The five star cummunist

A 'salon communist'.
That's what my family often call me. And today was a pretty perfect example of that.

I flew into Bangkok late afternoon, completely exhausted. But as always when I fly - I had dressed up a little: a red paisly patterned shirt with my new black velvet pinstripe trousers and my old, worn-out blue velvet jacket.
I was travelling light - only the little 19th century suitcase, about the size of a large hat-box and my beloved man-purse. But all the style didn't help, because - as always when I fly - I was late and in a hurry at every stage of the journey and thus somewhat sweaty and smelly by the end.
So the purpose of this trip is neither style nor salon communism - I'm flying to Bhutan in the Himalayas to inaugurate a develpment project with the Royal University of Bhutan together with my mother and two brothers, who had already arrived in Bangkok (apart from Delhi the only airport that Druk Air - Bhutan's Royal Airline - flies to) a day before me.
My mother had generously booked us into "The Oriental" - a fine choice, from what I'd heard. I said I'd be quite happy to stay in a youthhostel on 'Cowsan Load' for $7 a night, but she insisted.

So after a fun taxi ride with a friendly Thai guy called Get (?) I arrived at the hotel. I hadn't noticed that my two brothers and my mother had seen me arrive from the lobby and were lining the entrance doors in Japanese-hotel-employee style: bowing with their hands pressed together in front of them as I entered. It was a very sweet welcome - I hadn't seen them for three months.
The lobby was filled with warm light and wonderfully enchanting smells. A MASSIVE fresh flower arrangement, looking like a super-size bouquet, made the centre-piece of the wide, glass-walled room. A beautiful little Thai lady with a sweet, soft-spoken voice approached me before I could even sit down in one of the comfy sofa chairs: "Welcome, Mr. Ibing. Would you kindly give me your passport, so I can check you in?"
A minute later she returned with the room key and a bracelet made of ambrosial jasmine blossoms strung together with three larger, sturdy purple blossoms of another kind.
I was stunned. Luxury and comfort are beautiful things.

However, the travelling had left their marks on my jacket: as we sat around a little glass-top table with a bowl of salted cashew nuts on it, chatting and catching up, my older brother Benedikt noticed a little swarm of mosquitos circling above my velvet jacket. "I haven't seen any mosquitos since I got here. And now there's a whole swarm above your jacket!"

Then I got 'escorted' to my room by the pretty reception lady. Now I have grown up somewhat spoilt, but the luxury of these hotels always amazes me.


The hotel has a definite fresh flower theme going on, which is wonderful. I had barely enjoyed the peace of the 11th floor room and being on my own after all the travelling, when the unnecessarily loud room-door-bell rang. A humble and friendly man dressed in white cotton bowed with a tray in his hand: "Welcome drink for you, Sir."
But it wasn't just a glass of great orange juice: Next to it was a tiny little flat basket with three open blossoms of a dark pink exotic flower, with little droplets of water sprinkled over it. This was the essence of luxury: not only is that which is provided of the best quality, but it also comes with something purely sensually pleasing that has no other purpose than to please.

Dinner was amazing. I stuffed myself, partly because it was just so delicious, but also because I thought: better have as much of this as I can before going back to my student existence.

- I just had to! -