The King Likes BoyScouts

I'm back in Bangkok, taking a Thai massage course. It's intense, wonderful, relaxing, and challenging all at once. The class is offered at a Buddhist temple called Wat Pho, which boasts the largest reclining Buddha in Thailand. As you might imagine, he's a happy looking fellow.

The temple itself is all spires and pointed rooftops covered in ceramic, mirrored, and golden tiles. Images of dragons and peacocks abound (I think of Amanda every time I pass one particular peacocked wall). The gold and the mirrors reflect the sun and everything and everyone inside glitters. It's breathtaking in the morning light.

The massage classroom is packed full of mats and students and instructors. We alternate massaging, and serving as models for fellow students. Since the full massage sequence takes an hour an a half, sometimes you're just lying there on a mat for a good portion of the day. I've spent the last five days massaging all sorts of different people: a Thai woman who lives in Germany and wants to start a massage place there because "German people are so uptight;" an Italian masseuse from Genova looking for a new style; a Chinese acupuncturist from Szechuan province who wanted to learn about Thai pressure points; a Swiss guy who was on a sort of Eat, Pray, Love kick (he had been meditating in India for several months before this); a French cabinetmaker with a truly incredible mustache that made all the girls giggle; a Greek fellow who said he doesn't really have a country because he now lives in the part of Cyprus claimed by Turkey but admitted by no one; and of course all the many Thai women who have come to get their foot in the door of what can be a very well paying industry. A massage here costs roughly $6/hour. The masseur keeps less than half of that.

The instructors speak a little English, but mostly manage to communicate to all of us by roughly pulling and pushing and prodding us into the right position. They are incredibly physical people. They grab your hand when you come in the door and lead you around the room. If they're bored for a moment watching a fellow student practicing step 3, they're likely to pick up whatever limb is closest and start kneading it. You may find yourself getting worked on by three people at once. There are a few stock phrases you hear echo throughout the room- "palm press," "sit up please," "second line." This last one because there are always two lines of points along any limb, and people often forget and stop at the first. Every time they shout out "second line! second line!" it makes me think of the funeral parades in New Orleans (and Milissa, of course).

I find that I have to stop thinking to do the massage properly. If I concentrate too hard on what step comes next, I lose track of where I am completely. And if I start wandering off and daydreaming about something else, I forget what step comes next. I think it's the closest I've ever come to "being in the moment." Except when I'm hiking, of course.

What I love about a long walk is that all the overcrowded thinking in my brain eventually falls away. At first I have more space to think (and then it's a good place to work through problems), and then I have space to daydream. But then, when there's nothing left to think or daydream about, I reach a kind of zen place. It's just "there's a rock," "that must be an egret," "the light is gorgeous here," but not even enunciated that clearly inside my head. A river of thoughts, and myself walking slowly through them all, leaving them aside. As someone who spends entirely too much time thinking, a long walk every now and again is a necessity.

And now it seems that I can get to that same place by giving a massage. Indeed, it seems to be the only way I can do it properly. It's been a very strange couple of days here in this room at Wat Pho in Bangkok. Slowly pushing and prodding and touching other people, and not thinking very much at all.

My walk home from the class passes the Thai Police Shooting range. The cracking of the pistols has a way of jolting one out of a massage induced reverie (though my next thought is always to wish I could test out my aim). Next door to the shooting range is another training ground- this time for Thai boyscouts. The King of Thailand has decreed that all Thai children participate in a program modeled on the Boy and Girl Scouts of America. Young boys in brown uniforms with yellow knee socks flood the sidewalk in the afternoons.

My hotel is in Chinatown- a bustling neighborhood chockablock with street markets of all sorts (every time I see flannel pajamas for sale, I want to buy them for Chicu, who went to such lengths to have them made in India). The food stalls spill over into the sidewalks at night and the selection is mouthwatering, from sweet and savory snacks to full course meals barbequed, grilled, deep fried, or roasted right there on the street. My favorite so far: custardy persimmon cupcakes with fresh coconut on top, steamed over a boiling vat of water on the sidewalk. (I think you could do a great version of these, Claire.)

(all of SouthEast Asia makes Seattle's sidewalk cafe rules look ridiculous)

My window is right across the street from Hi-Fi alley, where folks come to buy good speakers. The stores display their wares by blasting Thai pop hits onto the street. I'm not sure how anyone can determine a quality sub-woofer in the resulting cacophony, but they seem to do a brisk business. Fortunately, I'm not in my room much during the day.

It's entirely possible to be drenched through with sweat in just the few short blocks between the Wat and my hotel. Bangkok, at this time of year, is a three-cold-showers-a-day kind of a place. When we first arrived in the city three weeks ago, it was raining every afternoon- torrential downpours of the kind that would clear the sidewalk immediately, everyone waiting until the rain was through before continuing on their way. There was rain every day for a several weeks. People everywhere were telling us it never rains in January or February. I began to be worried about floods.

This city is built on a swamp, really. The river is tidal- once a month at the full moon it pours over into the streets. Yesterday, my taxi driver made me get out and take a canal water ferry instead because the traffic was so bad. Much of the southern part of this country flooded quite badly last fall. You can still see the high water marks all over Bangkok. Yet, everyone I talked to said they weren't worried about floods now. This rain will pass, they said. That doesn't mean they don't think it will flood again during the next rainy season, despite the assurances of the government. They seem quite sure that it will. Bangkok is sinking at a rate of 3cm per year.

At least the rain had a way of taking the edge off the heat for a bit. Now it is just thick and hot and bright all day. Today it was 92 degrees. Believe it or not, even I am learning to walk slowly. More slowly, anyway. I guess it's about reaching that zen kind of a place.