The Queen and I

The food is what first led me to Thailand. Consequently when I arrived I had no understanding of the traditions, customs, or history that make modern Thailand what it is: an amalgam of ancient and ultra modern that simultaneously embraces a strict Buddhist aesthetic, and a healthy love of vice. All I knew, going in, was that I liked pad Thai.

So on my second day in the country, when I was invited to 'see the Queen,' I figured, "Why not, that sounds quaint."

I was teaching English in the remote rural town of Tha Plah, in an industrial province that no one I've met since, world traveler or Thai national, has ever visited called Uttaradit. Not that it's some backwards place that time's forgotten, it's just that it isn't a part of the country that has much to offer besides burning garbage stacks, palm trees, and thankfully, more sticky rice than anywhere I've ever been.

I was having a tough time figuring out why the queen might want to come to our neck of the woods, until Nopowan, the English teacher and local Avon representative, with whom I lived, explained to me that Queen Sirikit - wife of the king, the longest reigning monarchs in the world, of the Chakri Dynasty, said to rule under divine Buddhist right, and therefore the most adored people in a land of 65 million inhabitants - (none of which I learned until much later,) selects particularly needy villages every year to give an economic boost. Essentially she offers a town raw materials to produce goods that she then buys back and gives away as royal gifts, making everyone very happy. In a sense, it was this village's 'Queen Appreciation Day.'

The village in question was quite a trek from Tha Plah. We first had to drive to a sketchy boat landing an hour down the road, where we proceeded to board a speed boat with someone known as the 'Chief of the District, (I took him to be a congressman); his lovely assistant, Khun Koong (literally translated: Ms. Shrimp); two menthol-smoking, machine-gun-toting henchmen; and Nopowan. We rode down the River Nan for an hour and a half, leaving all manner of long-tail boats and canoes in our wake. For the first time since I was a kid I felt like I was on a real adventure.

When we finally arrived at a small island, we disembarked and Nopowan and I joined a long procession of people headed up a muddy incline surrounded by lush green rice paddies and coconut palms. We passed houses made of bamboo raised on stilts, crossing paths with the occasional water buffalo. I was so awed by the landscape that I didn't even notice the people around me. It wasn't until we had reached our destination -- a schoolyard with two areas covered in palm frond canopies separated by red carpeting-- that I realized I was the object of great interest. While it's true I'd been in the country less than 48 hours I already knew that I was an oddity; a portly young white man with hair on his face and everywhere else was not what these people expected to find in their midst. But out on this island it was a different story. Not only were little kids pointing at me and giggling, everyone was.

Thai people make a real effort not make a big deal of flaws or differences between folks, and never tell you if you're doing something wrong. They would much rather ignore any faux pas in the interest of maintaining comfortable social interaction. So when it became clear that everyone was staring at me I asked Nopowan, "Why?"

She spoke to a woman next to her in Thai for a moment. Then she said to me, "You the first farang (foreigner) here."

I looked at her puzzled and asked, "First today? Or since when?"

"Ever." She replied. As if I didn't feel self-conscious enough already. Now I had an entire village watching my every move as though I were some rare panda on display. I was the Queen's warm up act, seated amidst dozens of children many of whom appeared to be quite scared by the ghost who sat next to them. I noticed, however, that one of them was a student at my school and once we began to interact the rest of the kids realized that, space alien or not, I was harmless. This loosened them up.

It was now about 11am, "When is the Queen getting here?!" I wondered.

We sat and waited and then waited some more. By three o'clock when the Queen finally arrived, the locals and I were yakking it up like old friends. So now we could all relax and get down to the business at hand, of having a little pow-wow with the Queen.

Her majesty was seated no more than fifty feet away from me, but there was a wall of armed guards between her and the crowd, keeping the affair orderly. While we waited, I asked one of the guards if I could take a picture. After a quick inspection of my camera he said "No." I don't think my point-and-shoot camera was worthy of her highness' royal visage and it was becoming abundantly clear that for all the entertaining and waiting I had done that day, I wasn't going to get any closer to the Queen.

For three hours Queen Sirikit sat as villagers came to pay their respects individually. She didn't appear to be in any hurry to leave, or at all uncomfortable with her humble surroundings. Two women servants knelt beside the monarch fanning her with palm fronds. I watched, disappointed that I couldn't join the proceedings.

Later, the Queen and her entourage began to exit via the red carpet. Nopowan, sensing my frustration, grabbed me by the hand and pulled me forcefully to the side of the path. The Queen was now within plain view. I could see that she was fair-skinned, wore a blue beret and lots of jewels. Just then she saw me. Addressing the crowd for the first time, Queen Sirikit smiled softly and said, 'Sewadeeka' (hello.) Everyone dropped to his or her knees in worship. Surprised and elated, I quickly followed suit. My first lesson in Thai protocol.

Published on 7/17/01