ONE NIGHT IN BANGKOK

Thailand, Bangkok, in particular, has been one of my favorite destinations, and I have been visiting this vibrant city without a break for the past 25 years till Covid19 interrupted life as we know it and turned our worlds upside down. My return to this city after a two-year hiatus saw a few changes, a slight decrease in the tourists that filled its streets and malls, a few familiar places closed, victims of the economic crunch that Covid19 brought with it, but all in all the city was alive once again. Dinner with the Seneviratne’s, Shehan and Gimi almost invariably became a part of the tradition, since their move to this bustling metropolis some years ago and it was revived this year as well. And as usual our hosts put up a feast of mouthwatering dishes that didn’t do my carefully curated diabetic diet any good but left my tastebuds asking for more.

Did I mention that my better half and our good hostess were products of the same educational institution that has its headquarters down Flower Road Colombo 07, and goes by the name Ladies College? Anyone who has hitched his wagon to a product that has been churned out of this seat of learning would understand when I say that these ladies somehow seem to possess an iron will and strength of purpose that would put Maggie Thatcher aka the Iron Lady seem like a babe in the woods (to those who intend to spend the rest of their lives with one of them, here is a bit of sage advice from a veteran, “never argue, always agree,” and peace will reign supreme).

Anyway, hostess and better half took off to a comfortable couch after dinner and began dissecting the world and the people around them with a precision that would have brought tears of joy to my long-suffering biology teacher’s eyes, while the gentleman exchanged anecdotes from their carefree bachelor days, when they had more hair on their heads and less money in their wallets. I always had the feeling that these nostalgic wanderings were tinged with a little regret that they could not relive these days, a malady that can be seen when big match fever comes along and boys (who are no longer boys) revert to those days gone by fueled with copious amounts of the cup that cheers. Anyway, with the midnight hour upon us, replete with delicious food served up by our hosts, my better half and I returned to our temporary abode right in the heart of Sukhumvit, which is Bangkok’s bustling center of nonstop action lined with 24-hour restaurants, filled with a cosmopolitan collection of people from around the world. 

Middle Easterners enjoying coffee and conversation, Europeans with bemused expressions on their faces taking in the street life, the locals plying their wares, street walkers with their radar working overtime looking for a unsuspecting mark, weed shops offering a variety of substances with the promise of taking you to never never land, masseurs kneading the aches of weary bodies after marathon shopping sprees, lady boys who looked prettier than some of the females plying their trade on the pavements (some unsuspecting gentleman have at times accompanied these Goddesses for an intimate evening, only to discover to their shock and consternation at discovering what lies south of the border was what they had not imagined). One of my pastimes being people watching I was loath to leave the street and retire to bed, so I suggested a coffee, which to my surprise my better half agreed to (late nights are not exactly her forte) so we entered the Arabic restaurant conveniently situated right next to our hotel and lining the street from where we had birds eye view of all the little stories being enacted around us. 

Did I mention the effect that coffee has on my companion, let me take a slight pause here and enlighten you on this. I on the other hand can drink jugs full of the stuff and sleep like Rip Van Winkle, in fact my nightly routine usually has a coffee in it and bar of kit kat to help the diabetes along. Whilst on my life companion’s metabolism it has the opposite effect, the mists of sleep evading her and the slightest noise awakening her in battle mode. Since I am a nocturnal creature, after much practice I have begun to master the art of opening a bag of chips in total silence (try it if you haven’t, it requires a certain skill set that requires practice) then comes the actual consuming of this thin slice of potato without the crunch and crackle it usually brings, you insert the chip into your mouth, bring lips together, let the chip moisten and then bite down, if you do miscalculate be prepared to awaken a sleeping tigress. Anyway, back to my coffee shop.

Our coffee arrived at our table, a thick Turkish brew in which you could stand a teaspoon up straight in. The cups they came in immediately caught the eye of my companion; gold rimmed white cups with the familiar Harrods of London logo emblazoned on its side. Immediately all thoughts of coffee went out of the window to be replaced by the collectors gleam in the eye of my travelling companion. Using a mixture of pidgin English and sign language the waiter serving was informed of her wish to purchase the cups, he interpreted this as wanting more coffee, after much gesticulation and a repeat of the arm waving pantomime the Manager was called, and we repeated the request. The manager oozing all smiles and charm informed us that this unusual request had to be conveyed to the owner. The owner appeared, a sprightly, elderly looking gentleman with all the hallmarks of an astute businessman. Seeing our desire to possess these items he smiled, I feared for my already thinning wallet, but I was thankfully surprised when he gave the green light for the crockery changing hands at a very reasonable rate, after saying thank you and the typical middle eastern gesture of the hand over the heart to express our thanks (and a sense of relief on my part that my wallet had survived) we repaired to our room with the cups in my companions possession and me hopefully to my book and my bedside munchies. 

I remained blissfully uninterrupted from any onslaughts from my better half that night with complaints of lights kept on and crunching sounds from my side of the bed, largely I am assuming due to the fact that my successful negotiations had met with success and coffee can be served within the walls of my humble abode in gleaming Harrods crockery. I was left to my munchies and reading with only the sound of contented deep breathing, ( I refrain from using the word snoring just in case these words are read and objections raised) a day’s work well done, though I say so myself .