I’m writing this from a comfortable yellow couch in a rather large and loud breakfast hall at a (self-proclaimed) four-star hotel in central Bangkok. Both Airpods have noise-cancelling switched on, and my go-to channel, Groove Salad, is effectively drowning out most of the chatter around me.
Through the nearest window, I can see how a small palm tree is bending to the will of gusty winds currently blowing through this part of the capital. The wind gives the illusion that it’s not nearly as steaming hot as it actually is. There’s a forecast of heavy rain for most of the day, but so far, nothing.
I’ve come to like the heat much more than when I was younger. It’s still sweaty, but, today, the insane heat here helps my limbs and joints ache a lot less. As I type this post, my cranky, creaky fingers, in particular, are thankful for me having transplanted them to this wonderfully warmer climate. Not to mention how grateful my soul is…
While I can certainly appreciate the comfort and predictability of everyday life, at least during Sweden’s precious few summer months, at 60, I know for sure now that if I allow it to enwreathe me for too long after the Scandinavian sun has gone into hibernation, I will descend physically and mentally into some pretty deep depths of dreariness.
Yes, I am, of course, thankful for being able to escape the forthcoming half-year of insipid sunlessness so symptomatic of southern Sweden. Not to mention the painfully elongated winter season’s notorious societal frigidity. And I honestly don’t think I could have managed to stay on the wagon for very long if I was once again shackled to such a gray, cold, and formulaically lackluster existence. No big mystery why alcohol and drug abuse are so prevalent along the notorious ‘vodka belt.’
We’ll be in Bangkok for less than a week this time, just enough to absorb many friendly smiles, enjoy plenty of delicious meals, and appreciate the exquisite privilege of once again being digital nomads, something we started doing regularly way back in 2002, long before remote working was even a thing.
As I continue to remind myself, we’ve once again essentially replaced our life in Malmö for a more pleasurable existence in Southeast Asia. Effectively extending the summer for a few months and ultimately leaving behind the drudgery that we both find harder to cope with as we get older when yet another dark, cold, and windy winter arrives. Alas, we’ve become snowbirds!
Our hotel’s coffee machine has about a dozen options, but only one that provides a decent cup of java, the irreplaceable Americano. This is my 22 hotel for the year and so far, the coffee machine that made offered the best brew was the one at Hermitage Resort on the beautiful Italian island of Iscia. While the machine performed sluggishly, it did churn out an amazing cup of coffee!
Just read that the Americano is believed to have originated in Italy during World War II when American soldiers found espresso too strong and added hot water to create a milder, more familiar coffee.
I’m impressed by the increasing abundance of artisan coffee places in Bangkok. These often tiny shops seem only outnumbered by those selling variants of hemp. Two plants that when consumed, largely offer contradictory results but yet are not entirely incompatible.