2 posts tagged “jazz”

Yesterday, I did a whole bunch of sightseeing in Riga in the morning.

From there, I walked over to the Central Market, which is contained in three former zeppelin hangars near the riverbank. You could buy almost anything there. I got some dark rye and sausages and cheese and sat outside to have lunch.

In the outdoor portion, you could get clothing and fruit and beer and pirated CDs and DVDs, too.

Walking through a park, I saw that the bridges were covered with locks. I eventually found out that when a couple gets married, it's traditional to write their names on a lock, lock it to a bridge, and throw the key into the water, to symbolize the permanence of their union.

Then I went over to Albertas Street to check out the amazing art nouveau buildings.

I happened upon the fantastic teahouse mentioned in the previous post, then went to dinner at a dada-themed restaurant (waitresses in outfits slightly reminiscent of dada theatrical costumes, dada art themed decor, and so on). It was a little depressing, since it was part of a chain of well-turned-out theme restaurants, and shows, I suppose that almost anything can be made into a trivial restaurant theme.

After dinner, I went to Hamlet's, a small second-floor theatre space and bar run by the Latvian Actors' Association. There was a jazz quartet playing -- sax, guitar, bass, and drums. the crowd was small but appreciative; it was, after all, Monday night. I drank scotch and amused myself during the occasional long, meandering solos by making up a back-story for the young, stylishly-dressed couple at the table next to mine who sat the entire evening entirely impassively, with blank expressions and no drinks, not conversing with each other or anyone else. The quartet finished the night reading some charts the drummer had brought, and they gave some of their best performances of the night.

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.)