October 15-16
When Joanna and I went out for breakfast, we decided to try a different place. Well, not exactly new to us. We had been to the Wawee Bistro before, but not on this trip.
Joanna went for the fruit salad and yogurt.
Just to be a wise-ass, I chose poached eggs over asparagus, a take on Eggs Benedict. It was fairly good, in fact, and so was the coffee.
It was maybe nine or ten in the morning, but we stopped at Archer’s to confirm our dinner plans. The pub is famous for its traditional roast every Sunday. Trimmings include Yorkshire pudding.
Yes, beginning at noon there would be a choice of roasts—beef, lamb, pork, and vegetable. I don’t know how traditional the last one is, but who’s going to quibble?
They start serving at noon, and if you show up too late, everything may be gone. Well, maybe not the veggie roast.
We showed up around 1:30 so we wouldn’t be frozen out. The crowd had already gone through the lamb and the beef.
That left pork and vegetable roast, which we learned contained walnuts. So we took one of each, and shared them. The roast came with mixed vegetables, brown gravy, mashed pumpkin, Yorkshire pudding, and roast potatoes. There may have been more, but that’s all I remember.
I had that with Little Creatures Australian pale ale. For dessert I had Black Rat Cider, “made from English apples.”
Pork roast is always good. The vegetable roast was all right, too, but I’m glad they still had the pork.
I’m not sure, but making a mince, no matter how savory, the anchor of my Sunday dinner might have been a bit disappointing. As a go-with, though, it held its own.
After dinner, we walked to the north side of the Old City, past the Three Kings Monument and the colorful Wat Inthakin. There is also a row of street-food shops on the block of Inthawarorot Road lining the south side of the monument plaza.
Joanna’s pleased that she is developing familiarity with our Chiang Mai neighborhood. When we came to the moat at the Elephant Gate, she knew that the short way back to the hotel was to turn right.
Feeling adventurous, though, we turned left.
We tracked the moat all the way to the northwest corner and then followed it south.
After a time, the heat was getting to me. So we walked about halfway along the West Side, when I cried uncle.
I led Joanna down a lane that (I hoped) would take use somewhere near a landmark temple called Wat Phra Singh, the Temple of the Lion Buddha.
My guess wasn’t too far wrong. We came out on the right road, a few hundred yards north of the temple gate. Damn, I felt competent.
I wasn’t heading for the temple, though. I was making for the bar across the street.
I didn’t even ask what was in the mug. I just ordered beer. It was clearly one of the workaday lagers from Chang, Singh, or Leo—the country’s big breweries.
They have the market pretty well sewn up, and that I’m told is why the usually heroic endeavor of craft brewing remains a shadowy enterprise here.
A desperate thirst can make plain water seem delicious. It can do the same thing for run-of-the-mill beer.
I fess up to being a beer snob. I never met a bottle of wine, for instance, that I didn’t like, but beer? Yeah. Lots.
This one, however—seeing that it may have preserved my health—was exquisite.
We sat at the curb while I nursed the beer. Joanna had a mango drink, festive looking and as orange as a monk. It was all so beautiful.
Tuk-tuks and those little red pickups converted into troop carriers kept bringing people to the corner next to us.
What was going on at the temple? But wait; that’s not where the crowd was drifting.
Joanna reminded me: The Sunday market was open for business.
Under the influence of a strange buzz, due no doubt to a combination of beer and dehydration, I joined Joanna on a tour of the Sunday Walking Street.
The market sets up mainly on Ratchadamnoen Road. This is the road that our soi branches from. Stalls line both sides and run down the middle too.
Vendors offer everything from street food to clothes. Joanna bought some Thai clothes to wear in the heat. As usual, I did my best to keep up with her.
Getting around is a challenge. Everybody has to inch a way through everybody else.
We did that for the best part of a mile till we came to Soi 1, near the gate. It was time to call it a night.
Monday started late. We didn’t get out till after eight. Maybe jet lag is wearing off.
We took a short morning walk to Mountain Coffee for an Americano. We killed some time, too, at Somthep Market until the U.N. opened for breakfast at nine.
This time Joanna’s yogurt and fruit weren’t drenched with honey, as they had been at Wawee, so she enjoyed them more.
I switched from English to Irish breakfast, which are largely the same—eggs, sausage, bacon, baked beans, grilled tomato, mushrooms, potatoes, and toast.
I hadn’t eaten anything since the roast at Archer’s on Sunday afternoon, so I was ready for some bulk.
The jet lag may be wearing off, but the heat is still taking its toll. We took a break in the air conditioning of the hotel and then set out again later.
We went to a temple called Wat Phan Tao. This is the temple that had the procession and the lights for the holiday called Makha Bucha Day, which was observed during our last trip here.
One of the unusual features is a Buddha image on a small mound of earth marked off by a pond. A few days ago, Joanna photographed the area covered in yellow pennants.
I’ve heard that yellow is the late king’s color because he was born on a Monday. So the pennants, which had been removed when we got there, may have been part of the observance of the anniversary of the king’s death.
News channels are covering the rehearsals for the funeral and cremation, which will take place on the 26th.
Television has also been running documentaries about the king’s life. One fascinating piece, called “A King and His Music,” follows the king’s career as a jazz musician.
He organized bands here, wrote and recorded music, and played several instruments. Vienna hosted a concert of his music.
The king, who reigned for more than 70 years, is also credited with initiating advances in education that have helped advance the country.
We started walking from Phan Tao toward Wat Phra Singh. That was my landmark of the day before and is the Old City’s largest temple complex.
We never made it. We stopped at the first air-conditioned place we saw to have something to drink—smoothies made with yogurt and fruit. We chased them with a bottle of water.
When we stepped outside, the air had grown intense. A few seconds later, the rain started to fall in huge tropical drops. We sheltered under the cover of a tour agency. The people brought us hassocks to sit on.
Three guys on bicycles joined us there.
When the rain let up, the bikes took off one way, Joanna and I the other. We got across the street and as far as the porch of a massage center when the downpour started again.
This time, when the rain quit, we took a red truck.
It was a simple trip: Drive down this street and turn into Soi 1. The driver apparently was even simpler. He buzzed right past it.
I’m starting to get the hang of the street system. I hope more drivers do too.
We got out and walked the rest of the way.
Cooking Love, where we had dinner in a sweltering, cramped space a couple of nights ago, has a second location across the soi. It’s air conditioned and you don’t have to take your shoes off.
The food was all right. The Red Truck IPA (brewed, I guess illegally, in Chiang Mai) was better.
We had vegetable fried rice, stir-fried pumpkin, and a stir fry of pork with eggplant.
Tomorrow we leave in the morning for Chiang Rai, which is farther north, 40 miles or so from the Myanmar border.
The photo of the day is Joanna being watched over by the Buddhas at Wat Intakhin.
Good night, everyone, and may the Buddha watch over you too.
Harry
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