Thailand with Phil 2024

Saturday we decided to something brave: go on an outing just by ourselves. We’d always had a student or friend to take us sight-seeing before—but we felt confident enough now to fly solo. So at 8:45 a.m. (getting an early start is crucial on these blazing hot February days) we crossed Lat Phrao Road and caught the #8 bus (air-conditioned!) and started on our adventure. We had taken the same route with Nui to the Jim Thompson House, so I was fairly confident I could remember the correct stop. And I did! (Okay, no big deal, but anyone over 70 worries about things like that.) We stepped off the bus into a warren of shops, higgledy-piggledy crammed side by side, all sheltered by corrugated tin roofing. Small aisles led off in all directions, past every kind of shop imaginable: sports clothes, artificial flowers, silk scarves, handbags, elephant pants, wood carvings, paper goods, juice bars, caps, hats, street food, pottery, socks, bath towels, dried fruits, tea sets, pedicures, key chains,

Almost two months. It’s difficult to say how much impact Phil and I have had on Thailand during this time. But it certainly has changed us in some interesting ways.  Our life since Phil’s retirement over three years ago has been quiet, with few disruptions in daily schedule (except our move to Minneapolis and various occasional trips). Phil in particular has enjoyed the lack of structure and routine, focusing on trips to the gym, lots of podcasts and Korean dramas, and helping out where he can with our son and grandson, who live nearby. Early dinners and bedtime, the occasional walk on the trails or motorcycle jaunt in rural Minnesota, a good cigar and regular fires in the back yard—these mark his days at home. Though we love to welcome friends and family, Phil doesn’t mind when weeks go by without much socializing. He describes himself as an extrovert who doesn’t particularly care for people. Phil, Paul, and Ernie just hanging out. You can see the backyard fire pit by the lawn chairs.

Deep in the jungle of skyscrapers that is central Bangkok, there is a compound of well-preserved, historic Thai buildings, surrounded by lush gardens, overlooking a picturesque canal. It is a place of peace, the mirage of a more elegant era, when silk was making its long, serpentine journey back into the fashion world. An ex-CIA American, traveling the world after serving as a spy in WWII, fell in love with Thailand. Jim Thompson (1906-1967) was trained in architecture as well as espionage. He had traveled extensively throughout Thailand and collected antiques as he went. Desiring a home worthy to showcase his collection, he purchased old Thai structures built in the previous century, made mainly of teak. Reassembling these buildings on his property near the canal, he created a compound of six Thai dwellings that now comprise the Jim Thompson House. He moved into these living quarters in 1959 and stayed there until his mysterious disappearance in 1967, entertaining businessmen and pers

When I wake up in the morning, I am not a pretty sight. Disheveled, baggy-eyed, still half-asleep, I drag myself into the kitchen area and stumble toward the hot water pot to make my first cup of tea. Phil—who has been up for four or five hours and is brimming with things to tell me—knows better than to strike up a conversation until I’ve finished that first cup of steaming, milky, slightly sweet green tea. I’m not a morning person. To get blood flowing to my brain, I need vigorous exercise. Otherwise I sit stupefied on the couch, trying to think of any reason why I shouldn’t crawl back into bed.  In Minnesota I can pull on jogging clothes and head out for an early morning run through the fields and on the trails behind our house. But here…well, the air is heavily polluted, and I really don’t want carcinogens pumping into my lungs as I run. Plus, it’s too hot and humid to go far, even at sunrise. Thank you, God, for the gym. Fitness First! After my cup of tea, Phil and I walk 11.5 minu

Saturday—a day with no obligations, no outings, no work that needed to be done. It should have been lovely. However, the morning began dismally. For a start, the weather was gloomy—grey and cloudy, yet hot and humid. A pall of moist, polluted air hung over the city, blocking the sun, fading everything to a dingy grey. The high-rise apartments a half-mile away were barely visible. We plodded down Ladprao Road, gym bags slung over our shoulders, breathing in the fetid air of the canal and gutters, complemented by the exhaust fumes of the never-ending traffic. We weren’t speaking—partly because of the noise, partly because we’d had some depressing news from the manager of our rentals back in the States: more repairs needed, depleting our already low supply of funds. One of us—I won’t say who—was in a rather bad temper. Augmenting this was a bit of Thailand fatigue. We’d had an outing the day before with one of our dear students, which we greatly enjoyed and appreciated. But the weather ha