It was raining this morning and showery this afternoon, so a down day it was. I did accomplish three things, however.
Red Curry: I love Thai food in the United States but the only thing I ever order is red curry. My objective was to compare authentic red curry here with what I can order at home. At noon I stumbled upon a sit-down restaurant serving “authentic” Thai food, so here was my chance. The red curry I ordered had three of the same ingredients I am used to: tomatoes, basil, and bamboo shoots in a coconut-milk broth, served with white rice. Alas, it paled in comparison to Bangkok Gardens in Norfolk! Yes, we have the world’s best Thai restaurant at home. By the way, don’t do what I have just did when you travel: compare everything to what you are used to in the States. It’s very bad practice, very ethnocentric, and not endearing to the locals. But, I sometimes do it anyway. Far better was the hot-and-sour coconut soup I had in the evening. Where? At Jameson’s Irish Pub. Forgive me. I had to eat there because my favorite Celtic band in the United States is “The Fighting Jamesons.” You should look them up on Facebook.
Holey Socks: I guess I am hard on socks because I’ve got some holes appearing. One I had mended in Delhi. Two others I had mended today here. Sidewalk culture is vivid in Bangkok. If you want to start a business, you start on the street and maybe eventually get a shop. Among the entrepreneurs are women who sit at sewing machines (the old Singers with foot pedals) spending their day mending. They usually have a big plastic bag of clothes beside them, but I have no idea where all the mending comes from. I interrupted one seamstress today, presented her with my socks, and in front of my eyes the holes disappeared. She was slick. The difference between Bangkok and Delhi? Man vs. woman. Here, women working in the shops (and elsewhere) are as common as men. The old sewing machines were pretty much the same vintage, however. My regret? That I have to wear socks at all, which means that I have to wear long pants (anathema), so shoes and socks complete the outfit. Short pants just don’t cut it here or in India. In fact, I asked my hotelier in Delhi if he thought I could get away with wearing shorts. “No,” said he in so many words.
Shell Nostalgia: When I was a kid I had a pretty good seashell collection (thanks to my dad). So, I had to visit the Bangkok Seashell Museum, all three floors of it. These micro-museums I often (maybe usually) find more satisfying than the huge showpiece varieties that are de rigueur for tourists. (Remember my trip to the Museum of Garden History in London?) For me, seeing seashells was a trip down memory lane. I had shells from all the major groups I saw today, and can still remember how I struggled to identify them in the days before Web technology. I also remembered that the prettiest ones came from the Indian and southwest Pacific Oceans. So, thought I, Bangkok is the perfect place for such a show. The displays were well proportioned and well lighted, and photography was allowed. My discovery: there is a cone shell called Conus geographus, I guess because the squiggly brown lines reminded Linnaeus of a map. I would adopt it as my personal shell except this cone shoots a poisonous venom into fish and then eats them. Not good symbolism. So, since everyone should have a shell to incorporate into their personal coat of arms, I will keep looking. Conus mercator might be a possibility. No, that one is poisonous, too. Plus, the Mercator projection is a cylindrical projection, not a conic. I also learned how porcelain got its name: it comes form the Roman name for the cowrie shells (porcellana, from the word for pig) that Marco Polo brought back from the East. They were both shiny. My shell collection? I have no idea whatever became of it, and now I feel bad about it.
Geographically yours,
D.J.Z.
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