A Billionaire’s Dream

 Today (Saturday) was an all-school outing to the Ancient City—a 300-acre outdoor museum built by a Thai of Chinese descent named Lek Viriyaphan. Born at the start of WWII, Lek made it big in business and was able to indulge his passion for travel, history, and culture. Distressed at seeing deterioration of ancient Siamese sites and a lack of appreciation in Thailand for its heritage, he bought 300 acres of Bangkok land and began building replicas of historic buildings from all the provinces. His dream was to help the people of Thailand come to know and love what their ancestors had achieved.

The result is phenomenal. The place is huge. We took trams along the winding roads that lead from replicas of early temples, burial sites, royal palaces, floating markets, fortified walls, gardens, shrines, halls, pavilions, replicas of traditional villages, and statuary. There are currently 122 such sites in the Ancient City, with more planned. 

At the end of the day, I feel as though I’ve been dipped into a vat of Thai history, and come up dripping. My imagination is drenched in soaring rooflines, ornate murals, darkened burial mounds, writhing serpents, and fantastical faces. 


















Entrance to the Museum of Ghosts

I almost stayed home today, a bit weary from teaching and from a trip to the Grand Palace yesterday with another of our students (which was lovely outing). As an introvert, I find myself searching desperately for spaces of quiet and peace, especially on the weekends. None of Phil’s and my students had signed up for this trip, however, so we were able to simply wander or sit or explore as we wished. It was restful. One of my favorite parts of the day was simply sitting with Phil on a quiet bench in the shade of a pagoda off the beaten path, enjoying the breeze and the solitude and silence.


I’m not sure yet what conclusions to draw from this bewildering vision of images, architecture, and ancient stone. But it leaves an impression of darkness and fear—especially in the faces of the dead in the Museum of Ghosts, where I did not take pictures because I didn’t want to remember the horror and despair. The droning, monotone chants of the monks (I can’t help it—I find it terribly irritating) only adds to the prevailing mood. Well, if I were Buddhist, I might think about it differently. But between the blank, impassive faces of the buddhas and the grotesque horror of the demons, I don’t sense much joy. I’ll have to do more reading on Thailand’s ancient and inscrutable culture to learn what lies at its heart.




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