Same Same, But Different! Pt. 15: Civil Disobedience Here (And There)

The "I have a dream" speech crowd near the Washington Monument 50+ years ago

During the decade of the 1960s - a bit over 50 years ago - the United States had its share of unrest. Not only then, mind you, but it's been the most influential and progressive time during my life, even if I was a bit young to fully grasp what was going on at the beginning of it. Some of it was difficult to watch, but there it was, anyway: beamed into our homes daily by an industry just getting the hang of the immediate impact of televised news.

An image of Victory Monument, taken a few mornings ago by a friend on his way into work

There is similar civil disobedience happening (again) in Thailand; this time perhaps more organized, and certainly more visible. As you saw on the map from last Sunday there are seven key areas that have hosted the largest "camp-ins" in the city's history, and, as human nature has shown us over time, not everyone is content to wait things out. That's when the trouble starts. Acting alone or (more than likely) at the behest of someone or some group, violence erupts. Just as it did in 1963 in Birmingham, Alabama.

The famous Charles Moore photo of high school students being hit with high-pressure hoses in Birmingham in 1963

It depended on personal, regional and cultural differences how one felt about what was happening in the news - as it often does - but enough people were outraged by the 1960s images here today that changes were made. Not all of said changes were taken to heart by everyone, but things have made progress over the last half-century, I suppose.

In keeping with the "same-same, but different" thought today, over the past couple of days there has been similar uncivil disobedience in Bangkok. On the 18th it was reported that a grenade was tossed down from a building in an attempt to take out Suthep Thaugsuban one of the organizers.

A similar view of Victory Monument in Bangkok, taken by the same friend. This time he was on his way home.

Within 24 hours another grenade was tossed by the man below, said to have been caught on closed circuit TV. Aiming for a tent, he missed... and it landed on top of a coffee shop, injuring many folks nearby.

Adjusted photo from the Crime Reporter and Photographer Association of Thailand, published in the Bangkok Post 

Many embassies are advising visitors to reconsider going to Thailand at this time, especially Bangkok, but most people's vacation plans don't include wading into dangerous situations to begin with, so while some would disagree I'd suggest that with some advance planning (and some common sense while there) I personally don't see why a person couldn't have a good trip to Thailand... as things stand today. Situations can change in a heartbeat.

If you are thinking of visiting Thailand (I tend to think about it often), I'd suggest a few things: do your homework, consider steering clear of Bangkok or, if you do spend time there, use common sense and stay away from the demonstrations.  

Now It Begins...Or DOES It?

Graphic from the Bangkok Post

It's nearing dawn in Bangkok on Monday the 13th of January. Without getting into a re-hash of posted news and without joining in to spew my own opinion on what may or may not happen I offer this graphic from the Bangkok Post as reference for you folks around the globe. It shows where street closures have been scheduled; many of you will recognize familiar spots on the map. 

I'll be anxiously watching the news feeds myself over the next 24 hours - at least. I suspect a while longer than that, actually. 

To my friends there: steer clear of the protest sites, if possible. There will be enough daredevils out gathering stories and photographs.

The True Spirit: "The Day The Kid Got His Peaches"

A San Francisco intersection at Christmas

[Today's post is a repeat of one that I've run the past couple of years, but a reader thought it worth repeating again for the newer readers, and I agreed. A couple of decades ago I read an article with a lesson to it that's stuck with me over the years, and in the spirit of the Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa holidays I thought I'd share it with you again today. If you can make the time in your hectic holiday schedule I hope you'll stop and read it. It's worth the time. Here's wishing the best holidays possible to all of you. Again, thank you for reading my stuff.]

THE DAY THE KID GOT HIS PEACHES 
By Al Martinez [San Francisco Chronicle: December 23, 1990] 

It happened one Christmas Eve a long time ago in a place called Oakland, California, on a newspaper called the Tribune with a city editor named Alfred P. Reck.

I was working swing shift on general assignment, writing the story of a boy who was dying of leukemia and whose greatest wish was for fresh peaches. It was a story that, in the tradition of 1950s journalism, would be milked for every sob we could squeeze from it, because everyone loved a good cry at Christmas.

We knew how to play a tear-jerker in those days, and I was full of the kind of passions that could make a sailor weep. I remember it was about 11 p.m. and pouring rain outside when I began putting the piece together for the next day’s editions. Deadline was an hour away, but an hour is a lifetime when you’re young and fast and never get tired. Then the telephone rang. It was Al Reck calling, as he always did at night, and he’d had a few under his belt.

Reck was a drinking man. With diabetes and epilepsy, hard liquor was about the last thing he ought to be messing with. But you didn’t tell Al what he ought or ought not to do. He was essentially a gentle man who rarely raised his voice, but you knew he was the city editor, and in those days the city editor was the law and word in the newsroom.

But there was more than fear and tradition at work for Al. We respected him immensely, not only for his abilities as a newsman, but for his humanity. Al was sensitive both to our needs and the needs of those whose names and faces appeared in the pages of the Oakland Tribune.

“What’s up?” he asked me that Christmas eve in a voice as soft and slurred as a summer breeze. He already knew what was up because, during 25 years on the city desk, Reck somehow always knew what was up, but he wanted to hear it from the man handling the story.

I told him about the kid dying of leukemia and about the peaches and about how there simply were no fresh peaches, but it still made a good piece. We had art and a hole on Page One.

Al listened for a moment and then said, “How long’s he got?” “Not long,” I said. “His doctor says maybe a day or two.” There was a long silence and then Al said, “Get the kid his peaches.”

“I’ve called all over,” I said. “None of the produce places in the Bay Area have fresh peaches. They’re just plain out of season. It’s winter.” “Not everywhere. Call Australia.” “Al,” I began to argue, “it’s after 11 and I have no idea...” “Call Australia,” he said, and then hung up.
If Al said call Australia, I would call Australia.

I don’t quite remember who I telephoned, newspapers maybe and agricultural associations, but I ended up finding fresh peaches and an airline that would fly them to the San Francisco Bay Area before the end of Christmas Day. There was only one problem. Customs wouldn’t clear them. They were an agricultural product and would be hung up at San Francisco International at least for a day, and possibly forever.

Reck called again. He listened to the problem and told me to telephone the secretary of agriculture and have him clear the peaches when they arrived. “It’s close to midnight,” I argued. “His office is closed.” “Take this number down,” Reck said. “It’s his home. Tell him I told you to call.”

It was axiomatic among the admirers of Al Reck that he knew everyone and everyone knew him, from cops on the street to government leaders in their Georgetown estates. No one knew how Al knew them or why, but he did. I called the secretary and he said he’d have the peaches cleared when they arrived and give Al Reck his best.

“All right,” Al said on his third and final call to me, “now arrange for one of the photographers to meet the plane and take the peaches over to the boy’s house.” He had been drinking steadily throughout the evening, and the slurring had become almost impossible to understand.
By then it was a few minutes past midnight, and just a heartbeat and a half to the final deadline.
“Al,” I said “if I don’t start writing this now I’ll never get the story in the paper.”

I won’t forget this moment. “I didn’t say get the story,” Reck replied gently. “I said get the kid his peaches.”

If there is a flashpoint in our lives to which we can refer later, moments that shape our attitudes and effect our futures, that was mine.

Alfred Pierce Reck had defined for me the importance of what we do, lifting it beyond newsprint and deadline to a level of humanity that transcends job. He understood not only what we did but what we were supposed to do. I didn’t say get the story. I said get the kid his peaches.

The boy got his peaches and the story made the home edition, and I received a lesson in journalism more important than any I’ve learned since.

Merry Christmas 2013

After this clip posted last Christmas a number of you were kind enough to send messages thanking me for sharing it; a few asking where they could purchase a recording of it.  To the first group: you're more than welcome - it's long been my favorite reading of the piece. As for obtaining a copy, although it was professionally recorded in concert it's not in commercial release. You might catch it being broadcast on a rare occasion - National Public Radio ran it on Christmas eve some years ago, for example - but even my disc is a white-label performer's copy.

It's just past lunchtime on 24 December in the Land of Smiles, and while I'd appreciate an afternoon on the beach there somewhere I'm more than content being home here with family and friends... so I'll share this again. If we don't meet here tomorrow, have a fantastic Christmas holiday.

The Birth Of A Different Bao Bao

Mei Xiang nuzzles her newly born cub Bao Bao

Reader Dax recently sent an email, alerting me to a news item I'd missed. His message read in part "I wanted to wish you the very best of the holidays and congratulate you on the National Zoo's naming of their baby panda Bao Bao."

Bao Bao was born on August 23rd at the Smithsonian's National Zoo to Mei Xiang, brought here herself from China as part of a diplomatic program begun by Richard Nixon back in the early 1970s. Bao Bao is a female, and her name received the highest number of votes from the 120,000 members of the Friends of the National Zoo who participated in the selection process.

Evidently, in Chinese her name means "precious" or "treasure". I don't recall this blog ever being referred to in those terms - and I'd never claim it to be, naturally - but most regulars will remember that since Bao Bao means "gentle" or "easy" in Thai (or so I've long been told) so perhaps today's blip on the wide horizon of the internet would better fit into the same same, but different folder.

If you're dead set to have a Thailand tie-in for the post today I'll refer you to the Chiang Mai Zoo, where they've hosted pandas on loan from China and most likely have some there now. Check their web site for more information, as I've not been there yet - just the Dusit Zoo in Bangkok.

So, as the holidays are ramping up for me I'll close for today and get back to the exhaustive list of things demanding attention, but a special thanks to Dax for taking the time to alert me to the new namesake. Best wishes for the holidays to you, too.

Bao Bao, learning to walk and climb on 6 December

His Majesty Turns 86

An internet image of His Majesty on his birthday last year.

Having missed more than my share of birthdays for folks I know again this year I suppose it isn't all that surprising to have "officially" miss the 86th birthday of His Majesty King Bhumibol Adulyadej, ruling king of Thailand.

From where I sit, the day there is technically over, but it's still the 5th of December here, so here's wishing him a healthy and happy birthday. May he have many, many more.

As a side note: since his birthday is the day observed as Father's Day in Thailand, here's to all of them, too!

Maruekatayawan: Royal Teak Home On The Beach

A beach view fit for... well, a King.

There have been recent reports that since his stay at Siriraj Hospital HM King Bumbhibol had been residing at the royal residence called Klai Kangwon in Hua Hin, begun by Rama VII in the late 1920s. Klai Kangwon means "away from worries", I'm told, and that sounds like a good place to get away to after a prolonged hospital stay, especially as he's heading toward his 86th birthday in three more days.

Possibly also wanting to take a sea-side break he'd also recently headed slightly North for a day trip to Cha-Am in the Petchaburi district to pay a visit to Maruekatayawan Palace, another of the royal summer homes in the kingdom.

A gorgeous, open, airy, teak wonder, Maruekatayawan Palace rests on the shore of the Gulf of Thailand. The overall feel of the place is one of casual elegance; you know you're in a royal residence, but it's so peaceful and relaxing it's easily my favorite so far.

Pink  and yellow plumeria dot the grounds at Maruekatayawan 

In general the royal residences have, over time, been built to accommodate the wishes of the current ruler, naturally. Maruekatayawan was built by His Majesty King Varjiravudh (Rama VI) in the early 1920s, and is one of the oldest remaining residences. Rama VI personally designed it and saw the interior completed he paid his last visit there in 1925, the year he passed on.

A family rests in the shades on the expansive and well-groomed grounds

Maruekatayawan and the beach it graces are fine spots to relax, meditate, take pictures, have a picnic and relax.

I had a leisurely visit there with a friend one afternoon, and we ended up spending several more hours there than we'd intended.  He kept saying "I knew you'd like this", and he was right. I wondered to myself why he hadn't planned a bit longer to stop there - I'd planned to stay in the Big Mango that night - but we did get back to Bangkok that evening, although it was close to the witching hour.

A meeting and receiving hall

For photographers it's a cornucopia of photo opportunities, and I took a lot of pictures as we wandered the grounds. Rather than slam through this wonderful spot in one post I figure we'll do it in at least two installments. Hope that's OK with the majority of you.

Light blue and yellow are the predominant colors for the building exteriors

A Song Of Thanks; A Grat Etude - Yet Again

Some local colors of Autumn in my area

Thanksgiving is a more or less uniquely U.S.A event, but as work, travel and relocation spread us to the four points of the compass (and all points in-between) you'll see it observed around the world during this time of November, as well as in different ways on other dates. Besides, stopping for a moment on any day to be grateful for what we have - be it humble or more - is a worthwhile thing, I say. Only the most foolish would write it off as anything less.

Today's post is a near repeat of the post from this same time last year. My thoughts on the holiday and what I think it ought to represent match those of Mr. Carroll, and aren't much different today than they were a quarter century ago when I first read it; other than I've aged and (hopefully) mellowed a bit more since then. 

So... here again is the piece by one of my all-time favorite columnists, Jon Carroll. To my way of thinking it neatly ties up the whole bundle - with a bow, no less - and has become part of my annual tradition; a somewhat calm port before the storm of The Holidays officially begins.  I hope it means something to you and again gives you pause for thought, too. 

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Thank you for reading my stuff here. 

--------------------------------------------------

A Song of Thanks; A Grat Etude

by Jon Carroll, copyright held by the San Francisco Chronicle

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. It is comfortably free of the strident religious and/or militaristic overtones that give the other holidays their soft emanations of uneasiness.

At Christmas, for instance, we are required to deal with the divinity of Jesus -- I know some of you folks have made up your minds about that one, but not me -- and on the Fourth of July we must wrestle with the question of whether all those simulated aerial bombardments represent the most useful form of nationalism available.

At Thanksgiving, all we have to worry about is whether we can wholeheartedly support (a) roasted turkey, (b) friends and (c) gratitude. My opinions on these matters are unambiguous; I am in favor of them all. I understand that there's another story attached to Thanksgiving, all about a meal that may not have happened at all and certainly didn't happen on the fourth Thursday of November. 

The implication of the school-pageant version of Thanksgiving is that everything was just swell between the Pilgrims and the Indians. That's not true, and things got a lot worse before they got marginally better. But Thanksgiving isn't about that -- it's a harvest festival. We can attach some dopey Squanto-give-corn narrative to it, but it's really about how once more the earth has been fruitful and all the crops are safely in the barn. Thus, for me, the thrill of Thanksgiving is undiminished by caveats, codicils or carps. That alone is something to be thankful for.

Thanksgiving provides a formal context in which to consider the instances of kindness that have enlightened our lives, the moments of grace that have gotten us through when all seemed lost. These are fine and sentimental subjects for contemplation.

First, there are the public personalities, artists and entertainers and philosophers, who have been there when they were needed, whether they knew it or not. Let us think kind thoughts about Nancy Pelosi and Helen Mirren, Barbara Lee and Frank Gore, Al Gore and David Milch, David Simon and Mikhail Baryshnikov, Tom Stoppard and Keith Olbermann, Jennifer Egan and Peter Carey, Van Morrison and Clarence Fountain, Don Asmussen and Judith Martin, Duncan Black and Joshua Micah Marshall, Dan Savage and Masi Oka -- this is my partial list; feel free to create your own.

And the teachers, the men and women who took the time to fire a passion for the abstract, to give us each a visceral sense of the continuity of history and the adventure of the future. Our society seems determined to denigrate its teachers -- at its peril, and at ours. This is their day as well.

Even closer. Companions. We all learned about good sex from somebody, and that person deserves a moment. Somebody taught us some hard lesson of life, told us something for our own good, and that willingness to risk conflict for friendship is worth a pause this day. And somebody sat with us through one long night, and listened to our crazy talk and turned it toward sanity; that person has earned this moment too.

And a moment for old friends now estranged, victims of the flux of alliances and changing perceptions. There was something there once, and that something is worth honoring as well.

Our parents, of course, and our children; our grandparents and our grandchildren. We are caught in the dance of life with them and, however tedious that dance can sometimes seem, it is the music of our lives. To deny it is to deny our heritage and our legacy.

And thanks, too, for all the past Thanksgivings, and for all the people we shared them with. Thanks for the time the turkey fell on the floor during the carving process; for the time Uncle Benny was persuaded to sing "Peg o' My Heart"; for the time two strangers fell in love, and two lovers fell asleep, in front of the fire, even before the pumpkin pie.

And the final bead on the string is for this very Thanksgiving, this particular Thursday, and the people with whom we will be sharing it. Whoever they are and whatever the circumstances that have brought us together, we will today be celebrating with them the gift of life and the persistence of charity in a world that seems bent on ending one and denying the other.

Thanks. A lot.

Bangkok Balcony Boy

Sunrise colors the sky over the Siam Discovery area, awash itself in an LED glare

While I'm a few decades past being what most anyone would consider a boy (even by gay tourist vernacular, which usually means someone between the ages of, say, 18 to 25 or so there; more what would qualify as a "twink" here at home) I still get a chance to feel a spark of youthful rejuvenation with each dawn I'm awake to appreciate. I can't speak for you, but that alone makes me feel good.

Dawn and dusk are my two favorite times of day. Many around the world appreciate nap time in the middle of the day, but a nap has become a rare guilty pleasure for me, so any daylight sleeping hours would become the third favorite, I suppose.

Part of the beauty of dawn and dusk is the light. The light and colors of the morning and evening sky and the way they tint everything they touch make for not only sometimes breath-taking scenes, but also often gorgeous light for photography. Sometimes the combination of that light and the dark shadows often cast by them are absolutely magnificent, I think.

Looking towards the Siam Discovery Center, Mah Boon Krong (MBK) mall and the National and Siam BTS stations.

Regulars have seen other posts about early morning hours - such as this one from six months ago - or any of a number of others that fit (one way or another) under the sunrise/sunset label.

These golden morning and evening hours are same same, but different in the city, the suburbs, the coast and the countryside; each having their own charm. On my last trip I was able to enjoy them in quite a variety of settings, but the pictures today were taken from my perch on the balcony of my rooms in Bangkok - a spot I tend to choose as my roost of choice most any time it's not too hot and I have the luxury of some unscheduled time - hence the title today.

An arm reached for the items near the center of this image after I'd taken this one morning. Probably went out of the room on the owner that very day.

I've found it's not only a fine spot to collect my thoughts for the day after some meditation time, it's a calming and centering experience. Sitting and sipping down a cup or two of Peets Major Dickason blend coffee I've brought from home (and just freshly brewed) I've found it easy enough to lose myself and suddenly realize I've been out on my balcony for an hour and a half, just watching the sky and city below me changing.

[I don't care for the small tubes of granulated Nescafe and Coffeemate that seem to be the standard in rooms throughout the kingdom, so I bring my own coffee. With a bit of luggage space you can, too: the link to that post is here.]

The large LED billboard that faces the courtyard between Siam Discovery and Siam Center is shut off during the wee small hours, but it flares to life again at dawn, as if it's trying to out-do the sun.  As you can see to the far right in the top image today, it is bright.

The BTS elevated travel train lines open at 06:00, and it's shortly thereafter that you see them snaking along their set paths. The one below was on it's way to the Ratchathewi station from Siam, headed toward the (current) end of the Sukhumvit line at the Mo Chit station. Work is underway to take it out well North into the Nonthaburi area, but who knows when that will be completed.

A Sukhumvit line train heads North as the sky brightens: the morning commute has already begun.

Many of you have already seen the posts here about the BTS lines, but for any new arrivals there are "Newbie's Guides" sprinkled through the blog here, including an introduction,  one on statistics, another on buying tickets, others showing route maps, shops and - yes - even a post about young lovers and PDAs - Public Displays of Affection. You can find all of those by clicking here.

Well before I've finished my coffee and caught up with the previous days' paper (the one that's usually sat neatly folded on my coffee table since the previous afternoon) the commute has begun down below.

Tuk-tuks, taxis, bicycles, a sprinkling of other vehicles and a stream of pedestrians make their way in both directions over the Hua Chang bridge, which stretches over the Khlong Saen Saep longboat water taxi stop.

The "show" varies a bit from day to day; a downpour of rain or a minor traffic accident on the bridge can add their own color, but I never seem to tire of it.  Easily amused?  Perhaps, but as I say to many people I see rushing around while on holiday: it's usually too nice a day to hurry. Take a look yourself the next time you're traveling... and up that early.

Yes, Thank You... I'm Still Around!

If your month has been as good as mine has, you've been extremely fortunate. I'll hold that hope for you all. Even with losing a couple of favored people from our spinning blue marble I've had a wonderful October.  As I'd mentioned a while back: I have a life that reaches far beyond blogging, and for that I'm eternally grateful.

That said, it's probably only fair to at least check in and make some mention of what I've been up to since that last post on the first of the month.  I've even been a bit slow to answer email and messages asking me "what's up?", and I apologize... I do appreciate you asking.

My most consistently abusive reader prematurely celebrated the demise of this blog, and perhaps one day he'll get his wish. For now I'm enjoying the hundreds of visits a day from people who have discovered what I hope will continue to be a growing cornucopia of information based on my own experiences and not merely borrowed and reworded from elsewhere on the web.

Normally I'm a relatively private person, but let me share a little bit of what my life's like:

I have five books in various stages of production, a couple of family members who need regular care, five men who I meet with weekly as a mentor for about 90 minutes or so (in addition to daily phone contact), keeping in touch by phone, email and messaging with people I care about on different points on Earth, an exercise regimen of sorts, my own personal time for meditation, contemplation and enrichment, a house to keep and the time I spend reading and watching TV. Oh, right... and there's also eating, sleeping and the other minutiae of life.

I'm also asked to speak every so often on travel in Thailand, and that often requires some prep time beforehand - i.e. going through 45,000+ photos taken in Thailand but not well categorized - to assemble relevant photos and prepare speaking notes. Sure, I could just borrow pictures and present them as my own, but that's dishonest.

So, you see, I'm just plain old busy. Too busy for a retired person, that's for damn sure. While this was a nearly all-consuming addiction for me when I began it some 45 months ago, it's not now. I enjoy it, but it's become more of a guilty pleasure to "steal" some time and share with you all.  I'm not throwing in the towel, but - obviously - I'm not posting like I used to.  It's my hope that after this upcoming presentation I'll be able to get back to the list of posts in progress and be here more often.

In the meantime, don't give up on me. I DO answer emails, and consider those of you who've stuck with me as peripheral friends. I'm here if I can help.

So... why today to catch up? First, I'd like to be able to say I've at least posted a couple of times a month lately, and second, today is one of my favorite holidays... All Hallow's Eve. Second only to Christmas, in my book.

Hallowe'en (invariably misspelled in the U.S.A. today as Halloween), is something we've already covered - acknowledging some of how this odd holiday is observed in Thailand [Halloween: Drag Out The Feather Boas] and I've shared some about how I observe it here stateside [Ghosts, Ghouls And Goblins: It's Halloween]. It's a delightful holiday, so I thought I'd add a few postcards from a family scrapbook that commemorate the day.

These were all from around 1910, when they only required a penny stamp to mail.