The young traveler

At the tender age of 6, I learned that my father was going to be sent to Vietnam, and that my mother, sister and I would live in Bangkok. It was 1965, the war was gearing up. It was a remarkably stressful time for my parents, but of course, to a six-year-old, it only meant that the next grand adventure was fully underway. We moved from our suburban outpost to a townhouse in Greenbelt - a town which I later learned was the Washington DC location for one of Roosevelt's New Deal experiments.

In Greenbelt, there were many firsts. I started school there. I learned to ride a bike in the courtyards of Springhill Lake Apartments, experienced the chickenpox, got my first smallpox vaccine. Shortly before time for us to transfer overseas, we moved to the Frances Scott Key Hotel. For the next few weeks, we made frequent appointments for shots and more shots.... vaccines against diseases I couldn't pronounce much less spell.

The day finally arrived - we were on our way. We flew from DC to LAX, had an 8 hr layover. I remember drinking "Shirley Temples" in the rotating restaurant there. We flew from LA to Honolulu, where I can remember smelling the orchids when we deplaned...it was exquisite. From Hawaii it was on to Tokyo, then Hong Kong and finally Bangkok, where we would spend the next two years.

I know now that these were some of the hardest years my family faced. But for me - and I suspect for my father - they were the most exquisite. It was exotic... the world was filled with snake charmers and spirit houses and gated compounds. Despite attempts to keep me protected, I managed to sneak out the back gate of our Embassy housing to explore the world at large. The gardener across the street became a friend - we had a ready supply of fresh coconut thanks to his ability to shimmy up the trees and cut down fresh nuts. The street vendors knew me by sight, since I was always willing to try their offerings - fresh green mango, fruit slushies, and Halls cough drops, to name a few delicacies.

I should note that these excursions were often without the knowledge or sanction of the adults in my life. My mother would NEVER have condoned letting a 7 year old girl roam free in the streets of Bangkok. But then, she didn't know until it was too late. I was often playing with the neighborhood kids - none of whom spoke English - and exploring the intricacies of middle class life in downtown Bangkok. I learned about leechee nuts from my neighbor's grandmother, and I taught the neighbor boys about snow, which they had never seen. My Thai and their English improved, but mostly we spoke in that tongue known to children everywhere.

Intermingled with the joys of childhood were hard lessons. I saw animals beaten to death on the road in front of our house. When we traveled, we saw children starving; encountered the putrid smell of klongs, and the lack of sanitation in the floating markets. Everywhere was death and light, starvation and opulence - all part of this world. Perhaps it was the richness of life in Bangkok that allowed us to tolerate its horrors. It has been 44 years since we lived in Bangkok, and there are parts of it I still remember clearly. Too often, they are the very parts I would like to forget.