Saturday morning on our boat.
The energy was electric.
“So, we’re really going,” said Karen as she scooted past me. Stopping on the stairs, her eyes caught mine. “It’s going to be A-ma-zing.”
Soon, Karen and I were working together, passing fenders from our bow locker into the hallway of our boat. The hallway became impassable but each item we dislodged brought us closer to our goal. We were trying to reach our winter clothing.
It was a lot of work, but worth the effort. Betty is leaving our boat to start studies at Queen’s University this fall. Family time feels precious and somehow more finite.
Today mattered. We were going to Snow Kingdom in Phuket, Thailand.
Henry wore his winter hat for at least an hour before we left. He said he was trying to get used to the sensation of a wooly thing on his head. He stopped in front of a mirror to look at himself. “Look at my hair!” he said as he laughted. Every strand seemed plastered to his head.
When our family finally assembled on our boat, I quickly checked the skating hours. Yes, they were open until 6 p.m. Rick texted his friend Dave who said he might join us with his wife Nonny.
Skating at Snow Kingdom
It was shaping up to be an excellent day.
Except it wasn’t.
Getting out of our taxi, we saw a sign on the front door. Snow Kingdom was closed.
We absorbed the news.
This sign looked far too polished to believe that anyone, except us, had been caught off guard by a power outage.
At the grocery store next door, all the lights were on.
“We should have phoned,” said Rick. The mood was one of disappointment and deflation. Rick suggested we go for a walk. We used to do that a lot as a family, but lately it’s been too hot.
Strolling around the parking lots of marine shops, which surround Snow Kingdom, felt, to me, like the physical embodiment of online shopping for boat parts.
Visiting Old Town Phuket
I suggested we go to Old Town Phuket instead. I had never been. I imagined it would be coastal and charming.
I was wrong.
Old Town Phuket is 3 km inland. The historical architecture and temples are pretty. But the streets are full of shops selling mango smoothies, batik elephant pants, fridge magnets and wind chimes, interspersed with a smattering of bars and weed shops.
It was nearing sunset in Old Town when we passed a man playing guitar on the street.
“I bet this place will feel quite different in a few hours,” Rick said.
I looked at Rick. A glimmer crossed his face. His expression vanished, but his face remained flush.
Rick is good at turning ordinary situations into memories. So it was no surprise that when he suggested we go to Patong Beach, we’d be in for a memorable evening.
Together, Rick and I hatched a plan to visit a tailor and buy Betty a dress for a semi-formal event at Queen’s University. We talked in hushed tones. Betty seemed to sense something was up. “Why is dad wanting to make a phone call?” she asked. But, she had a wink in her voice as she spoke and she didn’t press the issue.
We got into a taxi and drove off. Headlights came and went as we overtook motorbikes and passed unfamiliar places in the dark.
I checked my phone to look at a map and see where we were going.
Mr. Singh’s Fashion Gallery and Bespoke Tailors was in the Patong Beach area. It was somewhere we had never been. It would take a full 40 minutes to get to the western side of the island.
Bangla Road, Patong Beach, Thailand, 8 p.m.
Finally, the driver stopped. Henry was incredulous. Rick wondered why he stopped too. “Why are we getting out here?” It was as though we were being kicked out, roadside. The driver explained that he couldn’t drive along Bangla Road past 6 p.m.
At night, Bangla Road becomes pedestrian-only. The driver assured us that we were close, but we would have to find our own way to Mr. Singh’s, which was on a side street off of Bangla Road.
Our kids were thrilled to find themselves in the hub of civilization. This was an unexpected slice of life. This was nightlife. And just by walking along the street they were part of it.
Standing on the sidewalk, the lights of Bangla Road were larger than life. Amidst the noise and blur of activity, Betty, Karen and Henry were drawn by the movement and the bustle of people. They headed towards the archway of Patong Beach, Phuket.
Just after I stopped to take this photo, Betty was gone and so was Karen. Henry ran ahead to catch up. The crowd closed in until they all disappeared out of sight.
I quickened my pace. Rick was close behind. At this point, I was not walking, sauntering, or strutting. I was striding — with giant mom steps. Meanwhile, the smell of weed hit my nostrils like a truck, and as I walked, the smell intensified.
On my left, women sat outside a spa perched on plastic bucket seats. On my right, a woman loped around a pole with minimal enthusiasm. In front of me, people of all ages hawked everything from burgers to “Sexy Shows.”
Bangla Road was a world away from Old Town and our original plans at Snow Kingdom.
The spectacle extended beyond the local population. We passed women made of silicone, a man walking nonchalantly with a 2-metre-tall selfie stick strapped to his back, a family with a stroller, and frat boys shopping for vodka at the 7-Eleven. A panel van drove by with a boxing ring on top and two men lamely threw punches at each other to advertise for a Muay Thai event.
Rounding a corner, we escaped the crowds and found a quiet street with numerous tailors, including Mr. Singh’s. We visited an array of shops from classy to gaudy to outright desperate. We were looking for silk crêpe de Chine, which no one had.
After a few shops, I heard myself saying, “A sheen would be nice, but shiny…” I trailed off sounding skeptical. Then I added, or perhaps blurted, “It can’t look like a nightdress.” The tailor took a small step backwards and Betty shot me a glance. At that point, it seemed best for us to visit yet another tailor.
Over the course of the evening, we felt silks and silk blends that had so much polyester you could hear the fabric squeak. “Madam, it’s a silk blend,” one tailor said as I rubbed a fabric between my thumb and forefinger.
My brow furrowed.
I was feeling for silk and it eluded me. But I was aslo struggling to imagine what life would be like for Betty and for us, when she leaves to go to university and attend a semi-formal event.
“It’s a silk blend,” he repeated, “you wouldn’t be able to feel the silk.” My lips twitched. I rubbed the fabric and returned my focus.
The synthetic fibres glistened under the spotlights.
What he didn’t know was that he was talking to a former fabric-store salesperson. As a teen, I sold fabric and notions.
“Actually, I think I could feel it if there was silk in this fabric,” I said.
Bam. It’s Saturday night. My fingers are doing the feeling and my mouth is doing the talking. We are not buying a dress. Not here. Not now. Not today. Thank you.
So that is how we stepped outside, walked along the side street and wound up back in the hustle of Bangla Road. Some of the business names would make a sailor blush. In the photo below, eagle-eyed readers might spot one of these venues in the signage behind Henry’s head.
Patong Beach is a marketplace where anything goes, and everything is for sale under the bright lights.
Karen says she will remember the “strippers.”
Henry says he will remember being fawned over by women as he raced down the street to escape their clutches.
Betty saw the funny side.
Skating at Snow Kingdom would have been good, clean, wholesome fun. And I’m glad we saw Old Town Phuket together. We didn’t buy the dress. But Bangla Road gave us an absurd and memorable family night out in Thailand.
Betty leaves for university in 59 days.