Holy wat, Batman!

After my birthday celebration, I stole away for a birthday retreat. Upon the recommendation of a friend, I went to Sukhothia, one of the original capitals of Thailand which dates back to 1238AD. An enchanted place if there ever was one. From the time I stepped off the plane onto the tarmac I felt like I was in another era. The luggage was unloaded off of the puddle jumper into a truck and it was handed to me once we taxied over to the quaintest airport I have ever seen—not quaint like the airport in Newport News (that’s just small)—no, this was quaint like bed and breakfast quaint. No hassle with baggage claim here. Later, on my morning walk, I saw a man getting his water from a nearby pond. Here I was speed walking to burn a few calories with my MP3 player and my Saucony cross trainers, and there was a man burning the first of many calories in order to survive. Build a fire, fetch the water, wash the laundry by hand, take the cows out to pasture…I was in another world.

I stayed at a little guest house run by Paulo, a hospitable Italian. This oasis was just what I needed to get through the next week and a half of school before Christmas break. Lush, green, flowers everywhere. Tropical birds adorned the grounds—including a real, live Toucan. The best part though was the stock of chilled wine waiting just for me (or so it seemed).

The first day, I walked around the historical park. There were a few tourists but not that many so it felt like I was all by myself walking through the grounds. Ponds were at every turn with a stunning display of fuchsia water lilies. Huge old trees provided the canopy of their shade for respite. Ancient ruins were sprinkled throughout. It was like walking through a dream.

This morning I had my own tuk tuk driver for three hours. I felt like a rich lady with my own car and personal chauffeur. He took me out to see some ancient Khmer ruins and then to see the big Buddha. I have seen pictures of this particular Buddha before, but seeing it in person put all pictures to shame. Situated back off the road on an estate all its own, sits Wat Sri Chum. Circumscribed by a stone room that boasts a key hole opening, a 50 foot Buddha sits in the “touching earth” position. This was the most impressive wat I have seen so far. Something magical, magnificent, mystical pervaded the space around this tremendous stone sculpture. Just thinking about the logistics of making a Buddha this huge and entrapping it in a walled area boggled my mind. The fingers alone on the elegant, slender hand were at least twice as tall as me. I found myself awe struck, mouth agape, staring at this serene image.

On the way back to the airport at four o’clock in the afternoon, I watched as kilometer after kilometer of farmland passed by out the window. Farmers were working the land, hoes in tow, watering by hand. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve read about it in books (thank you, Steinbeck) but to be in such close proximity to this type of exhausting toil kind of numbed me and made me reflect on my daily complaints (why won’t the stupid internet work? I don’t want to wash the dishes and the trash has to go out again!). It also made my work ethic look quite shabby (let’s all read silently for twenty minutes, look, I’ll even read with you). Thinking back to my tuk tuk driver who drove me around, dropped me off for my hour massage, waited for me while I ordered and ate spring rolls, I realized I didn’t just feel like a rich lady; I am a rich lady.

Strange how perspective is both liberating and discomfiting.

You say it's your birthday...

It’s my birthday, too! Friday night some of my teacher friends took me out for my birthday. I had been worried that my birthday would be a non-event, the way it was my freshman year in college, but Monica made sure it wasn’t. We all met for dinner at a fabulous Thai restaurant. The Parkland crew (four of us from my apartment complex) was an hour late due to crazy traffic; it took an hour and forty five minutes to get downtown when it usually takes forty. I was trying not to get frustrated, and having great company in the cab helped. My mood was assuaged when upon entering Anna’s Cafe the manager asked me if I was a star. I was taken aback but said, “Not yet.” He laughed, pleased with my answer. Perhaps he says this to all the ladies, but I was flattered nonetheless.

We had a savory dinner replete with the birthday song sung by the wait staff at the end and a slice of yummy carrot cake. I had heard that Anna’s Cafe had good cake, but I imagined the praise was relative to other Thai cake. But this carrot cake rivaled many I have had at home. After I made a wish, blew out the candle, and took a bite, I passed it around the table.

Even though we were an hour late for dinner, we made it in time to get a downstairs table at O’Reilly’s Pub before the Thai Beatle’s started playing. This place was packed with quite a mix of people. A lot of old white guys with their young and not so young Thai beauties. Some single farangs in the mix. Some Thai’s (including an old one that played air guitar all night—most entertaining). Some Indians. I surveyed our group and asked them what their favorite Beatle’s song is and everyone had a different answer; however some people revised their selections as different songs were played. There are just too many fabulous songs.

And the band was impressive. I’ve heard a couple Thai bands by now and more often than not, the Thai accent is quite obtrusive, to the point of sometimes being comic. But I could not detect an accent when the Thai Beatles sang. It was amazing. We were singing along, being obnoxious. At one point, I got up and danced with an old man who I am sure is the proud owner of a Viagra prescription, but he had amazing energy. He danced all night. As far as dancing goes, it is difficult for me to follow sometimes (imagine that), but I did my best; since he was a strong lead, it wasn’t too hard. He did the turns and all that; I was just waiting for him to dip me and for my back to go out, revealing to all my soon to be rickety age of thirty two. Luckily, that didn’t happen. He was very grateful for the dance and kept wai-ing to me once the dance was over I wanted to tell him I wasn’t Thai, nor was he, so he didn’t need to do the whole hands-folded-in-prayer-and-bowing thing to show gratitude, but I feared the alternative would be far worse so I let him bow until his heart’s content.

The inevitable came rather early in the evening. Monica, the gem, had told the band it was my birthday. They sang Happy Birthday and then, well, you know the drill. So now I have been serenaded in three different countries. It was fun. And much better than anyone else who has sung “Michelle, ma belle…” to me before.