Mourning Becomes Bangkok

I landed in the USA early Saturday morning, and I'm really looking forward to spending the next two weeks here, enjoying all the flavors of the fall in addition to my first Halloween at home since 2009! However, I also was lucky enough to work the past week from my firm's Bangkok office, and it was yet another great experience.

I literally love all of my colleagues there, a winning mixture of local Thais and international expatriates. So it's a real pleasure to spend time with them, both inside and outside the office. The locals always go out of their way to share a bit of their culture with me while I'm around. And the expats similarly love steering me towards Bangkok's newest, hippest restaurants and bars. This trip was no different, with loads of lunches, dinners and drinking sessions filled with good friends, tasty food and plentiful beer. 

But the week also included a massive dose of melancholy. For as you may know, the country's beloved ruler, King Bhumibol Adulyadej, passed away at the age of 88 on 13 October 2016. The anniversary a few weeks ago was declared a new public holiday. And after over a year of national mourning, the king's remains were cremated during a massive multi-day ceremony in the Thai capital last Thursday, as throngs of citizens and visitors bid a fond farewell to one of the country's most popular monarchs.

Keen readers of this blog might remember that when I visited Bangkok over Easter 2012, a cousin of the king, Princess Bejaratana, was cremated in one of the single most impressive events I've ever been privileged to witness firsthand. I'll never, ever forgot that morning, watching as her golden teak chariot was pulled through the streets of the city by elaborately costumed footmen while immaculately attired soldiers marched onto the massive public square—Sanam Luang—in front of the Grand Palace. 

In fact, the cremation of Princess Bejaratana was actually a very significant event in my own life. Totally blown away by the grand pomp and circumstance on display that day—and totally disappointed in my photos from my point-and-shoot Canon—I made up my mind about two things: first, I would be investing in a proper DSLR upon my return to Hong Kong, and, second, I'd be back in Bangkok again for the next major ceremony of a similar nature.

True to this 2012 vow, I arrived in Bangkok a few days in advance, and with my now-five year old Olympus Pen in tow.

The city was dressed for mourning for the entirety of my trip. King Bhumibol ascended the throne in 1946 and ruled for seventy years, until he passed away last October, so it's easy to understand how his country came to adore him so completely. I've never seen so much black. Imagine whole train cars full of sad citizens, all clad in dark clothes. Walking down the street, if you saw any sudden bursts of color, you could be sure that upon further inspection, the wearer was clearly an uninformed tourist.

Photos of the king, mostly monotone or in muted color, adorned literally every single building, both big and small. And it seemed as if all the city's billboards paid tribute. Some were adorned with old time portraits of the dashing, newly-coronated monarch in the late 1940s while many others showed him as he was only a few years ago, a wise, graying ruler complete with all his regal paraphernalia.

Millions of marigolds, a flower particularly associated with the king, were on display everywhere. Black ribbons were strung on many façades. And on the city's BTS line, plaintive jazz melodies written by the late king—an avid saxophonist and composer—emanated from unseen speakers on loop, reinforcing the feeling of sadness.

I asked most of my colleagues if they planned to attend the ceremony. "No way! It's going to be so crowded," was the usual response. "You're crazy if you go! Some people have already been camped out for days to get a good spot," was another variation. But my mind was made up, and there was no way I wasn't giving it my best shot. With memories of the Princess Bejaratana ceremony perma-etched into my memory, I had a perfect blueprint for attending my second royal Thai cremation.

It did not go according to plan.

Around 3pm on Thursday, after having watched some of the most impressive parts of the funereal procession on television, I hopped on the BTS to the nearby ferry pier, where free boats were taking mourners to the site of the cremation itself. I was stunned at the length of the queue, which had no end in sight. I estimated that it would have taken me about three hours just to get on a boat, so I headed back to my hotel, where they ordered me a cab instead.

When I hopped off near Siriraj Hospital, throngs of Thais, in black from head to toe, crammed the streets. My driver couldn't get anywhere near Sanam Luang; in fact, I was on the other bank of the Chao Praya River, but I tried my best to get my bearings so I could make my way in the proper direction.

Volunteers were passing out bottles of water and other cold, sweet, fruit drinks. It rained quite a bit, and I sought shelter under awnings and other makeshift coverings with other members of the crowd. Although it was an undeniably sad occasion, most people seemed upbeat and courteous, smiling whenever we made eye contact.

Finally, I located the river and was able to cross via a quick ferry shuttle. This deposited me very close to the city's famous flower market, where massive floral tributes to the king were put together. My colleague Harper had shown me photos of the displays a few days earlier, so I was glad that I had a chance to view them myself.

After a delicious bowl of noodle soup from a local vendor, I decided it was time to go to the main site. I found the line, and again couldn't believe how long it was! It would certainly take hours to get in. What should I do? I seriously toyed with the idea of going home right then and there, simply watching the rest of the day's events on the t.v. in my hotel. But something inside me told me to join the queue and wait. I had nothing else to do, and this was, in a way, very much a once-in-a-lifetime event. So I did just that.

The line did not move fast. More accurately, it crawled. For long stretches, I did not progress forward one single inch. As volunteers walked back and forth handing out hot meals and cool drinks, I could not believe this outpouring of grief. About midway through my wait, another volunteer handed me a delicate sandalwood flower, of which millions of a similar nature had been distributed to people around the country.

I got on the line at 5:29pm. It was after 8:30pm when I finally cleared the security machines to gain entry to the compound that we had all been waiting to enter. After a few excited moments gazing around, my heart sank. Although the gates of the Grand Palace were only a few feet away, and thus the main crematorium, too, I realized in that moment that I was not, in fact, at Sanam Luang, but rather at one of the many replicas scattered around, where mourners could lay sandalwood flowers at an altar. It was nearly another hour before my turn came to lay my flower before a photo of the regal king.

Somehow, in that final hour, my mood went from incredibly dejected to extraordinarily moved. The respect of the literally thousands of Thais surrounding me—many weeping, all reverential—made for an unforgettable sight. I felt a little silly at having waited so long on the wrong line, even more so for never having bothered to ask anybody what we were waiting for, just assuming it was what I thought it was. However, it also dawned that nearly everybody else with whom I stood on that line knew exactly what they had been waiting for. They knew it was merely to lay a sandalwood flower, not to attend the cremation itself. And yet they gamely waited for hours on end, to pay a humble tribute to a king they loved so much.

After exiting the compound, I did make my way to the actual line to get inside the cremation complex. I was exhausted at this point, and the line was, as I assumed, enormous. Although I did consider jumping on the back and giving it a go, I ultimately hopped a tuk tuk to my hotel, where I put the coverage of the ceremony on the television for the remainder of the evening.

In the end, it was a very poignant experience, not at all what I had imagined after my first encounter with a royal Thai cremation, but a memorable happening all the same. Mixed in with a phenomenal work week out of the office, the funeral of King Bhumibol Adulyadej will linger in my memories as a deeply moving episode of a very eventful year.

I am very glad I made good on my promise to be in Bangkok during this special time. The city was tinged with the pervasive air of an ever-present doleful delicacy, undeniably both sad and beautiful in equal measures, like few events I've ever witnessed. And although I look forward to future, more upbeat visits to one of Southeast Asia's most dynamic capitals, I know this particular week will always occupy its own special niche in the annals of my travels.