Bangkok Diary
My First Time in Thailand...
"Let No Tigers Enter Here" By Uncle Ted
Bangkok, June 8, 2008: Bangkok is the hub for travel in Southeast Asia. I’ve been coming here since 1963. Let me reminisce...
In November 1963, I was in Hong Kong to race in the Macau Grand Prix and my plans went awry. I came second in the class race but crashed on the 19th lap of the Grand Prix. Selling the wreck of my Brabham Formula 3, I realized just enough money to buy a one-way ticket to Europe by way of Bangkok...my parents were on a world cruise and I thought it would be fun to surprise them there.
In those days, the best hotel in Bangkok was the old, wooden Erawan, and I was sitting on the front steps when Mom and Dad pulled up in their taxi. They were stunned to see me.
My mother said something like, “What in the world are you doing here? Finally come to your senses? Well, it’s nice to see you but we’ve a very busy itinerary.”
Turning to my father she said, “What do you think, Neddy, shall we take him along with us this evening?”
My father broke the awkwardness, gave me a hug, and we went in to register.
The hotel was well back from the street, unlike today, and its long, very tall corridors had 4-meter-high, louvered, teak doors opening into dark, cool, cavernous bedrooms. It smelled musty. Other than agreeing to meet at 6 in the towering, colonial lobby, I had no idea of the plan for the evening.
A long car took us through the teeming streets—worse than Hong Kong, I thought. Crossing over a klong, we stopped at a dock; a boat with an automobile engine perched on the back like an outboard motor was waiting. Twenty minutes later, we fussed up to a concrete pier; I remember the bumpers were old Michelin X tires.
At the gate, stood an elegant man—white safari shirt, white trousers, and a white cockatoo on his shoulder! He waved to my Dad, and motioned us in.
The house rambled left and right; inside, the rough walls were almost black, and adorned with brilliant silk curtains that shimmered like a peacock’s tail. The overall impression was of golden saffron but here and there were panels of Scandinavian hues: brilliant blues, glacial greens; slipcovers of butter and lemon yellows, and pillows of fuchsia and crimson. Scattered about with stylish abandon were blue and white porcelain jars, jugs, and whatnots; there were dozens of glowing paintings and marvelous Oriental pieces.
The man was charming; seemed he and my father were old Ivy-league friends. He gave us a tour of the house and the garden. I noticed a sign over the “front” door (we had actually come in the back by way of the klong)--“Let No Tigers Enter Here.”
“You haven’t seen any tigers have you?” he chuckled.
We had cocktails on the terrace that overlooked the klong; then went in to dinner.
I don’t remember many details but the talk was of Southeast Asia. I’d recently gotten out of the Army in Okinawa and showed off my knowledge of things unsavory by telling of our Special Forces “training” insurgents in Laos. The Vietnamese war was yet to come; Singapore was just a notion in a few men’s minds; Thailand was the hope of the region.
The evening wound down with vodka stingers on the terrace under the big tree. He made them with white crème de menthe so an errant spill wouldn’t stain the triangular pillows.
As we pulled away under the roar of the engine, I yelled to my mother, “I’m so sorry, I never got his name. Who was that masked man, mother”?
“Why, dear, that’s Jim Thompson; he’s in silk.”
Hearing me over the din, he laughed and waved!
Some four years later, while taking an afternoon stroll visiting friends in the Cameron Highlands of Malaysia, Jim Thompson disappeared without a trace. There has been much speculation and two books on the subject; one theory is that he was taken by a tiger...
My parents and I spent the next couple of weeks doing all the things that tourists to Bangkok have been doing for generations: a Thai boxing match, staged sword fights, traditional dance shows, a trip to the floating market, innumerable tours through innumerable wats (temples), and, for me, people watching.
Turns out the old Erawan Hotel was rather well known for its attractive staff. In fact, it was Dag Hammarskjöld’s favorite hotel in the world. You see, the first Secretary General to the United Nations had a penchant for slim, young things...and so did I. But I was also with my parents.
However, one morning in the coffee shop, I just couldn’t help myself. The gal with the buns — I’m talking about the girl serving the croissants and muffins, of course — was, quite frankly, a flirt; or so I thought. I invited her to join me at the cinema that afternoon when she got off work.
All of a twitter — I was 23 after all — we stood for the King, then sat...and held hands all afternoon!
But whether it was the lack of language or opportunity, our tryst didn’t happen. I figured the gal just didn’t get it; I know I didn’t!
Six months later, at home in Geneva, Switzerland, I got a letter so covered with exotic postage stamps there was hardly room for my address. It was from the breakfast girl. As it isn’t unusual to hold hands in Thailand, she hadn’t really given our afternoon together much thought, but as absence makes the heart grow fonder, finally she had realized that my interest in her ran deeper than croissants and cinema.
“Can I join you in Europe?” she wrote; but by then I was into my Swiss period, and Continental Breakfasts were all the rage!
It’s 45 years later. The old wooden Erawan is now the Grand Hyatt Erawan, and there’s no long drive in from the street. The gal’s grandson is making breakfast on the farm in Isaan, and across the border, Luang Prabang is a Heritage Site. Singapore is the strongest economy in Southeast Asia with chewing gum-free sidewalks paved with sparkling granite. And in Thailand, the boats still have automobile engines perched on the back like an outboard motor, we still stand for the same King, and the Jim Thompson House Museum has more than 400 tourist-visitors a day!
Not to be Missed...The Jim Thompson House Museum!
The house is amazing. Thompson moved some six different houses from all over Thailand and reassembled them into a compound of such beauty that when he disappeared, it became a museum and is now famous all over the world.
Really! Don’t miss experiencing the magic serenity of his garden and the swooping Ayutthaya architecture of the house. There are 25-minute tours conducted in five languages, a nice indoor-outdoor restaurant, and a gift shop where you can see and buy the silks that, thanks to Jim Thompson, have made the Thai silk industry the most important of its kind in the world.
6 Soi Kasemsan 2, Rama 1 Road, Bangkok. Open every day from 9:00 AM – 5:00 PM. Take the BTS Skytrain to National Stadium, go down the stairs at Exit 4, turn 180 degrees and walk straight ahead 50 meters; turn right into the Soi, the house is at the end on the left. 100 baht entry fee.
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Please email me your travel tales, "postcards," and questions. I'll publish the most interesting, appropriate or outrageous in Correspondence - All the best, Ted (short for Edward)
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