Bangkok Reflections, 2011 - part I
Coming back to Bangkok feels so natural, it’s almost as if I’ve never left. That old aphorism, “The more things change; the more they stay the same” couldn’t be more poignant. Although the world of Nonthaburi, Bangkok & Thailand itself is in constant flux, and although new things are popping up in places I never would have expected, it really comes as no surprise: my understanding of Thailand and my time living here has taught me that change & transition are fundamental aspects of this metropolitan centre.
The flight across the Pacific was largely uneventful. Landing in the Hong Kong International Airport blew me away, however—I had forgotten what humid air was like! The glass-and-steel construct, as sturdy & as secure as you would imagine, was nevertheless unable to keep the dense, moist ocean air from permeating through the terminal. Certain passengers would inevitably consider the dank quality of the airport’s atmosphere to be unpleasant or displeasing; I on the other hand, breathed deep the rich, heavy-laden air, treating my lungs to a sensation as satisfying as moisturising one’s skin with soothing balm. This prelude to Thailand made me all the more excited to complete my journey & land in my second home.
For the first time ever, I was able to avoid the mad taxi rush & expensive highway tolls typically required when escaping Suvarnabhumi International: the Airport Rail Link had opened sometime in the past year, which made for a pleasant surprise. I had been waiting to ride that thing for ever, watching it get pieced together, bit by bit, throughout the past four years (it’s crazy to think about it, but yes—it has been four years since I first set foot on Thai soil in 2007). The train is a wonderful bit of convenience, connecting the major public transit stations with the airport—something that’s great for everybody from tourists to Thais alike… except for the taxi drivers, whose big ticket fares accrued from shuttling people between the city and the airport have inevitably shrunk as a result.
One of the first things I noticed as I commuted via taxi from the train station to my former school, GES, was the massive progress that the city had made on expanding the BTS Skytrain system from Mo Chit station westward. Wongsawang Road was now bisected by a massive construction zone, wherein concrete piles were being poured & formed, growing like monochromatic monoliths, veritable vertebrae for the future expansion of the transit system into Nonthaburi. I wondered to myself, as my taxi skirted alongside the development, how long it would be before the need for a taxi to connect GES and the airport would disappear.
True to GES form, when I arrived at 10 pm, the school’s front gate was locked shut. I tossed my laptop bag over the fence & then hopped over myself, leaving the rest of my luggage stranded street-side until I could find someone with a key. Fortunately, Craig was working on some last-minute lesson plans in the staff room, so after a quick hug & greeting, we scurried back to the gate & rescued my bags from their sidewalk jeopardy.
The next morning, I left my apartment and almost immediately ran into some of my Grade 9 students (they’re in G 11 now, but that’s beside the point!). As usual, they were being diligent with pre-class studying & other scholastic work. Mild appeared around the corner, this year with her hair tinted ruby red. When she smiled, I noticed that her braces had gone the way of the dinosaur—that was fast! She just got them in Grade 10! The morning bell rang, and we made our ways toward the main field. I only made it about 15 metres before running into the Grade 10 guys (Grade 12 this year, but when you stop teaching them, they forever remain in your head as the last grade level you taught ‘em), and while we were chatting, Elf shouted my name from down the hallway & ran up to us with a big smile on her face. Unlike Mild, she still had her braces, however she got another new pair of glasses this year.
It was great being able to catch up with the students—if only in brief hallway moments—on day one back. After running into Boom by the school’s office, who was waiting for her cousin to arrive so that she could show her around (it was going to be the first day for Boom’s cousin to be at GES. Final exams were being held the next day: “classic GES,” I thought to myself), Esso turned the corner walking with a camera bag & wearing a shirt drenched with sweat. Why he was at GES instead of being in his university classes, I myself wondered, however the mystery was soon resolved: he was taking grad photos for NCA & this term’s schedule for him had all of his classes on a Tuesday/Thursday rotation. That afternoon, Oom & Katak came to the school to visit & we began making plans for the rest of the time I was in Thailand. Katak’s now living on the other side of the city, close to the Dusit Thani Culinary School, where he’s studying, so we’re hoping to be able to hang out more while I’m here… but it might be difficult for him to make the long trip across town.
One of the more surprising things I noticed about my old neighbourhood was the fact that everything seemed so clean. It hadn’t rained for a long time I was told, so I was a little amazed that the sidewalks were devoid of dust, litter & soi dog poop. Not only this, but there was a noticeable absence of odours—both on the streets & by the khlong. You’d typically expect to smell the pleasant aroma of fermenting black water, whose bouquet ranged from rotting cheese to pre-sewage… but this year, there wasn’t really anything to be said about the smell from the canal. Either that or I’ve become so accustomed to its rancidity that my olfactory awareness has chosen to ignore the presence of anything foul whenever I crossed the bridge. It might be a possibility, but why then do I smell the delicate fragrance from the school’s potted jasmine shrubs immediately adjacent to this bridge? You can’t mask khlong smell with jasmine; you can only mix the two together & smell them in concert. It’d be like tossing an open bottle of perfume into a well-used outhouse.
For being the end of the dry season, I’m surprised at how green things are. The trees in the courtyard and even the scant grass on the playing fields are a verdant hue instead of showing themselves in the wilted, browny-yellow shades that so often typify late Feb / early March. The cicadas are out en masse though, true to form. They were wailing their rattles incessantly last night after Matt & I returned from the soi with a couple orders of street-side pad thai. I couldn’t help but smile to myself, reminiscing in the repeated history of the moment: a small bag in one hand filled with 30 baht pad thai wrapped in waxed paper; a bottle of 7-11 water in the other; strolling down the blue awning-covered walkway toward the apartment with a friend, our ambling adventure accompanied by the cicadas’ communal cacophony and graced by gentle jasmine pockets wavering stealthily in the breezeless evening air. Although this was 2011, it could have just as easily been 2008. The only real difference was that the both of us were returning veterans visiting from our other occupations—his in Cambodia, and mine in Canada; nevertheless, the enchanting beauty of life at GES and the inexpressible fullness produced from a life serving at the school for the students, for the staff and for the surrounding community resonates in a deeply permanent way. The struggles, the trials & the sacrifices made while enduring the momentary difficulties inherent with a school-year at GES all fade away; what has truly remained is the legacy of love and purpose poured into lives throughout every square inch of the school’s campus. That is permanent. That is steeped deeply into every corner, every crack and every textbook in the school.
My hope & prayer is that the palpable infusion at GES would stick to the lives of those who’ve graced its campus; that their lives would be changed & transformed by the source of this difference, by the Root of what makes the place unique. This is the reason for the school’s existence.
