(almost) SMOKELESS IN BANGKOK AND PHNOM PENH

The Holy Trinity

Knowledge and impact were compressed into 7 slides in under an hour to steer a parallel workshop in Singapore and break the ground in Phnom Penh where impact stories and 35 candidacies will be sown.

But Step 3 is one salary for several timesheets, just enough for a mountain of spicy pork bone soup and  a plate of grilled fish wrap to honor the Guardian Lion.

The seeds were prepared for cultivation despite Monday's insipid khai jiao that was almost eclipsed by Tuesday's fibrous French toast, so the task force gathered at the banks of the Chao Praya River for a cruise with grilled shrimps, baked mussels, and salmon sashimi that were herded by folk dancers for the benefit of the Weaponized Leopard.

Prayers of gratitude and continuing patronage were conveyed to the Creator God Phra Phrom and Supreme God Ganesha in comemoration of a brave heart, of our own story of hope and faith, of soft-boiled eggs and stale croissants that broke the impasse on mandate and governance to conclude the Bangkok Annual Meeting.  

The response to Melbourne's inquiries sounded like the crunch of crispy fried pork and the final sigh of a steamed seabass as a bucket of strength, honor, and good fortune was poured for The Elephant. 

The Transition 

27 of the 35 survived the first reaping, two trains trailed the scent of a cold sandwich to the airport, grilled Khmer pork was etched into pale lagers as a modern wordmark.

The A Team

Personality profiles unlocked commitments and responsibilities to deliver the A Team's modus operandi, to usher the dominant crispiness of deep fried morning glory with grilled beef that relegated a Khmer-style steak into a steady second place because its accompanying prahok was not enough to infuence a parade of roaring tigers that were led by the North Star into the sillhoutte of Angkor Wat. 

I was smokeless in Bangkok until the distinct smell of kretek led me to a conclave of feminine slim from Yangon, toasted tobacco from Dhaka, and the familiar flavor of of mild filters from Manila while in Phnom Penh, the neighborhood shop still sell Mevius for 500 riel per stick that can only be lighted at a street corner food cart.

The last of these coffin nails were smoked after PR 2622 landed at the Salcedo Saturday Market before breaking our fast with failed imitations of Vietmamese noodle, 4 hours before lunching in Baloc and another 4 hours prior to the presentation of lechong paksiw for the MILFs in Bakal 2, a day before an impromptu bar celebrated 36 years of campus activism. 

A TAIL OF TWO CITIES (with apologies to Charles Dickens)

"It was the best of times..." [Despite the PR 529 purser's best efforts to shut down an unconscious loud mouth, the call for transition from declaration to action was delivered in Kuala Lumpur].

 

"It was the age of wisdom..." [The current house was built on unreliable commitments so a smaller house by the beach in Rayong was reimagined for the tougher days ahead].

"It was the epoch of belief..." [A new frontier in the care economy unfolded like boxed roast lamb in a co-working space before the online check-in portal for TG 146 collapsed].

"It was the season of light..." [A horde of tourists chase the silhouettes of the Petronas Towers; Merdeka 118 pointed to the heavens from the 19th floor of the Grand Millenium].

"It was the spring of hope..."[Smuggled shawarma from the kitchen of Damascus were hauled as pilfered tote bags into a monorail that  passed undetected through the Habab Gate at the speed of KLIA Ekspres, then loaded into an elevator for two airport train transfers to the 5th floor of the Royal Princess where the pita wrap revealed pieces of crispy pork and an omelette].  

"We had everything before us..." [A squid infestation at the 3rd floor of the Kantary Bay Hotel in Rayong was overloaded with another omelette and cubes of a fried sea bass that got snared in the plastic chairs and tables littering Saeng Chan Beach].

"We were all going direct to Heaven..." [Fleets of krathongs from the Festival of Lights conveyed prayers to the Buddha of Wat Sunthon Thammathan and the statue of Phisuea Samut, an ogress that has been venerated as the patron and guardian of the sea]. 

ASEAN 2025 is at its tail end and in tribute, the Phantom Biker found a corner aboard PR 733 where he tapped a ballad about two cities:

"I see hibiscus blossoms all over Kuala Lumpur's trains

I see temples adorning the Bangkok landscape 

I see high team spirits despite an annual reaping..."

Back in Bakal 2, a boxed hooter from Baloc serenaded a 69th birthday that, in lieu of the anticipated onslaught of Fung-wong, intentionally under-salted the dinakdakan and tiim na pata. 

NIGHTS OF THE KAI JEOW

A monkey sleeps soundly by the Chatrium's pool. 

Inside the Autumn Room, chieftains debated on what they already knew but pretend not to. 

The time allocated for a private sector engagement to mobilize money for renewable energy solutions was not enough.

A fish bowl overflowed with denunciations of a sadomasochistic bureaucracy.

Reimagining a rainbow coalition will restore the normative framework in shifting a prevalent "no because" culture to a "yes if" approach.

In a penthouse bar somewhere, inequality was eclipsed by a billiard game between an erstwhile country director who stayed and the program manager who moved on. 

The frying pan hissed with flavors of Thai omelette.

Eggs vigorously beaten into a a quick PMU meeting, seasoned with nam pla to liberate an embargoed impact measurement, then toasted in boiling oil at a poolside caucus. 

The monkey woke up, asked that his kai jeow be stuffed with crab meat and ground pork instead of an over-sized pla pao, a shared pad kra pao, and chewy yum nua. 

An extended procurement for Kuala Lumpur required 4 days of working out to prep for a risk assessment of the Bangkok airport and Manila's harrowing halloween traffic.

Sign-off in the time of simulatenous birthday celebrations.

A bottle of gold-infused sparkling wine instigated a duel between a delicate kalderatang kambing and wind-burned dinakdakan for the dead of Bakal 2 and Almaguer. 

Matured in sherry casks, The Macallan M Single Malt evoked wood spices but it was reheated leftovers that carried the weekend's sign-off 

The Phantom Biker's siopao from San Jose is filled with Starbucks' cheesecake at the lounge of the Ramen Butcher in anticipation of PR 529 (not 509). 

THE BANGKOK CLIMATE ACTION WEEK

Hot gasses must be banished to save the world from hell.

So I came, I spoke, I moderated after 3.5 months of self-imposed seclusion at home that was long enough to render a pre-boarding sleepless night in Bakal 2 and a diarrheic episode at Panay Avenue.

"We must elevate justice principles and community voices in transboundary energy transition financing," I told the Monday meetings at the airport, adding that "We need to strengthen the alignment of financial institutions with climate commitments".

What I did not tell them is beer will be the liquid rice accompaniment to Aree Seafood's grilled salted tilapia and Soi Polo's Michelin-listed fried chichen, and to perk up a boring networking cocktail reception at the Conrad Hotel.  

In Bangkok, the inbox opens every morning and in each episode, complicated procurements were slowly untangled, a report was polished for review and sign-off, and another flight booked, among others, before engaging the running track of of the Benchakitti Forest Park for the benefit of climate justice, for the last bowl of Tomyum Noodle Soup before the Ploenchit Market closes down at 2 pm, and for the first serving of crispy prok belly as the stalls opened at the Rangnam Market at 5 pm.

A digital arrival card was unexpected but the makeshift kitchens in the streets of Bangkok look and smell the same where hawkers scurry in preparing an 8-course Thai welcome dinner for the horde at Baan Glom Gig who were being prepped for the execution of a 2026 Flagship Activities Masterplan. 

Rangnam turned out to be a fluke, some place at the Victory Monument BTS Station where I used to buy crispy pork, sticky rice, and sweet Thai coffee for breakfast.

The Isan food stall in front of the gas station that is being demolished is gone, so are the pork rib noodles and dancing shrimp vendors. 

Free airconditioned air and wifi wafted from a King Power Duty Free Shop but I did not pass through 6 BTS stations for that. 

I should have taken the train to Yaowarat or walked to Silom.

But the Grab driver already dropped me at a self check-in kiosk that opened the E-gates of Suvarnabhumi Airport. 

A ligtning alert took the duration of a Conclave but there was enough time to catch a first class bus to Bakal 2 where the remaining credit card and phone bill payments wre finally transacted...

ODE TO THE THAI OMELET

The word (omelette) is French in origin but the dish is believed to be Persian (present day Iran).

Kai Jeaw is Thailand's version of the omelet and like the Pinoy adobo, its pretty much a DIY dish for any meal of the day, and is said to be the ultimate Thai comfort food and unofficial national dish!

It is described as "crunchy yet fluffy, golden brown pancake-like yet rich and savory, and often combined with additional ingredients".

I'm addicted to Thai omelet that I always pair with Ko Mu Yang (grilled pork neck) and cold Chang beer, my week's staple in Bangkok 5 dinners  in a row. 

That's from when the pope went to the other side as we transformed Chatrium's Spring Room into a portrait of where we are and where we should be, an alchemy hub of compliance and program quality, and an assembly line of elements for Year 4 as a potential border dispute in Bakal 2 popped up...  

...to spice a hell-hot omelet-less Chinese dinner, sweeten an elevated omelet-less Thai lunch after the rain that never came, and summon the Holy Trinity of Thai beers to preside over the interment of a superstar under the patronage of the Blessed Boat People of Nakhon Pathom and three doses of sleep catchers.

Omelet though was not in the menu of the malls of Siam but I did find 5 pairs of socks for only THB 100 in lieu of my inclusion in the waiting list of PR 731 rendering me ineligible for an online check-in.

The moto-sai driver from Naradhiwas smelled like cooking omelet, pungent unlike the enticing aroma of the White Ladies of the train cars to Suvarnabhhumi, almost ethereal like the radiation emanating from a seatmate in the bus to Ilagan; a palette of grilled fish, roadside papaya salad, and pork done two ways to wrap up our Bangkok midterm assessment that almost did not happen...