Writing from Penang, Malaysia, an island off the coast of the Malaysian peninsula. It is not an early morning place. For the last few days, I've climbed out of bed at seven and found the streets empty, with not even a breeze to ruffle the star-and-crescent flags on the porches.
Georgetown -- the old city I suppose you'd call it, a former outpost of the British Empire -- is a mash of crooked streets crammed with old Chinese houses and broad boulevards lined with sately old colonial buildings, all porticos and pillars and long, austere lawns. The oldest among them, Saint George's Anglican, with white paint peeling and spire stiff in the blue tropical sky, is empty of churchgoers even on Sunday morning.
"We changed the time for services," a woman tells me cheerily when I enter the nave, having found no life at the two Catholic churches in town, nor anyone home at the Chinese bakery that ostensibly serves breakfast. "Just for today, we thought we'd combine the 8:30 and the ten o'clock and do something at 9:30."
And so it goes in Penang. People do as they like, when they like, without much bother about schedules and convention and even visitors who might not be in the know, although Penang enjoys a robust tourist industry.
At the Cheong Fatt Tze Mansion, where two American friends and I are staying, the guest relations manager can hardly tolerate guests.
"Children," he announces, as one squalls from somewhere in the back of the house, "are best served deep fried."
If you don't mind sharing common space with other people -- families, honeymooners, Western and Asian tourists packed into the foyer for the 11am and 3pm tours -- the Cheong Fatt Tze Mansion is a lovely place to stay. Formerly the home of a 19th century immigrant-turned-tycoon, the mansion has been restored to such detail it has received the status of UNESCO heritage site. Sleeping in one of the bedrooms -- twenty foot ceilings, lavender walls, lime-colored ceiling, bright red bureau -- is like pulling back the canvas and climbing into a work of art.
"Two hundred and fifty ringit per room per night," says the guest relations manager to an inquiring tourist.
The tourist whistles. "That's a lot for a hotel," he says.
"Not really," says the guest relations manager. "And it's not a hotel. It's a home stay."
The guest relations manager turns his back on the tourist and rolls his eyes. What do these people want? his look says. You offer them a nice place, and they want to play let's make a deal.
This view seems to hold true for most of the island. Taxi drivers are disinclined to bargain, which is a shame because they are expensive compared to Bangkok, and the cook says as she lays down a plate of fried noodles before you with a clang, "You pay now." Visitors to Penang will do well to do as they're told -- don't order dahl with nan but rice at the Indian restaurant across the street, for instance, or request apple struedel at the Green Roof Cafe when the date cake is delicious ("But I don't like date"; "Nevermind," says the owner, an Australian emigree, and hands me a plate. ) Likely you'll find the suggestions are good ones.
Once the attractions of Georgetown have been exhausted (24-36 hours, I'd say), head to the beach at Batu Ferringhi. Compared to Thailand, it's not much -- coarse sand and a crowded strip of hotels, ranging from backpacker guest houses to a Holiday Inn to the Lone Pine, a 1950s era establishment a hundred steps from the sea. Still, the beach is lively, most notably for the cabals of men selling parasail rides.
"You want to go up?" asks one, jabbing his finger at the sky. "One for eighty ringitt. Two for a hundred."
I've been watching people go up one after the other, lining up at the seaside like they're waiting for a taxi, and then suddenly lifting off the ground like characters in a fairy tale. Harnassed beneath the bright, billowing parachute and attached to the end of a motorboat, they're pulled over the ocean and three stories into the air. Some let go and ride with arms spread wide. A dad goes with his four-year-old son. A pair of Japanese girls ride together, the one almost in the lap of the other, and nearly take out a crowd of Aussies as they come tumbling back to the sand.
When I finally go -- after having been asked no fewer than eighty-seven times if I want to try -- I scream the entire way from the beach to the air, and then, once aloft, consider staying forever. Is it possible, do you think, to skip the Air Asia flight home and simply parasail back to Bangkok, bumping over the air currents and letting the green island of Penang recede and disappear?
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Floods yesterday in Bangkok, and the city was knee-deep in floating garbage. It's been raining hard in the north and in the Philipines (much as the first word I learned in French was "abbatoir," even Thais who don't speak English can say "tsunami" and "typhoon"), and the city finally succumbed to the deluge.
I was at an Internet cafe when the rain started and, no fool, rolled up my pant legs and promptly waded next door to the massage parlor. (FYI, the first thing the masseuse does is wash your feet.) The whole time I was on the table I could hear the girls squealing. Half an hour into it, the owner poked her head behind the curtain and apologized for the noise: the store had started to flood, but they had sandbags now, and it should be okay.
Back outside, miserable-looking tourists were forging the main drag with their suitcases held over their heads while cars sloshed water up around our shoulders. Of all the things I worry about when I cross the street in Bangkok, a wake is not usually one of them.
Now, here's the thing. Bangkok is a city very much like New York -- population density, great public transportation, citizens who consider good style part of the social contract -- and, like New Yorkers, residents conduct their lives on the streets. So, when the public space is flooded, it's not water in the road; it's water in your living room. Sidewalks were packed. Women pushed baby carriages. STREET VENDORS KEPT SELLING FOOD. I swear to God, the tables were packed, and diners simply tucked their feet up under them and kept slurping away at their noodles.
Ah, Bangkok. The more it reminds me of New York, the more I love it.
I was at an Internet cafe when the rain started and, no fool, rolled up my pant legs and promptly waded next door to the massage parlor. (FYI, the first thing the masseuse does is wash your feet.) The whole time I was on the table I could hear the girls squealing. Half an hour into it, the owner poked her head behind the curtain and apologized for the noise: the store had started to flood, but they had sandbags now, and it should be okay.
Back outside, miserable-looking tourists were forging the main drag with their suitcases held over their heads while cars sloshed water up around our shoulders. Of all the things I worry about when I cross the street in Bangkok, a wake is not usually one of them.
Now, here's the thing. Bangkok is a city very much like New York -- population density, great public transportation, citizens who consider good style part of the social contract -- and, like New Yorkers, residents conduct their lives on the streets. So, when the public space is flooded, it's not water in the road; it's water in your living room. Sidewalks were packed. Women pushed baby carriages. STREET VENDORS KEPT SELLING FOOD. I swear to God, the tables were packed, and diners simply tucked their feet up under them and kept slurping away at their noodles.
Ah, Bangkok. The more it reminds me of New York, the more I love it.
Monday, October 09, 2006
I ended up going to Khao Yai, a national park about two hours from Bangkok, all day
yesterday -- it was really and unexpectedly gorgeous.
The Asoke Valley is much drier than other parts of Thailand, no palm trees
but vineyards. It looks like Napa. We rode dirt bikes and drank wine, and I tried
to go horseback riding (also unexpectedly, there is a stable of about two dozen
Arabian horses) but it was already too late in the day. Dinner at a dairy
farm, with fresh milk.
Whole thing wonderful and disorienting.
Friday, September 29, 2006
So far I love living under martial law. With gatherings of more than 5 people banned, there aren't too many crowds, and the media, having been encouraged to be "responsible," are cheerily reporting an interim prime minister will be named in the next 48 hours. Despite an announcement the military may retain a wee bit of power even once the new congress has been appointed, so far so good on the bloodless coup.
In fact, the only violence I've heard was in the voice of a Thai banker, Nopporn, who twice a week feeds me lunch, reads the English-language newspaper out loud, and then hands me a wad of cash. "I hate George Bush," she said. "Why does he think he can tell other countries what to do? My country. My coup. Leave us alone!"
I'm not exactly sure what GWB said about the Thai coup, but I think my friend was irritated in general at the West's perception that a coup is perforce bad for democracy. I mean, I certainly understand why the West thinks this way, and in the long run, it does seem like a bad precedent for countries to solve their problems by routinely overturning the government.
(This from a woman who's adopted a slash-and-burn strategy for her entire life.)
What I think Nopporn was getting at, though, and what seems to be the common sentiment here, is that Thailand under Prime Minister Thaksin was a democracy in name only, and at least now there is a chance for an authentic democratic government.
This is also another opportunity to demonstrate allegience to the king, who people would just assume be in charge anyway. Nopporn laughed when she saw the Anglicized version of the military government's name was CDR, Committee for Democratic Reform. In Thai, the name is something like "We Swear Our Allegience to the King."
The king, the king. We don't see or hear much of him (cf., Flaubert, who says the writer should be in the book as God is in the world: nowhere seen but everywhere felt), although we do see a lot of baby-faced soldiers with machine guns at busy intersections and Sky Train stops. The first few days they looked stern. The second day they looked bored. Yesterday I saw one hand his weapon to a friend and start break dancing.
In other news, the military government has disallowed the Thais to have their pictures taken with the soldiers, and [belatedly] banned the go-go dancers in camoflauge bikinis who have taken it upon themselves to entertain the troops. Citizens are still welcome to bring the soldiers food.
We in the ex-pat world enjoy business as usual -- yoga, writing, swimming, a quiet Guiness with four friends or fewer in the evening.
Long live the junta!
In fact, the only violence I've heard was in the voice of a Thai banker, Nopporn, who twice a week feeds me lunch, reads the English-language newspaper out loud, and then hands me a wad of cash. "I hate George Bush," she said. "Why does he think he can tell other countries what to do? My country. My coup. Leave us alone!"
I'm not exactly sure what GWB said about the Thai coup, but I think my friend was irritated in general at the West's perception that a coup is perforce bad for democracy. I mean, I certainly understand why the West thinks this way, and in the long run, it does seem like a bad precedent for countries to solve their problems by routinely overturning the government.
(This from a woman who's adopted a slash-and-burn strategy for her entire life.)
What I think Nopporn was getting at, though, and what seems to be the common sentiment here, is that Thailand under Prime Minister Thaksin was a democracy in name only, and at least now there is a chance for an authentic democratic government.
This is also another opportunity to demonstrate allegience to the king, who people would just assume be in charge anyway. Nopporn laughed when she saw the Anglicized version of the military government's name was CDR, Committee for Democratic Reform. In Thai, the name is something like "We Swear Our Allegience to the King."
The king, the king. We don't see or hear much of him (cf., Flaubert, who says the writer should be in the book as God is in the world: nowhere seen but everywhere felt), although we do see a lot of baby-faced soldiers with machine guns at busy intersections and Sky Train stops. The first few days they looked stern. The second day they looked bored. Yesterday I saw one hand his weapon to a friend and start break dancing.
In other news, the military government has disallowed the Thais to have their pictures taken with the soldiers, and [belatedly] banned the go-go dancers in camoflauge bikinis who have taken it upon themselves to entertain the troops. Citizens are still welcome to bring the soldiers food.
We in the ex-pat world enjoy business as usual -- yoga, writing, swimming, a quiet Guiness with four friends or fewer in the evening.
Long live the junta!
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
It's true, there's a coup in Thailand.
About ten-thirty last night, just as I was getting in bed, a friend called and told me to turn on CNN. Sure enough, there were pictures of tanks outside the parliamentary buildings, a part of town not close to where I am but not exactly far, either. The distance between City Hall and Columbia University in Manhattan.
Because it was already nighttime in Bangkok, nothing seemed particularly different or strange. It was only when CNN and the BBC suddenly cut out that things began to feel a little weird. At some point in the middle of the night, the electricity went off.
This morning I got up as usual and went to yoga. The streets were quiet, which is not so strange since it was 6:45am, but the studio was locked. A few of the other students and I loitered in the lobby. Schools, banks, and most offices are closed today. One of the other students had seen tanks on her way to class.
Eventually the teacher showed up and, even though none of the other staff was there, smuggled us in the back way, which I guess means we launched our own coup of the yoga studio.
By the time we finished practicing this morning, the streets were still empty -- the intersection at Chitlom, which I usually have to take my life in my hands to cross, was so deserted I stood in the middle of the road for a few seconds just to savor the experience. At 9am the rush hour Sky Train was virtually empty, and people were quiet and looked glum.
Mostly it feels like a snow day: I'm home again in my pajamas, drinking tea and keeping an eye on the news online. Even the weather is unusual -- cool and raining. I live in a very ex-patty neighborhood, flanked by shopping malls, so I can't imagine that I would feel threatened unless the army tried to take over the Emporium Department Store. As far as I know, the shoe sale is still on, and good news -- the dollar is strong against the baht!
As for the political situation, it's still hard to know what's going on. Thaksin has been politically under siege for months, but there hasn't been a sense of violence or abject power grabbing. Well, maybe a little -- there was a staged attempt on Thaksin's life a few weeks ago, but even that seemed more like political theater than an actual threat.
I know that "coup d'etat" sounds dramatic and makes Thailand appear a banana republic (or, as my political scientist friend calls Thailand, a banana monarchy), but in fact Bangkok is a very firt-world city, and this coup seemingly a very white-collar maneuver. Sure, it's no surprise that a lot of the politicians are corrupt, and that there's dissent in the ranks, but the issues have been playing out more on the stock exchange and Op-Ed page than the streets -- that the military has taken control seems a bizarre response to the situation. It would be as if Enron middle-management had staged a coup.
The wild card, of course, is the king. The general who's taken over doesn't really want to retain power for himself and has declared his allegience to the king; even the tanks circling Government House are wearing yellow ribbons, the symbol of the monarchy.
But, the king isn't a substitute for a prime minister, and he isn't a replacement for Thaksin. A few months ago, when the dubiously-called elections were found to be dubiously-monitored and Thaksin the dubious winner, some of the opposition asked the king to intervene and appoint a prime minister. The king went on national television and scolded them: this is a democracy, he said, and a democracy holds elections. (To that point, Thaksin has been legitimately elected twice by an overwhelming majority.)
It seems to me with this coup that the general is now forcing the king's hand, making him intervene and perhaps appoint someone else. Or, declare his support for Thaksin, which may be in the best interest of democracy but does not seem to be in keeping with the king's personal taste.
It's a curious kind of coup that a) declares allegience to someone else; b) puts that someone else in an impossible position; c) justifies itself by saying the country is too divided under the current leader, and a coup is therefore required to restore harmony; d) apologizes to the citizens for the inconvenience.
Even in their coups the Thai are Thai.
About ten-thirty last night, just as I was getting in bed, a friend called and told me to turn on CNN. Sure enough, there were pictures of tanks outside the parliamentary buildings, a part of town not close to where I am but not exactly far, either. The distance between City Hall and Columbia University in Manhattan.
Because it was already nighttime in Bangkok, nothing seemed particularly different or strange. It was only when CNN and the BBC suddenly cut out that things began to feel a little weird. At some point in the middle of the night, the electricity went off.
This morning I got up as usual and went to yoga. The streets were quiet, which is not so strange since it was 6:45am, but the studio was locked. A few of the other students and I loitered in the lobby. Schools, banks, and most offices are closed today. One of the other students had seen tanks on her way to class.
Eventually the teacher showed up and, even though none of the other staff was there, smuggled us in the back way, which I guess means we launched our own coup of the yoga studio.
By the time we finished practicing this morning, the streets were still empty -- the intersection at Chitlom, which I usually have to take my life in my hands to cross, was so deserted I stood in the middle of the road for a few seconds just to savor the experience. At 9am the rush hour Sky Train was virtually empty, and people were quiet and looked glum.
Mostly it feels like a snow day: I'm home again in my pajamas, drinking tea and keeping an eye on the news online. Even the weather is unusual -- cool and raining. I live in a very ex-patty neighborhood, flanked by shopping malls, so I can't imagine that I would feel threatened unless the army tried to take over the Emporium Department Store. As far as I know, the shoe sale is still on, and good news -- the dollar is strong against the baht!
As for the political situation, it's still hard to know what's going on. Thaksin has been politically under siege for months, but there hasn't been a sense of violence or abject power grabbing. Well, maybe a little -- there was a staged attempt on Thaksin's life a few weeks ago, but even that seemed more like political theater than an actual threat.
I know that "coup d'etat" sounds dramatic and makes Thailand appear a banana republic (or, as my political scientist friend calls Thailand, a banana monarchy), but in fact Bangkok is a very firt-world city, and this coup seemingly a very white-collar maneuver. Sure, it's no surprise that a lot of the politicians are corrupt, and that there's dissent in the ranks, but the issues have been playing out more on the stock exchange and Op-Ed page than the streets -- that the military has taken control seems a bizarre response to the situation. It would be as if Enron middle-management had staged a coup.
The wild card, of course, is the king. The general who's taken over doesn't really want to retain power for himself and has declared his allegience to the king; even the tanks circling Government House are wearing yellow ribbons, the symbol of the monarchy.
But, the king isn't a substitute for a prime minister, and he isn't a replacement for Thaksin. A few months ago, when the dubiously-called elections were found to be dubiously-monitored and Thaksin the dubious winner, some of the opposition asked the king to intervene and appoint a prime minister. The king went on national television and scolded them: this is a democracy, he said, and a democracy holds elections. (To that point, Thaksin has been legitimately elected twice by an overwhelming majority.)
It seems to me with this coup that the general is now forcing the king's hand, making him intervene and perhaps appoint someone else. Or, declare his support for Thaksin, which may be in the best interest of democracy but does not seem to be in keeping with the king's personal taste.
It's a curious kind of coup that a) declares allegience to someone else; b) puts that someone else in an impossible position; c) justifies itself by saying the country is too divided under the current leader, and a coup is therefore required to restore harmony; d) apologizes to the citizens for the inconvenience.
Even in their coups the Thai are Thai.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Sunday morning in Bangkok, Thailand, and the sky is overcast and the Sky Train isn't running yet. I can see the tracks from the window in front of my desk. They're surprisingly elegant, tall and curvy. When I'm lost -- which is often -- I navigate by the Sky Train tracks, visible above the traffic, and when I sit at my computer -- which is also often -- I watch the trains go by.
Trains are short, with only about half a dozen cars, and covered in advertisements. (Ironic, because one of the reasons I left NYC was because I needed a break from all the commercialism; could there be a more commercial city than Bangkok?) Somehow the marketing on the Sky Trains appeals to me, though, maybe because the graphics make an aesthetically pleasant contrast to the palm trees; also, just seeing the trains go by, in bursts of red-yellow-and-black, satisfies my need for movement, even when I'm sitting still.
I think it must have been the urgency to keep moving that brought me to Bangkok. Well, in addition to the weather and the inexpensive cost and living. When people ask my why I chose Bangkok, my answer is usually "hot and cheap," which ends up being a pretty accurate summary of other appealing elements of Bangkok, too.
Also, I wanted to get back into the whole world, instead of just the piece of it that is the U.S.
Bangkok is fantastically cosmopolitan. There's a lot of Brits (apparently, the British Embassy in Bangkok is one of the busiest in the world) and Australians, as well as Japanese, Malaysian, Indian, Arab... A lot of big companies have at least offices here, and I seem to encounter engineers and people working in the oil industry. As I'm finding is true about Bangkok in other ways, the city doesn't have a particular speciality -- they're not particuarly about technology, for instance, or finance -- but they make it an hospitible environment for businesses in general.
Well, just how hospitible, from a financial and legal perspective is a topic for another time -- but, what I mean here is Bangkok has capitalized on its service-industry culture, and many expats find it easy to get real estate, set up shop, live alongside the easygoing Thais, and go to the beach on the weekends.
There's also fabulous grocery stores in Bangkok -- Villa Market has the single best selection of flour I've ever seen, although it's so hot I can't imagine baking -- and about every commercial good, from computers to chocolate, you could ever want. So far about the only things I haven't been able to buy in Bangkok are socks and underwear. Thai women are tiny people, and I'm always a little embarrassed when I present to them my feet or hips.
The last and probably biggest reason I came to Bangkok was to start a creative life in earnest. I've been reading Twyla Tharpe's The Creative Habit -- which I really recommend by the way. The premise is that creativity is supported partly by inspiration but mainly by building a routine. So far my routine is 7am yoga (if all I accomplish in a year in Bangkok is relaxing my hip flexers, I'll consider it a resounding success), three hours of writing, lunch, three hours of paid work for my nonprofit job in the U.S., and then swimming, running, or biking in the evening. The Phuket triathlon is a dim-and-getting-dimmer goal.
All this makes for a very calm life, if a bit hermetically sealed. It's easy to meet people in Bangkok -- the wonder of expatriate living, plus Bangkok is like a cruise ship and there's salsa lessons, or bike rides, or karaoke almost every evening -- so I don't lack for company or entertainment or even English, since almost everybody speaks some version of it. The only real lacks are books (expensive here) and culture, so the trick is figuring out how to keep one's world and ideas large, even in the middle of a comfortable life.
Trains are short, with only about half a dozen cars, and covered in advertisements. (Ironic, because one of the reasons I left NYC was because I needed a break from all the commercialism; could there be a more commercial city than Bangkok?) Somehow the marketing on the Sky Trains appeals to me, though, maybe because the graphics make an aesthetically pleasant contrast to the palm trees; also, just seeing the trains go by, in bursts of red-yellow-and-black, satisfies my need for movement, even when I'm sitting still.
I think it must have been the urgency to keep moving that brought me to Bangkok. Well, in addition to the weather and the inexpensive cost and living. When people ask my why I chose Bangkok, my answer is usually "hot and cheap," which ends up being a pretty accurate summary of other appealing elements of Bangkok, too.
Also, I wanted to get back into the whole world, instead of just the piece of it that is the U.S.
Bangkok is fantastically cosmopolitan. There's a lot of Brits (apparently, the British Embassy in Bangkok is one of the busiest in the world) and Australians, as well as Japanese, Malaysian, Indian, Arab... A lot of big companies have at least offices here, and I seem to encounter engineers and people working in the oil industry. As I'm finding is true about Bangkok in other ways, the city doesn't have a particular speciality -- they're not particuarly about technology, for instance, or finance -- but they make it an hospitible environment for businesses in general.
Well, just how hospitible, from a financial and legal perspective is a topic for another time -- but, what I mean here is Bangkok has capitalized on its service-industry culture, and many expats find it easy to get real estate, set up shop, live alongside the easygoing Thais, and go to the beach on the weekends.
There's also fabulous grocery stores in Bangkok -- Villa Market has the single best selection of flour I've ever seen, although it's so hot I can't imagine baking -- and about every commercial good, from computers to chocolate, you could ever want. So far about the only things I haven't been able to buy in Bangkok are socks and underwear. Thai women are tiny people, and I'm always a little embarrassed when I present to them my feet or hips.
The last and probably biggest reason I came to Bangkok was to start a creative life in earnest. I've been reading Twyla Tharpe's The Creative Habit -- which I really recommend by the way. The premise is that creativity is supported partly by inspiration but mainly by building a routine. So far my routine is 7am yoga (if all I accomplish in a year in Bangkok is relaxing my hip flexers, I'll consider it a resounding success), three hours of writing, lunch, three hours of paid work for my nonprofit job in the U.S., and then swimming, running, or biking in the evening. The Phuket triathlon is a dim-and-getting-dimmer goal.
All this makes for a very calm life, if a bit hermetically sealed. It's easy to meet people in Bangkok -- the wonder of expatriate living, plus Bangkok is like a cruise ship and there's salsa lessons, or bike rides, or karaoke almost every evening -- so I don't lack for company or entertainment or even English, since almost everybody speaks some version of it. The only real lacks are books (expensive here) and culture, so the trick is figuring out how to keep one's world and ideas large, even in the middle of a comfortable life.
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