From
my earliest of memories, I can recall my family telling stories about Thailand.
Having spent 2 years of her young childhood there, my mother has since shared
the snippets of her experiences she still remembers today. My grandfather was
in the military, and thus on an American base, but this didn't hinder my mother
and her sisters from being immersed in the same culture in which I now find
myself. Stories of sticky rice in ice cream, smelly fruit, sipping red Fanta
from a bag, floating markets, manic taxi driving, reclining Buddha statues and
their made called Dang, are among the stories that I have not only heard, but
some of which, I've been able to experience first hand. So you can only imagine
my excitement as our bus reached its final stop, and I stepped out into the
city of Bangkok, where my family, some 40 years previous, had lived, worked and
sacrificed the "normalcy" they'd known in the States.
We were greeted by a family friend of
Kelsey's and were ushered off to a weekend of sheer heaven and unrivaled
kindness. We stayed with a hospitable family who, during this trip, adopted us
into their Thai family. When I met them, I couldn't help but be reminded of
some of my mother's stories about her caregiver and maid from years ago, Dang. A
selfless, motherly figure to my mother and aunts, Dang's legacy and lasting
impression became more than folklore to me. It became reality as I stood face
to face with the exact Thai love and inclusion as my mother and aunts
experiences long ago. We were given a private room, fed the most amazing
breakfasts and then whisked away through Bangkok traffic on an
all-expenses-paid tour through the city. A weekend full of food, museums,
palaces, golden statues, floating markets and authentic Thai massages was sure
to leave me grasping for the details at the holiday's end, hoping I could relay
at least a bit of my elation through this blog.
I could tell you about dinner on the streets of Bangkok that first night, taxis weaving through table and vendors. I could tell you about the King's palace, the golden archways, handcrafted mosaics and reverent prayers. I could tell you about the heartwarming respect the people have for their King Rama IX, his flags flying on every corner, his picture plastered to skyscrapers. I could tell you about the canal-side resort in jungle where we watched monks paddle serenely by. I could tell you about longboat skiffs which carried us to vendors while other boats merged in and around us, their hulls equipped with whole kitchens. I could tell you about my first massage, Thai no less, and how modesty is the least of worries and having to shift your mindset from molestation to relaxation is rather difficult. I could tell you about the Thai homesickness I felt having to hug these precious people goodbye. I could tell you about our rushed drive to the bus station, arriving in time to get the last tickets on a minivan driven by a 17 year old and wishing away carsickness as we barreled 7 hours south toward home. I could tell you about all of those things, but I can't. It is simply a personal experience I could never hope to accurately convey without pitiful discredit to this place and its people. They are memories which I, not selfishly but exasperatedly keep inside, wishing I could share with utmost detail.
I could tell you about dinner on the streets of Bangkok that first night, taxis weaving through table and vendors. I could tell you about the King's palace, the golden archways, handcrafted mosaics and reverent prayers. I could tell you about the heartwarming respect the people have for their King Rama IX, his flags flying on every corner, his picture plastered to skyscrapers. I could tell you about the canal-side resort in jungle where we watched monks paddle serenely by. I could tell you about longboat skiffs which carried us to vendors while other boats merged in and around us, their hulls equipped with whole kitchens. I could tell you about my first massage, Thai no less, and how modesty is the least of worries and having to shift your mindset from molestation to relaxation is rather difficult. I could tell you about the Thai homesickness I felt having to hug these precious people goodbye. I could tell you about our rushed drive to the bus station, arriving in time to get the last tickets on a minivan driven by a 17 year old and wishing away carsickness as we barreled 7 hours south toward home. I could tell you about all of those things, but I can't. It is simply a personal experience I could never hope to accurately convey without pitiful discredit to this place and its people. They are memories which I, not selfishly but exasperatedly keep inside, wishing I could share with utmost detail.
The taxi sat in traffic then, finding a tiny opening, sped through the creeping
cars and darting motorcycles. "Here we are," said our gracious host.
"This is part of Sukhumvit Road." The
taxi then stopped abruptly on the side of the busy street, and I saw what looked to
be a small replica of Time's Square, a huge television screen overlooking the 6
lanes of bumper to bumper traffic on the road called Sukhumvit. I snapped a few
quick photos before hopping onto the sidewalk. It was such a surreal experience
having come full circle in two respects, really. One, by stepping out of that
taxi, I had finally solidified the place I'd known to be true in my mind but
had yet to transform from mere fairytale stories to reality. And two, a dream
(or fairytale of sorts) in my own mind that had finally come to
fruition. A desire to travel, to be adopted into a culture, to respect beliefs
and simply to nurture my own dreams for once without the slightest reservation.
Both successes wrapped in one dream turned true, and I couldn't be
happier.
To
return will be so refreshing. During our break in October, Kelsey and I plan to
do some extensive traveling, both to Bangkok and a slightly smaller, more rural
city called Chiang Mai. If our first excursion from tiny Uttaradit was any
indication of the ones to come, I can't wait to see what's in store.
