Thailand

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Travel Theme: Walls

In response to a theme suggested by Where’s my backpack?

I’m fascinated by walls. I like brick, stone, glass and wooden walls, and I especially like tiled walls. I like walls with wallpaper from the 1960s and 1970s, and from Victorian times. I like crumbling ancient temple walls and glittering Thai palace walls. I’ve taken lots of photos of walls, and I’ve begun to feature walls in my artwork inspired by these photos.

This one is of an ancient wall at the temple ruins of the old capital of Thailand, Ayutthaya (1350-1767). It’s a miniature, the size of a business card, and is part of a set of four I did of temple walls and windows in Thailand.

Ayutthaya-1

In November last year, I visited the Grand Palace in Bangkok for the first time in 11 years. This is a pastel painting I did depicting part of a tiled wall at a temple within the palace grounds.

GrandPalace

 

The physicality of walls as man-made structures pervades most cultures—so much so, that when there are no walls, or when walls are knocked down or fall down, it is something to be remarked upon. Walls can keep enemies out, imprison those within, or conceal secrets. Walls are the key to privacy in the modern era, in which access to personal privacy has become paramount.

In pondering the significance of the wall across various cultures, I came up with these lists:

Geographical locations

Great Wall, China

Berlin Wall, Germany

City walls to keep out invaders, eg Chiang Mai, York

Wall St, US

Hadrian’s Wall, UK

Maginot Line, France

Western Wall (Wailing Wall), Israel

Wall of Remembrance, Australian War Memorial, Canberra

 

Virtual Walls

Facebook wall

The Virtual Wall Vietnam Veterans Memorial

The Virtual Wall of Fame to celebrate Manny’s music shop in New York, the “original music superstore”, 1935-2009.

Remembering Our Fallen: The Virtual Wall of Remembrance for US service people in all conflicts

Woolworths Australia’s Virtual Walls for Christmas

US-Mexico virtual-wall border

 

English usage of the word “wall”

Interestingly, many languages differentiate between exterior walls and interior walls, but English does not.

“If these walls could talk…”

“The walls have ears”

Wallflower

Wall eye

Wall of fire

Wall of water

To drive someone up the wall

To hit the wall

Wall of sorrow

Wall of shame

Wall of fame

Wall of honour

To put up (psychological) walls

Wall-to-wall, as in carpet, but also TV coverage

Off the wall

To bang one’s head against the wall

To have one’s back to the wall

To take something (such as a business) to the wall

Climbing the walls

Hole-in-the-wall bar

Sea wall

Fly-on-the-wall

Stone-walled

Wall hanging

Wallpaper

 

 

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Writer’s Diary #3: Into the unknown

Let your writing take you into the unknown. (By the way, I visited this jungle path, at Queen Sirikit's palace grounds on Doi Suthep, near Chiang Mai, Thailand, in November. I didn't realise until I got home that I had been there before, 20 years ago).

Let your writing take you into the unknown.
(By the way, I walked along this jungle-like path at Queen Sirikit’s palace grounds on Doi Suthep, near Chiang Mai, Thailand, in November. I didn’t realise until I got home that I had been there before, 20 years ago).

I’m not the first to say “Don’t necessarily write about what you know; write about what you don’t know”, but I am still in a minority, as conventional advice tells writers to write what they know and what they know about.

This seems strange to me, since writing is a journey of discovery, a journey into the unknown, even if you know your subject matter. There is always something mystical about good fiction writing: it is more than the sum of its parts.

More important to creative writing than knowing about your subject or theme is being passionate about them and being able to write about them in a way that no one has written before.

However, you do have to do your research. While it’s tempting to jump right into the writing, doing some research before you start is a huge help because it enables you to concentrate more on the writing when the time comes.

When I moved to Thailand in the early 1990s, I decided I would write a novel set in 19th-century Siam. I knew almost nothing then about history in that part of the world, except highly romanticised (and mostly incorrect) information from popular western culture.

When I found the Siam Society, a club in Bangkok promoting the study of South-East Asian culture and history, I was on my way. They had a library of 20,000 books, many of them on old Siam. I did six months’ research reading these books and taking notes before I started writing The Occidentals. In those days, research was not generally done on a computer screen or using the internet, and we kept track of our research using an index card system, as I wrote about here last week.

Actually, writing the first draft of my novel took me only three months—half as long as it took to do the research (though when it was accepted for publication, my editor asked me to add 100 pages, so I had to go back to my research, and I spent another three months on the addition). I wrote every day, six days a week, for five hours, 12.30-5.30pm.

The six months’ ground-work had ongoing benefits: I used it as the start of research for my PhD in the 2000s, which in turn became my second book, Imagining Siam: A Travellers’ Literary Guide to Thailand, and which has led to an academic career.

In saying don’t be afraid to write about what you don’t know, I’m in good company. For more on writing about the unknown, see this article in The Atlantic by Harvard Creative Writing Faculty director Bret Anthony Johnston.

I’d love to hear from you about your launch into the unknown for the sake of your writing.

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A Writer’s Diary #2: Goodbye, dear little filing system

1990s writer's filing system

Ye Olde Worlde Filing System, c1991.

Remember this? If you’re under 30, you’ve probably never seen one: it’s an index-card filing system. Before the internet, this is how we used to file our research. This is the one I compiled when I was writing my historical novel, The Occidentals, set in 19th-century Thailand.
I did six months of full-time research before I started writing the novel. This involved reading and indexing information from 42 books and hundreds of articles. Then, say, when I wanted to know about transport in Bangkok in the 1860s, I would look up the index card labelled “Transport”, and it would tell me the books, articles and page numbers where I would find the information.
Though I have not used this index since the late 1990s, I feel sentimental about it and have kept it all this time in my office. I’ve tried to throw it away several times, but something always stops me doing it. However, finally, I’ve agreed with myself, something once so useful has become just a waste of space.
So, I thought I would take a photo of it and write an obituary for my dear little filing system. Goodbye, you served me well, but now it’s time to go. Xoxo.

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Here’s to a peaceful New Year: make goals, not rules

Wat Buppharam, Chiang Mai. Pen & wash, by Caron Eastgate Dann.

Wat Buppharam, Chiang Mai. Pen & wash, by Caron Eastgate Dann.

Whenever I am in Thailand, I like to visit several temples. I enjoy wandering around the compounds, and though I no longer call myself a Buddhist, I find an enormous amount of peace within them. This illustration was inspired by a photo I took when I visited Wat Buppharam in Chiang Mai in November. Just looking at it now makes me feel peaceful.

I would like to wish everyone a happy new year—tonight for us here in the Southern Hemisphere and tomorrow for others. Instead of “resolutions”, I’m going to make a list of things I want to achieve this year. That way, I will have goals rather than rules. One of those goals, of course, will be to write one post a month for the Bloggers for Peace cause.

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My $750 dinner: why it was worth it

I rarely eat dinner out, and even more rarely do I eat at “fine dining” establishments when I’m at home in Melbourne. This is due to a number of factors, including a husband who works evening shifts. But mostly, it’s because I don’t feel I get good value. I come away thinking I could do better at home for a fraction of the price. Or, I feel the food is too fussy, too rich, too laden with oil and sauces.

I’m not talking about your cheap and cheerful eatery that provides tasty and filling food for a few dollars and to which you go for a quick meal, not a big night out. Melbourne has a plethora of these wonderful establishments, as food blogs such as Consider the Sauce show.

I’m talking about a full-on restaurant at which you sit for two or three or more  hours as a social occasion. For a two- or three-course dinner for two with wine in Australia, where wages are some of the highest in the world, I would expect to pay $Au 150-300*. And usually, at the end of the night, I would arrive home thinking, “It wasn’t worth that”.

So how is it that, on my recent trip to Thailand, I was happy with a bill of 24,000 baht (about $750) for dinner for two at the Lebua Hotel’s Sirocco Restaurant at the Dome on the 63rd floor of the State Tower building? Well, just check out the view, for a start (CLICK on the image to get the full view and caption):

The spectacular view from the Sirocco restaurant and its Sky Bar. Image courtesy of Lebua Hotels and Resorts

They claim to be the highest rooftop restaurant in the world.

A colleague said to me the other day “I would never pay that much for dinner, no matter how good it was—in fact, it couldn’t be that good”. I want to address here some obvious reasons against paying this much for one dinner:

  1. Yes, of course the money would be better given to charity. But I work hard, pay my taxes at home, recycle goods and redistribute excess wealth.
  2. This is just another example of western capitalist decadence. Well, decadence, anyway, since there were plenty of Thais and other non-westerners there. Yes, agreed, but it provides work for a lot of people, including live musicians. I think it’s only decadence if you do it all the time.
  3. You should never pay this much for dinner on principle. I know, and I agree, most of the time…

But not this time. I can say without a doubt that $750 for dinner for two at Sirocco was worth it.  At the end of the night, I knew it would be a location I would remember forever.

The view from our table. Picture by Gordon Dann

The photographs don’t do it justice: the open-air restaurant on the 63rd floor has panoramic views of the enormous city of Bangkok, which extends in every direction as far as the eye can see. I have spent years of my life in this city, but never have I viewed it this way. It’s truly breathtaking and one of the most impressive sights I’ve ever been confronted with. In keeping with the theme of this blog, sitting at a table on the 63rd floor, I rediscovered a city I thought I knew well, because this view gave me a completely different angle on it.

We started with a dozen Tasmanian Pacific oysters au naturel and dips at a hefty 2480 baht ($75). This is probably at least twice as much as I’d pay in Australia for the same, and the irony that I was eating these Australian oysters in Thailand did not escape me. However, I can say that these particular oysters were the best I have ever eaten. How can that be? I don’t know. Perhaps it was something in the air over Bangkok that night.

We opted then for the six-course chef’s tasting menu, which at 4500 baht a person ($140) was reasonably priced for what it was. Although it was nouvelle cuisine, it wasn’t overly fussy, tiny or otherwise ridiculous. The fusion of Japanese and Mediterranean influences worked seamlessly. So, simplified slightly from the menu, this is what we had, each course delectable and each served by impeccably trained staff who were attentive without being fussy or over-bearing:

Cured salmon cannelloni, sesame, lemon gel

Alaskan diver scallop with squid ink sauce and ossetra caviar

Porcini risotto

Chilean seabass with white miso, seaweed, and candied walnuts

Wagyu beef sirloin with porto sauce and confit of pork belly

Mint brulee, chocolate crumble and sorbet, meringue

The food was 11,480 baht ($380), the drinks 8590 baht ($268), leaving 3930 baht ($123) for service charges and VAT.

So, let’s say we would have to spend an average of $200 for two people for dinner at a fine dining restaurant in Melbourne— more for a degustation menu. Typically, this might be somewhere with no view, good food but indifferent service. Was Sirocco four times better than that? Yes it was.  Thus, it was worth it and I rest my case.

* All $ values are in Australian dollars.

The Lebua Hotel in Bangkok by day. Sirocco is just below the dome.

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Travel theme: Liquid

A rainy day on Doi Suthep, Chiang Mai

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In response to Where’s My Backpack? blog’s call for entries on the theme of liquid, here’s a picture I took a couple of weeks ago on Doi Suthep, the mountain 16km from Chiang Mai. It’s most famous as the location of the historic temple Wat Phra That Doi Suthep, but this picture was taken at the entrance to Phra Tamnak Phu, the royal family’s winter palace, about 4km from the wat. It’s free to visit the beautiful gardens that surround the palace. When we arrived, it was overcast, but as we neared the end of our walk, suddenly—in that familiar tropical style—there was torrential rain. After about 10 minutes, it stopped long enough for us to make a dash for this row of shops at the entrance, and shelter there for another 15 minutes while we watched as sheets of water hit the pavements.

In keeping with the theme of The Crayon Files, such a heavy but short-lived downpour is typical of life in the tropics and reminded me of the many I was caught in when I lived in Thailand in the 1990s. I’ve waded through floods in central Bangkok, been stuck in traffic jams for hours and hours, and been given a lift home on a motorbike down roads so flooded, I had to tuck my legs up by the seat. There was an old house opposite my apartment in Sukhumvit Soi 11 then, and it always flooded in the wet season, looking like a house boat floating on a lake. It was one of the last remaining traditional houses in the area and the land would have been worth a fortune. I guess it has gone now. Here’s what it looked like (unflooded) then (photos taken from my balcony):

Back to the present and Phra Tamnak Phu: here are some shots of the gardens, taken a few minutes before that rain started:

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Travel theme: Mystical

This post is in response to this week’s challenge from the blog Where’s my backpack?, which you can link to here.

We woke on the last morning of our stay at the Golden Triangle, near Chiang Saen, Thailand, to find the view from our hotel balcony obscured by thick fog. So thick was it that most river traffic stopped, though a few brave (aka foolhardy?) souls were still plying the waters, sounding their horns as they went. 

The fog gave the place a mystical, otherworldly quality, a totally different view to the one we had woken to at dawn the previous day, which looked like this:

With fog or without, this is an enchanting area to spend a few days. From the delightful and aptly named Serene Hotel, where we stayed, and which seems to be the only hotel on the river in this village about 7km from Chiang Saen. One of my aims while we were away was to do a painting on location, so here is my effort:


I’m relatively new to painting, having taken it up early last year. I loved art as a child, but never quite knew what to do and was never able to get my ideas successfully onto canvas. Now, I paint most nights. I travelled with a miniature art set, including an ingenious and tiny watercolour paint set, which I housed in a pencil case:

 

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Back to Bangkok

Bangkok, 1992: the infamous Asok-Sukhumvit  crossroads. Lane upon lane of cars, trucks, motorbikes turning in, turnout out, turning all about, it seems. No crossing lights or lines for pedestrians, no indication of how one should get across the seemingly impenetrable traffic ocean. But I have done this many times before since moving to Bangkok in December 1990, and I know just how to go about it. As I ready to step off the curb, a plaintiff Irish voice sings out, “How the be-jaysus do you get across here?” I laugh and say simply, “Follow me”. And he does. Like the Red Sea parting, as we step out into that rabble, it somehow makes its way round us, and we arrive, miraculously unharmed, at the other side of the road.

Bangkok, 1991: view from the Tara Hotel, Sukhumvit Soi 26/1

Cut to Bangkok, 2012: the infamous Asok-Sukhumvit intersection looks as daunting as it did 20 years ago. Only now, I am viewing it from above, serenely gliding by in air-conditioned iciness on the BTS (Bangkok Mass Transit System) Skytrain. It’s my first trip to Bangkok in 11 years, though I passed through on my way to Phuket in early 2005 to report on the aftermath of the tsunami.

Bangkok 2012: view from the Landmark Hotel, Sukhumvit

The skytrain and other transport systems completed since 1999 have changed not only the face of the city, but the nature of what it is to live in or even just visit Bangkok. There are walkways everywhere now, up to stations and across major roads.

The trains are packed night and day, but Thais are ever polite, making way for others, giving up seats for those they deem might need them, and allowing people to exit the train before they enter. And even if you don’t have anything to hold on to, it’s hardly necessary, the ride is so smooth. In a week of catching trains all over the city, I saw no drunks, no thugs, no menaces, no rude people, no graffiti, just people going about their daily business. At 20-40 baht per ride, the train is not cheap for the average Thai (though it is cheap compared with public transport in Australia), but it certainly beats any other mode of transport across the city.

There is also a quick, efficient and cheap train service from Suvarnabhumi International Airport. However, there is a major problem: you will need to connect with a BTS or other train in the city, where most stations don’t have elevators or escalators, and you find yourself having to lug your bag up and down flights of stairs in the heat and humidity. The BTS has been much criticised for the lack of disabled access. So if you are elderly, unfit or in any way disabled, you’d still be better to take a cab.

And if you have a child in a stroller or pram, you’ll need to be travelling with another adult to manage. This hasn’t changed. Another memory I have from the early 1990s is on Sukhumvit Road, a major shopping, apartment and hotel area, when I came across a young English woman with her baby in a pram. She was standing on the curb, crying. When I asked her what was wrong, she said, “I’ve just moved here, and I just can’t see how I’ll ever get across this road”.

While I note that the landscape of the city has changed markedly in the last 20 years, and that you can readily buy western food and drink such as a cappuccino or a British sausage, in essence, Bangkok has hardly changed at all since I lived there in the late 1990s: I was still addressed as “Sir”, a term of respect, interchangeably with “Madame” (pronounced in the French way); my rudimentary street Thai was still needed to negotiate prices and times and to give street directions; the smells of lemongrass, fried garlic, basil and chilli still competed with nameless less pleasant ones; goods for sale in the markets looked like the same ones that had been on sale in 2001 or 1991.

There is one major change to daily life that I noticed: that is, I hardly walked on the streets. I used to walk everywhere from my apartment in central Bangkok, because taxis and tuk tuks were too slow. I knew every shop, market and clean toilet within a 3km radius.

This time, from the skytrain whizzing along Sukhumvit, I saw with pleasure that the small tailor’s shop where I used to get clothes made from 1997 to 2001, Mr Lucky’s, was still there. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to go in: I was too busy going other places fast. Last time I was there, the proprietor, Mr Lucky (naturally), had recently been back to India to marry a bride selected by his parents. I hope his life has lived up to his name, and that perhaps I will have time to drop by next time I am in Bangkok, which, I vow, will not be as long as 11 years from now.