Another Roadside Attraction

Wedding party ...  or traffic hazard? You decide.

It is Saturday morning before 7 and our Red Car arrives early to shuttle Lian and me to the airport. We are flying down to Bangkok for her nephew Jo-Jo's wedding. After two days of 3 a.m. phone conferences -- the downside of trying to keep west coast business hours in Thailand -- I am profoundly sleep-deprived.

By the time we reach Lian's sister's working-class row house in Bang Khae, most of the clan has gathered: her brothers and their wives, various nephews and nieces and miscellaneous kinfolk. At the center of this swirl of family activity sits Lian's 88-year-mother, drowsily taking in the wedding prep.

It's a full house, so we'll be staying at a nearby hotel that the sister has scouted for us. I am skeptical: our previous sight-unseen lodging she found for us in Bang Khae turned out to be grimy, threadbare and not-secure ... but that place was the Ritz compared to this awful tenement our taxi pulls up to. It looks like every crack house you ever saw on "The Wire." A sullen rag of a woman shows us to this dank, pissy-smelling room with a sheetless bed and no other furniture. Eight hundred baht, about $25.

"Is this OK for you?" Lian asks me.

"No." Without so much as a sawat dii khrep we are outathere and back to the street. Our taxi is long gone, so we start hoofing it back to the row house. I put my hand on Lian's arm and look into her eyes: "Honey, I promise you I will never, ever force my wife to stay in a terrible place like that. I would rather sleep on the tile floor with no pillow or blanket in your sister's house."

As it turns out, that's exactly what we do.

---

Making wedding dessert.

On the walk back, Lian shares with me tomorrow's Wedding Day schedule: "Tomorrow we all go for Thai ritual at 3:30 morning."

"Wait -- you said ..."

"Get up at 2:30 to get ready," she continues. It sinks in: my third 2:30 wake-up call in as many nights!

Six sleepers, one room.

Lian's sister takes our return to the madhouse in stride, assigning us to an upstairs bedroom that has only four other people in it: Lian's daughter, Eve, and her boyfriend, Boy; and the delightfully named niece Fook and her man friend. Hey, no worries, we're all family now!

Why are we here? What are we doing?

Two-thirty arrives way too soon. Fifteen people jockey for potty/shower time in two bathrooms, and then off we drive into the dark. Lian and I ride with Eve in Boy's car to who-knows-where. An hour or so later at a wide spot in the road, our caravan pulls off along the muddy shoulder. Everyone piles out and starts setting up for a party.

R-e-s-p-e-c-t.

We are in front of a mechanic's shop; on the opposite side of the road I can make out a backhoe dealership. Big trucks go rumbling by every so often. We assemble in ranks of two for a procession. Someone hands me a gift box on a tray and pins a corsage on me, and then we march to the front door of a modest dwelling nearby, whooping it up in falsetto all the way. I am utterly mystified.

At the doorway celebrants lash together palm fronds as an archway and we all file inside. It turns out to be the apartment of the bride. We present our gifts and watch as the bride and groom kneel to pay respects to their parents, seated on the sofa. The moms and dads pat the newlyweds' heads like they're good doggies. Jo-Jo showily displays the gold jewelry and cashbox that are all part of the Thai sin sod, the dowry that the groom pays to the bride's family. It's getting toward sunup as we all go back outside for the big breakfast feast.

Duck: it's what's for breakfast.

Lian's sister & niece display sin sod box,
narrowly escape death under big truck.

Yes, the feast ... on the muddy shoulder of a busy road. Gazing at the backhoes, as traffic police direct 18-wheelers away from creaming the wedding party.

I ABSOLUTELY want to get Thai-married in this outfit!

---

Chinese ritual.

Early afternoon back at the sister's house, we participate in the Chinese wedding ritual (Lian's parents were both born in China), which consists of more groveling and head-petting. The elders each take their turn in the Chairs o' Honor, partaking of tea before dropping their cash-stuffed envelopes into the newlyweds' swag basket.

After the Chinese ritual is finished, Lian and I use technology to find a hotel that is not dreadful. Thank you, Expedia! Thank you, TripAdvisor! Despite its Kloyingly Kutesy name, Kozy Inn is just about perfect; my review is here. And the best part? It cost only 100 baht (three dollars and change) more than the shooting gallery we fled earlier.

At long last, I finally enjoy a full night's sleep.

---

The wedding-night party is my kind of fun, by which I mean the 10-course dinner and the bottomless whiskey-and-soda service. (You should understand that Thais mix their drinks at a ratio of one thimbleful of whiskey to a half-gallon of soda, so it's impossible to do any real harm.) Jo-Jo has changed out of his Nehru jacket and king-of-Siam gold lame parachute pants in favor of an equally restrained silvery tux. Turns out he and his new bride are with the band; I love it when newlyweds have musician friends who let them sit in.

So, uh, what are you other nine people having
for dessert?

Here's how I know I am not in America anymore: servers distributing the wedding cake leave a single slice at our 10-person table. "Really?" I ask Lian. "Just one piece for all of us?" I mean it as a joke.

"Chai, one is OK," she answers in all seriousness. "Thai people can share-share." The sugary western-style cake goes mostly uneaten. But the ginger-and-tofu soup? Gone, baby, gone.

---

Before our flight home, Lian and I pay one last visit to her mother, who lives in the sister's house. The siblings chat in the front room while I finish lunch at the kitchen table. The mother shuffles into the adjacent bathroom, where she stays for the longest time. From the sound of running water I know she is abnam (showering).

Good God, it's happening again!

The bathroom door starts to open, but this time I know to drill my eyes into the tabletop. But damn you, peripheral vision! Lian comes to the rescue, gently ushering her half-naked mother back to her day bed. As they pass by, Lian tells me yet again, in what could become a familiar catchphrase for us: "She old. She don't care."