Back in Bangkok

Back in Bangkok

We arrive in Bangkok at midnight local time. The airport is, as always, crazy-busy, with people streaming in all directions. 

We make record time through customs. Along the way, it occurs to me that, of all the times we've been to Bangkok, this is our first an only time to come here together — just the two of us. It takes me several minutes to stop trying to "count my chickens" — to stop constantly looking around to see if Joe or Patrice or Peyton or Walter or John or Jeri is still with the group.

The cab ride in from the airport goes smoothly. From the expressway, Bangkok at night always looks a little sleepy. The Thai don't keep their buildings lit inside and out at all hours of the night, so, at a glance, you'd think the city was asleep. But as soon as we exit the expressway and dip down into the city proper, there's no question that Bangkok really is one of those cities that never sleeps.

On previous trips, we have always stayed in the riverside resorts — those ultra-modern hotels like the Peninsula and the ShangriLa, that are always making the "World's Best Hotels" lists. This trip marks our first time to stay in the Sukhumvit area, near Soi 11 (what we would call "Eleventh Street"). At one in the morning, the streets here are thrumming with activity: streetside restauranteurs serving up heaping bowls of fragrant noodles from steaming pots, vendors selling sunglasses and t-shirts, tailors offering suits, sweaty Americans shopping for hookers, old women chopping pineapple into bite-sized chunks, teenagers sipping coconut juice from Ziploc bags pierced with straws. 

At the hotel — the President Palace — our bags are taken by the concierge, a young man in his twenties. Like most Thai men, he has a short, one-syllable nickname, and he introduces himself to us as "Big."

"You know," he says, stretching his arms up over his head, as though he's trying to reach the ceiling. "Big!"

I pat my stomach. "Actually, I think I'm bigger than you."

Thais love weight and age jokes, so this sort of self-effacing humor goes over well with Big, who hoots with laughter. 

A shower, a glance at email, a Skype call or two … and then we're in bed, drugged and happy and ready to see what we'll discover on Sunday morning in the Land of Smiles.

We arrive in Bangkok at midnight local time. The airport is, as always, crazy-busy, with people streaming in all directions. 

We make record time through customs. Along the way, it occurs to me that, of all the times we've been to Bangkok, this is our first an only time to come here together — just the two of us. It takes me several minutes to stop trying to "count my chickens" — to stop constantly looking around to see if Joe or Patrice or Peyton or Walter or John or Jeri is still with the group.

The cab ride in from the airport goes smoothly. From the expressway, Bangkok at night always looks a little sleepy. The Thai don't keep their buildings lit inside and out at all hours of the night, so, at a glance, you'd think the city was asleep. But as soon as we exit the expressway and dip down into the city proper, there's no question that Bangkok really is one of those cities that never sleeps.

On previous trips, we have always stayed in the riverside resorts — those ultra-modern hotels like the Peninsula and the ShangriLa, that are always making the "World's Best Hotels" lists. This trip marks our first time to stay in the Sukhumvit area, near Soi 11 (what we would call "Eleventh Street"). At one in the morning, the streets here are thrumming with activity: streetside restauranteurs serving up heaping bowls of fragrant noodles from steaming pots, vendors selling sunglasses and t-shirts, tailors offering suits, sweaty Americans shopping for hookers, old women chopping pineapple into bite-sized chunks, teenagers sipping coconut juice from Ziploc bags pierced with straws. 

At the hotel — the President Palace — our bags are taken by the concierge, a young man in his twenties. Like most Thai men, he has a short, one-syllable nickname, and he introduces himself to us as "Big."

"You know," he says, stretching his arms up over his head, as though he's trying to reach the ceiling. "Big!"

I pat my stomach. "Actually, I think I'm bigger than you."

Thais love weight and age jokes, so this sort of self-effacing humor goes over well with Big, who hoots with laughter. 

A shower, a glance at email, a Skype call or two … and then we're in bed, drugged and happy and ready to see what we'll discover on Sunday morning in the Land of Smiles.

Mark McElroy

I'm a husband, mystic, writer, media producer, creative director, tinkerer, blogger, reader, gadget lover, and pizza fiend.

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Who Wrote This?

Mark McElroy

I'm a husband, mystic, writer, media producer, creative director, tinkerer, blogger, reader, gadget lover, and pizza fiend.

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