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Rama VIII Bridge, Bangkok, Thailand.

* What follows is part two of the telling of my 10-day odyssey through Thailand. Visit my blog for updates and the photographic side of the adventure daily.

Day 2: It may be Boxing Day, but it’s not Fight Night
December 26, 2009

Ah, the first day of vacation hangover. That ancient tradition. Nothing feels quite like it. It’s the only hangover you don’t hold a grudge against; you know you can cure it quickly with a beer or two, and that in an hour you’ll be having so much fun you won’t care about it.

You hope. But today, in the freezing waters of the guest house’s communal showers, I’m not looking ahead. I’m stuck, pasted to the wall, bent at the waist heaving, in the here and now. Better yet, I’m stuck in a moment sometime yesterday, 30 tins of beer somewhere over Taiwan. The brightest ideas always seem to dim with a little looking back.

The first of many English breakfasts. For the life of me I don’t know why English breakfasts are so popular. The English can’t cook (my grandfather, the merry old chap, used to feed us ketchup sandwiches with soup from the tin when my grandmother was away. If she was ever gone more than an hour we ran a very serious chance of starving to death). Runny eggs, hash browns, soggy bacon and a strawberry shake made with hepatitis-infused ice now in my belly, it’s time to roll.

If Thailand didn’t have a single tropical beach I still might have come just to ride in a tuk-tuk. We knew before climbing into the shaky carriages that we were going to get ripped off, that we might end up being dropped off at a massage parlor or a tailor instead of the Golden Palace, but we didn’t really care. We wanted a tuk-tuk ride, and we wanted it bad. Now we’re racing through the crowded streets, into oncoming traffic, mounting the sidewalk, missing pedestrians by inches, the motorbike screaming its dirt lungs out as it chugs along with sweaty western cargo.

We’re dropped off at the Golden Palace and fork over a fare that will put three generations of our driver’s family through tuk-tuk school. No bother, you’re supposed to waste a pile of your money on the first day of any trip. And that’s just what we plan to do. Besides, the tuk-tuk exchange is only the first fleecing we’re in store for today.

I forgot that you’re required to dress like a respectable human being if you expect to enter the Golden Palace. Fair enough, it’s listed in every travel guide ever written about Thailand and posted at every entrance. Somehow, I still managed to forget. Phil, Kevan, Marty, Megan and myself spend 45 minutes haggling over prices for MC Hammer pants and Hawaiian shirts just so we can cover our basketball jerseys and shorts and look “respectable” in the eyes of the Thai pants police. What we end up looking like is a cadre of rejects from a 1993 rap video. Hammer don’t quit.

We tour the Grand Palace for a couple of hours. Thai architecture hits you like a sledge the first time you see it; bombastic, intricate, delicate, enormous. I know I felt the same way about Gwanghwamun the first time I visited Seoul, before I became old and jaded and considered Korean architecture as much a part of daily life as kimchi or dongchim. The tourist hordes are out in force so getting close to anything is a chore and we’re sweltering in our Sunday finest. Marty and Phil in particular are feeling the effects of the long trip down south. Kevan, though, for all his beer consumption and layers of inferno chili from our adventures at the market, is as fresh as a daisy. I hate Kevan.

The rain erupts from a suddenly grey sky while we’re shooting the palace guards and we’re left crowded under a veranda for thirty minutes as the torrential splash subsides. Our vantage point gives us a great view of the tourists in front and the tourists behind, with a splendid mix of construction workers, bamboo scaffolding, shovels and concrete mix should we dare look up. Gripping stuff. I’m hungry, and I want out of these stupid clothes.

Tuk-tuk to the outskirts and it’s lunch at everyone’s favorite restaurant one more time. I’ll spare you the redundant gushing; it’s beer and spring rolls and curry and beer and it is a delight. During lunch we discuss the ways in which we plan to attack Bangkok on the night; I know that there’s no way I can go at it as hard as I did on the trip over so the adventure Megan and I will take shall be bent towards the cultural; a little wat here, a little wat there, maybe a drink down by the river. As for the rest of the clan, the city is about to be set on fire. They’re off to meet Phil’s mates at a club somewhere in the belly of the city, and by 6pm they are dressed in their best and itching to get at it. Sara, Sue and Ciara aren’t quite as enthusiastic, but that’s almost to be expected. There’s going to be a lot of drinking. Even Adam and Brian have peeled off their diapers in anticipation of a big one.*

Alas, Megan and I bid farewell to our friends at the hotel as

As they say, Generals tend to fight the last war. Thus I made a shirt suitable for my last trip when I didn't have something warm to wear for those unexpectedly cold nights in Northeast Thailand. I just sat there designing in my head what I wish I had.

I chose silk for its lightweight and packability and just happened to find someone selling silk scraps from a WW II parachute. I kept one of the parachute seams for historical note and managed to avoid all the moth holes and rust stains. Supposedly soldiers saved the parachute scraps to send home to their girlfriends because silk wasn't available to civilians during the war. If they got enough they could make a wedding dress.

This shirt worn under a lightweight jacket should do the trick for evenings of outdoor dining. The concept was inspired by my nylon sleeping bag liner that I did have with me and which made all the difference with the synthetic blankets we had available. The silk is warmer than nylon. I used the simplest shirt pattern I had in my collection. It's a Huichol Native American shirt from Folkwear. I did add underarm gussets for a better fit and button closure at neck, plus drawstring wrist closures. I made sure the sleeve cuff would be wide enough to push above the elbow and with the drawstring it will stay there. Used glass beads, I had from an art event, on drawstring closure.

I've been wearing it a lot. It actually goes very nicely with the vests I designed.