THIS YEAR IN BANGKOK: 2024

I am writing this through a haze of jet lag while writing to
transfer from a hotel I mistakenly ended up in out in the
prostitute wilds of Sukumvit, oddly also a very middle-class area
full of expats, where there are also lots of bars called things like
¨Why Not¨. There is never a question mark after the ¨not.¨
Since I am in bed by nine I would only know about this activity if
I got up to go to the bathroom and looked out the window. It is
a perfectly respectable hotel, however.
I am looking forward to being in my usual location near the
Skytrain and the Siam Center, pronounced C am.
And now I am there. Breakfast is served in a large room off of
which there is a small terrace frequently occupied by me and
harassed parents with screaming babies. My presence causes
anxiety because the point of going on the terrace is to keep
the baby from annoying anyone. I, therefore, present a
problem. What they don´t understand is that any person who
has had a screaming baby in their life is not, if the baby in
question is not theirs, bothered much by a screaming baby.
They are sympathetic but since they are not beholden to the
howler it doesn´t bother them much.
Once I am installed in the Reno across from the soccer field, I
usually go out to check on the Paragon Mall, one mall down.
For places like Bangkok, Singapore, Manitoba Canada, the
inven8on of the mall was a retail godsend. These are all places
where for a solid portion of the year indoor shopping in the air
conditioning or heating means a more constant income since
your customers can get to you without dribbling sweat along
burning sidewalks or having to climb six-foot driss to find the
sidewalk which you have shovelled and salted.
The Paragon is a fairly, high-end mall with Chanel, Hermes and
such on the first floor. There are lots of jewelry stores displaying
the kind of diamond, emerald and sapphire rings that cause one
to mentally comment with some envy, ¨Who is buying this
stuff?¨ Often you can see who is at least going into the store to
look because there are lines outside.
That question is further answered by the quiet swish of a black
abaya behind you as a pair, almost always in at least pairs, of
head-to- toe black draped figures pass, veiled from above
nostril to below chin. The mall´s Paragon Department Store is
its primary occupant. Below ground level are restaurants of all
sorts looking out on a strip of fountains and potted palms. The
windows look out on the alley that goes into the parking lot.
Here´s a tip on demystifying the abaya. If you want to know
what the wearer is really wearing, look down at it´s hem. Often
you will see a discreet line of denim and know that she is
shopping in blue jeans against the rules.
These women, ¨oil women¨, also, and you will know if you
don´t see denim, wear the kind of designer dresses that cause
the kind of envy the will send you to hell when you are in your
shroud. But the inequality between us is balanced by the fact
that they only get to show off their Chanels when they are with
each other in their, I suspect, palacial rooms.
There are a few at breakfast each day accompanied by what are
known as ¨swarthy men¨ who are dressed like Westerners. This
garment segregation always infuriates me, to no purpose I
might add.
I arrived on the 6th, it is now five days later and I am still jet
lagged to the eyeballs. I need to get to a gym. But what I will do
today is have lunch with C and maybe her family.