game of Ring Around the Rosy, no matter your age, socio-economic status, or language abilities? It was indeed a “beautiful” afternoon, which left the faces of each of those special students forever imprinted on my mind. I doubt my eight-year-old friend has access to a computer, but I also have a feeling she kept my email address, and I wouldn’t be surprised to hear from her several years from now. I won’t have forgotten. You just can’t forget something that beautiful.

Dropping Baht at the Boxing Ring

Watching the matches inside Ratchadamnoen Stadium. As a side note,
Coke vs. Pepsi: Coke definitely throws the better punch!

As far as sports go, I’ve never been big on boxing. I’m a basketball fan all the way. Even football seems a bit brutal for me, so my small knowledge of Muay Thai boxing kept me changing the channel.

But Wednesday night found me with several other Carolina Southeast Asia Summer Program (SEAS) participants cheering and shouting as muscular men in red and blue boxing shorts kicked and punched.

My simple description sadly conflates Thai boxing, however. For “kicking and punching” sounds as brutal as I’d originally judged the sport to be. But boxing is really a lot more like dancing than anything else, and few people would label dancing as “brutal.”

Watch out! After a 2-hour Thai Boxing class, I can really pack a wallop :)

To be fair, I would probably never have come to this conclusion if I hadn’t taken a Thai boxing class last week. Our two-hour instruction involved demonstrations of many basic steps, among them: mat nueng (jab), mat wiang klap (spinning backfist), te tat (roundhouse kick), te khrueng khaeng khrueng khao (half-shin, half-knee kick), khayoep (step-up kick), kradot thip (jumping foot-thrust), swan-neck and blocking and avoidance techniques. The intricate names themselves speak to more than mere punching and kicking. While I watched our instructors demonstrate each of these steps time and time again, I elicited only titters with my efforts to emulate them. Just because I made contact with my partner, didn’t mean that I’d punched or kicked him correctly; there was an artistry to the technique and the combination of steps that I never quite mastered. But I did gain a great appreciation for what I had the opportunity to watch Wednesday night.  

From the get-go, our Thai boxing expedition was an adventure. My friend and SEAS participant Emory Wolf and I left the university campus in the late afternoon to catch a taxi and arrive shortly before the first match started at 6:30. Unfortunately, our first cab driver didn’t understand our poor pronunciation of “Ratchadamnoen Stadium,” nor did he understand our boxing mime attempts. And when it finally dawned on him that our jabbing fists were the result of feeble miming and not the result of a crazy American tick, he just laughed and charged us 40 baht for a drive around the neighborhood.

Our second cabbie was more willing to drive across town, and we still arrived earlier than expected, giving us enough time to order steaming dishes of Pad Thai off the street and eat them with the locals and several jumbo-sized rats.

And that's what I call a good kick!

The atmosphere outside the stadium was intoxicating. Several ticket salesmen accosted us with brochures describing the matches, circling the “big matches” of the evening and trying to convince us to spring for ringside seating (costing 2000 baht, or about US$63) as opposed to the 1000 baht (or about US$31 tickets, which were “standing room only.” Luckily, a few friends had gone to the matches Monday night and told us that the ticket sales were a gimmick.

Sure enough, our cheaper tickets (which we bought 30 minutes into the event) left us with plenty of seats, and while we were surrounded by excited fans betting thousands of baht at a time on individual punches and entire matches, we found the rest of our fellow tourists sitting in a much tamer ringside environment, with only a slightly better view of the matches.

I'll take that bet!

But I didn’t go to the stadium to watch boxing. I was much more interested in the culture surrounding the fights. I went to the matches with a group of four other friends – all girls. We made up more than 50% of the female population at the matches. The other two or three women in the stadium were solely comprised of confused, discontented girlfriends, who were obviously still in the honeymoon stage of the relationship and afraid of dragging their partners off to shopping malls to drop the big baht.

Men laughed and pointed at us. My friends, dressed in skirts and flowing Aladdin pants were a bit over-dressed for the average shorts and t-shirt-clad audience member. We stood at the wire meshing, which separated 1000 baht ticket buyers from the higher class and we cheered on blue shorts or red shorts (depending on the match) as well as the rest of them.

The biggest benefit to watching an all-male sport? Short bathroom lines. I’ve never been to a sporting event in which the men had to stand in line, while the women could walk right in. But I had my choice of stalls and could have probably hung out in the bathroom uninterrupted until the match this coming Thursday.

But our long hair and inability to gamble made us stick out, and on more than one occasion we were escorted to the “foreigners” section, where the atmosphere was tamer (and a bit boring). Still, like flies to honey, we always returned to sit among locals, waving their arms, placing bets and flashing 1000 baht bills at one another. Sitting with this knowledgeable crowd came with more than entertainment benefits. My complete lack of understanding for the game meant that it took me a few rounds to figure out the scoreboard. Did the red and green numbers count hits? Wins? No, after much pointing and miming with the knowledgeable man sitting beside me, I learned that it actually marked the match number and the number of rounds that had expired within each match.

Maggie Walker and I watching the match inside Ratchadamnoen Stadium.

Each match included five rounds, with the first one or two serving as a warm-up for both boxers and betters. As the fighters tested the agility of their opponents, the betters judged their abilities and likelihood to win them big baht. By round three, our companions were shouting, flagging down betting officials and furiously scribbling on printed scorecards. After watching the betting dynamic for a few rounds, I was struck that no one seemed to win or lose much; they just exchanged bills between matches. You win some and you lose some.

Except for one man. With a wallet thick with 1000s, he was the guru of betting. Sure, he lost a few big bills, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He’d shrug and laugh, buy some pineapple off the lady selling freshly cut fruit from a basket, bet higher and get his bills (and a few more) right back.

We didn’t make it through the full four-hours of matches. With our last day of classes the following morning and needing to account for finding a taxi willing to take us back to campus (and not treat us to a tour of the stadium grounds), we left around 9 p.m., just as the matches really started to get heated. (Those warm-up rounds included kicks to the head and neck-to-neck struggles). So, we bid farewell (and good luck) to our gambling companions and then cooled off with 7/11 ice cream before heading back to the university.

I can say with confidence that I will never be a Thai boxer. I may not ever even try the sport again. And I don’t see myself becoming one of those people who goes to the ring once, twice, three times a week. But the next time Muay Thai boxing is playing on TV, I won’t change the channel so quickly. I won’t be so interested in the matches themselves. I’ll be waiting for the cameramen to scan the audience members, placing bets and munching on watermelon and papaya. Maybe I’ll even see the man with the thick wallet, laughing off losses and betting big baht at the boxing ring.

Escaping Bangkok Traffic by Air and Sea

Our group pre-300+ stairs to the top of The Golden Mount!

Bangkok traffic is no laughing matter. About 15 minutes outside the Mahidol Campus and I’m stuck sitting on the road (in a taxi, mind you) with my friends and fellow Carolina Southeast Asia Summer Program (SEAS) participants, Calvary Diggs, Kristin Kent and Brenna Yellin. We’ve not moved in an hour.

But don’t let the lack of motion confuse you. Dealing with traffic in Bangkok is a full-fledged sport. Take tuk tuks for example. These virtual tin cans on three wheels deny the forces of physics and the fear of death, winding in and out of buses and cars at high speed. Only the motorcycle taxis top their gumption. They drive on the lines instead of zigzagging between them.

Earlier this week, my friends and I decided to avoid Bangkok traffic and try a different method of transportation: the water taxis. Granted, we had to take regular taxis to and from the river (thus our aforementioned street squatting), but once we arrived at the water, we were suddenly free of the crowds and fumes.

A quick pic inside the original Mandarin Oriental Hotel before our rushed exit!

Our first stop was the original Mandarin Oriental Hotel. With five stars, it was more palatial shopping mall than hotel. Dressed in shorts, t-shirts and sandals (proper water taxi gear, considering the potential splashing), we were glaringly out of place in a marble-floored entrance way, accented by gigantic orchid-filled birdcages and a wall of windows, opening to the riverfront. (My outfit did have a touch of class. After all, my bright red t-shirt read “Coca-Cola Classic” in Thai.) About five seconds after entering, a guard dressed in a black button-down suit with gold buttons followed us into the courtyard and asked us, politely, civilly, mind you, but with great authority, how he could help us (find the exit, that is). He gave us directions to the water taxi stop (located directly behind the hotel), and we slowly, made our way out of the hotel, soaking up the scenery to the very last moment and wishing that we exuded the same moneyed glow of the hotel’s flip-flopping shorts-wearing patrons.

No better way to avoid Bangkok traffic than to take to the sea-- an inexpensive
alternative to the land taxi is the water taxi. And it provides a great view, too!

But we were happy with our wardrobe choice once we got to the water. For 15 baht (about 50 cents), we took an enjoyable ride along the river, stopping along the way to tour several temples. The most beautiful temple we came across we never actually toured. Not that we didn’t try. We made it to a large white gate sandwiched between two parking lots. Beyond those gates, we could just see Wat Ratchaburana Ratchworawharn. (In Thai, “wat” means “temple.”) The dying sunlight twinkled off window mosaics of red and blue glass, illuminating intricately carved Hindu-inspired golden statues. 

But like I said, we only admired from afar. You see, the double parking lot and extensive gates, fortified by the construction of a gigantic gas station blocking off the back entryway, kept us outside. We renamed the “wat” a “parking wat” and moved on to the Temple of the Dawn, which Kristin’s guidebook suggested viewing at dawn, a suggestion that our sleep schedules simply would not permit.

A view from the top of the Golden Mount.

The highlight of the afternoon was our over 300-stair ascent to the top of the Golden Mount, the highest point of the old city. (It’s illegal to build high rises in historic Bangkok.) During our climb, we were treated to the cathartic reciting of Buddhist chants. The view from the top of the mount offered a spectacular view of the city: new and old, sparkling and decrepit buildings were constructed side-by-side. The Thai and monarchy flags flapped regally in the wind, as we watched a group of kids playing soccer on a nearby roof.

We took a tuk tuk back to the riverfront, where we took one more luxurious ride over the water to return to the heart of the city. And so, as we sat on the highway, talking over our relaxing day and listening to the Thai radio, we didn’t even mind the long wait back to the university. After all, we’d avoided traffic by way of water and mounts. We’d headed off campus to see Bangkok from a new perspective. And as we headed out of the city at 5 p.m., we were afforded one last view of Bangkok. This one was from the taxi window, and it didn’t change at all for over an hour.

Playing Beyond the Barriers

Enjoying the Thailand Philharmonic Orchestra concert. 

What better way to spend a Friday night than by getting a front and center seat to watch an orchestra concert? As Carolina Southeast Asia Summer Program (SEAS) participants, we had the chance to do just that. The Thailand Philharmonic Orchestra, composed of musicians from more than 15 different countries, and supported by the Royal Thai Government (ie. the king) and Mahidol University College of Music, presented “Amazing Rachmaninov” to a spellbound audience July 6-7. Luckily for us, the orchestra routinely performs at Mahidol University’s Music School, which is just a short walk away from the on-campus hotel where we are living.

Before the concert even began, we were treated to the orchestral playing of the national anthem. We stood to honor country and king. Interestingly, in Thailand the national anthem is played a lot more often than in the ballpark and at Independence Day celebrations. Students at Mahidol University stop midstride twice a day (at 8 a.m. and 6 p.m.) to pay respect to their country. And if you take a casual trip to the movie theater to watch The Amazing Spider Man, you’re still not exempt from standing to watch a montage of photographs of the royalty’s interactions with locals, set to the national anthem. I’ve never been so moved by any anthem – and I’m rather partial to our star-spangled banner – than I was by the 90-piece orchestra rendition of the Thai anthem.

The everyday playing of the national anthem is just one of the many differences of Thailand to which we’ve grown accustomed over the past few weeks. One aspect that we’ve had more difficulty with is the language barrier. None of the 26 program participants speak Thai, except of course for a few essential words, like “sà-wàt-dee kah,” (“hello”), “kob kun kah” (“thank you”), and, perhaps most importantly, “mai pet” (“not spicy”). So you can imagine our relief to sit in an auditorium, enjoying the luxury of not having to communicate at all.

After the anthem, we settled into our seats – I was four rows from the front, dead center stage – to enjoy the renowned flute soloist, Giuseppe Nova, who, according to my program notes, has been called “one of the most outstanding Italian flutists of his generation,” play Saverio Mercadante’s Flute Concerto in E minor, Op 57. The notes carried me away to a spring day far from the hot and sticky climate of Thailand. The soloist received such enthusiastic applause that we were treated to an encore before the program was even over. Even without the flutist for Sergei Rachmaninov’s Symphony No. 2 in E minor, Op. 27, the concert continued in style. I was carried away with the energy and strength of the strings section. One cellist played with such ardor that his strings continually popped off during the rendition.

When the concert was over, the evening was not. Both the conductor and the soloist headed to the front lobby to meet with audience members and to sign the programs of excited school children (and UNC students). With stars in our eyes, we could not stand to admit that the evening was over. (After all, we are heading into the concluding week of the program, which means that we’re staring into the angry eyes of final exams, projects and papers, making relaxation and procrastination that much more appealing.)

Dr. Tsin, the instructor of this year’s SEAS program, offered to take us out for coffee. But in Thailand most coffee shops are closed by 10 p.m., so Dr. Tsin joked that he could take us to the 7/11 instead. But Dr. Tsin wasn’t too far off. We headed to the 24-hour campus Tops Daily, where we enjoyed Walls ice cream cones and reminisced over our evening filled with classical music.

Before we attended the concert, we’d wondered about what type of music we’d hear. We knew it would be a classical concert, but we didn’t know the composers, and we wondered if we’d have the chance to hear classical Thai music. The first composer was Italian and the next was Russian. So we didn’t get a taste of classical music endemic to Thailand, but that didn’t mean that we missed out. After all, no two performances are the same. And I’m fairly confident that if I’d been in a music hall in Italy or Russia, I’d have been treated to a rather different rendition. And I’m absolutely certain that I would not have been asked to stand to honor country and king, been treated to a mid-concert encore or gotten the highly valuable signatures of both conductor and soloist. But most of all, I came away with an appreciation of the beauty of music – especially classical orchestral music –for it can be understood and enjoyed by all, even years after it was first composed, no matter your nationality, language or culture.