Bangkok, Thailand is a densely populated city of about
12,000,000 people. It’s a city in constant motion, full of sights, sounds and
smells uniquely southeast Asian: the sea of food stalls along busy streets fill
the air with the heavy perfume of aromatic spices; nightclubs from the fancy to
the sublime, pounding crazy beats into the wee hours of the morning for
writhing throngs of revelers; and, the glittering skyline of the “Big Mango” on
the banks of the Chao Phraya (TAO PRE’JA) river at night.
Like most, large, international cities, Bangkok has a soft
wormy, underbelly, too: child prostitution, human trafficking and extreme
poverty. Still, it’s one of the safest places I’ve ever lived. Somehow
Thailand, “the land of a thousand smiles”, has embraced the modernity of the
west while managing to preserve its native soul. Even in Bangkok, a city with a
sizeable population of foreigners, the Thai soul shines through--sometimes in
quiet, little ways.
School children will tell you Thailand has three seasons:
hot, cool and wet. Always a
planner, once I knew I’d be relocating to Thailand during the rainy season
(May-October), I purchased a travel umbrella I thought could the handle the
torrential rains I’d heard so much about.
However, since I’d spent most of my life in the
southwestern deserts of the United States, I had no real world experience with
“tropical rain weatherizing”. I actually purchased my umbrella from Walgreen’s.
While there were plenty of high-end, designer umbrellas to chose from, I didn’t
want to pay a lot of money for a product I considered strictly
utilitarian.
In spite of the limited supply of umbrellas available at
the neighborhood Walgreen’s, I got lucky. I found a black, telescopic,
double-canopy umbrella with an automatic release and a no-slip handgrip. It had
a sturdy metal frame and came with a handy mesh carrying case. Best of all, it
was under $10.00. The only downside was its weight. When packed tightly into
the mesh carrying case, the umbrella weighed over 1 pound. I thought it could
double as a club in the event I ever needed to escape from a would-be mugger or
other menacing street thug.
I dubbed my hefty, new traveling accessory “Big Bertha”.
To my surprise, I didn’t use her at all upon my arrival in Bangkok. The heavy
rains had subsided and I got through the occasional light shower with the help
of my trusty rain poncho.
The next’ year was different. Torrential rains battered me
and I was happy to take refuge under “Big Bertha”; the expression on people’s
faces when I “popped her open” was priceless. There were admiring “oh’s” and
“ah’s”, coupled with the occasional “Oh my!” gasp which invariably led to the
burning question, “Where did you get your umbrella?” My usual response was, “I
bought it back home in the U.S.”
This answer really seemed to please curious Thais who’d
nod their heads knowingly, as if to say, “Yes, of course, such a magnificent
umbrella would be made in America.”
However, the unspoken truth was probably the opposite of what they
assumed. “Big Bertha”, given the
inexpensive purchase price, was more likely manufactured in China not the
United States.
One rainy, Saturday morning, my friend Julia invited me to
join her at a Thai massage parlor for a stress busting “spa day” to be followed
by a healthy vegetarian lunch. I met Julia at the massage parlor with “Big
Bertha” in my hands because heavy rains were expected later in the afternoon.
The massage was so relaxing I almost floated out of the
parlor. Julia and I caught the
Bangkok Transit System (BTS) skytrain to one of her favorite vegetarian
restaurants where we had a lovely lunch.
It was at the end of lunch that I noticed “Big Bertha” was missing. I
panicked.
“Julia, my umbrella is missing!” I said, ‘Have you seen
it?”
“No, I haven’t,” she replied, “When was the last time you
remember having it?”
“I had it on
the skytrain,” I responded and my heart sunk.
The BTS skytrain is an above-ground-metro that winds its
way around Bangkok. It serves about 600,000 passengers each day. The train had
been quite crowded on the way to the restaurant, which wasn’t unusual. On the
weekends the number of riders increases significantly so it had been standing
room only. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t recall putting “Big Bertha” down
while I was on the train. Even so, I told myself I must have felt so relaxed
after my massage, I forgot I had an umbrella with me.
Although I didn’t hold out much hope of finding “Big
Bertha”, I had to try. I said
goodbye to Julia and caught the southbound train to our original boarding
station. Then I rode the northbound train back to the restaurant. I searched
high and low for my umbrella but it was gone. I knew that in the rainy season,
a lost treasure like “Big Bertha” would have been an unexpected find for just
about anyone.
It was with great sadness that I accepted the loss of my
wonderful umbrella. All I could do was bless “Big Bertha” and the person who
found her. I hoped whomever it was, he’d or she’d get as much use and enjoyment
out of my umbrella as I had.
A month or so after I lost “Big Bertha” I decided to treat
myself to another “spa day” at the Thai massage parlor Julia had taken me to
previously. I had no trouble finding my way there once again. When I reached
the front door, l took my shoes off and left them outside on a mat, as is the
Thai custom, and entered the parlor.
A male masseuse immediately greeted me with a cup of tea
and a big smile.
“Welcome, back Madam,” he said, “You left your umbrella
the last time you were here. We kept it in a safe place for you.”
The man gestured toward a wooden-peg coat rack attached to
the wall behind him.
There hanging from a single, wooden peg was “Big Bertha”.
