Part 5/8: Rodney & Julie's Excellent Adventure
Sunday morning brought a quandary: how to spend the hours until 2, when we could return to the Thai Red Cross? We knew we would probably take permanent custody of Meg on Monday, and return home the following Sunday. Sightseeing with toddlers -- especially newly adopted ones -- is problematic. And there would be a ton of time-gobbling paperwork, so this free morning was precious. We had compressed our trip to shorten our absence from Alice, knowing that a lack of sightseeing time would be a tradeoff.
The relative merits of a Grand Palace visit, a jaunt to the Chatuchak Weekend market, and a klong (canal) tour were debated. We ultimately decided to head for Wat Pho, Bangkok's largest temple. Adjacent to Wat Phra Keo and the Grand Palace, it houses the monumental Reclining Buddha, as well as a series of bas reliefs depicting scenes from the Thai national drama, the Ramakien. These panels, originally located in Ayuthaya, were of special interest to Rodney, a theatre professor.
The Novotel doorman hailed us a cab, and we were off. Within 30 seconds we knew we were in the hands of a tout. He begged us to stop at a Chinese-owned souvenir shop that would give him gas coupons as a kickback. We wouldn't have to buy anything, and we could stay for as little time as we wanted, he wheedled. Feeling affable, we agreed, though we knew this probably was not the route to bargains. Still, the shop turned out to be well-stocked, and the clerks good-naturedly complimented my attempts at bargaining in Thai. We bought a few things, at prices that still seemed reasonable later in the week, when we'd had time to comparison shop.
Next we asked the cabbie to take us to the wat. "No," he said, "It's early, you should take canal tour, go to wat by boat ... just as easy, more fun for you." Stupidly, we said, "OK." I could see from my pocket map that we were heading for the boat landing by the Shangri-La Hotel. We were rushed through a ticket line, admonished "hurry, hurry, boat leaving ....." We climbed precariously into a slow boat chartered for the two of us (rather than one of the long-tailed, speedy, taxi-type craft), and headed north on the Chao Phraya River. Only after a quick calculation did we figure out that we had paid more than twice what the guidebook said the trip should cost (though by American standards, it was still a cheap date).
Our driver, a taciturn middle-aged Thai woman in wire-rim glasses, took us up the river and then through a tangle of canals. I soon lost all sense of direction as we passed waterfront houses. All, from the rickety to the lavish, were adorned with brilliantly colored potted plants. We saw apartment buildings festooned with balcony-hung laundry, and cruised by a startling variety of wats (some impressive, some run-down). The only "floating market" we saw was one guy selling souvenirs from a boat. I bought a peasant-type woven hat that would plague me on the journey home (but eventually become a prized part of our home d?cor). I resisted his suggestion that we also buy a bottle of Singha beer for the boat driver.
After 90 minutes navigating a watery maze, we arrived at the Thonburi Snake Farm. We refused to disembark (disappointing the driver, who'd probably have gotten a kickback) and stressed that we really wanted to go to Wat Pho. She took us back to the river and dropped us off at a landing, pointing down a narrow street. When we reached the next marked intersection, my map reassured me we were in the right general area. Again, we had to fend off a tout -- this time, a genial fellow who advised us that the wat was open only to Thai Buddhists on Sunday mornings and that we should hire his car to take us to the famous Golden Mount instead. We declined, and as we had suspected, when we reached the wat minutes later it was clear that there was no "natives-only" rule in effect.
The Reclining Buddha, 46 meters long and made of brick covered with plaster and gold leaf, is Wat Pho's main attraction. It was by now extremely hot and humid, but discomforts were forgotten as we stood barefoot in the presence of this massive Buddha image, housed inside a large building called a "viharn." The wat's chapels and galleries contain about 400 additional Buddha images, plus memorial chedis (spires) covered with brilliant mosaics. Sadly, the Ramakien bas reliefs are quite deteriorated due to years of environmental exposure (not to mention rubbings by souvenir hunters).
Footsore and sweaty, we hailed a cab (thank heaven, an efficient one) back to the hotel. A cool drink and quick wash, and we headed to the orphanage again, reaching it just as afternoon naps were ending. When we arrived in the third-floor "toddler room," where Meg slept and spent much of her time, she was still being bathed and dressed. So we spent a while interacting with about 15 other children, most of whom were older than Meg.
Some were kids we knew about who were slated for, or were being considered for, adoption by U.S. families. Amid their shouting and excitement, we struggled to take still and video photos of them for their families and potential families. As we had been told to expect, the children were all over us -- wanting hugs, wanting to talk, wanting to be photographed, wanting to be picked up. I wished I could get them all into homes with forever families immediately.
Meg emerged, this time in a blue and white striped knit dress, and we took a few more photos before taking her back to the playroom. She again cried, but briefly this time, before settling into a good play session with even more eye contact and lap-sitting than the previous day. Her Thai-Burmese "roommates" and their mom came in once more, and merriment reigned. (I gathered, correctly, that this family and our own would be the only ones with Thai Red Cross kids at the Thursday DPW panel meeting.)
At about 4:30, we took Meg back up to the toddler room. This large, open area, containing a dozen cribs in two side-by-side rows, was clearly a daytime hangout for all kids older than the baby stage, including the ones who had outgrown cribs and slept elsewhere. The "eat off the floors" cleanliness that I had noted in Meg's video appeared to be routine. Dinner was in progress, and I fed Meg her rice porridge and water while Rod took more photos. Finally, at about 5, we headed back to the hotel, with instructions to return Monday at 10:30 to meet with Dr. Saree, the institution's medical director.
At 5:30 we were picked up by a couple I'll call Jack and Jill: two American expats (and a prospective a-family) met on the Internet. Jill proved just as nice in person as on-line, and their driver negotiated the traffic skillfully till we landed at Mrs. Balbir's, a celebrated Indian restaurant that was nevertheless mostly empty on this sweltering Sunday night. We let them order and were pleased with their choices: four kinds of naan (flatbread) and a beautiful variety of not-too-fiery dishes. They were both volunteers in a Bangkok orphanage (not Meg's) and had many interesting observations about orphanage life and the workings of the Thai adoption bureaucracy. They also gave us excellent tips on shopping, including a ringing endorsement of the government-sponsored Naryana Phand mall for Thai handicrafts.
Back at the hotel, we called Chicago to talk to Alice. It was early morning in the Windy City, and she was too sleepy to be coherent. We tried again a couple hours later, and she talked freely, but we could tell the call was upsetting her a bit. (It was easier for her to ignore the fact we were gone when we weren't talking on the phone.) I missed her terribly, but we had a task to finish before returning. Tomorrow, we would knuckle down to the business of making Margaret Nuthamon officially our own.