Soon I arrived at a corner to find a dozen police. Two more cops blocked the stairway leading to the sky train. Any other week, I might have suspected a murder investigation. That corner houses a shrine that Bangkokians take very seriously. A few months back, when a deranged guy tried to destroy the shrine with a hammer, some nearby maintenance men destroyed him with a shovel.
But on this night I figured the quiet was the result of police redirecting traffic to accommodate a visiting monarch. Rather than wait to catch a glimpse of a royal Rolls, I walked home, enjoying the rare stillness along the normally busy road.
Not long before, when Murph was still in town, the king’s celebration produced another atypical calm. We assembled along the river to watch a practice session of the 52 royal boats, rowed by over 2,000 boatmen, who lift their paddles into the air
like wings after every stroke. This ancient ceremony is relatively rare these days; it has happened only 14 times in my lifetime. For the practice, the river was closed to other traffic, meaning that the usual mixture of tugboats and ferries and long-tailed power boats were all sidelined for the afternoon. Murph and I marveled at being able to hear the water lapping at the bank. Usually, like in most of the rest of the city, traffic noise there drowns out most natural sounds.
Our viewing spot happened to be the place where Jip trained as a nurse, many years ago. The current batch of students sold tickets and set out chairs along the water, as a fundraiser. It was fun to look at them and imagine Jip as she was then. She also enjoyed hearing us tell her afterwards about where we were. Based on her reactions to our descriptions, I gather it hasn’t changed much in the meantime.
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