Some people I know managed to track down the traditional Thanksgiving dinner in this town, but they always qualified their assessment of it with “not like home,” or words to that effect. Instead I opted for plaa pad kee mao, which translates roughly as “drunken seafood noodle stirfry.”
What made the day feel festive was the company. My brother Tim (who ordered duck) happened to be in the country, spontaneously stretching the four-day weekend into a 10-day diving trip. It was short notice—he sent me an email after he was already on the ground in Bangkok—but good timing. We caught up a bit over dinner, then toasted being together at an open-air bar on the roof of a 62-story hotel.
Just goes to show that if you’re feeling grateful, it doesn’t much matter how or where you celebrate this holiday. In one sense this year’s version was one of our most appropriate ever, as the voyage that Jip and I have made to a new world is going very well.
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