T
he first thing to welcome me
was an entirely new smell: strong, pungent, wonderful.
Tropical flowers, hot pavement, damp air, bus and tuktuk fumes with a dash of perspiration. Now, forty-three
years later, when I land in Bangkok, I am overwhelmed
once more by this alchemy the moment the plane lands
and its doors open.
But what first happened in that pungent atmosphere?
In 1967 a young woman of twenty-four arrived with her
eighteen-month old daughter to join her husband and
have a life in Bangkok. A war raged in nearby Vietnam
that touched everyone in some way. Whether one was in
involved in diplomatic relations or getting milk to orphans,
the knowledge that people were dying constantly
harangued our thoughts.
HYLAND
