The Bow Cannot Always Be Relaxed: The Third Journey (Part 17)

John Wittenberg gives a number of personal reflections on his journey through Thailand, which were previously published in the short story collection 'The bow can't always be relaxed' (2007). What started for John as a flight away from pain and sorrow has grown into a search for meaning. Buddhism turned out to be a passable path. His stories appear regularly on Thailandblog.

The third journey: Back with a vengeance

Without any papal urging to kiss the ground, I set foot on Thai soil again, after a peaceful flight of barely twelve hours. Almost as long as the car journey to Switzerland. Barely two days earlier, the new airport was opened, listening to the extremely accessible name SUVARNBHUMI (land of prosperity). An idea from the king.

A gigantic complex with an enormous size, but hardly a toilet to be found. Once through immigration, only claustrophobic corridors remain, which you have to struggle through. Moving a ballroom would be the solution. But nothing can disturb my mood. I'm back in Thailand, after six months of plodding and sweating in the Netherlands.

Dozens of men offer you a limousine, five times as expensive as a regular taxi. And that only happened to me once. With a normal taxi to my apartment, a shower and two hours of sleep. I really have to set the alarm, because of course Grandpa John wants to complete his daily eight hours.

Two ways to combat jet lag are: either just switch to the new time right away and pretend your nose bleeds, or take a few short naps of one or two hours when you're asleep. I choose the latter, not least because I love naps in between.

And then go outside, stroll between the stalls, eat a delicious meal, sniff the scents and feel yourself in a warm bath again. The owner of the internet shop cherishes his still scabby, overfed dog, the beautiful chambermaids are still gilded to see me again, the moped boys are still waiting for their business and are having such a good time together that they quietly hope that no customers will come . The supermarket girls greet me again in chorus of “Sawadee Ka” with melting smiles. Have I been gone six months?

A coup

There is absolutely nothing to notice of a coup d'état. I would have loved to experience it, it would have been even nicer if I, as a monk, had gone on a begging tour past the tanks in the morning to give the soldiers the opportunity to show their peace-loving nature. No one here is alarmed or even surprised that a few generals have taken over.

The king has allowed a meeting two days before the seizure of power and made the generals swear that no blood would flow. Attach a yellow ribbon (the color of the king) to the barrel of the tanks and everyone knows the king is behind it, so it's good and well thought out.

My goodness, how Trix would spend all day sopping on her throne with so much power! Taksin's totally corrupt regime was given its mandate every time because the rural people, in their stupidity, find the thrown crumbs decisive for their choice of vote. I am a big supporter of common sense, but in Thailand it is better that the patriciate takes control and puts the populist aside.

To become one of the richest men in Thailand from nothing as prime minister in a few years is a position that I only wish for myself. Like Taksin, by the way, I would like to give all my friends nice posts. You can bet all my friends will be richly rewarded. And of course my mother will be: “mother of the fatherland”.

Taksin is now licking his wounds in London. A new prime minister has just been appointed, a general with integrity (with a light to be found here): Surayd. A former Chief of Defense Staff. After his early retirement due to dissatisfaction with the corrupt prime minister, he was a monk for a while and then you can break a pot here. An important task will be to show the world that the coup was really necessary to relieve the old prime minister. Here in Thailand everyone already knows it. It's kind of them that they don't wait a few days until I'm in Thailand. I would have loved to experience it.

In the evening to the night market. Stroll along the stalls with Rolexes, Louis Vuittons, Hermeses, Cartiers. Expensive brands available to poor people is, in my opinion, only real democracy!

Two princesses in the opera

A bit James Bond rents a suite and floats the champagne corks in a spacious bath amidst rose petals when he has a date with a beautiful Thai, but this wimp arranges tickets to an Italian opera.

Her first. The king's sister is also there and that takes a lot of effort. Streets are closed off, a dozen cars accompany her and the building is hermetically sealed, so that she can part in all solitude outside on the red carpet inside. We will then have every opportunity to stand up for her, to hear two songs, one for her brother and one for her. After a slight bow, the opera can finally begin.

It is a bit expensive to clear the second and third balcony, because according to protocol no one is allowed to stand above her. A compromise has been found in a Dutch way by keeping only the first row of the second and third balconies free. You won't want to believe it, but even the pedestrian bridges over the road are cleared when the king hurtles underneath in a car.

A white miscreant saw his chance to get a better seat in the front row. He was lucky that the princess was right below him, otherwise this lèse-majesté would have been enough reason to throw him off the second balcony.

After the end of the performance, all doors are locked, two more national anthems, a little bow and then the royal party stumbles out in all solitude. After more than fifteen minutes, we red bloods are let out.

My beautiful Thai girl closed her eyes after the first Italian sounds and laid her delicate head on my broad shoulder. Throughout the opera I felt her serene breath against my softening cheeks like a sweet breeze. 007 can be satisfied, because not even a beautifully sung Puccini can compete with that!

The Grand Palace

At the end of the eighteenth century, when the old capital of Siam, Ayutthaya, fell prey to the Burmese (who are therefore still seen as Germans to this day), the calcified old dynasty fell at the same time. A wily general crowned himself Rama I, thus becoming the William of Orange of Thailand. The Swedish royal family has similarly clung to the throne during the same period and both current kings are close buddies. But I digress.

During a restless night in Chiang Mai, a stupa (a white or gold tapering relic repository) was struck by lightning and a seventy-five centimeter jade Buddha statue became visible. More than a hundred years later, it was dragged from Laos as a spoil of war by the army and brought by Rama I with the determined look of a rightful owner in triumph to his new capital, Bangkok. Any kingdom that owns it gains good luck (when they can at least defend themselves). Such a beautiful statue should have a decent roof over its head and the new king personally placed it from a (white) elephant in a beautiful temple.

Quite a few kings built beautiful buildings around it and created perhaps the most architecturally beautiful place in Thailand: Wat Phra Kaeo (www.palaces.thai.net). Each king built a beautiful stupa for the ashes of his predecessor or a beautiful building, hoping that his successor would practice the same altruistic veneration. And so the Versailles of Bangkok was born.

I myself am very interested in the building where, as a member of the court, you can borrow all kinds of things up to and including an urn appropriate to your rank, but I am too insignificant for that world. The temple is accessible to the emerald buddha, as said of jade. Without a doubt the most impressive place here and the largest sanctuary in Thailand. The statue stands on an altar of eleven meters and gets a different jacket three times a year (and not like Manneken Pis almost every day). During the heat season (April-June) a gold tunic with diamonds, during the wet season (July-October) gold with blue spots.

And during the cold season (the sparrows fall from the roof here all year round), a gold-glazed jacket with an extra saffron-colored shawl against the bitter Siberian winds. The king exchanged this jacket with great ceremony, but is now old and his son is now doing this job.

The altar is richly decorated with gold ornaments and with mythological guards and other symbols of supreme authority. The outer walls are decorated with shimmering gold and colored glass and all around one hundred and twelve beautiful garudas (my favorite statues) holding a snake lest the snake swallow the water.

Originally, this temple was intended to bring rain down on the believers in times of drought. The king bathed here regularly for a week, while the monks chanted continuously for a drop of rain. A boring week for the king, because he was not allowed to bathe with his wives. Logical of course, because as we all know: women always throw a spanner in the works when we should be concentrating on state affairs, such as getting rain.

The current king has waived this ritual and now releases certain substances from an airplane to make rain, of which we now have far too much. Anyway, once inside the temple you are immediately confronted with the devout attitude of the Thai.

There is a relaxed, but dedicated atmosphere. At least a hundred people find a place here on the ground. Even naturally noisy Dutch people are touched by the serenity and that is saying something! With my head slightly bent (out of respect for Buddha, but certainly also for the people around me), I find a place and kneel three times, using the wave on my forehead and touching the ground with my forearms.

Then I'm quiet to myself for a while. Express deep gratitude that fortunately my mother does not need any further medical treatment, wish others good luck and health and wish to be open to the Buddha's teachings for myself. Then I sit comfortably and place the soles of my feet back. I look around now and smile. It's all decorated in such a baroque way, even downright childish. Just like a child's drawing by John, completely full of cheerful decorations, because it's grandma's birthday.

And then I look at the small emerald Buddha statue with its pointed Ayutthaya crown. I fall into a slightly philosophical trance. And I feel good about the path of Buddhism. I suddenly think of the bible house on the Scheveningen boulevard. I used to stand right in front of it to sell ice creams (on Sunday, the busiest day of the week for the boulevard, they were closed). On the door was a poster depicting persons walking two paths, one bad and one good. Church attendance could be found on the right track, as well as a walk in the park with wife and child, or drinking lemonade in front of the fireplace at home, working hard and respecting Sunday rest.

On the bad road it was very easy to follow the trail of destruction: theater visits, flirting, dancing and drinking. It goes without saying that this road must eventually end in eternally burning hell for someone after a lifetime of blissful fucking and drinking. While on the other road the gates of heaven were wide open.

So Peter's gate was already slammed shut in front of me as a teenager (unfortunately not because I was drowsy), because I worked on Sundays. Buddhism does not make this choice. It provides guidelines for showing compassion, thinking cheerfully, enjoying life and walking the middle way.

Two children sit next to me in the temple. Beautiful jet black eyes. Folded hands very devoutly, just like I used to as a child in church. And their loving parents sit behind them and smile at me, because I probably look so tenderly at their children. Two guardian angels for two little people, who see a future in a world full of suffering, but at the same time full of joy when you know that you are surrounded by compassion that overcomes every adversity. A compassion that gives love to one's neighbor without preconditions and without expecting anything in return.

Perhaps this is the core of a happy existence.

To be continued….