After a bit of soul-searching, I remembered one of the most moving passages in the Dalai Lama’s autobiography Freedom in Exile, when he recounts the death of his mother. After reciting Buddhist prayers for her to have a good rebirth, he went to a place of worship to make merit for her.
So I went to my local temple on Sukhumvit Road, near Soi Ekkamai. Along the way, I stopped at the supermarket to buy an orange bucket filled with necessities for monks: toothpaste, soap, Chinese tea, canned sardines and a saffron robe. The various offerings for monks, spirit houses and temples were tucked away in the furthest back corner of the supermarket, between the shelves for children’s toys and pet food. The juxtaposition seemed like sacrilege. But it was the same at the magazine rack: all the publications devoted to Buddhism and amulets had been sidelined to the bottommost rack, next to magazines about firearms and tropical fish.
I hadn’t even made it to the temple yet and I was already losing what little faith I had. As I walked along Sukhumvit Road, carrying the orange bucket, I felt like a fool. I didn’t know the etiquette for
presenting it to the monks. I didn’t know any of the prayers. I didn’t even understand any of the most basic fundamentals of making merit for the deceased.
I arrived at the temple in time for the late afternoon prayers and chanting in the main chapel. Kneeling on a dais, the monks droned like bees, turning the chapel into a hive of spirituality. The abbot sat in the front, reading Pali prayers from a rectangular, palm-leaf manuscript. Aside from me, there were only three older Thai men praying. All of them were sympathetic to my plight. One of them brought me a glass of hot Chinese tea. Another gave me an amulet from the temple, which came in a little plastic case, replete with an image of the Buddha covering his eyes.
He introduced me to the abbot and I bowed slightly as I handed him the orange bucket. Unlike many of the monks I’ve met, he was robust and handsome with massive forearms. Out of humility, perhaps, he wore cheap glasses with black plastic frames. Even though he was middle-aged, his white skin showed few lines except for a few rows of parentheses around his mouth when he grinned. As the abbot bantered with the three laymen, he kept them in stitches. One of them said to me, “He always funny.”
Between the abbot’s fractured English and my then-infantile Thai, I managed to explain that a friend had died and I’d come to tam boon (‘make merit’) for him. He nodded solemnly and pursed his lips. The abbot told one of the men to bring over two glasses, one empty, the other filled with holy water. The abbot motioned for me to kneel before him as he sat on the dais. Following his instructions, I slowly poured the water from one glass into the other while he chanted in Pali. After intoning a few more prayers in one of the deepest and most melodious voices I’ve ever heard, the abbot told me to go outside and pour the holy water on a tree.
When I came back, he smiled and said in English, “See you again.” The smile offset the irony of his words.
The whole ritual took no more than three or four minutes to complete. This must be part of the reason why Buddhism has become the world’s fastest growing religion: the etiquette is easy; the ceremonies, like anointing the tree, are both practical and poetic; and while I was there, no one tried to convert me to the faith.
Alone in the chapel, I sat before the shrine and a jumble of statues, lotus blossoms and smoldering joss sticks of sandalwood. As twilight bruised and later blackened the sky, the shadows in the corner of the prayer hall lengthened, the room became smaller and the candles brighter. But the only prayer I could think of was a Buddhist-sounding stanza from a poem by Walt Whitman, the great grandfather of the ‘beat poets’ (Kerouac, Ginsberg, Corso, et al.), “He who walks a mile without compassion walks to his own grave wearing his shroud.” Gop would’ve liked that poem.
I went home and called Mam to explain how I’d made merit for him. She was impressed, but told me that since his death, someone else had come forward to say they’d seen him, the night before his body was found, slurring, staggering drunk, and threatening to end his life before he left some bar.
“I’m sorry to say, but in Thai belief, you can’t make merit for someone who commits suicide,” Mam said. “They’re too far down in hell to receive your merit or offerings. Thai Buddhists believe that suicide is worse than murder.”
That was strange. I’d never heard of that belief. So much for the merit-making plan. What to do now? At the time, I had a monthly column in The Nation about crime and the supernatural titled ‘Heaven Forbid’. So I figured I’d turn my next effort into an obituary for Gop while delving into the topic of Thai funeral rites.
At least that that was the plan, but the copy-editor—whom I had once dubbed the ‘Jack the Ripper of Journalism’—vivisected it. As Anais Nin wrote, “The role of a writer is not to say what we can say, but what we are unable to say.” It was the sort of grave irony which had killed Gop’s interest in print media and become a catalyst for his suicide.
In early 2010, the abbot’s ironic farewell, “See you again,” proved to be prophetic when another friend and writer, Torgeir Norling, died much too young.
On the third night of his funeral at the Khlong Toey Temple in Bangkok, nobody had anything to offer except the usual ‘rest in peace’ condolences, but it was comforting enough to see old friends, and colleagues from as far afield as Hong Kong and Liverpool had a chance to reunite and pay homage to his memory. Another friend of his lit a constant string of cigarettes that he left smoldering in an ashtray, beside a glass of beer behind the Norwegian’s portrait to appease Tor’s hard-drinking, serial-smoking spirit.
As a journalist for many years, Tor would have been touched by all the colleagues who had left messages on his Facebook page, retelling encounters they’d had with him, and recounting stories he’d written, from all over the world. For a requiem, I uploaded a video of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, a group we’d often discussed in the same reverential tones, singing ‘I Had a Dream, Joe’, except I wrote out some of the more poignant lines and changed the name of the narrator’s dead friend to ‘Tor’.
Of all the messages from friends and family members on his page, the one that struck me most came from his mother who had changed the lyrics of a Bob Dylan song into an elegy for her son. I got in touch with her through Facebook to share a few personal recollections that she appreciated.
Tor’s ability to empathise with the wounded and the downtrodden shone through his best stories about the uprising led by Buddhist monks in Burma, the genocide in East Timor and the civil war in Sri Lanka. It was ironic, everyone said, that a journalist who had survived so many danger zones would get hit and killed by a bus while crossing a street near the Erawan Shrine, one of Bangkok’s enclaves of spiritual power.
On the last night of the funeral rites, I was standing outside the hall talking to the photographer Dan White, after the monks had finished chanting and the mourners were pairing off in conversations and making plans to have a wake at a bar and restaurant. Watching these events unfold, Dan hit the coffin nail on the head when he commented, “Funerals are not for the dead. They’re for the living.”
Of all the supernatural rites at these final farewells in Thailand, one of the strangest is seeing the bereaved gather to watch the smoke rise from the crematorium’s chimney as the body is cremated and the deceased gives up the ghost. Whether it’s a human or a monkey does not matter; they wish them a safe trip to heaven and a good rebirth.
The Buddha always claimed that Buddhism is a science and not a religion. So it isn’t necessary to impart any mystical importance to this last rite. It’s all quite natural. The smoke rises into the clouds where it forms condensation and rains back down on the earth to nourish the crops and fields that yield the food and fruits on our tables.
Gop, Tor, Tiziano Terzani and Anais Nin are not really dead. They’re ghosts too. Through the lines of their stories, and between the covers of their books, where their spirits are very much alive, they inspire other wordsmiths to join the frontlines of the profes
sion.
In Buddhist reincarnation on the Wheel of the Law—circles within circles that are forever spinning—from death springs life anew and art eternal.
Directory of the Bizarre
CRIME SCENES
Bang Kwang Central Prison: The prison has tightened up in recent years. If you want to visit a foreign inmate, it’s best to dress up a little and pretend you’re a friend or a relative. Some embassies have lists of their nationals imprisoned in Thailand.
The maximum-security jail is located near the last stop on the river taxi line at Nonthaburi, just north of Bangkok. Take the first left and the prison is on your right. From the pier it’s a 10-minute walk. To fill in the form you must go to the Visitor Information Centre across the street from the prison.
For the morning sessions from 9.30–11.30am, you need to register by 9am. The afternoon visits run from 1.30–2.30pm. Once again, you have to register half an hour before the start time. Bring a photocopy of your passport and know the name and building number of the prisoner. Visiting days are subject to change and cancelled on national holidays.
One of the best sources of information about prison visits is a website run by an Englishman sentenced to 30 years in jail for possessing 250 speed pills: http://scottsbangkwangtime.net/25.html. He has now been sent back to England to finish his sentence but his website lists other nationals to visit.
The Corrections Museum is on Mahachai Road, on the ground of the Rommaninart Park, down the street from the Golden Mount, heading towards Chinatown. The guard towers and some of the cells from the old prison where author Warren Fellows was once interred are still there. Inside the museum are displays of ancient torture instruments replete with life-size mannequins, as well as old photos, homemade syringes and the original machine-gun from Bang Kwang. This penal hall of Kafka-esque horrors raises gooseflesh from Mon–Fri, 8.30am–4.30pm.
Museum of the Macabre: The Siriraj Medical Museum 6 is located on the west bank of the Chao Phraya River, across from Thammasat University, at 2 Phra Nok Road, on the grounds of Siriraj Hospital. Take the river taxi or cross-river ferry. From the pier near the hospital it’s easy to get directions to the building housing all six museums. Admission is 40 baht. Visiting hours are Mon–Sat from 9am–4pm.
MISADVENTURE TRAVELS
A Bizarre Expat Odyssey: The Museum of Siam is located on Sanam Chai Road, not far from Wat Pho. Featuring interactive exhibits on everything from the foreign populace of ancient Ayuthaya to rock ‘n’ roll culture in Bangkok of the ‘50s, this is one of the country’s most high-tech museums. It’s open from 10am–6pm, Tues–Sun. Admission is 300 baht.
Military Tourism: Of all the military bases open for tourists, the most accessible is the Chulachomklao Royal Military Academy in Nakhon Nayok province. Equipped with a shooting range, golf course and other programmes, the academy has produced many generals. Thai speakers can call 037-393-3634-9.
One of the oddest military attractions in the country, not mentioned in the story, is ‘Friendship Village No. 1’, some 15 kilometres outside Betong, near the border with Malaysia. This former encampment of Malay communist soldiers, who laid down their weapons in 1989, has a 1.6-km tunnel dug by hand, battle photos and redder-than-Mao souvenirs. Some of the old guerrillas are on hand to recount their experiences and share their secrets for waging jungle warfare.
Siamese Twins: The sporadically open and sometimes shut museum for the twins’ old photos and sideshow posters is situated in the Lat Yai subdistrict of Samut Songkhram city, which is about four kilometres from the City Hall. Outside the museum is a life-size replica of their floating home and a statue of the twins with engravings depicting highlights from their conjoined lives and a plaster cast of their autopsy.
The province, only 90 minutes from Bangkok, is famous for its ancient canals, home-stays, floating markets and nocturnal boat journeys to see fireflies mating.
Cowboy Ranch: Pensuk Great Western is about 230 kilometres northeast of Bangkok in Nakhon Ratchasima province. It’s located at 111 Moo 2 Nong Takai in Amphur Soungnoen. Many hotel sites handle online bookings. The best time to get your duds and spurs on is Saturday when they have the big cowboys and Indians show and a barbecue at night.
THE SEX FILES
Empower: The head office is located at 57/60 Tivanond Road in Nonthaburi province, just outside Bangkok. Call 02-526-8311 for details in English about the Patpong office in Bangkok, the Can Do Bar in Chiang Mai, and their other centres and projects. Email them at: [email protected].
The Third Gender: All of the major tourist destinations like Bangkok, Pattaya, Phuket and Koh Samui have nightly ladyboy cabarets. Now in its 13th year, the Miss Tiffany Universe Competition is held at Tiffany’s Theatre in Pattaya over the course of four days every May.
Fertility Shrine: The shrine is located behind the Swissotel Nai Lert Park Hotel at 2 Wireless Road. To get there you have to walk through the hotel and into the garden and pool area in the back. The shrine is off to the north, close to the canal.
STRANGE CELEBRITIES
Bizarre Architecture: Sumet Jumsai’s most monumental creations are in Bangkok. The Robot Building is the main office of the United Overseas Bank at 191 South Sathorn Road. On the outskirts of Bangkok, right beside the boundary line for Samut Prakan province, on Bang-na Trat Kilometre 4, are the Nation buildings. In the city’s mid-section is the ship-shaped Delta Grand Pacific Hotel on the corner of Sukhumvit Soi 19.
The Scorpion Queen: Kanchana and her husband, the Centipede King, still perform their capers with creepy-crawlies twice daily at 11am and 2pm at the Samui Snake Farm on the island of Koh Samui. The website can be found at: www.samuisnakefarm.com.
The Angel and She-Devil of Bang Kwang: Susan’s website is
http://onelifesusan.homestead.com/onelife.html. Email her or subscribe to her regular e-newsletters at: [email protected].
CREATURE FEATURES
Monkey Hospital: The world’s first and only such facility is located on the grounds of the Lop Buri Zoo in the provincial capital, around three hours north of Bangkok, served by regular buses and trains. The zoo is behind the Army Theatre near the Sa Kaew Circle and the hospital is open every day from 9am–4pm. To catch the high-wire shenanigans in the simian street circus, head for the Khmer-style shrines in the city’s historic downtown core. Every November, the city holds a special buffet and free-for-all food fight for the town’s mascots and miscreants at the main shrine.
Buffalo Bonanza: Wat Hua Krabeu (The Buffalo Head Temple) is on the fringes of Bangkok near Samut Sakhon province on Bangkhuntien-Chai Taley Road, Soi Tientalay 19. On weekends they sometimes have a flea market and an exhibition of vintage cars.
The Buffalo Villages is outside the capital of Suphanburi province, about 2.5 hours from Bangkok. During the week they have buffalo shows in Thai at 11am and 3pm. Over the weekend there are shows at 11am, 2.30pm and 4pm. The show, admission to the grounds and a buffalo cart ride costs 300 baht for foreigners.
The Buffalo Racing Festival is held annually in the capital of Chon Buri province near the City Hall. Along with the races there are processions and—feminists take note—beauty contests for both buffalo and local women.
Reptilian Threesome: From the centre of Khon Kaen, it’s a 50-kilometre slither to the Cobra Village of Ban Khok Sa-nga. Take Highway 2 and hang right at Kilometre 33 to Highway 2039. At the temple of Wat Sri Thamma is where they stage the daily snake shows and python dances.
From there it’s only a short ride to the Turtle Village (Mu Bahn Tao). The hamlet is two kilometres from Amphoe Mancha Khiri, accessed by the same turn in the road as the village of Ban Khok Sa-nga. Opposite the temple of Wat Sri Samang, it’s easy to spot the two models of giant tortoises beside the entrance to the village.
The Phu Wiang Dinosaur Museum is a bag of primordial bones in the national park of the same name. It’s open from 9am–5pm daily.
In the capital of Khon Kaen province, the Tourism Authority of Thailand’s
office at 15/5 Prachasamosorn Rd (043-236-634) has free maps and brochures on all the province’s attractions. If you leave the capital by mid-morning, you can see all of the reptilian sights in a day. The city of Khon Kaen is an eight-hour drive north of Bangkok. Near the city, the province’s airport has daily flights from Bangkok.
THE SUPERNATURAL
Vegetarian Festival: In Phuket, Taoist Lent is celebrated with grisly abandon over the course of nine days every October. The piercing rituals, bloodletting and main processions of ‘spirit warriors’ only take place on the last three days.
Shock Airwaves and Restaurant: Shock FM 102 broadcasts (in Thai) every Saturday and Sunday night from midnight to 3am. The Shock Khao Tom Phi Restaurant and Pub is not easy to find in the north of Bangkok, off Lad Phrao Road. Even their Thai-only website lists the restaurant as being ‘two bus stops past the Tesco-Lotus beside the Ramintra Expressway’. The menus are in Thai. In the back of the restaurant and pub is the Shock Gallery decked with ghostly images sent in by their listeners and horror memorabilia. Ask a Thai friend to take you there.
Nang Nak: The shrine for the mother of all Thai phantoms is on the grounds of Wat Mahabut (sometimes referred to as Wat Mae Nak) on Soi 7 off Sukhumvit Soi 77. It’s open daily from early morning until 6pm.
About the Author
Jim Algie has been chronicling the dark and sexy side of Thailand for the past 17 years in publications including Bizarre magazine, the International Herald Tribune and the Japan Times. His short fiction has picked up several awards, including as a co-recipient of the Bram Stoker award. He was a co-founder, chief editor and senior writer of Southeast Asia’s most gonzo publication, Farang Untamed Travel magazine. His most recent books include the travel guides Spotlight on Bangkok and Spotlight on Athens (AA Publishing, London, 2008), as well as Off the Beaten Track in Thailand (Bosphorus Publishing, Bangkok, 2009).
Jim Algie Page 26
