ArchAngel is No Angel at all

I think I have thrown away more shoes than I’ve kept them – expensive branded ones, low cost locally made ones, cheap ones from night markets.

Shoes just hate my bunion-ed, calloused, and skinny feet with long bony toes.  Apart from my Asics running shoes (and they have to be Asics, not Nike), very few fit well.  Most give me blisters – at the heels, at the ankles, and the toes – anywhere I try to avoid them, that’s where blisters attack even more.

And so it was with a hopeful heart that I visited the ArchAngel shoe store at Purvis Street.  It had been highly recommended by at least two friends.  They are supposed to sell super comfy shoes, super good-for-your-feet shoes, super ‘’supportive’’ shoes that are supposed to be ‘’good for you’’.  Actually, they are super ugly to me too. 

But I am nearing 50 – I don’t need to strut around in dangerously high stilettos, and even if I fell from wearing them, I doubt I would fall into the rescuing arms of any tall, dark and handsome (and eligible) man.  Besides, mature women are supposed to be more poised and self confident and can hold her own (style) – including ugly shoes, I guess.

What the self righteous woman at the shop did was to condemn all shoes in the world, except those that are sold at her store.  Worse, she made me feel like I’ve been torturing my feet all my life.  The only way to protect your feet, it seems, is to wear her special pair of sandals at home: ‘’Don’t you feel pain at your heels when you walk at home?’’ she asked incredulously.  ‘’No, why?’’  I asked, even more incredulous.  ‘’The floor is so hard!  You must be sooooo lucky you are not in pain,’’ she declared.  I wanted to retort – for someone who runs marathons, trains almost daily and have had personal training for 7 years, I know how to take care of my JOINTS and legs, and spine, and core muscles to support my body, and would not be such a softie that I would feel pain just walking around at home!

She looked at what I was wearing – a low wedge heel – and immediately pronounced that it was ‘’very bad’’ because it was ‘’no support in front’’.  I told her I used that for short distance walking, like walking from the office nearby to her store during lunch.  Usually I would wear flats as I did not want to stress my calves.  ‘’Flat shoes are bad too,’’ she was quick to retort.  Yes, yes, I know by now that flat shoes, heels, flip flops, slingbacks, peeptoes, wedges, stilettos - anything her shop does not sell, are ‘’bad’’.

Then she proceeded to do a few ‘’demo’s and tests’’ by making me hold my hands in front of me for her to push them down.  In so doing, I leaned forward.  ‘’That, shows your feet are very weak,’’ she pronounced smugly.  Any fool knows that if you pushed me forward, I would lean forward.  In fact, had I resisted and locked my knees, I would have hurt my legs even more!

If she were really educated about feet and strength, she would have known that what is ‘’good’’ for you to protect yourself is not just shoes, but posture, core strength and flexibility – all of which have got nothing to do with shoes.

And if she were really smart about winning over a prospective customer, she should really go for a crash course on tact and basic etiquette.

Bangkok Past and Present

I’ve been visiting Bangkok regularly since the late 90’s.  Whether it was for business or leisure, Bangkok always conjures up images of shopping, eating, street food, inexpensive local snacks and night markets.  

For me – it was more than that. It was images of mercenary and dishonest taxi drivers.  Taxi drivers who demand fares at least four times the metered fare.  Taxi drivers who claim they do not have change.  

My latest trip last week, I noticed: many things have changed, and some things never change.

Bangkok is getting more and more prosperous.  And expensive.  Gleaming skyscraper malls and offices buildings outshine those in Singapore.  Banks are bolder and doing a roaring trade.  Modern eateries and restaurant chains give traditional Thai food a new twist.  The hormuk I used to love do not look nor taste like hormuk.  Desserts are served in unusual receptacles.  The lunch time crowd in these stores are filled with loud, young, trendy executives.  (whatever happened to soft spoken, gentle Thai folks?)

At the airport, all Thai snacks look the same – same packaging, same food, same variety.  Same, same, even the price, which is ridiculously expensive.  But different – they were sold at ‘’different’’ souvenir shops, which all look like they belong to the same clan or cartel anyway.  

Other differences: The airport and the malls are swarming with mainland Chinese.  (In fact, Naraya, the store I used to frequent to get cute, inexpensive fabric gifts, are packed with mainland Chinese who mobbed the store like there was no tomorrow.)  At the airport, I used to be spoken to in Thai (given my tan).  These days, they speak to me in Mandarin.  The Chinese are ruling the world.

And the Africans are making their presence felt.  The hotel at I stayed was full of them – monopolising the receptionists and not understanding anything the receptionist tried to explain, including check out time, payment, reservation...

Sometimes amidst all the differences, one looks for the familiarity for consolation.  Not so in my case, when the only familiarity is about mercenary taxi drivers.  

After dinner at CentralWorld, I tried to take a cab back to the hotel.  All the cabs lined outside the mall demanded a flat 150 baht for a 10 minute ride round the corner.  I tried to get them to use the metre, or to reduce the price, but they would not budge, but smirked instead.  ‘’I have to pay parking here,’’ they lied. 

Disgusted, I walked to a nearby hotel hoping the bellboy would help hail a cab.  There was a group before me, and many cabs dropped in and went away.  They all demanded 200 baht, despite the intervention of the bellboy.  The cab drivers here all have ‘’the same face’’, he explained.  Finally he managed to get one who would take the group for 120 baht.

Next came my turn.  The driver who came by agreed to go by the metre, said the bellboy.  I hopped into the car thinking it was too good to be true.  And I was right.  My ex dean used to say, ‘’if something is too good to be true, then it is too good to be true!’’.  After driving off the hotel porch, the driver switched off his metre and said, ‘’200 baht’’.  I told him to switch the metre on, and he said, ‘’150 baht’’.  I barked, ‘’STOP; I get off NOW.’’  And he switched his metre back on.  

After that I almost regretted being so aggressive.  What if he drove me to some deserted place and dumped me off?  Working for my current company has made me rather paranoid.  

Well, he did not, and delivered me safely back to my hotel.  

Back in my hotel, I decided Bangkok is no longer the fun, shopping and food paradise it used to be.  True, I’ve had great memories of hanging out with friends and colleagues there, and true, I’ve been there on gleeful shopping spree.  

But that was the Bangkok I knew.  The Bangkok I know today is the city I would grudgingly go for a night on a hurried business trip to meet and handle my scheming colleagues.