Trip to Thailand, January 2013

We easily found a cab back to the hotel, although this driver clearly didn’t know where he was going, and the little map and card the hotel gave me was not much help to him. This ride was longer, and 167 baht, but as we were still happy looking out the window and counting hot pin cabs, and the ride was still so cheap, I didn’t mind.

Marcus ate the last of the hot dog waffle and the fish cakes back in our hotel room, while I had some fruit and the last of the pork-stuffed bread. I had bought him an elephant-shaped bubble shooter at the zoo, and a bouncy ball from a vending machine shaped like a robot. I tried to be Robert, basically, saying yes to all these things, since he couldn’t be here, so Marcus walked out of the zoo in a blissful state. He brought the elephant bubble gun down to the pool after lunch, and we found a trio of Canadian brothers today to play with with the bubbles and the boat George and Pat had gotten him in Koh Lanta. The bubbles were a big hit, with kids clustered around, and pretty quickly the bubble solution ran out. Marcus took it really well, though, and I promised him we’d bring the bubble shooter home and refill it next summer to use outside then.

We FaceTimed with Robert around the pool and showed him a bit of what he was missing, and then went back to the room, where Samantha napped but Marcus didn’t—the French and Italian cartoons on TV were just too interesting for him, I think—and then went down to the hotel pier to take the 5:15 p.m. boat to Asiatique, a brand new shopping and dining area just across the river.

At the pool with an elephant bubbler.

One sleeping, one sleepy kid heading down to the dock in the evening.

On the pier, waiting for the hotel ferry.

Spotted on the river.

We went on the big Bangkok Eye Ferris wheel as soon as we got there, and that was great, though my cautious son was a big scared. We came down, scoped the place out, and went back to the docks to watch for George and Pat, who were taking a boat over from Taksin, after having taken the Sky Train down from their apartment. Asiatique was so new that they hadn’t even been here yet, and I think they were excited for the excuse to check it out.

When we saw them come off their boat, we all went straight to eat, as Marcus was really hungry and tired by now. Kocha Kocha was a small Japanese chain, and we grabbed a booth and had grilled ika and chicken skewers and a fun salmon avocado sushi roll. I also ordered zaru soba, which my kids demolished, their table manners going out the window at such delicious noodles, and an ika okonomiyaki, which Sam ate all the bonito flakes from the top of and Marcus ate all the squid from the inside of. The Thai waitstaff was trained to relay orders to the chefs in Japanese, according to George and Pat, and they did it quite well to our ears. And, being bold on my last night in the country, I tried to order water, “nam plow,” plain liquid, literally, but apparently I mispronounced it and ordered “nam pla,” fish liquid, so Pat helped me end up with the right thing.

At the end of the meal, George gave me a CD of all the pictures he took on his camera over the past few days, so I could add them to our pics, and we said our goodbyes. I told them a completely inadequate thank you, and treated them to dinner as partial thanks for an amazing week. They had, as I predicted, spent the day doing nothing, and were planning to do more of the same until they actually had to go back to work. We hustled out of dinner and back on the hotel ferry with Marcus just barely still awake.

On and around the Bangkok Eye ferris wheel at Asiatique.

Interview with Marcus: what were your favorite things about Thailand?

There I got everyone washed up and put to bed in their clothes and set an alarm for 2:15 a.m., which would give us enough time to get to our 5:55 a.m. flight. I snuggled down in bed next to the two kids, and in a minute I was asleep along with them.

In honor of our last night at a hotel in Thailand, here’s a brief hotel comparison:

 

Saturday 1/5, Day 11

The middle of the night wake-up went very smoothly—I called for a bellman and cab, Marcus got up and quickly went to the bathroom and then I wore both kids down the hall to the lobby, where Marcus started feeling awake enough to walk around a bit on his own. We checked out, hopped in the cab, and zipped on the empty highways to the airport.

The cab let me out on level 3, supposedly right by Delta, loading up everything on a luggage trolley for me. I had Sam in a wrap on my front, my Timbuk2 bag slung over a shoulder onto my back, a big blue duffel on the cart that I was going to check, and that wheeled Ikea zip-apart backpack on the cart too, now zipped together, which was going to be my carryon. Marcus walked along holding my hand, but getting sleepier by the minute. He was still holding the punch ball from the temple fair.

We went in, and I couldn’t immediately see a sign for Delta, so we walked to the near end of the terminal and I still couldn’t see it. We then walked back to the middle, and I considered walking to the far end, but Marcus was so tired I wanted to spare him the steps. I saw a gaggle of security guards right in the middle of the terminal, so I went up to them and said, “Excuse me, I’m looking for Delta?” and they started a flurry of action. “Level 2!” one said. “Over here!” another pointed to the inclinator down. “I show you,” promised a third, who walked with us. I thanked him, and we headed down.

Downstairs, we walked the entire length of the terminal, passing coffee shops and money changers, but nothing remotely resembling an airport check-in counter. “Gee, it’s strange they put Delta down here!” I said, “It’s all the way at the end? Delta?” “Yes yes,” the guard assured me. After a few more minutes of walking, Marcus being amazingly good this entire time, he proudly deposited me at a door marked “Emergency Medical Assistance.”

“No,” I said flatly. “DELTA? Airplanes?”

“Oh!” he said, laughing. “We think you say DOCTOR!” He got a good laugh out of this, to be sure. He was actually slapping his knee, he was laughing so hard. He got on his radio to call up to his buddies upstairs in Thai—“blah blah blah blah DOCTOR blah blah blah blah DELTA!” I heard him say. Hysterical laugher and more knee-slapping ensued. I was silent. So was Marcus. We went up in the elevator and he had to retell the story to another guard he met in the elevator. He walked us over to his chuckling friends, who parted to reveal that they were standing in front of a tiny sign that said Delta, beyond which a nice long line had formed at the check-in desk.

I could see Marcus was flagging. I looked around for someone official and may or may not have been waved to the front of the line, but at any rate, to the front of the line I went. I checked in and was waved very vaguely left, down a long hallway entirely devoid of signs. Nothing indicated where immigration and security were at this point, and I was completely done with wandering around the airport at 3:00 in the morning. I also wasn’t asking anyone else for directions, so I took the first turn-off to the right down the hall and found myself in a small security area, completely empty except for one metal detector, one X-ray machine, five employees leaning on the walls, and a small sign saying “Flight Crews Only.” I walked in. The employees waved me through. They played with Marcus’s punch ball and cheerfully gave it back to him. They found an immigration official to come over and stamp our passports, and we were finally on the other side.

As I navigated the maze of the duty free mall to head to our gate, I saw the exit from the main security and immigration area cattle pens to my left. Ah, babies. In foreign countries, you are my pass to efficiency and freedom.

Sadly, no food stalls in the airport were open yet, but we had our chips, and finally we were on the plane. These were regular economy seats, medium far back, but the 5.5-hour flight went fast: Marcus watched two movies in a glassy-eyed stupor, technically awake, and we snacked on what I had packed and ate the muffin, rice stick noodles, and pork from the two meals.

In Narita, we got a fast pass to the front of the security lane because of my babes, used their crazy Japanese bathrooms, and then just barely had time to board our final flight, twelve hours from Japan to JFK. I would have loved a chance to go back to a Japanese shop or buy a donburi for the flight, but there was no such time. Marcus was really, really tired by this point, and wasn’t at his best as we were boarding the plane, but we got on safe and sound.

In our seats, I found out we had a window and the aisle in two different rows. The flight attendant played the “I’m unable to ask anyone to move for you” game, politely, but still unhelpfully, so I just sat us in a window and middle and waited for other people to board. The Japanese man whose middle seat I’d taken clearly had no problem at all switching to the aisle seat in the row in front of us, so that was good for all of us, and it was even better for him when it turned out that one of his co-workers was in the window seat in the row in front of us he moved into the middle of that row so they could sit together.

My left-hand aisle seatmate was a 23-year-old guy who was on his way home to Baltimore after four years in the Army stationed in South Korea. He was not my typical conversation partner, but he was so kind and helpful, and we actually ended up having a great flight with him. He played with Samantha, passed me things, let us climb over him to get in and out to go to the bathroom, and even was nice when I dropped my carry-on bag on his head as I wrangled it out of the overhead compartment with a babe on me in the wrap who desperately needed a change. He had a two-year-old at home he’d last seen when the boy was just a couple months old, so he was fascinated by babies and children, and he also had all sorts of stories about Korea and questions about Thailand.

Marcus, playing with play-doh, fell asleep before we’d even taken off, and he slept for eight hours straight. He had some snacks and more of the rice-stick noodles from the plane meal, plus a movie, and then he was out again, totally sleeping as we landed at JFK. Meanwhile, Samantha had had a perfect flight—she played and napped—and I got a bunch of sleep in as well—but she was also sleeping when we landed.

Sometimes when you go to put a baby or child on your back, people leap up with offers of help. I’d say that 99% of the time, that help is either unnecessary or else actually at cross-purposes with getting the kid up safely and efficiently. On a plane, though, in economy seats, with a sleeping one-year-old in a wrap on my front, I did need help getting the sleeping four-and-a-half-year-old onto my back. I buckled the carrier around my waist and assessed the situation. Thankfully, the Japanese woman behind me offered help and got a resounding “YES PLEASE!” which was possibly more enthusiastic than she was looking for. I got Marcus up and she helped me flip the carrier up in the tight space and get him all snugged down, and then I put my messenger bag on as well, and wheeled the Ikea roller-board down the aisle and we got off the plane.

So, deplaning at JFK: two sleeping kids. Immigration: two sleeping kids. Bag carousel for picking up suitcase: two sleeping kids. Customs: two sleeping kids. Ticket counter to recheck suitcase for connecting domestic flight: two sleeping kids. Getting to the other terminal for our connecting flight to Boston (walk, take escalator up, walk, take other escalator down, take airport train, walk, take elevator down, walk, cross a busy street, walk up a ramp): Marcus starting to wake up, just Sam sleeping, both still on me because he wasn’t fully awake yet. Going through security for our connecting flight: Marcus awake and finally ambulatory under his own power, Sam still sleeping. Phew—that was my most strenuous tandem-wearing yet, but I honestly don’t know how I would have done this without carriers. I clearly got a lot of double-takes, especially when handing three passports to the immigration and customs people, and then just rotating sideways so they could see all three of us.

Our last 40-minute flight to Boston was a breeze. I even had both kids awake as we got off the plane! We went to the bathroom (Toilet paper? We’re not in Thailand anymore. Boring toilets? We’re not in Japan anymore) and went down to the baggage claim, and Robert met us there, with a big lollipop for Marcus and even bigger smiles and hugs for us all. It was Robert’s birthday, after all—the whole reason for our trip to begin with—and finally we were all together again.

Arriving back at Logan, all carry-ons and children safe and sound, about to pick up our checked bag and meet Robert.

Sleeping off the jetlag the next morning at home.

By the end of our trip, Samantha—who’d started walking just ten days before we left Boston—was a much more confident, stable walker, though she still crawled a fair amount and hadn’t yet gotten the hang of walking on sand. Her one-year molars were starting to come in, at least one of them at any rate, and she could now say “Hi” and “Hello,” “baby” when she saw another baby or a picture of herself, and “ball.” Both kids were so amazingly good on the trip, and I had a lovely time spending so much time with them in such lovely surroundings. We hope to go back again when they’re older, so all four of us can be together here.

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Created: 1/15/13. Last Modified: 1/15/13.