Record Lows; Missing Millionaires…

I have to confess: the title of this post has more to do with things I didn’t anticipate experiencing. Week two in Bangkok was full of all kinds of random surprises. Read onward to hear about a few of those very things.

 

Record Lows

Winter in Thailand has some similarities to winter in the more temperate regions of the world: it gets colder; the sun sets earlier in the evenings (though the amount of sunlight that differs between summer & winter is about an hour in Thailand instead of about 8 here in Alberta); foliage turns brown & begins to fall off the trees. Yes, as odd as it may seem to the uninitiated, tropical Southeast Asia has an “autumn” season where trees slough their lush greenery in exchange for a more sparse, naked fashion, all while the humans adorn opposite clothing trends. The coldest mornings in December tend to hover around the low- to mid-teens Celsius, which is slightly humorous to an Arctic Canadian when he sees the Thai people bundle up in thin, parka-like coats, complete with toques & sometimes even gloves. I’m certain that, during my time spent weathering the Thai winters, the locals were astounded at my brazen defiance of the “frigid” conditions when they’d see me walk around unfazed in a t-shirt and slacks.

Besides the obvious lack of a negative sign on the thermometer, there are other differences to Thailand’s winters—one of the biggest being that the chilly season usually lasts no longer that 10 weeks. During February, the mercury slowly begins to rise in a cumulative-like fashion. The trend continues until one forgets that there was ever a time for jackets and, instead, one scurries off to the closest air-conditioned room available, to stave off the imminent flood of perspiration as long as possible. By the end of March, this thermal battle has long been lost, yet the weather affords no respite from the heat until the rainy season begins in June.

That’s what’s supposed to happen. This year, it didn’t.

During my second week in Thailand, Bangkok experienced its lowest March temperatures in the city’s recorded history. That’s right: 18°C in March. 30% colder than the month’s “average low”. Students & teachers alike were bundling up & donning their January fashions again. Some of the staff celebrated the chilly air, while others shocked even themselves by expressing how cold the weather was... while wearing sweaters and toques to combat the cold. I myself hadn’t expected the weather to drop into the teens, but thankfully, I had worn a Canadian climate-appropriate wardrobe during my flight the week before. Who would have expected a need for these clothes during my trip? Only once had I worn that shirt during a previous March while living in Thailand.... and I learned the lesson of its excessive (usually) thermal capacity.

The weather for the remainder of my time in Bangkok was erratic. More chilly days peppered the calendar, interspersed with the usual hot & humid fare, however, another meteorological mystery manifested: monsoon rains! The rains that one only really witnesses during the rainy season, when standing outside without an umbrella is much like jumping full-clothed into the shower or walking through a celestial waterfall. Streets again were flooded, looking more like canals than roadways. Stepping stones were deployed on busy pedestrian thoroughfares to keep the wanderer’s feet dry (it’s never nice having to change your shoes after making a quick walk over to 7-11. And traffic creeped to a veritable standstill. On my last full day in Thailand, I had intended to meet up with a friend downtown, but it had started to rain & the taxi I had hired barely made it to the Big C Supercentre (1.1 km down the road) in 48 minutes. In Thailand, when it rains, it pours; and it’s only supposed to pour well after Songkran.

 

Missing Millionaires

I had accomplished this mandatory task last year, and whenever there’s a Swensen’s ice cream parlour available to me, I will do my best to ensure that the task gets completed again... and again. What task might this be? To indulge in the revelry of consuming what could possibly be the world’s best commercially-available, high quality & optimal cost-to-benefit ratio ice cream dessert: the Chocolate Millionaire.

Imagine in your mind’s stomach with me, if you would: three scoops of your choice of ice cream lobbed into a Romanoff glass whose interior has been coated with a swirl of chocolate fudge sauce. The scoops of your choice are then sumptuously drizzled with fudge, which holds the ice cream in a sweet embrace with banana chunks and several chocolate-dipped ice-cream morsels. The entire ensemble is delicately topped with the gentle kiss of whipped cream & a wafer wedge, whose light, frail textures are excitingly taunted by the shot glass of dark, hot fudge that they serve on the side. Essentially, it’s a pint of dairy-heaven & cocoa-bliss combined into a single, incomparable experience. All for the low, low price of $4

You can imagine my despair when I discovered that they discontinued the treat.

We (the G12 class & I) had decided to hit up Swensen’s as an after-school activity on the last Monday of school. My entire motivation for going was to check this task off on my list of “must dos”—of course, that’s not to say that I didn’t want to hang out with the students: we could have gone anywhere to do that! However, even with the extinction of the Millionaire, we all had a good time hanging out & scooping frozen dairy heaven into our mouths.

Cow cream delicately digesting in our finely filled stomachs, the group dispersed, each student wandering off in random directions—some homeward, others, in packs, to hang out together at another location. Those of us who remained continued our conversation over fried food & fizzy beverages... and French fries smothered with cheese sauce down at the local McDonald’s, along the western edge of the Big C Supercentre shopping complex. During the latter half of our after-school adventure, Babe & Tee—two GES alumni from years previous—joined us as we talked about life, developments & those other conversational points that people bandy about when catching up with each other.

It was getting dark outside, which it usually does around 6 pm. The oncoming twilight signalled the remaining students that it was time to head home; and, much like the dwindling rays of sun, each of them bade their farewells and slowly faded out of sight for the evening.

 

Stay tuned next time for the story of cowboys, ninjas & bamboo camouflage. And you thought that ninjas only existed in Japan!

Shabushi, a Movie & the Black Swan

 

For those of you who don’t know about the Black Swan in Bangkok, I’m sorry: you are missing out on a gem of a pub—it’s perhaps even my most favoured pub on the planet... just so long as they have Guinness on tap, which apparently has been a bit of a challenge when teachers have gone to visit this year.

 

Shabushi,

My first stop into the Black Swan during the trip was on a Friday after hanging out downtown with a few students for a movie & all you can eat at the sushi bar Shabushi. The students & I had gathered together to go watch Unknown at Paragon Cineplex (another item on my checklist) in the afternoon. We needed to kill a few hours’ worth of time before the film began and to wait for Bank—another student—to arrive, so we meandered around downtown Bangkok for a couple hours, looking for stuff to do & places to eat at.

While we were killing time, I asked them to take me over to Siam Centre, which the news had reported last year to be “gutted by fire” during the political riots in the area last year. We walked along ped-way underneath the BTS line to the large shopping complex & I was surprised to see that the building looked pretty much as normal as it always had, except for some scaffolding erected along its south-facing exterior like an enormous bamboo spider’s web. As we walked past the dusty construction area and entered the mall’s southern entrance, it turned out that the shopping complex was mostly untouched and that what the news reported to be “gutted by fire” was only really fire damage to maybe a few stores on each of the first 5 floors on the south side of the building. We walked through the mall up to its eighth floor & all of the shops that had been there before I left in 2009 were still in existence, doing fine & dandy. ...I guess this further goes to show that what the media reports generally needs to be taken with a great deal of salt.

Speaking of salt, we were getting hungry after all of this waiting. Oom, one of my students who had graduated last year, grabbed her ringing mobile phone from her bag & answered the mysterious caller with a barrage of incoherent (to me) Thai. After a short exchange, the phone conversation was over & she let us know that Bank would be downtown shortly. We were going to meet him for lunch at Shabushi in Siam World (or Siam Discovery... I always get the two mixed up!) on the opposite side of Siam Paragon (notice a common theme in the naming conventions for all these shopping locations?) from where we were. So, after grabbing a half-dozen escalator rides, walking along a kilometre of outdoor concrete footbridges, whisking ourselves through a few glass-and-metal doorways, inundating ourselves with the chilly, pleasant wonder that is air-conditioning and queuing up for the final few escalator ascents, we arrived at Shabushi, grabbed a number & waited for Bank to arrive.

No sooner had Bank arrived then we realised that waiting for lunch at this location would end up eating up all our time before the movie began. A crisis ensued—we were all hungry & wanted to eat before making the trip back to Paragon’s top-floor cinema. A flurry of Thai progressed around me & then Winner and Oom disappeared. Bank and Tony turned to me and explained the situation: the two who had left were off scouting other Shabushi locations to see if we could get fed sooner than waiting where we were. Ten minutes later, Bank got a call: with a few nods of his head to the invisible caller, he placed the phone back in his pocket stood up & explained that they had found another location which was serving sooner than where we were. We grabbed our stuff, jumped on the escalator & proceeded on another whirlwind journey filled with glass, air-conditioning, foot bridges and passageways before we arrived at another Shabushi location, where we sat down & gorged ourselves on tasty Japanese delicacies that motored along a conveyor belt in front of us.

A Movie

One of my favourite things about watching movies in Thailand—aside from being able to reserve your seats when you buy your ticket so you don’t have to waste an hour waiting in line at the door—is listening to the King’s Anthem that plays before any type public performance in the country. The version of the anthem that plays in the theatres almost always has the same audio track regardless of the location you’re watching movies & the audio hasn’t changed in 4 years. What has changed, and what seems to change almost annually, is the series of pictures or video clips that accompany the anthem on the screen: they portray a story of the Thai king & what he has done for the country, or they depict scenes of Thai national pride. These images, along with the musical score, never fail to give me goose-bumps—especially at the end of the anthem, during the choir’s crescendo as they sing “Chai-oh” with lusty vigour. The sense of national pride & communal patriotism that this song exudes is something in which we Canadians fail horribly. The vigorous respect and awe that this performance of the anthem reflects toward the Thai king is something I wish we, as Christians, could emulate when we choose to venerate our own King. I am moved; I am swollen with wonder whenever this song is performed at the theatres. It is something definitely worth taking in if ever you get a chance to visit Thailand.

& the Black Swan

After we had finished watching Unknown, the students each went their separate ways, braving the city’s rush-hour traffic to head home in time for supper. I opted to stay downtown and meet up with some current & some previous GES teachers at the Black Swan, which was only a few sky train stations away. We had planned on making our rendezvous at this English public house for 7pm, but as things so often go when planning with GES staff, it turned out that plans had changed while I was downtown... and that the gentlemen with whom I was to meet had now planned on leaving their respective locations at 7:30.

It was a Friday evening and a cricket match was playing on the televisions strewn about wood-paneled walls of the English pub. Having just been able to scam a rogue wi-fi connection on my phone for about three minutes before it faded away, I managed to discover the change in plans via Facebook and proceeded to guard my large table from the cricket fan base who was eying my prime real-estate among the shadows like a pack of lurking hyenas, ready to strike at the first sign of weakness. Twenty minutes passed. Forty-five minutes ticked away until I finally broke down & ordered some onion rings to assure the pub girls that I wasn’t just loitering at a large table without throwing down any cash. I was getting antsy. It was well past 6 now, and no-one had showed up yet. Should I give up on waiting & just order the pub’s infamous Hawaiian burger to appease my growling stomach, or should I hold out a little longer, just in case...

I broke down & decided, in a compromise, to order a draft pint of Guinness which would help me bide the time before the gents would arrive. Flagging down the pub girl before she made her way down the wooden, spiral stair-case beside me to the main floor, I asked her for the glass of suds. With a forlorn, apologetic look, she explained to me that they had run out of Guinness until the next shipment arrived on Monday.

Fail.

No worse of news could have reached my ears at that moment. I had travelled half-way around the world with a mental check-list of things to do while back in Thailand, and having a pint of Guinness with friends over delicious hamburgers at the Black Swan ranked pretty high on the “must do” section of the list. How could it be that they were out of the one thing that would make my experience complete? My mind went into disaster-recovery mode: how could I salvage the experience? “Well,” I thought to myself, “Craig’s going to be coming. He’s a fan of Kilkenny, and it’s not a bad alternative. Perhaps I’ll have to make do with Guinness’ lighter-coloured brother.” Before the girl had a chance to leave, I asked her for a pint of Kilkenny instead. To my chagrin, she sheepishly responded that it too was unavailable until Monday.

Epic fail.

She suggested Tetley’s, to which I acquiesced. I’ve never had Tetley’s before, but it turned out to be the furthest possible thing from Guinness or even Kilkenny: it was a bitter, light-bodied lager that definitely was no substitute for a much-desired stout. The night was turning out to be an exceptional disappointment: no frothy suds, no friends, no internet to confirm what was even happening in the outside world. I had decided, at this point, to grab a burger & scarf it down before heading back to GES for the night. At least I’d be able to munch on the tasty burger.

Before I could wrangle one of the pub girls over to the table—which was feeling more & more like the vast expanse of intergalactic space—a familiar head started bobbing up the staircase, complete with enormous, bushy eyebrows. Tyler had arrived. He crossed the threshold, put his motorcycle helmet down on the seat beside him and said, “Hey.” Pub solitude had finally been vanquished.

Within another 15-20 minutes, the much-coveted table that I had been guarding alone for the past 90 minutes transformed into an over-stuffed collection of friends, food and jovial conversation. Stories were swapped; french-fries were stolen from Chris Martin’s plate while he was lingering outside; friendly jibes were made in Tyler’s direction prophesying when he would ask others if they were going to finish all the food on their plates; glasses were emptied & refilled and consolations were passed around the table about the Pub’s empty kegs. Apparently, the Black Swan had been plagued with dry kegs on several occasions this year. McLatcher piped in that it was probably Michael’s fault, seeing as whenever he comes—or even thinks of coming—to the Black Swan, the establishment never has Guinness. Although Michael hadn’t come that evening, he had thought about it, and apparently that was enough to ensure the lines were dry. The whole table chuckled and bemusedly agreed that this probably was the reason for the troubled taps.

Burgers having been eaten & pint glasses with but a drooping halo lingering within, the conversations continued long into the night until the lure of sleep beckoned us homeward. We parted ways severally: some of us grabbed taxis while others hopped on motorcycles and whisked on through the night, leaving only the pub’s wooden sign waving us a farewell in the gentle breeze of our departure.

That day was a very good day.

Scratch 2.5 more items off the checklist…