He’s a little gaunt, maybe even severe. And he salutes me—and I don’t get saluted often. Hardly ever. I guess that’s not surprising. So on my first jet-lagged day in Bangkok I was a bit caught off guard to find myself saluted by a very serious man dressed suspiciously like a police officer.
What was it? Maybe my shaved head, suggesting military? Maybe It’s the two-toned, collared shirt that I’m wearing. If you are somewhat color blind and squint at it a bit, you might think it was one of the military shirts worn by the guards at the US Embassy, which is just down the road from my hotel. Head, shirt, both, neither. I couldn’t tell.