long live the king

In both China and Vietnam, there are pictures of Chairman Mao and "Uncle" Ho, respectively, hanging up in most businesses and homes. Neither of these characters, however, can even compare to the popularity which the King of Thailand enjoys here in his country. Every home business, bus, building, street corner, and sewer grate are decorated with photographs of this amazing man. Every Monday is King's day and people all over the country wear yellow King polo shirts. December 5th was the King's 80th birthday, so we arrived amid a flurry of elevated King-related hysteria. Entire stores devoted to selling nothing but the yellow (or pink) polo shirts, flags, giant shrines and pictures of the King, buttons, and other King items had popped up everywhere. And that was up in the wild northern regions.

Upon landing in Bangkok, the excitement was at a fever pitch. The whole road next to where we were staying was lined in white Christmas lights, and nightly events made evening taxi travel infuriating to the level of impossibility. Every day a higher and higher percentage (going from an initial 83% to 99.7%) of people were decked out in yellow polo shirts. The area around the Grand Palace became a de facto party central with multiple stages of rock bands, traditional children's theatre, and food stalls, food stalls, food stalls. We became so swept up in the excitement that I purchased a small yellow flag to fly from my backpack and Taylor picked up a button depicting the King playing saxophone (in addition to being King, he is also an accomplished photographer, jazz musician, composer, and purported inventor of cloud seeding (this claim has not been substantiated)).

On the big day, people were out on the streets in masses; dizzying crowds of swirling yellow bodies lined the streets of Bangkok, and everything seemed to be building up to a parade and singing of Happy Birthday to the King. Living right off of the main parade street, we bought some beers and went to check out the action. There were barricades along the street lined with miles of hand crocheted yellow banners. Eventually, the police blocked traffic from the street and let the crowd come out into the roadway. This was done in a relatively calm manner. Suddenly, everyone was holding lighted candles. Not having come prepared with candles, a policeman supplied us with some (it was difficult to tell if he was just being friendly, or if there was actually some kind of candle holding ordinanace that we were in violation of). Soon, the parade began with a flock of police cars, then THE KING drove by and I got a glimpse of his hat. Following were some other official cars, and then the parade was over. Aside from a relatively quiet verbal murmur as the King's vehicle past, the crowd was calm and collected. After the caravan passed, the people moved the barricades back to the sidewalk, replaced the crocheted banner, and moved on to the concerts and festivals down the road.

Having to get up at six the next morning, we opted out of the overwhelming crowds in the main party area, and went to bed feeling like the whole buildup ended slightly anit-climactically.