Thailand (10)

(Continuation of story)

 

I found myself quickly settling into a routine at the Miami Hotel. I usually ordered the cheapest thing on the menu for breakfast which was a slice of pineapple and toast. Coffee gave way to tea. The coffee in Asia was often instant and horrible. Through the doors of the plain beige and dreary cracked walls of the coffee shop, passed many fellow travellers from all over the world.

 

I found myself speaking to pilots from Pakistan, salesmen from Turkey, shopkeepers from India, airline people from Egypt and even a young man from America who translated Sanskrit and was on his way to India to work on ancient writings.

 

The large, well maintained pool in the small courtyard was the most inviting feature of the hotel. Service men from the States while on R&R during the Vietnam War were rumored to have jumped into the pool from the third floor balcony. Alan Dawson told me that the Khmer Rouge stayed there too and that I should think about moving. I never saw anyone who looked like they were from Cambodia, so I stayed.

 

Many of the encounters I had by the pool were quite memorable. An Egyptian man in his galabiya approached me and asked me if I was married. When I said no, he said that he wanted to marry an American woman and immediately proposed to me. We did see each other when he came through Bangkok and he was very nice, but I was not ready to get married. Then there was an Indian shopkeeper who one night when we were going out to dinner threatened to sell me into the white sex slave underground. My response shut him down. I told him that I worked with the police in the USA investigating child abuse calls. I did not lie. I merely twisted words to make it sound like I had been employed with the police department not assisting them. Needless to say, I never saw this man again.

 

Then, there was petite little Michelle from Australia who I met by the pool. She was very young and very pretty. Too young, I thought to be travelling alone in Thailand. I adopted her and actually took her to Lucy’s Tiger Den one night and the guys around the bar adopted her too like a little sister. I was proud of them when I saw how they acted and Michelle was very respectful when they told their endless war stories.

 

As time passed and she and I crossed paths during our stays, I began to see another side of her life. One day massive black and blue injuries appeared on her face. She confided that they were the result of her European boyfriend hitting her. My background with battered woman prevailed and I calmly attempted to give her information about how to diffuse situations and to stay safe. I think it fell on deaf ears. I later surmised that she was also involved with the illicit drug element of Bangkok when she asked me to hold a package for her while we having dinner one night. She was such a sweet soul, young enough to be my daughter, so I kept a watchful eye on her and gave her emotional support whenever I could.

 

Perhaps my most poignant memories were that of Razor, the leader of a small group of refugees fleeing Iran. They spoke little English, but by this time in my travels I had learned to use the universal language of hand gestures and pigeon English. They were desperate to find a country of asylum and asked me regularly whether America would take them or not. I always had to remind them of when the American embassy workers were held captive for a year in Iran. One heartbreaking exchange occurred when an older woman who was traveling with the group came to me and wanted to show me what she was carrying with her. She had only a few trinkets of jewelry and pictures of her loved ones in a locket. That was all of her life in Iran that she had in her possession. Her plight still brings tears to my eyes.

 

I could cross the street from my hotel on Soi 13 to visit food stalls where many other travellers congregated. Many were from Africa and somehow I became their contact and message board. Various men from many different countries in Africa would ask me if I had seen one of their friends and when so they could make contact. I was quite flattered to be part of their group too.

 

The ever-present taxi drivers who were hunkered by the doorway of the Miami Hotel also greeted me. They always asked if I wanted a taxi and when I replied no, they would call me "Cheap Charlie" a term left over from the days when American service men came on R&R. They knew I took tuk tuks, but we liked playing our little game.

 

Not all days were carefree. I still had the massive problem of negotiating wire transfers of money. No matter how far in advance I made plans, the banks in Thailand always presented a problem; so much of a problem that one day I was destitute and desperate for money. The managers of the hotel were quite patient so I just needed money for food.

 

Al, the Air American pilot, came to my rescue and loaned me money. When two weeks turned into three weeks, he briefly questioned my credibility. I looked him directly in the eyes and told him I knew he had the ability to kill me if I didn’t pay him back and I didn’t want to die.

 

Finally, the bank acknowledged they had my funds. I paid Al back and added interest, thinking that my father would have made this thank you gesture in his male dominated world. I was able to pay the hotel for my room and they confided in me that they had the same trouble with transferred funds. As frustrating as travel is now, thirty years later, some of the inconveniences have been eliminated.

 

This is a Chinese statue that stands on the grounds of the Grand Palace. It was probably a gift to the royal family from China.

 

Done