As I said in my last post, I'm lucky to be in Calcutta during its biggest festival of the year, the four-day Durga Puja. The Wikipedia article on the festival is excellent,. While I can't speak with authority about the religious aspects of the festival, I can say what it feels like to be in Calcutta at this time of the year. The city is filled with more than 2,000 pandals -- purpose-built structures containing an idol. The idol usually depicts the same scene: ten-handed Ma Durga, the mother goddess, on her lion mount, with her four children (in the usual left-to-right order) Ganesh, Lakshmi, Saraswati, and Kartik.
The pandals are erected by neighborhood organizations, civic organizations, business organizations, and, it seems, a large number of organizations that exist primarily to put together a pandal and other decorations for Durga Puja each year. They range from small home or apartment-building pandals to giant, multi-story, walk-in structures with chandeliers and balconies. The biggest pandals compete for cash prizes awarded by a panel of judges.
The brightly-colored, beautifully decorated idols aren't the only sensory stimulation. Traditional music -- sometimes live, but frequently recorded -- is played over sound systems at most of the pandals. The lighting is ad-hoc but very effective, and the structures themselves are marvels of one-off engineering. Here's the back of one of the tall ones pictured above.
With so many pandals in the city, it's impossible to see them all during the five-day festival. But it's not that people don't try. Pandal-hopping is a very popular pastime during the festival, with families and groups of frends streaming from one pandal to the next, sometimes on foot, but frequently by taxi or Metro. (The Metro system published a handy map in a newspaper ad indicating which well-known pandals were accessible from each station.) Santosh had a few hours in the evening free yesterday, so he took me pandal-hopping. It was great. Here are some more pictures. The full set can be viewed here.
It's astonishing, looking at the immense amount of work that's gone into the idols and the structures that house them, that they're only up for five days a year. What's even more astonishing is that, on the fifth and last day of the festival, all of the idols are immersed in the river, bidding the gods farewell until they return next year.
I was walking around the area near my hotel and ran into a friendly fellow named Santosh. He works for Amazon.com, and is headed for a year-long posting at the company's Seattle headquarters later this year. He wanted to ask me some questions about life in the U.S.; I was happy to oblige, and Santosh ended up showing me around the city all afternoon.
We drove by or stopped in a number of major sights; it was great to have the landmarks pointed out by someone who knows the city so well. There were a few temporary delays . . .
but overall the afternoon was a great tour of the city. We drove through a number of areas it would have been relatively difficult to navigate on foot, and seeing big chunks of the city for the first time from inside a cab made it a little less overwhelming. Only a little.
(Those are shoeboxes being carried on their heads, by the way.)
Thanks for a great tour, Santosh!
I've only been in Calcutta for two hours, and it's already been a heaving, lurching, crowded, awesome ride. Most of that ride took place on the way from the airport, in an ancient but well-maintained Ambassador cab. The trip took about an hour and a half. This was partially because it's Durga Puja, the Bengali festival, and everybody's out and about and the streets are packed when they aren't closed. Some of the excitement, I think, had nothing to do with the festival and is just plain old everyday Calcutta driving. There aren't really any lane lines, or street lights, or traffic lights, or stop signs, and crosswalks are both rare and seemingly irrelevant. I have pretty good back-seat sangfroid, but I was geniunely terrified once or twice as a large bus just decided to move over into the space occupied by my cab, or we almost ran into a guy on a scooter.
I'm incredibly lucky to have randomly placed Calcutta on my itinerary during its big street festival. I'm still learning about it, but I'm sure I'll post more.
This afternoon, I fly to Calcutta from Bangkok's brand new airport, Suvarnabhumi. It just opened today, and keeping to this opening date was a major political issue after 40 years of delays, so I don't have the greatest confidence that everything will be running like clockwork. I'm leaving preposterously early for the airport, and if all goes well I'll have plenty of time to poke around what is apparently a really cool facility. Given that the main headache new airports have been suffering lately is baggage handling errors, I'd like to carry everything on. On the other hand, I have a utility knife. So perhaps I'll just package and check that.
Yesterday was slow; I woke up feeling tired, and kept on feeling tired all day, so my activities were mostly limited to a two-block radius of the hotel. I did manage to take a walk down Soi Nana, which is right next to my hotel, and which is chock-a-block with bargirls and their admirers. It was gross. A request: If I'm ever the sort of pathetic middle-aged loser who goes to Bangkok to cavort with young, mercenary girls found in sleazy bars, please take corrective action in the form of a slap upside the head.
Today, I woke quite late and headed outside to find lunch. I was delighted to find a small clump of street vendors between the hotel and the Skytrain station, serving a packed bunch of workers from nearby offices. This was a good sign. I had a noodle dish with chicken and what I think was kale, and some other vegetable. Stir fried. It was fantastic -- really some of the best food I've had in Bangkok.
It started raining hard about halfway through lunch, and it still hasn't stopped now, at 10 PM. To make the most of a drizzly day, I headed for the Bangkok Science Museum. My guidebook indicated that it was a little run-down, but I figured it would be fun anyway. My first glimpse when I walked inside the Science and Technology building (one of five buildings making up the museum complex) was a good sign -- the interior was definitely Interactive Science Museum, circa 1988:
When I was in KL, I wrote about Petrosains, the Petronas-sponsored science museum with the infinite budget. Here, I was facing its flip side. The Bangkok Science Museum is what happens, I think, when a museum has a huge capital budget once every decade or so and almost no maintenance budget in between. The place was vast, and the exhibits were for the most part really well thought-out and pretty well fabricated. But nobody fixed them when they broke. As somebody who used to work full-time designing and (mostly) maintaining science museum exhibits, this was a little frustrating but quite instructive. What would have happened if I and the whole staff I worked with simply disappeared? Well, things like this . . .
I went to dinner at Lemongrass, a high-end-ish Thai restaurant on the way back to the hotel. It was quite good, though I'm getting the feeling that Footprint Guides tends to recommend places with English menus and big American Express signs outside.
Walking back to the hotel from the Skytrain involved wading through several six-inch-deep puddles, since it's been raining all day and this Soi's drainage is lacking. Doc Martens saved me from ruin, though I did get wet socks by the end.
Yesterday, I spent a chunk of the day wandering around in and near Wat Phra Kaeo. Here are a few photos.
Yesterday was a vacation day, not a sightseeing day. I started the day at the weekend brunch at the Sheraton Grand Sukhumvit, which came highly regarded and highly priced. It was the best buffet I've ever seen, while remaining a hotel buffet, placing presentation over flavor. But having four kinds of smoked salmon with challah was an experience I didn't expect to have in Asia, and I'm glad I did.
From brunch, I headed for Siam Square, a trendy shopping area where I peered into lots of small, independent clothing shops selling outfits that would attract approving glances at 16th and Valencia.
On my way back to the Skytrain, I ran across the Lido, the local arthouse multiplex, and decided to stop in for what turned into a double feature. First, I saw Queens, a Spanish comedy about gay weddings and grooms' mothers. Then I finally got around to seeing Me And You And Everyone We Know, which was very strange but satisfying. (And who could help but love a movie with a credit "ASCII Art by . . ."?
I've been reading a good bit on the trip. In addition to any English-language news I can get my hands on, I've gone through:
-
Lost Girls and Love Hotels, which I picked up a galley of at the Strand in New York. It's definitely chick-lit, but was a fun read for the plane to Tokyo. There were some excellent characters, and it provided a good view of Tokyo from the point of view of an expat. Interestingly, it included "DVD Extras" at the end -- an interview with the author and a supplemental "making-of" essay.
-
Thud. Pleasing Pratchett Discworld fare.
- McNally's Folly. A continuation of the McNally erudite-Palm-Beach-society-detective franchise after the death of the author, Lawrence Sanders. Unlike the last time I encountered a McNally (on books-on-tape while taking road trips with my Dad), I got the jokes this time. A fine diversion.
- I'm currently almost done reading Singularity Sky by Charlie Stross. I don't usually like space operas, but this one's really, really good.
Rather than a normal post, I'll provide some excerpts from my journal since the last post.
It is a sign of the times that the only bright-line press censorship rule imposed by the junta prohibits TV stations from broadcasting SMS messages sent by viewers. They know what the real risk is: the only way a counter-coup could possibly succeed is through smart-mobbing.
At the Oriental Hotel, after an excellent dinner at Himali Cha Cha. Muttok kofta curry, dahl, jasmine rice, and naan. It cost more than my room for tonight, but then, I think this notebook did, too.
The Oriental is awfully nice. I mean, there's a fucking string quartet in the fucking lobby. The flower arrangement is 10 feet high. And it's fresh.
Rich Thais are having receptions and prodding each other politely, like rich people do. It's 8:45, and according to my sources the set at the Bamboo Bar doesn't start until 10. I hate to say it, but this lobby makes the Waldorf look sort of dusty and shabby.
Damn. The string quartet took off after a single volley of Canons.
The Bamboo Bar is less embarassing than I expected. I ordered a Manhattan. Way too much sweet vermouth, and there's something funny with the bitters, too. Not a bad drink, just not a Manhattan.
The music starts, an hour before showtime. Piano and violin. "They Can't Take That Away From Me." Actually, piano, violin, and drum machine. A first.
Newsweek just described a movie as a "ludicrous farrago." I may have to subscribe.
The violinist has a mullet. Just wanted you to know.
This feels so . . . louche? Dissolute? Jazz at the luxury hotel while the country is under recently-declared martial law following a coup, and there are still tanks in the streets. I'm enjoying it.
Huh. A cloth bar napkin. Another first.
Canned pineapple? Here?
The vocalist has started. She's good, though sometimes a bit over-the-top. A "Fly Me To The Moon" so overdone it must be chewed deliberately, like scenery.
I don't think that lone woman across the bar -- who keeps glancing at me expectantly -- is here for the music (which she's ignoring) or the drinks (of which she's had one sip in the past three hours). Steering clear.
The cabbie on the ride home asked me if a flat 200 baht would be OK (no, please use the meter; it was a 75 baht cab ride) and whether I needed a good girl for the night (no). Nice guy, but I'm afraid I'm the wrong farang for this particular approach.
I was contacted last week by a producer from ABC's World News Webcast about the use of my photos of BNE stickers in Tokyo and Kuala Lumpur. I said yes, and the photos are featured in a webcast available here. A few of Adam's pictures made it in, as well.
The train ride from the Malaysian border was pleasant, though not exciting. I booked a first-class berth, and had the room to myself until bedtime, when a nice young local guy who had booked the other berth in my cabin boarded. I had dinner in the room -- passable Thai food -- and got a pretty good night's sleep. The train left at 2:40 PM yesterday and arrived here in Bangkok at about 9:40 this morning. I got in a taxi and headed straight for the Atlanta Hotel.
The Atlanta is an exceedingly quirky place. (Here's an L.A. Times article about it.)
It was built in 1952 by a German expat, and is currently owned by a
British expat (who also happens to be a law professor in the UK half
the year). Its original decor survives, so it's full-on late-40s Deco,
especially in the lobby and restaurant. (Pictures forthcoming; this
internet cafe runs Windows 98, so it can't read my camera's memory
card.) The tenor of a late-40s expat hangout is preserved, as well;
there's a guests' writing room, in which no children are allowed, and
the restaurant is open only to hotel guests and those well known to the
management.
The Atlanta is similarly picky about who stays
there. There is a large "No Sex Tourists" sign by the front door, and
non-guests simply aren't allowed in. This is in contrast to many of the
other hotels in the area, where no questions are reportedly asked about
young women headed upstairs in the temporary company of visiting
foreign men. The rule is spelled out in detail in a sign behind the
reception desk; among other things, there is a sign that says -- I kid
you not -- "NO CATAMITES." I assume, due to context, that they mean
catamites-for-hire; I'd be surprised and pretty offended if they
prohibited all May-December male-male couples.
I checked in to a lovely room on the top floor of the five-story hotel, in their lowest class of room, without A/C. (There was nothing else available.) The staff was quite helpful, carrying my unreasonably-heavy-for-bellhop-carriage bag up the four flights of stairs and handing me an iced tea for the walk up. This is, without doubt, the nicest $15-a-night hotel room I've ever stayed in. It's spacious, relatively cool (thanks to a powerful ceiling fan) and has its own bathroom.
After getting settled in, I headed to the hotel's restaurant for lunch. I had a pretty good red curry with rice and a pot of tea. The restaurant's feel was just right; late 40s dinner music, bongos and all, wafted through the air as I read the Bangkok Post at my table.
I sat next to a photo of His Majesty King Bhumibol Adulyadej playing sax in a trio with Louis Armstrong on trumpet and Benny Goodman on clarinet, while a young George H.W. Bush looked on. (Some Googling indicates that the King participated in a jam session at Goodman's apartment in New York in 1960, but doesn't mention Armstrong or Bush. I wonder if the photo is doctored. I hope not; a photo of the King jamming with Benny Goodman is plenty cool without any additions.)
The title page of the guidebook I'm using has a quote from Ian Buruma's essay about Thailand, "Fooling Yourself for Fun." It ends, "So what if people want your money. And if the city is a little crass... Here the king plays jazz." Reading this back in the States, I thought it was a poigniant, evocative fiction. I'm a tad disappointed to find out that Buruma's brilliant rhetorical scheme was merely a statement of fact.
After lunch, I headed for the
Chatuchak Weekend Market. I was, I'm afraid, inadequately prepared. I
was expecting your standard weekend flea market, maybe a little bigger.
What I found was acres of market under a permanent roof. 9,000 stalls.
They had everything from the expected souvenirs and "antiques" to pets,
furniture, and lots of clothes. Because the stalls were small and,
presumably, cheap to start up, there were a lot of young local
designers showing their creations. The t-shirts were particularly
awesome. I bought one featuring a stylized exploded diagram of a Lego
astronaut.
Leaving the market, I got thoroughly lost in a beautiful adjacent park. I took a taxi to the skytrain station, heading to Silom, where I am now. I'll be having dinner at a highly-regarded Indian place then heading to the Bamboo Bar for a set by jazz singer Paris Lane and her quartet. The bar's website makes it look a little cringeworthy, as the decor appears to have a Stanley-and-Livingstone motif, but word is it's the best jazz club in town. Regardless, I expect no bargirls. (Good thing, too; they're specifically prohibited by a sign behind the reception desk at the Atlanta.)
