“Promise me that the moment things sour, you’ll put me on the first plane back to the United States.”
“That’s easy because nothing is going to sour.” He nuzzled my neck, kissing my weak spot. “This is just going to get better.”
“Let’s talk about what we’re going to do in Bangkok for two days,” I said, vowing to focus on one day at a time.
***
By the time the plane landed, it was dark outside. We weaved our way through the packed Bangkok airport, engulfed in the cacophony of people speaking all languages, and the woman on the PA system announcing flights in Thai, English, and Chinese. We exited the terminal, and the sound changed from voices to honking horns. Avi hailed us a cab and gave the driver instructions in Thai. Only the moon lit the way as we drove for miles before seeing the Bangkok skyline shining in the distance.
“Are we staying near the Chabad House?”
“No, but you’ll love our hotel.”
A half hour later, the cab driver pulled into the governor’s drive of the Sofitel hotel in Bangkok. “We’re spending two days at the Sofitel?” Which I knew was one of the top hotels in the city.
“Yep.” He grabbed our bags and paid the driver. “I thought it was time we enjoyed a little luxury.”
The scent of flowers and wood wafted through the marble floored lobby. The elegant Thai woman behind the check-in counter greeted us with a traditional bow and welcomed us in English. She quickly confirmed the reservation, swiped Avi’s black American Express Card, and photocopied our passports.
A waitress appeared and gave me a cool cloth for my face. Within seconds, another waitress appeared bearing a small tray of crystal glasses filled with pink fruit juice. I took two glasses.
“It’ll just be a moment longer,” Avi said, taking one of the glasses from me.
A uniformed bellhop took the key from the desk clerk, loaded our backpacks onto a trolley, and led us to a suite on the top floor.
Inside the room, Avi pulled back the curtains, revealing a panoramic view of Bangkok. “Come and see this.”
“In a minute, I’m watching the television embedded in the lower corner of the bathroom mirror. This is so cool. If I had a bathroom like this at home, I’d sit in a bubble bath all day and never leave the house.” I swung open the shower door and surveyed the three-head shower--nice. Then I walked over to the humongous bathtub, which turned out to be a hot tub. “Come here,” I said, stifling a giggle.
“What?” he asked, entering the bathroom.
I pointed down, and his gaze followed the direction of my finger. He tossed his head back, cracking up.
“You planned this!” I said. “It’s not a coincidence.” A layer of red rose petals floated on the inch of water filling the tub.
He turned on the hot water and dumped the entire hotel-sized bottle of bubble bath into the water. “I didn’t do it. And it doesn’t matter if I did because this is going to be good. Come here.” He held his arms open for me.
As we kissed, he ran his fingers through my hair. Then the clothes came off.
***
He reclined at one end of the tub. His well-defined arms stretched across the top, his tan skin contrasting against the white porcelain.
I sat at the other end, enjoying the pressure from the water jets pounding against my back. Our legs entwined, covered with bubbles, floating rose petals, and warm water, scented with the fragrance of lemon and sage L’Occitane bubble bath.
“First stop tomorrow is the Reclining Buddha. You can’t leave Thailand without visiting at least one Buddhist temple,” he said.
“Okay. Let’s go say hello to Buddha.” I skimmed my big toe along his leg.
“Did you know Buddhism is a nontheistic religion? It’s more like a philosophy.”
“They don’t believe in a God?”
“Nope, they focus on achieving the purpose of life, which is to end suffering. They believe suffering comes from striving for things that don’t bring lasting happiness.”
“That seems rather simplistic. Suffering comes in ways beyond our control and often despite our actions,” I said.
He ran his foot along my inner thigh, sending a shiver through me. “And, sometimes, suffering comes from denying ourselves something we really need.”
“It’s always about food with you, isn’t it?” I smiled, rising from the water and lunging forward to touch his lips.
“Yeah. Some of us love Pizza Hut in every city.”
***
The first mistake of the day was wearing a tank top to a Buddhist temple, which led me to the nice Thai lady selling sarongs on the street. She wrapped my shoulders in colorful silk and ripped me off for at least an extra two hundred Baht. The second mistake was falling even more in love.
Stunned was the only word to describe my reaction when we entered Wat Pho, the elaborate compound which housed the Reclining Buddha. We meandered past spired chedis, small pagoda-like buildings covered in tile flowers and said to hold remnants of the Buddha. Avi explained that Pho Wat was one of the oldest and most visited temples in Thailand.
We followed throngs of people shuffling up the steps leading to the pillared temple, housing the Reclining Buddha. At the top of the steps, along the wall of the portico, were piles of shoes. I looked at Avi.
“Yep.” He nodded, stooping down to untie his sneakers. “If you want to go inside, the shoes have to come off.”
I twisted my mouth in disgust. “I don’t want to go barefoot, and I don’t want to leave my shoes here. Someone can steal them.”
“It's considered very, and I mean very, offensive to enter a temple wearing shoes.”
I stared down at my worn Nike sneakers, which were broken-in to the point of perfection. The people entering the temple wore looks of anticipation. And judging by the wide-eyed, smiling faces of the people exiting, the inside of the temple was worth the risk of shoe theft, and the discomfort of walking barefoot.
“Fine,” I said, happy that I’d worn socks. “But I’m warning you, if these shoes are missing when we get out, the complaining is going to last for hours.” I removed my shoes and did my best to hide them under a mound of footwear.
He tugged me forward until we reached the opened doors of the temple. There he nudged my shoulder and gestured with his head toward two women. “The shoe police.”
The sheer size and length of the golden Buddha statue overwhelmed me. I’ve never been inside the Sistine Chapel, but I couldn’t imagine it being more awe inspiring than the fresco painted on the walls and ceiling of this temple. We walked the corridor surrounding the lounging Buddha, passing Buddhist monks and travelers from all over the world.
“It’s beautiful, fascinating, and his feet are huge,” I said, stretching my neck to examine the mother of pearl inlaid into the Buddha’s feet. Avi wandered forward along the perimeter of the room studying the 108 bronze bowls, where people deposited coins for good luck.
“This place is magnificent,” I said. “You know, the Buddhists have these temples, the Christians have their cathedrals, but I can’t think of any synagogues famous for being ornate or overwhelmingly impressive.”
“We think the First and Second Temples in Jerusalem were pretty impressive. Alas.” He shrugged. “All the Polaroids and digital photographs were destroyed by those damn Babylonians and Romans.” He smiled, but, a few moments later, his features radiated a new intensity, as if he crawled deep into his own brain and was ruffling through stored information, searching for something. I remained quiet, waiting for what he was going to say when he returned to the present.
“Buildings aren’t what we’re about as a people. Jews are the people of the book. We don’t connect with God by building edifices in his name. Our connection is formed by adhering to the Torah and doing mitzvot. We entered a covenant with Hashem and promised to adhere to all six hundred and thirteen commandments, not just the top ten. Our daily actions are our edifice to him.”
We rounded the Buddha’s feet and walke
d along his backside toward his head, along with a hundred or so picture snapping tourists. We watched as they smiled in front of the Buddha and posed with monks wrapped in saffron-colored robes.
“We should have stopped and bought a camera.” He held up his old phone, which got sporadic service in Bangkok, but it didn’t have a good camera. “I wish I’d brought my real phone. It has a great camera. Last time I was in Thailand, I spent my whole vacation in Phuket without cell service. So, I didn’t even bother with it this time--never expected to spend time in Bangkok or meet someone worth photographing.”
“That sucks. I really wanted a framed picture of you posing with a group of monks to hang on my future dining room wall.” I smiled, reached around, and playfully pinched his backside.
We passed a monk, who appeared to be in his forties, speaking British-accented English with an older man and woman. “It’s our job to educate the people...”
I wanted to hear more of the conversation, but it would have been rude to stand and eavesdrop. Once we passed them, I couldn’t hear anything.
Avi saw me stretching to hear the monk and explained how the monks are the teachers of the people and the caretakers of the temples. “Wat Pho is credited for being the first public university in Thailand and still houses one of the most respected schools for Thai massage, which is impressive in a country that conveys immense importance to the art of massage.”
After saying so-long to giant the Buddha, we dug through the mound of shoes to retrieve ours. “I don’t understand you,” I said, as we walked down the steps leading back to the courtyard.
“We’re even. I don’t understand your logic--especially when it comes to our relationship.” He stopped in front of a chedi covered in vibrant ceramic tiles and enamel flowers that began at the base and continued to the tip of the spire.
“What I don’t get is that you work in a field dedicated to making computers think like people and possibly achieve a consciousness level of humans. Yet, you believe in the soul and God. You have a greater understanding of Jewish law than many rabbis, but you’re not orthodox.” I pushed my hip into him “At least the naked guy I woke up next to this morning didn’t act very religious.”
“Was that an observation or a question?” He turned his back to the chedi.
“A little of both, I guess.”
“Science and religion have been presented as enemies for millennia. But, as I see science advance it seems we get closer to an end that leads to one thing--something or someone created our universe. The role of the scientist is to discover the how and where of us, the world, and the universe. But, the answer to why it all exists can only be answered through religion. I do believe there is a reason for our existence.”
“Let’s get a bottle of water and sit down.”
We stopped at a small stand selling water and then found a shady spot on a porch lined with golden Buddhas and shared a big bottle of water.
“You’re not orthodox,” I said.
“I was until I saw you in a bikini.” He flashed his melt-me-out-of-my-clothes smile.
“That’s bullshit, but if it’s true...” I handed him the water bottle and skimmed my lips over his ear. “I’m so okay with it.”
“I know it’s weird because I am a believer, but not in the same way Sam is. Above all, I am first and foremost a Jew. I believe the Torah and the laws are the source of our survival as a people. I’m not sure the divine creator cares about what I eat or if I have sex before marriage. I think it’s more about being the best person I can be and hopefully leave a positive footprint on the Earth. I guess you would say I see the divine creator as more of a big picture type of guy.”
“I think I’m a live-by-the-Golden-Rule type--do unto others--”
“Rabbi Sam would agree the Golden Rule is important, but he believes all the commandments are equal and attributing a value scale to them is a man-created belief that has no root in the Torah or the Talmud. Hashem did not establish a mitzvah hierarchy.”
“Wow, so if I eat pork or rob a supermarket, both actions are equally wrong?”
“Sam would say yes. I would say no. Are you hungry?”
“A little,” I said.
“Let’s go grab lunch at the Chabad House and then wander around Kao San Road for the afternoon.”
“Sure,” I replied, drifting off into my own thoughts. What did I believe? I couldn’t find an answer to the question. “You know.” I squeezed his hand. “I envy your belief. I wish I could believe in something.”
“Keep trying. You’ll find it.”
***
We left the temple and weaved our way through clusters of tourists, standing along the sweltering street, waiting to board air-conditioned tour buses. “So many different languages,” I said. “I imagine they’re all discussing the beauty of the temple.” I glanced back to get one more glimpse of the wall surrounding the Grand Palace before untying the sarong wrapped around my waist.
“True, but I would assume their conversations are less focused on the architecture and more on the spiritual. For many of them, I suspect that seeing the Reclining Buddha and the Emerald Buddha are check marks off their bucket list. The same way the Western Wall is for Jews.”
We continued along the Boulevard, passing street vendors, and a line of parked tuk-tuks--a mode of transportation that appeared to be a cross between a golf cart, motor scooter, and a tricycle. The drivers moved into our path. Each tried to convince us that he would deliver us to the place we wanted to go for the best price. Avi responded harshly in Thai to the aggressive ones. I assumed he demanded they move because, by the time he finished speaking, the disappointed looking drivers stomped back to their tuk-tuk. A few shouted what I assumed were curse words at our back.
The sun beat down on my head and shoulders, and sweat rolled off Avi’s forehead. “Maybe an air-conditioned cab would be better than a tuk-tuk?” I said.
“No.” He shook his head. “You can’t leave Bangkok without riding in a tuk-tuk. It’s mandatory.”
About a hundred yards later, we walked toward a driver who seemed more interested in finishing his cigarette than haggling with us. Avi climbed into the small buggy. I trailed behind. Once we were comfortable in the seat, he told the driver to take us to Khao San Road.
As the driver weaved through the cars and buses, Avi talked about all his favorite spots in Bangkok and how he wished we had an extra few days, so he could show them to me.
It didn’t take long to reach our destination. Avi paid the driver and bowed in appreciation.
Over lunch, we laughed about eating Israeli food in Thailand. “I guess we’re just pathetic travelers,” I said, smearing hummus inside my pita.
“Home,” he said, “is not about the place. It’s about the food. No matter where I go, give me a pita with a little hummus, and I’m at home. In Jerusalem, take me to a sushi restaurant, and I’m far, far away from home.”
Halfway through our lunch, the rabbi sat down at our table. He and Avi tried to keep the conversation going in English, but the rabbi’s vocabulary was limited. I excused myself from the conversation walked up the steps to the computer bank. An Israeli man vacated the first computer. He said something to me in Hebrew before walking across to the room to collect his young son who was engrossed in a picture book.
The login for Gmail came up in Hebrew. I clicked around on the screen until it switched to English and logged in and saw an email from my cousin Danielle, one from my father, and one from PNC Bank. I quickly scanned Danielle’s news about her new job before opening the one from my father. Even his emails were depressing. He moaned about all the things he couldn’t do because Jack was gone--golfing, tennis, and going to PNC Park to watch the Pittsburgh Pirates play, which made no sense because if Jack was alive, he’d still be living in New York.
I inhaled deeply and began typing, explaining the change in my plans and promising to bring him something back from the Holy Land. When I hit the send button, I wondered if he cared if I ever c
ame home. Before I could log off, I felt a kiss on the back of my neck.
Avi reached for my hand, smiling. “Let’s go do tourist stuff.”
We strolled over to Khao San Road, a major tourist hub and meandered through the vendor stalls. Music blared from the bars, and the scent of fried cooking oil filled the air. We stopped at a stall selling beach bags and duffel bags. I bought a beach bag with an elephant on the front. At the next stall, I bought a straw hat with a floppy brim.
Then we weaved our way through a large group of Australian sounding twenty-somethings and stopped at a jewelry stall. Everything I looked at, he offered to buy for me. “You’re no fun,” I said. “Stop it. Just because I look at something doesn’t mean I want it.”
He pulled me close and stroked my hair. “I look at you and want all of you.”
“I’m yours for the next eleven days. But, seriously, stop trying to buy me things.”
He spewed out something in Hebrew and refused to translate.
“Fine, go buy me a wine cooler and some watermelon. Let me have fun being a budget conscience tourist.”
“I’ll meet you at the end of the block in fifteen minutes.”
The stalls held T-shirts, handmade jewelry, knockoff designer purses, and beautiful scarves. I bought a scarf for Danielle, a T-shirt for my Dad, and a couple of elephant keychains. I tucked them all into my new elephant beach bag and headed toward the end of the street to find Avi.
He stood holding my wine cooler and a plastic bag that I figured held my watermelon, nodding as a couple of Israeli guys took turns speaking. When I reached his side, I linked my arm around his. He didn’t introduce me and ended the conversation quickly. “Complete strangers?” I asked.
“Yep.”
I hung my bag over my elbow and took the wine cooler and the watermelon from him.
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