As my partner Yohei and I entered the lobby of the Bangkok Airport, I reached for my passport and realized it was still on top of the hotel bureau. Yohei had forgotten it.
Not one to cast blame, I began by telling him not to panic: words guaranteed to panic anyone and it did. He instantly assumed I was having a seizure. Denying this and keeping my voice well on this side of frantic, I explained the amusing situation. He made me sit down, lower my voice; note people were staring and count to 10.
Fully in control scarcely a moment later, I found him calling the hotel where they asked if we knew we’d left the passport there. What did they think he was calling about! Anyway, they sent it to us by the hotel van which we waited for in the blazing sun for 40 minutes. Drawing considerable attention, I might add, from security.
Finally it arrived and we ran to the counter of Thai Airlines our usual carrier. Ignoring the enormous line by announcing our flight was about to leave, we barged to the front under a blaze of hostile stares and unkind comments. I shouted to (certainly not “at”) the uncooperative staffer to get a move on, but she kept yakking about something. Yohei finally got her point: our tickets were for Japan Airlines. Again no time to berate him, we rushed to the JAL counter and found the same unsympathetic reception. And, dammit, the same semi-English babble, seemingly about gate 7.
Looking at the time, my hysteria had me about to reach up and rip that smarmy smile off the bitch’s face when Yohei grabbed me and roughly hustled me away, growling in my ear, “The tickets are for the seventh. This is the sixth.”
Oh. How we laughed. Pay no attention to his version of this story.
Poo poo paper – the perfect present
We senior travelers, especially those who have been to Thailand, know the feeling of “Been there. Done that.” Hang-gliding, snake farms and alligator wrestling no longer call to us as they once did. We now aspire to higher stimulation and prefer something more intellectual. Thus it was in Chiang Mai I again eschewed the fun and allure of bungee jumping and instead ventured forth into the Poo Poo Paper Park. The “poo” being, yes, that “poo.” Especially that of our friend the elephant and its conversion into paper. True!
Remembering the popular circuses of our youth, we certainly had at least a glimpse of and therefore some visual knowledge of their droppings (thuddings?) and will remember a great deal of undigested fiber was visible – fiber superbly suited for the making of paper. Naturally, it has to be separated and processed and that is where the park comes in. It is cleverly arranged to take the visitor through the production line so to speak, skipping the initial depositing which is done au natural in the local surroundings and brought in to the factory by the villagers.
All is sanitary and modern and the result is a wonderful array of paper products which make unmatchable gifts for the person who has everything. My previous unfortunate encounter with elephants (issue 140) had me leery of the afternoon, but all was so delightful I wanted to share this experience.
Check out the “fecal facts” on the thoroughly enjoyable and informative Web site poopoopaper.com. I know there are those of you expecting cheap jokes about shit and sheets of paper, making crappy crepe, etc., but I realize my readership is far more sophisticated and would find such juvenilia simply offal.
