In a Slump

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 had been hotter than usual, and most of our time had been spent outdoors. I think both of us were suffering from a bit of heat stroke. We felt completely wiped out.

Added to this was a twinge of homesickness. I confess to missing our children and grandchildren, and also (to a lesser extent) the leather chair in our pine room and our great, comfortable bed. Half of our volunteer teaching staff has returned home, and Phil and I face a challenging group of students in the writing class we’ve taken on.

Nothing too daunting—but taken all in all, we felt in a bit of a slump. Our mood matched the desultory weather.

Then, as I was dressing at the gym, came a text from our Minneapolis friends who are teaching at another Santisuk location in Bangkok: “When are you coming over? We have the day free and would love to see you.”

That was a lifeline, and we took it. Returning home, we downed a bowl of oatmeal and hailed a taxi. Traffic was abysmal, that day being Chinese New Year, but we got to the palatial Magnolia Waterfront Residences just before noon. A light rain was beginning to fall, and we hurried inside the gleaming, three-story-high lobby and were greeted with the utmost courtesy by the Thai staff, who ushered us into the right elevator and sent us up, up, up to the 39th floor, where our friends are staying.

It was wonderful to see them again, to unload troubles both great and small, and to be in an elegant, air-conditioned environment for a while. After conversation and roasted chestnuts, we wandered down together, picked up hotel umbrellas to ward off the rain, and explored the luxury seven-story mall next door. 

Gary and Lyndell Moberg, friends from Minneapolis and fellow teachers.

The mall was crowded—all of Bangkok was celebrating the lunar new year by eating at the many restaurants there. We put our name in at several places, but were discouraged by the 30-40 minutes’ wait and also the banging of drums, which accompanied the Chinese dragon snaking through the eating areas. 

Note the pink dragon being carried around on poles.

People put money into the dragon’s mouth to ensure good luck for the coming year.

We left the mall to find a Thai restaurant that’s one of the Mobergs’ favorite spots. It was wonderful! Tom yum soup, papaya salad, beef fried rice, mango salad, stir-fried vegetables, and a few dishes I didn’t recognize. The place was quiet, clean, welcoming—restful and nourishing, both with food and conversation. 

Later, Lyndell suggested we walk to the Peninsula Hotel and see the orchids. The hotel in itself is a marvelous throwback to British colonial days, with plush carpets, staff who bow to you as you enter, a spacious lobby that serves afternoon tea, and teak-paneled walls. Great windows look out over tropical gardens and lawns. We visited the marble-floored bathrooms, then wandered out into the gardens that fronted the river. The orchids were stunning.

We walked barefoot on the expansive lawns, walked along the swimming pool, and then stood at the river’s edge, looking across to even more pricey hotels. The rain had stopped, and the clouds were beginning to break. Mercifully, the rain had also cleansed the air. 

Lyndell guided us onto the hotel boat, which takes you to various stops along the river at no cost. A very pretty boat it was too. Boarding it, I felt as though I’d stepped back in time to a gentler and more gracious era. It was a far cry from our Ladprao Road—and even our favorite but loud river taxis. 

Back at the Magnolia Riverfront Residences, we donned swimsuits and swam for an hour, washing away the perspiration and pollution, gradually feeling rejuvenated by the cool salt water of the infinity pool.

By the time we left our friends, we were out of our slump. It had been just what we’d needed to refresh our perspective and put us back on track. 

Postscript: Friday evening’s worship message was centered on running the race marked out for us with perseverance. The Kenyan pastor showed a clip of one of his countrymen at the end of the Boston Marathon, about ten yards from the finish line. The Kenyan runner stumbles in his weariness, falling sideways against the wall running along the route. He tries to get up, but arms and legs flail uselessly, his body racked by exhaustion. Other runners pass him by, intent on reaching the finish line just a few yards away. The man, unable to stand, tries to crawl. But his arms and legs won’t work together. He begins rolling his body toward the finish line, then tries crawling again. It is painful to watch. Suddenly another Kenyan appears, limping toward the finish. He sees the man and stops. Out of breath himself, he lunges down, grasps his fallen countryman under the armpits, hauls him up, and drags him over the finish line. End of video clip.

Phil and I and the Mobergs aren’t exactly running a marathon, but they certainly did lift us up and give us some of their own strength and encouragement, just by being good friends and giving us a day of beauty and pleasure. Thank you, Lyndell and Gary.