Protesting too much

Protesting too much

Panic sets in when friend's family find themselves in the middle of the mayhem

SOCIAL & LIFESTYLE
Protesting too much

Three months ago I received a phone call from Michael Sachs, my best friend from school days in Brisbane, Australia.

He and his wife and three teenaged daughters were planning a trip overseas. They were considering Thailand. What did I think?

''Oh yes! Come, come to the Land of Smiles!'' I chortled like an underpaid Western actor in a Tourism Authority of Thailand commercial.

Within 24 hours I had worked out an itinerary for them that included riding elephants in Chiang Mai, visiting the ruins of Sukhothai and lots of som tam and sticky rice. The Family Sachs, as I call them, were very excited.

''We plan on arriving around Jan 11,'' said Michael. ''What's Thailand like at that time of the year?''

Oh it's the perfect time, I chortled yet again, carrying on about the cool weather and how everything was on sale after New Year, blah blah blah. In short I sold them on the holiday, for which the TAT should pay me some sort of commission.

While I did offer my place to stay, Michael was looking for an inner-city hotel where his three daughters could squabble in peace, away from the ears of old school friends.

I suggested the Intercontinental, a hotel where I get to stay for eight days a year every September when I emcee the Thailand Open. It's got a fantastic breakfast buffet; the kind that makes one swear one will start a diet the very next day, but in the meantime just one more banana hazelnut muffin and chocolate croissant.

''It's right in the centre of town. There are shopping centres and markets all around, not to mention the skytrain.''

''I'll check it out on the map. What's the area called?''

''Ratchaprasong,'' I said.

''And it's safe?''

''Oh God yes,'' I said. ''There are security guards and police everywhere. Besides, other than the occasional pickpocket and strangulation, Bangkok really is a very safe city for tourists.''

Michael called me back the next night.

''It's settled,'' he said. ''We're coming to Thailand. We arrive Sunday night and we're booked into the Intercontinental.''

How happy I was with my life!

I was about to see my best friend from school. He and his family would be in the middle of town, where we'd walk the streets of Ratchaprasong drinking in the atmosphere, his daughters raiding the stores in MBK, admiring the twinkling neon lights in safety and ...

Yeah okay, Andrew, we get the idea. What could possibly go wrong?

A month ago Michael called me back.

''We're getting news reports of unrest in Thailand,'' he said. ''Should we be, like, reconsidering our trip?''

''Nahhhhhhhhhhh,'' I answered, enunciating that word just one second too long which, had Michael been listening carefully, belied the fact I had protesteth too much.

''Listen, Michael, political protests in Thailand are not like anywhere else in the world. They're in isolated spots, so you just don't go to those spots. For the rest of the city, it's business as usual.''

''What about where we're staying? Is it anywhere near?''

''God no. The protests are way over at Victory Monument, Michael. That's the other side of town.''

''I know but I've looked on the map and it doesn't seem that far away ...''

''Have you accounted for Bangkok's hideous traffic, Michael?''

''Why do you keep saying my name over and over? You're making me nervous.''

Michael decided not to cancel, based on my reassurances.

You can imagine the sinking feeling I got when Suthep Thaugsuban announced the Bangkok shutdown. I was doing my nightly radio show at the time.

There would be seven different intersections, the news story said, which made my throat go a little dry.

I slowly went down the list of the seven proposed intersections, namely Ratchadamnoen (as expected), Victory Monument (ditto), Asok (still far enough away), Chaeng Wattana (miles away), Lat Phrao (is that seven yet?), Pathumwan (that might interrupt a visit to MBK) and ...

Ratchaprasong. (Nooooooo!)

''How could you do this to me?'' I bitterly asked my spirit house at the front gate that night as I arrived home. ''And after all those joss sticks and Fanta bottles I've left you over the years.''

So it was that the Family Sachs arrived in Thailand last Sunday night on the eve of the biggest shutdown in Bangkok's history.

I met them in the hotel lobby, having broken my record of travelling from home to Ratchaprasong in a mere 18 minutes, thanks to the absence of motor vehicles on the Bang Na Expressway for the first time ever.

''So much for your prediction of an hour from the airport to the hotel!'' laughed Michael. ''It only took 30 minutes!''

''Look, there's something I have to tell you,'' I said. ''There's, ah, going to be a bit of a protest here outside the hotel tomorrow.''

''A bit?'' stressed the eldest of Michael's three daughters, which made me dislike her instantly.

''Nothing to worry about.''

''Will we still be able to go to MBK?'' asked the second eldest, who had clearly studied the list of shopping places I'd sent Michael three months before.

''Ha ha ha! Of course you will!'' I said, slapping my knee as I laughed, making me look like a bit of an idiot.

And that, dear reader, is how I came to be among the crowd at Ratchaprasong intersection last Monday. I was rescuing the Family Sachs.

''We can't get to MBK,'' Michael cried over the phone at 11am when I finally got a signal through to him. ''We're caught in the middle of a huge crowd here on the walkway above the road!''

I felt sick. Really sick.

How could I have not warned him ahead of time? Why didn't I have the guts to say ''cancel your trip''? How could I have glossed over what was clearly a major, perhaps dangerous, event?

''Michael I'm so, so sorry ...''

''What are you talking about? It's incredible! We've never seen anything like it! The girls love it.''

I finally found them at noon on the skywalk next to Erawan Square.

''We want to buy the T-shirts they're all wearing!'' cried Michael's eldest daughter excitedly, making me warm to her again.

''And the whistles! Where can we get the whistles?'' asked the second eldest.

''We're in the middle of something historic, aren't we?'' asked Michael. ''Oh Andrew. You've done it again!''

Okay, dear reader, I admit I made up that very last bit after the ''Oh Andrew'' but the rest is exactly as it happened. For the next few hours they witnessed things they had never seen before.

The protesters, for example, were very friendly to the Family Sachs. There were enough English signs around, with varying degrees of accuracy, for them to get the picture what was going on.

In an effort to steer them away from the centre stage I took them to Central Chidlom for lunch. There, on the Siam Commercial Bank stage opposite, 10 transvestites danced to I Will Survive.

''This is a political protest?'' Michael asked as he watched them.

Most impressive to Michael's family was this: After hours of whistle blowing and the general loud mayhem that accompanies a protest, everybody stopped at 6pm and stood still, singing along to the national anthem.

On Wednesday they left for Sukhothai.

''So how's Sukhothai?'' I asked when I called Wednesday night. ''It's beautiful isn't it?''

''Yeah. We got here right when the sun went down.''

A pause.

''But you know, the adrenaline is still pumping after the Bangkok experience. That's something we're never going to forget.''

He's right. After Ratchaprasong, anything else in Thailand must be a bitter, bitter disappointment.

Do you like the content of this article?
COMMENT