On Thursday, Joe and I went up to Ayuthaya, the former Thai capital. A two-hour train ride north of Bangkok, Ayauthaya is a place of pride and holiness to Thais. The capital of an empire that lasted from the mid-fourteenth century to 1767, Ayuthaya was a thriving metropolis and a center of international trade when London was a muddy village. It's where Siam really took shape. After Burmese invaders sacked the city, the Chakri dynasty moved its capital down the Chao Phrya river to what is now Bangkok, and Ayuthaya crumbled. Today it's a collection of elegant ruins, some partially restored, scattered around a commercial city of no particular distinction. Thais go there in great numbers, though, for merit-making offerings and prayers and for good luck.
Maybe the luckiest spot in Ayuthaya is Wat (temple) Na Phra Meru, built by King Rama III in 1546. The Burmese army used it as a cannon emplacement for firing at the Thai royal palace. But a cannon blew up, badly injuring the Burmese general. He let the wat stand, and it is the only Chakri structure in Ayuthaya still intact.
Most Ayuthaya architecture was filched from the Khmer (Cambodians today will tell you the Thais stole their culture), with lots of tall prangs (brick and masonry towers with corn-cob-shaped spires) and some Hindu-style stupas. With the stately, intricate Khmer artisanry and the sun blazing down, we felt as if we might have been back at Angkor Wat.
The most disturbing Ayuthaya sight was at Wat Phra Mahathat. That's where dozens of Buddha statues have had their heads lopped off, stolen, and sold to antique collectors. It is unclear when this took place, but apparently it was some time ago.
The same wat has a wonderfully satisfying feature, a stone Buddha head smiling out from among the twisted roots of a Bodhi tree. The Bodhi (same as a banyan) grew around the head over the centuries and lifted it several feet off the ground. Other fine Ayuthaya sights were a couple of enormous reclining Buddhas, each draped Christo-like with gauzy monks-robe-orange fabric, and with only The Enlightened One's feet and head sticking out. He looks so comfortable in this position, and I guess with what he knows.
Setting off yesterday, we were as excited about the train ride as we were over the opportunity to walk around in the heat and dust looking at ruins. The second-class cars were sold out for our northward trip, so we rode third-class up, second back. The third-class seats had a bit of padding and were okay, but the car was stifling even with all the windows wide open. The middle-class riders on the air-conditioned subway train to Hua Lamphong Railway Station earlier in the morning seemed so serene on the way to their shops and offices. The sweltering poor on the train looked not so much placid as listless. The man who fell asleep against Joe's shoulder had needle tracks on his hands, Joe said.
The return trip---which we nearly missed after a station agent told us train 112 would be delayed 55 minutes, and then it turned up only half an hour late---was more comfortable. The creaking and groaning coaches resembled those of the New York Central around the year the line went bankrupt. Joe marveled at the ceiling fans which, thanks to an ingenious herky-jerky mechanism, rotated 360 degrees. For a second time yesterday, we watched the rice paddies roll by, and the groves of mangos and banana trees. We were back in Bangkok in time for dinner at Banana Leaf, our favorite restaurant. We had tom yam kung, Penang curry and a not-entirely-Thai Banana Leaf concoction called mayonnaise lime chicken. It is what it sounds like, but with tiny morsels of juicy limes on top, skin and all, that are not only edible but luscious in this peculiar tasty dish.
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