SUSAN ABROAD Happy Is As Happy Does In Thailand

Press, Volume CI, Issue 29799, 16 April 1962, Page 2

SUSAN ABROAD Happy Is As Happy Does In Thailand

From the first I have wanted this to be a journey in search of happy people and hoped that I might learn some wisdom, if not the ever elusive secret of happiness, in the course of it. But one thing I know already is that the upsets of travel can be very exasperating, so another resolution I made was that in no circumstances whatsoever would I lose my temper or burst into tears.

Bangkok proved a useful exercise in both respects, for the Thais are traditionally a very happy people, and when I arrived at midnight at the hotel where my reservation had been reconfirmed that very day by the Embassy, the desk clerk smiled at me happily, and with the famous Thai “never mind, it doesn’t matter” beam on his pleasant face, revealed that he had given my room away and there was not another to be had in Bangkok.

Dammit. happy is as happy does, I thought. But a deep breath tided me over the crxs and I ended up about 2 30 a m. more than thankful for a bed in a much more interesting little Chinese bote!, which proved clean, cool. re<ful and in respect to its plumbing, unique in my experience. To omit the quainter details, baain. shower and toilet were jammed into one tiny cupboard, so that one could take a shower in a sitting position and clean one’s teeth at the same time Live and learn, say I. No-one spoke much Er.glirfl. but they were happy and polite in sign language, and so wss I. and we got along fine.

Ttie next day I shall al way e remember Up with the birds. I was on the river by 7 a m. and in the little canopied launch made a breakfast of two bananas and a cup of coffee Tbit trip up the river to the floating market is one of the world's fascinating experiences and if you can do only one thing in Bangkok, this is the thing you must do For on this river the Thais conduct their commerce, in ocean-going ships and tiny sampans. with floating taxis and buses, floating petrol

pumps and ice-cream bars floating greengrocers and postmen, and. as you espy when the black eloud of flies is disturbed, floating meat and fish shops as well. Alw.g the banks are ♦eaaplee and athoo'.s. ri<h homos and pool, and many more shops. Where you car. stop and buy a care hat or a length of brocade or a leak I *esffin And so public is the l.fe of the riverfolk that you aeem to enter invisibly into the heart of their homes | Here is an exquisitely beautiful Thai girl, ivorysmooth. amaU-bor.ed. modest and graceful and composed soaping herself with infinite thoroughness in the filthy water bv the s'eps of her stilted borne She wears a wet sarong in the water and changes into s fresh gown as she dries herself, but so skilfully does die do this that the keenest-eyed touriM never sees a thing he shouldn't. Life And Death Here is a little boy. stark naked, scrupulously scrubbing his teeth and his pottie in the same muddy water and with the same toothbrush. He positively sparkles with cleanliness, happiness and radiant health. Here is a young man scooping up a netful of fish out of the same water, a young woman cleaning them, an old woman cooking them over her charcoal brazier. Here is an old crone grinding bamboo shoots in what looks like a sewing machine. Here is a lovely creature tending her

orchids in a grotesquely ramshackle house that is slipping sideways into the river. Never mind, it has a television aerial on top. And here is a sampan floating downstream with an old. old parchment man stretched out full length in it. At first sight he seems dead, but I see his nostrils quiver as we pass, so he is evidently only dying. And here is a dog truly deed, horribly bloated, teeth bared in a las’, snarl, banging with the tide against the enclosure where the King's magnificent State barges are displayed. Incredibly. the over-all picture is of beauty, of charm, and —yes. of happiness. These people smile and wave, call a greeting, even a blessing. Their children never cry. and never fight. Yet in my search for happy people here. I fould a tragic one. She was a lovely young girl, delicate in feature, form and movement, painfully poling a sampan full of charcoal against the swirling brown tide. She wore black coolie trousers and jacket, a wide straw hat. On her slender little feet she wore black charcoal dust and on her exquisite face an expression of ineffable sadness and hopelessness To be sure 1 climbed many a porcelain temple, gazed into the serene face of many a'

wise Buddha, fingered many a lovely Thai silk in the markets, saw my fill of dancers and snakes and tropical flowers and fruit. But the sweet girl in the sooty sampan is the memory of Bangkok that will haunt me always. Spiey Garland But of course there is another life altogether in busy, prosperous cosmo p o 1 i t a n Bangkok, and I was lucky to have, in Peter Gordon, a friend at the New Zealand Embassy to show it to me with a budding diplomat’s savoir faire and an anthropologist’s understanding. Sir Stephen and Lady Weir are wonderfully popular here. and indeed. the Embassy could not have been kinder. Lady Weir invited me to luncheon to meet a group of staff members and wives, as well as a charming little Thai social reporter, women representatives of the Thai tourist organisations, and. to my delight, one of our own Federation of University Women fellowship holders. whom members throughout New Zealand will remember as Chirabha Onruang—or, as we could not resist calling her. Cherry Pie.

And to end this long, strange wonderful day. Peter Gordon took me to dinner at a genuine old-style Thai restaurant, where we took our shoes off to recline on cushions on the rush-matted floor beside a low. candle-lit table in a cool, quiet room, and ate exotic delicacies served with silent grace by young Thais kneeling at our sides.

The little garland of sweetly spiced flowers they gave me here I carried with me to the airport, its intense perfume an intensive reminder of an intensely lived day.