BKK

Just back from a long weekend in Bangkok. On Saturday I took the Foreign Service Written Exam at the U.S. Embassy -- an oasis in BKK's urban jungle. Yes, that was a mixed metaphor. Just let it go. The FSWE is the first step in what can be a years-long process towards a job with the U.S. State Department.

By law, I cannot divulge anything about the test, but I will tell you that I thought it a good idea to be ready to write one sentence in Thai. I've studied the language on and (mostly) off for over a year, but delayed in coming up with something pithy until I was on my way to the test center. I didn't want to get bogged down in semantics, but wanted something at least marginally above the level of "Water good." In line at a 7-11, I came up with "Phuket does not have a train," and scribbled it on a scrap of paper. Thai vowels (more than 30) are tricky, in some cases looking more like bizarre punctuation marks, so I wanted confirmation. I handed the paper to the young woman behind the counter as she rang up my chocolate milk and asked her in Thai, "Is this right?" Bless her sweet face, filled with a priceless look of wonder. She stared at me intently before finally answering, "Don't know. I've never been to Phuket."

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Rotiboy has hit BKK much in the way Krispy Kreme impacts new markets in the States. I strolled by Rotiboy's modest outlet on Silom Road and had to straddle the gutter to get by the line of people spilling onto the sidewalk. Something smelled good, but I resisted temptation and made my way to the skytrain station nearby. The elevated walkway took me directly above the shop, where I stopped for a second look. There were two types of customers: the first, idle passersby who just wanted to see what the fuss was about. Following people like that will eventually send you off a cliff. But the second type was people walking with a purpose, walking with deliberate speed to the end of the line with cash at the ready. This was now something I needed to taste for myself. The line was even longer by the time I returned but fast moving. I did not know exactly what I had paid 65 cents for until I walked around the corner and unwrapped the still-warm brown paper bag. Nothing containing liberal amounts of cinnamon and butter could ever be bad but the Rotiboy seemed to me a dressed-up hamburger bun, cinnamon-encrusted with a gooey and buttery center. Sad that they've co-opted the "roti" name. In Thailand, roti are crepe-like pancakes sweetened with fruit, chocolate, coconut, anything, and blow Rotiboy right out of the water.

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Did a little shopping, but only a little. BKK was always a nice place to pick up factory seconds of name-brand clothing, but the inevitable has finally happened. Scouring the racks of what had been my favorite shop, I realized that the price advantage over, say, Old Navy, was negligible and clearly not worth the trouble of lugging extra stuff home. If you are a U.S.-based clothing manufacturer, you have my sympathies -- assuming you're not hiding a sweatshop of illegal aliens somewhere (but you are, aren't you?). But for all the political grandstanding and protectionist rhetoric directed at China, what's overlooked is that any slack in China supply would be quickly taken up by all of SE Asia. So enjoy your cheap socks, keep your kids out of the textile business, and don't get me started on a "comparative advantage" rant.

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"Tsunami" -- the Japanese restaurant at the J.W. Marriott -- has changed, or rather shortened, its name to "Tsu". I suppose it was the least they could do.