An Odd Inventory in Bangkok

Two members of my tour group and I were walking down one of the main streets of Bangkok. It was probably Sukhumvit Road, often billed as the longest street in the world, stretching through Bangkok all the way to the Cambodian border. Like many of Bangkok’s busy streets, this was a formidable, 6-lane expanse. It certainly wasn’t like the streets in the old sections of European cities where tourists wander.

The sun beat down on us along the treeless stretch. Occasionally we’d see a person hurrying along, wearing a mask, an obvious precaution against Bangkok’s notorious smog. The street was not particularly pedestrian-friendly not only because it posed such a hazard from traffic exhaust, but also because it couldn’t be crossed. When some shop on the other side of the street caught our attention, we looked in vain for a way to get to that other side. We found that there aren’t frequent traffic lights in Bangkok as there are in most U.S. cities. There was no question of trying to dodge across those six lanes of traffic. That would have been a death-defying, Evel Knievel feat. We saw we would have to walk the equivalent of four or five blocks in order to get to one of the steel bridges that span the street at rare intervals. So we contented ourselves with what was on “our side.”

We imagined the people whose shops lined the sidewalk would similarly make the distinction between “our” side and “their” side.” The traffic lanes created two different turfs with very little easy, friendly interaction between the two. We even fancied that if you were born to parents with a shop on one side of the street, it was likely you might never venture to that other side, a permanent “terra incognita.”

But there was plenty to see and do just sticking to the one side. The work-a-day world is much more open to view in places such as Thailand than it is in the U.S. where work and home are strictly separated and where work is most often restricted to shops and offices behind closed doors. In that sense, Thailand is the ideal setting for home-schoolers. Children can see what their parents do for a living and can even participate in the work, learning “on the job.”

We passed by a number of mechanics’ shops. Greasy engines and auto parts spilled out onto the sidewalk, looking like a bunch of captives making a break for it. The cars that the engines had come from were also often astride the sidewalk and were being operated on by individuals sprawled under them. So we had the interesting experience of stepping over supine bodies as we walked along. Sometimes it wasn’t cars being operated on, but tuk tuks, Thailand’s famous electrified rickshaws.

Some of the shops had roll-up doors raised as if inviting an audience to view a stage show on which the curtains had been raised. We saw a woman pedaling furiously at a fabric being fed through an old-fashioned treadle sewing machine. Another shop featured a performance by two workers dipping rolled T-shirts and scarves into vats for tie dying. Some of their finished products were pinned up, brightly waving at us. In still another shop we saw a blender whirring away on a counter making bubble tea to which tapioca pearls would be added.

Farther along, we saw a man engaged in some dovetail joinery project. He was deftly attaching wooden boards to each other at right angles, obviously making some sort of box. As we paused, he looked up and gestured us to come in and watch. We gleefully took the chance to make contact with a real native. The man spoke perfect English and we immediately started to pepper him with questions about what it was like to live in Thailand. He was apparently a more affluent entrepreneur because he told us that he sometimes would take the summer months off, get away from steamy Bangkok, and go to his second home in Germany. We later learned this was a common practice among wealthier Thais. There’s a mass exodus from Bangkok in the summer as everyone who can afford to goes to relatively cooler Germany or other European countries.

The man stopped his work and escorted us down a breezeway to the back of his building to see his garden. He proudly pointed to the frangipani, hibiscus, and rhododendron that were in lush line-up along the borders of his yard. It was hard to focus on the beauty of these blooms though because our conversation was being conducted to the accompaniment of a steady, loud chorus of yapping. One side of the man’s yard was taken up by a dog run which had several scrawny dogs racing up and down its length, directing their fusillade of noise at our intrusion. The man explained that he often took stray dogs off the street. He said he tried to do something for them, but it was hard because there isn’t a strong tradition of adopting dogs as pets in Thailand. Dogs are left to scrounge and suffer injury on the streets against a background of most people’s indifference.

As we walked back through the shop, we noticed several racks of umbrellas standing at attention against one wall. The senior member of our little troop commented on this array and especially admired one frilly, flowered parasol. The man smiled benevolently at our companion. He took the umbrella off the rack and handed it to her with a little bow of respect. He said, “Here Madame, it is yours. No charge. It is such a hot, sunny day out. You need something to protect you from the sun.”

Our friend thanked him profusely, but then wondered how he came to have so many umbrellas for sale.

The man said that he came by all these used umbrellas at funerals. He said that mourners often carry umbrellas to shade themselves when they walk behind the casket as it is taken to the place of cremation. During the days of chanting and other rituals that precede the cremation, people often put down their umbrellas and forget them. If they were not very expensive umbrellas, no one ever comes back to claim them. So the man said he retrieved those umbrellas and sold them as an adjunct to his business.

Our friend was a tad less enthusiastic about her umbrella now that she knew it had been connected with a cremation. The man had said these umbrellas were left behind by mourners. But we could imagine that sometimes an umbrella might have belonged to the actual deceased, part of the individual’s worldly belongs that were shed. However, our friend was still appreciative of the present. But she wondered how the man happened to attend so many funerals.

“Oh, I thought that was clear,” he said, surprised at the question. “That is my main business. I make coffins.”

We looked at the “box” we’d seen him fashioning with tongue-in-groove precision, and now recognized it for what it was to become. It was the start of another coffin to be added to his inventory of coffin boxes we newly noticed stacked up in an alcove of his shop.

“Yes,” he summarized. “That is my business. I sell coffins and umbrellas.”

We exchanged a few friendly farewells, and then went back out onto the sun-drenched sidewalk. Our friend opened her parasol and twirled it coquettishly as we proceeded down the street. We laughed in celebration of the glorious incongruity of our encounter. What an incredible inventory of goods the man sold. Imagine! Coffins and umbrellas! Somehow that seemed to sum up Bangkok - a wildly unpredictable mix of livelihood and life.