Stuffed

Speaking of taking football seriously, our British neighbors were frantic when I popped ‘round to watch England vs. Paraguay the other night. “Can you believe this?” he said, pointing at images of the king on nearly every television channel. She said, “We’ve been stuffed.”

We had no choice but to speedwalk to a nearby pub, The Black Swan, where a satellite dish was picking up the action. An international mix of fellow fans there agreed on one thing: England’s play was rubbish.

The good news is that every World Cup game since then has been broadcast live on regular TV, start to finish. The bad news, for Thailand, is that this month will not go down in history as the country’s most productive.

All the news media are dominated by coverage of the results. Gambling is apparently outrunning prostitution and illegal drugs as contributors to the gross domestic product. And bedtimes are not being respected—the last game of the day here begins at 2am Bangkok time.

I’m a good case in point. While blearily waiting for my second bus the other morning, I hopped on the wrong one, and proceeded to find myself on a highway going right back the way I had just come. I got to work an hour late.

Bangkok Masters Football Tournament, brought to you by Tesco Lotus

A special tournament for older soccer players was Organized, with a capital “O,” by the British Chamber of Commerce. When I signed up, I anticipated seeing some of the same faces that I had grown to have some sympathy with during the regular season, which ended recently. I’m talking about the greyhairs.

A few of those players were around, but most of the participants were strangers. Not surprising, considering that many had flown in to play this tourney. And not just flown from Chiang Mai or Phuket: our first match, in the morning, was against a team from Brunei. Before playing Malaysians in the afternoon, we watched Singaporeans go head to head with Australians.

Turns out this event was a pretty big deal. A slick 40-page brochure, meal coupons, and commemorative shirts (splashed with names of several big corporate sponsors) were handed to everyone who registered. An all-star team of ex-English professional stars put on a clinic in the morning, played an exhibition in the afternoon, and keynoted at the evening banquet.

It’s amazing how seriously people take their football in these parts. Who needs the World Cup? when you have over-35s willing to pay for plane fare, hotels, entry fees, and perhaps a couple nights’ worth of booze and wom…

…wait … I think I get it now.

Hush Comes Over the Crowds

Something was wrong as I came out of the movies a few nights ago. Bangkok was silent. This never happens.

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.

Big Anniversary

King Bhumibol is the focus of a nationwide gala. Thailand is in holiday mode, big-time. I can’t think what the equivalent would be in the States. Probably what’s happening here this week simply couldn’t happen there at this moment in history. In a nutshell, the celebration is about unanimity.

Everyone agrees that the king is a great guy. And because as of yesterday he had been on the throne for sixty years, making him the longest-serving monarch on the planet, everyone feels drawn to hit the streets, or to put on a yellow shirt, or at least to light a candle, in his honor.

Granted, I’m not reading the Thai press, or following the many commemorative events with the perspective of a native. So if there are critics out there who feel that this massive party is too much, I probably wouldn’t know about them. But on the surface, the depth of feeling seems genuine. A Thai woman at work told me, “If anything happened to the king, I would cry for three months.” From what I’ve seen, she speaks for millions.

So, for a few more days, the fireworks and barge processions and exhibits and banquets for royals from 25 other countries will continue, and the traffic will snarl, and the regular street vendors will be forbidden on the sidewalks. And then when it’s all over, even though the political situation in Thailand is as messy as it is in most places in the world, moving forward will be a little bit easier. The glow from this week’s events should last a long time.

Comfort from Home

My sister Murph came to visit, bearing gifts. It happened to be my birthday, so I made out well. But Jip really scored. She had put together a request list of provisions that are difficult to get here. Murph succeeded on every count.

For the record, here was Jip’s inventory: dried blueberries (a staple at breakfast, but very expensive in Bangkok), colorful cotton socks (Jip still claims her feet are cold, and that locally made socks won’t warm them up), a collection of hairdresser’s capes that don’t smell like plastic (the better to keep her comfortable at tooth brushing time), brown rice crackers (you’d think they’d be easy to find here, but the Thai brands are flavored with things Jip doesn’t like), and, as a bonus, a just-published book by my cousin’s husband that Jip is enjoying having read to her (Miracles on the Water, by Tom Nagorski, Hyperion).

Then there was an envelope full of cash, provided by a very generous aunt, which allowed Murph and me to live large on an island while she got over jet lag. Normally we’d have opted for the bungalow-with-a-fan accommodations. Our bigger expense account led us to a VIP room on an isolated beach, where we had the very fine restaurant to ourselves.

A good time had by all!