Dear Friends and Family,

A friend had the rather brilliant notion of going to a Bangkok Hip Hop club on Saturday and issued an open invitation to the rest of us to join him in order to enjoy the people watching and the partying. At the time that this notion was mentioned, most of us responded with unenthusiastic grunts due, I think, to the previous week’s exertions. And really, you’ve never seen such a bunch of party poopers as we all were on Friday night: one friend ate dinner at 11 after sleeping through the evening and I myself could barely keep my eyes open during class let alone dinner… although I perked up once I pulled up my desk chair to convert my week’s thoughts into blog entries. I don’t sleep a lot here in Bangkok. Anyway, this clubbing idea began to appeal more on Saturday… especially after a successful morning of finishing one paper and a panicky afternoon of searching for one of my papers with irreplaceable teacher comments on it. (And, no, I still haven’t resolved this issue…) I asked to be counted in on the clubbing excursion… and as the planner friend is on a rather strict budget, it was decided to start with a drink at W House in order to save money on marked-up club alcohol. The arrangement seemed off to a promising start once I had decided on a brief black top and jeans (I do always feel better once I’ve decided on appropriate attire) and my friend decided to wear her new skirt & tee combo purchased for the bargain 200 B (~$5.50) at the MBK shopping center. We set off downstairs, cute shoes clicking heavily against the stairs, only to find an empty lobby and the boys running late. Why were the boys running late? Because a mini-crisis was just becoming apparent.

There were teeny warning signs of the impending “crisis” if you were savvy enough to notice them; however, assessing city happenings and mood was not high on any of our lists. Me, myself and I had spent most of the day in my favorite W House spot: in the lobby, parallel to the front window, earphones in, salad pending, writing assignment four due next week. During my admirable efforts, I could take mini-breaks to scratch accumulating mosquito bites, giggle when one of my classmates stopped by to make a sweet face at me through the window, and smile at the fat pug and his owner out for a walk. During this time I also experienced a brief moment of puzzlement as two trucks came parading down the alley, their beds filled with slightly fatigued people that smiled and waved rather placating while the truck speakers blared with music and Thai rhetoric. I didn’t pick-up on any urgency to this campaigning (?) and soon forgot the trucks in favor of marveling at two antique ladies that a cab had just dropped off. Oh, truly, I actually did get quite a bit of homework done.

Anyway, the boys were late because they had taken the trouble to obtain some whiskey from 7-11 in place of their usual beer – and 7-11 had stopped selling alcohol at 6 pm. As we sat at our table with a few beers from W House, a leftover “girly” Bacardi drink for me, and a newspaper with unintelligible headlines, it became apparent that no alcohol was being sold due to an election that was to occur on Sunday. We were a bit peeved: after all, we aren’t allowed to vote so why can’t we drink on a Saturday night? Apparently the Bangkok government had thought of this and excluded guesthouses from the rule but… Anyway, as we sat and drank and talked, almost everyone from our class popped by to join us for a beer and some chat. Finally, we agreed upon a modified plan in which we’d first go to a Jazz Club called Brown Sugar and then we’d head off to the Hip Hop club. We meandered into two cabs, issued directions, and set off. Having not been in a cab since journeying to Wendy House, I had to spend a few minutes taking deep breaths to come to grips with Bangkok cab-driver behavior. Still no seatbelts! It soon became apparent that while we knew the name of the club and the street, the cabbie did not know either – and his knowledge was not supplemented by even a basic understanding of English. Cell phone conversations ensued between the two cabs as one guy or the other would ring to report that we were “down a road with greenery” or “ok, we just passed McDonalds” (this is no more helpful in Bangkok than it would be in the States) and finally with a bit of desperation, one guy called his Thai girlfriend (in Cambodia) who both knew where the bar was and could give the cabbie directions. The streets of Bangkok flashed by: buildings lit by florescent lights, the gold-meshed W hotel with its classic point, a brightly lit Ferris wheel at the night bazaar, tons of commercial signs for 7-11 or “Paradis” spas. It all seems a bit of a blur now as despite my fledgling efforts, I truly do not have my bearings in this city during the day and I feel even more lost at night. Finally, we were dropped in front of a dark embassy not far from our intended destination but by this point it had become apparent from the observation of a few astute guys that clubbing was out: no alcohol was being served, the clubs were closed.

This was indeed a disappointment and we milled about negotiating what to do. Go back to W House? The more enthusiastic of us didn’t find this a palatable notion and so at the suggestion of our cabby (don’t ask how we understood this), four of us ended up at the night bazaar. We had passed the brightly lit bazaar on the way to our darkened embassy and my attention had been caught by an enormous Ferris wheel and a tall brightly lit tower/sign that says “Suan Luam Night Bazaar” down its front while spouting a shower of lights at its top. As I’ve recently caught a bit of a fancy to see the London Eye and the “Roue de Paris” Ferris wheel with its brightly patterned lights and its potential for an excellent city view posed a strong appeal for me. As we passed through the beer garden with “beer adverts” everywhere but no beer anywhere, I decided that I must ride the Ferris Wheel. I may be terrified of heights but defeating silly fears is on my general list of things to do. The boys remained behind to watch and wave while my friend and I climbed into a swinging, plastic enclosed cab and spent the first revolution being too terrified to comfortably peer at the city. Once we recovered from our fright (partially assisted by the realization that the family next door was enjoying the view of us being terrified more than the view of the city), I began to notice saffron lights parading across a road bridge, a darkened clock tower of some beauty in the park next door, the Skytrain snaking between buildings, the softly glowing rainbow rows of the bazaar itself with a fairyland section of greenery interspersed with white lights. The city view was marvelous and we were just getting the hang of the Ferris wheel when it came to a stop and we disembarked on slightly shaking legs. With the boys, we wandered the bazaar. As the boys had done their duty in waiting for us I didn’t feel that we could torture them too badly by shopping and we did manage to (yes!) find some beer for sale, hidden in a refreshment stand amongst the booths of elephant purses, cheap Thai silks, toys, clothing, and other tourist knick knacks. Honestly, I probably could’ve shopped a lot as the place is definitely more tourist-oriented (i.e. perhaps clothing of my size was to be had) and I seriously considered buying a backpack for my impending travels – I had the lady worked down from 800 B to 550 B but in the end I didn’t want to buy an important item such as a traveler’s backpack on impulse.

While the boys drank their beers, I bought a water and mocked the dancers on the large stage in front of the beer garden. Eventually midnight began to encroach and as we needed to catch the Skytrain, we left the bazaar. In order to be fast and logical, we took the MRT subway one stop (another first for all of us) and then the Skytrain to our usual National Stadium stop. We rushed to do this – one guy and I in the lead while my friend and the other guy followed – apparently sometimes at a run to keep up with our hurried strides. At home, I’ve been called “the death marcher” but here in Bangkok, I rarely get the chance to stretch my legs. It was wonderful and I can tell you now that when I do settle, I’ll be running or yogaing or ti chiing or something that involves… moving. We all made our trains and ended up back at the W House to join the other boys who had made serious inroads into the beer in the fridge - not by themselves, of course. We talked until 2 am when the W House receptionist got sick of our presence and turned the lights out on us. I was too keyed to sleep so I spent some quality time with George Clooney before finally shutting my eyes.

Despite my yellow-striped curtains, the sun awoke me at the late hour of – groan – 7:45 am. I don’t think that I’ve slept more than 6 hours since moving into the W House. Anyway, you cannot judge time by the sun here… or, let me re-phrase: I cannot tell time based on the sun here. I’ve now enjoyed a cuppa tea and must make my way to the shower as I cannot appear downstairs with my hair in disarray – I don’t want anyone to loose his or her breakfast. Especially if the he(s) are feeling sensitive after too much beer from the night previous.

I can still feel my hand gripping the wrought iron Ferris wheel door as I savor the fairy lights amongst the greenery and night darkness. Sometimes the best adventures cannot be planned….

Love,

Laura

PS: Today's pic: Thai silk from a shopping excursion. Gorgeous!