Wats On

Feb. 5-7

Joanna had noticed a restaurant festooned with red paper lanterns for Chinese New Year, so we went to get a look at it on Friday around dinner time. Turns out, it isn’t Chinese, as we had hoped, and the name is Red Hot Chilli.

It might as well have been called red flag. We had a feeling that getting something not spicy for Joanna would be even more difficult than usual.

Around the corner, though, is an Italian restaurant, Girasole. Joanna ordered spaghetti with a red sauce made with shellfish. I had spaghetti with sausage and mushroom. The house red is South African, a blend of syrah and cabernet sauvignon. The flavor was strong with an almost bitter edge. But I can’t remember a wine I didn’t like, so this was fine with dinner.

Nobody makes red sauce the way I do—light on the garlic, heavy on oregano and basil. But this was quite good, not too sweet. The sausages are better in New Jersey, which is an unofficial province of Italy, but they had enough flavor to make the dish work.

The seafood in Joanna’s choice is always good in tomato sauce.

Next stop was the Chiang Mai Saloon. I had been there on my last trip and now I remember why I didn’t go there often. It has no draft beer.

There was a golf tournament from Scottsdale on the television, and a man sitting next to me in a Chiang Mai Saloon T-shirt said he used to live in Scottsdale. He said he also lived in Europe for a few years when he ran a branch of an American company. He has been in Thailand for 15 years.

I didn’t ask if he was on the lam for SEC violations. Given his age, executive background, and new T-shirt, he could have been the owner of the saloon. Or just a highly suggestible joe full of bullshit.

Joanna was sitting next to a Thai man at the bar. She asked him about dry cleaning. She asked random Thai people about dry cleaning several times during the day. Most of them have no idea what it is.

He marked the location of a dry cleaner on Joanna’s map. It matched the directions given to us by the bartender at the U.N.

I polished off a bottle of Leo and headed next door to the U.N. pub and a couple of draft Heinekens. Joanna had a coconut at the bar. Thai coconut is tastier than any other she or I have tried.

After the U.N., we went back to the Boonthavon.

Next morning, Saturday the 6th, we followed the directions that the man in the saloon had given to Joanna. A cleaner may have operated in that neighborhood at some time, but given the interest in dry cleaning here, the business must have folded. Or moved to New York.

Saturday lunch was a great find. Several times we have passed a friendly man in our soi grilling salt-encrusted red snapper at the side of the road. He always says hello. Behind him is an open room full of tables. He cooks over charcoal and the aroma alone is delicious.

We went in and shared a fish. The hot sauce comes on the side, so there was no threat to Joanna’s stomach lining.

Joanna makes a wonderful steamed fish from time to time. Cooked in the skin and on the bone, fish is an entirely different food from a filet. I never liked fish before. I enjoy it now.

This one was grilled stuffed with lemon grass. It was hands-down the tastiest, most succulent fish either of us had ever eaten. It even beat the terrific fish served by Cabbages and Condoms in Bangkok.

I don’t even know if this place has a name. It has some awards, though. All I can say is that, next time you’re in Chiang Mai, go to Rachadamnone Soi 1 and look for an old man grilling huge fish on small charcoal grills.

We also found a tailor in the soi. We checked out some of her work on display and looked at some pieces inside waiting for pickup. Collars lay flat; linings were neat and trim; shoulders were smooth and seams even.

Joanna wanted a suit with a man-tailored jacket and high-waisted trousers that are no longer available in stores. She also wanted a linen shirt to go with a skirt. I had an old vest that Joanna and I both like, so I wanted to use it as the pattern for a brown version and a gray.

The lady was comfortable with Joanna’s order, but my two vests are going to take a little longer. But we should have everything long before we leave for Cambodia.

Wat Phra Singh may be the largest temple complex in town. It’s at the far end of Rachadamnone Road, so we took a tuk-tuk to get there.

There is a collection box on the porch that says "foreigner ticket, 20 baht." We took our socks and shoes off and went into the temple, where a monk in saffron was lecturing a group of kids in white. They may have been novices, or it could have been a catechism class.

Most men serve time as monks in Thailand. I learned that from watching Disney World in the '50s. It showed the crown prince (now the king) donning a saffron robe. Some temples display a photo of him during his monk days.

It was late in the afternoon by the time we finished walking the temple grounds, looking at the shining details and graceful architecture. Time for draft beer at the U.N.

We were tired and retreated to the hotel after that. Still full from the big fish lunch, Joanna was happy with yogurt and a banana for dinner. I made a quick pizza run up the alley to a shop on the same road as the U.N. On the way back, the sewing lady next door, who was taking up a skirt for Joanna, saw me walk by.

We had been there earlier and the skirt wasn’t ready. Now it was, so I tucked it under my arm and took it along with the pizza back to the hotel.

Sunday morning, the seventh, we went back to the mountain coffee shop near the U.N. bar. The coffee was just as good, but this trip was better: they were roasting beans. The beans were churned in a device that looked for all the world like a small replica of my father’s old cement mixer. It’s a rotating barrel with fins inside to keep the contents turning.

The barrel turned slowly over a ceramic urn full of glowing charcoal. Someone protected a scorched oven mitt over one hand and a mere rag in the other, would take the lid off from time to time to check the color of the beans.

This went on for a while. When everyone was satisfied with the color, they scooped the beans onto a shallow wicker tray to cool. A fan was running as the beans poured out. The chaff which the wind driveth away fluttered in the air.

They put more raw beans into the barrel for a new batch.

We were looking at maps and a Lonely Planet guide to Thailand while we drank our coffee and chocolate. The lady who works in the shop showed us the location of Wat Chiang Man, the oldest temple in Chiang Mai. I had heard about it. We were in the neighborhood and didn’t know it.

On the way to the temple, someone threw a handful of firecrackers onto the sidewalk a few feet in front of us. Yes, the seventh is Chinese New Year’s Eve.

First we came to Wat Lam Chang, which has effigies of elephants. There is a word “chang” that means “elephant” in Thai. But I’m not sure that this is the same word.

It also has a lush garden with white and orange flowers, and images of women with children. Maybe it is a shrine to family values. I don't know.

The temple has a feature I hadn’t seen before. There was a small building with an altar inside and a sign outside warning in several languages that women are not allowed in, because it is a place of monks. According to the Lonely Planet guide book, women are also forbidden to touch or sit next to monks or even their belongings.

Wat Chiang Man is across the street from Wat Lam Chang, and much bigger. The founder of the Lanna Kingdom at Chiang Mai ordered the construction of the temple to celebrate something, maybe burning some city to the ground and killing everybody in it. Just like the Old Testament.

One of the temple buildings houses two revered Buddha images. One is the Crystal Buddha, carved from quartz, that is reputed to be 1,800 years old. The other is a bas relief known as the Marble Buddha and is said to be even older, about 2,500 years. They’re up on an altar but hard to see because they are kept in a glass safe behind a couple of rows of bars.

The Marble Buddha is said to be a bringer of rain. There is severe drought in Thailand, enough to put farmers under pressure. Maybe a few more pilgrims here will help.

We walked out a different side of the complex from where we came in. I told Joanna, here’s where we could get lost. She said, let’s get lost.

We walked away from the gate down a strange street and in a block or two found the moat. The old city of Chiang Mai is surrounded by a square moat. If you’re inside the moat, you can’t be more than a mile or so from any other point inside the old city.

Outside the moat is a different story. Depending on the direction and the number of days you take, you could walk to Burma, Laos, or Cambodia if you’re not careful.  

I led Joanna to the left. I hoped we were going to the northeast corner of the moat. I wasn’t on Moon Muang, the western road, as I’d guessed, but on Sriphum Road, which I found out later runs along the north side of the moat.

We got to see a lot of the old medieval wall. We got to walk on a foot-wide piece of sidewalk while cars raced by at our elbows. Yeah, the Thai are known as gentle, nonconfrontational, and friendly people. But give them control of wheeled vehicle, and they are as destructive and violent as anyone else.

Maybe more so. There is a convention here that motorcycles are the same as pedestrians. They tear-ass through here on crowded sidewalks.

It was after noon and so far we had taken nothing but coffee (hot chocolate for Joanna). We hired a tuk-tuk to take us to the U.N. bakery.

We walked back to hotel to eat a whole wheat baguette with our yogurt.

After a rest, we went looking to see the Sunday Walking Street. All we found was traffic. We came to an intersection and I saw a familiar temple, Wat Chang Taem. The last time I was here the grounds were festooned with colorful prayer flags for the secular new year, and three Japanese girls asked me to pose with them for a photo.

Wat Chedi Luang is just up the street. “Chedi Luang” means “great stupa” (aka pagoda).

According to sacred-destinations.com, it was built in the late 14th century to hold the ashes of the king’s father. It once held the emerald buddha (now at the wat by the royal palace).

Chedi Luang was once 250 feet High, but was shortened by an earthquake almost 500 years ago. It’s about 200 feet high now.

The Sunday Walking Street is a night market, and they were just setting up when we got there.

We had already done a lot of walking and so decided to find something to eat and rest. We stopped at Archer’s Bar on Rachapakinai Road (still have to look that one up).

Joanna ordered mixed vegetables and also chicken with cashew nuts, both of which came savory but without heat. I had something I can’t remember how to spell that had minced pork, chilis, and a great gravy.

Old Speckled Hen was on tap. Not my favorite, but it beats hell out of the local Heineken.

We went to 7-Eleven mainly for beer and then to the dressmaker to pick up another skirt Joanna was having shortened.

I expected that we would go back to the market. But once in a while, good judgment prevails even with me. We decided to stay in, and here I am signing off.

Best wishes, all.

Harry

Feb. 7

How is it that Old Speckled Hen is easier to find in Chiang Mai than New York?

I'm reading this to Linda, and perhaps she'll get excited about going.

Alan