The Earthquake

On the afternoon of this Friday (28 March), a magnitude-7.7 earthquake hit Myanmar and Thailand. The epicenter was located near Mandalay, but the shockwaves were also felt in Chiangmai and Bangkok, the largest city to be seriously affected by the tremors. Because of Bangkok's shallow and sandy ground, and the large number of high-rise buildings, we felt it particularly hard.

This is not meant to be a replacement for the news, and while the situation in Myanmar is far worse than here, all I can really talk about is what the situation is like in Bangkok right now. This is going to be more of an anecdotal piece, and one in which I will sort of "trauma dump" my experiences.

Without compare, this was the most terrifying experience of my life.

I was sitting on my bed and doing some work on my computer when I suddenly felt very dizzy. At first, I was afraid that I was having a medical issue and that I was going to faint. This, it turns out, was a very widespread phenomenon of people in Bangkok. It's not a super common experience during earthquakes, but because of Bangkok's unique sandy soil, we experienced a rapid series of micro-tremors called "foreshocks" before the event itself which make you feel faint and disoriented even before your body can actually feel or comprehend any tremors.

I heard what I thought was heavy wind hitting the window of my 19th floor condo, and tried to stand, but immediately fell down. I realized that I couldn't stand easily, and I stared in shock out of the window for a few seconds. I could see the ground coming towards me, then the sky, and I realized that the building was swaying alarmingly from side to side. Objectively, I cannot say how much we were rocking back and forth. It felt like ten feet in either direction. Of course, being up on the 19th floor, I felt it much more strongly than someone on the ground might have. I began hearing loud cracking sounds, and I was sure that this was it.

As Bangkok is not known as an area with much, if any, seismic activity, my first thought (one shared, I've come to learn, by nearly every other expat I've spoken with or seen share their accounts online), was that the building was collapsing due to poor construction, and that a catastrophic architectural failure was imminent.

I froze for around five seconds, staring out of the window at the nauseating rocking. It felt like standing on the deck of a ship in a very bad storm. I thought with 100% certainty that this was it. The building was going to fall, and I was going to die as it went down. For a brief second, I considered calling my wife just to tell her that I loved her, but as the building continued rocking, things fell off of my walls, and furniture collapsed around the room, I sprang into action.

I realized that I had two choices: take my chances in the collapsing tower or try my best to escape.

The emergency alarm went off, and red lights began flashing as I scrambled around the rocking room, barely able to stand. I was able to grab my phone and my wallet, and threw my poor, traumatized cat, Cricket, into a random backpack and bolted out of the room. Somehow, I was aware enough despite my panic to pick up the keys to my wife's grandmother's house as I sprinted out of the door.

I hurried to the stairwell where dozens of screaming and panicking residents were making their ways downstairs. None of us knew what was going on.

As we jogged downstairs, the rocking continued, and I could see cracks forming in the plaster of the walls and ceiling. Any second, I thought, the building was going to come down around us, but I wasn't going to give up without trying my best to save myself and our beloved cat.

I made it to the ground floor where staff, staring up in horror at the rocking tower, were yelling and ushering us away from the building. On the ground, I was finally able to answer the phone, which my wife had been blowing up in panic for the past five minutes and told her that we were both ok. That's when she informed me that there had been an earthquake, and it was the first moment in which I began to realize what was really going on.

My legs were shaking from the chaotic sprint down 19 flights of stairs, and my heart was pounding so hard in my chest that I thought I really was about to faint. I jogged to the street while everyone else around me milled about in stunned shock. Some people wore only towels, clearly just out of the shower.

I hailed a cab and told him to drive me to my wife's family house. As soon as I sat down in the taxi, all of the adrenaline and stress hit me like a truck, and I began coughing and gasping for breath. I realized that I was having a panic attack. It's the first time that I've ever experienced anything like that. I was gasping for air and felt like I couldn't breathe at all. It was very scary, but I realized what was happening and began taking shallow breaths to calm myself down. The poor taxi driver probably thought that I was about to expire right there in the backseat of his cab.

Traffic was terrible. Even though the house is just a 20-minute walk from my condo, it still took well over 40 minutes to drive there. However, I didn't want to walk due to my panicked state and my concern for Cricket. Once we were safely inside the cab, I unzipped my backpack to give some air to my cat, who looked up at me totally unbothered by the whole episode.

We finally got to the house. I got my cat food and water, and everything was quiet and calm for the first time.

I tried to sit down and relax, but I was still shaking. I kept scanning the news to see how bad the earthquake had really been. One building, still under construction, collapsed not too far away from where I live, and several tall buildings have sustained extensive damage. The public transport has shut down, and all high-rise condos and hotels have been evacuated, but it could have been so much worse.

The only thing I could think to do was to go wander around, just to be around other people. I took a very hot shower, washing off the dust. I walked across the street and ordered the spiciest basil crispy pork stir fry that I could. It was surreal. Traffic was completely stopped, and hundreds of people who could not return to their buildings were just sort of wandering on the sidewalks in a daze.

I don't have my computer with me, so I can't work. I don't have my passport with me. All I have is my phone, wallet, cat, and the clothes that I'm wearing. We are very lucky that we have somewhere to stay for a few nights. A lot of people don't. Any high-rise hotel has been closed, and all of the other hotels have been completely booked up. The governor of Bangkok has ordered that the city's parks be opened up overnight for a sort of makeshift camp. They are going to be providing mobile toilets and water trucks, and lots of people who live in high-rises are going to have to camp out overnight.

The next steps are less clear. It seems that there are going to be two rounds of safety checks on every building. First, the construction companies will have a private engineer come out for a preliminary check of the external and internal walls to assess if it's stable. After we get the all-clear, we will be allowed to reenter the building to collect important things. After that, we will have to wait for an architectural engineer from the government to do a full inspection. This is what the refer to as a "destructive inspection", meaning that they will have to tear down some of the walls and ensure that the internal structure is still safe. That could take days or a week or more. We still don't know.

But no matter what, Bangkok just keeps moving. This is such a resilient city, and I think that this was the test that proved that the infrastructure here really is up to the task. Power and water are running as normal, and pretty much all shops and restaurants have kept their doors open. Business as usual! Thank you, 7-Eleven! I was able to get a phone charger, cat food, and a microwaved dinner for the night.

The night after the earthquake, I still felt terrible. I had a horrible stress headache, and my legs still felt shaky (but more so, probably, from the unexpected exercise than from anxiety). I didn't sleep well that night. On the second night, I had my first earthquake nightmare. I'm doing ok, but I think I'm still a little freaked out from the whole experience.

But do you know the funniest thing? My wife's grandma is in her 90s. She's a very devout Buddhist and was meditating at the time of the earthquake. She said that she didn't notice anything happening. She just thought that some of the angels or spirits were teasing her or were responding to her prayers by rocking her back and forth. She's very "with-it" and I just think it's very funny (and actually very good that she wasn't standing or trying to walk downstairs) that she didn't notice anything until my wife called her to make sure she was ok!

Manila Layover

I had big plans for my 12-hour layover in the Philippines.

Unfortunately, after my flight was delayed leaving New York, it ended up being bumpier than I had expected. I didn't get any sleep for the entire 17.5-hour flight, and by the time I landed in Manila, I was feeling pretty poorly.

Originally, I had planned to take a food tour and explore the city a bit, but in the end, I decided to stay in the airport.

However, after about 20 minutes looking around what was probably the most bleak and tiny international terminal I've ever seen, I knew that I couldn't take another hour of this place, much less half a day.

After doing a little research on my phone, I discovered that there was a capsule hotel in another of the airport's terminals, and I set off to take a nap.

Read more: The Blog of Michael Desrosiers: My Experience at a Japanese Capsule Hotel

Weirdly, the three terminals of Manila's Ninoy Aquino International Airport are all located several kilometers from each other. That meant that I had to go through Immigration (technically, that means I've now officially visited the Phillippines!), hire a taxi, and travel across town to the other terminal.

By the time I finally arrived, I was more than happy to pay the approximately $17 USD for a hot shower, snack buffet, and capsule of my own. My capsule came with a small sack containing a bar of soap, a sachet of shampoo, and a toothbrush, and about 20 minutes later, I was laying down, exhausted yet refreshed, in my tiny little capsule.

After a wonderful nap, I awoke, grabbed my backpack, and got another taxi back to my original terminal. Hours later, I was finally back in Bangkok.

My experience in the Philippines wasn't the most exciting, but at least I can say that I've officially be to a new country (if I get a passport stamp, then it counts!).

Crookies and Cloisters (1300th Post)

We awoke early in New York City, and Mom and I headed out for breakfast and coffee. I had really wanted to try a "crookie" while in town, and I ordered one for us to share.

A crookie typically consists of a buttery, flaky croissant stuffed with a cookie dough filling, resulting in a crispy, chewy, and layered treat. Like its cousin the cronut, the crookie is a popular pastry in New York which has gone viral on social media in the past few years.

Today, our plan was to visit The Cloisters, branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art dedicated to the art, architecture, and gardens of medieval Europe. Located at Fort Tryon Park just north of Manhattan, the museum is built to evoke the atmosphere of a medieval monastery and is filled with art and artifacts from the European Romanesque and Gothic periods.

In the early 20th century, American sculptor and collector George Grey Barnard amassed an impressive collection of medieval European artifacts, which he displayed in his private museum in Upper Manhattan.

During the First World War, Barnard was heartbroken to see so many abbeys, castles, churches, and monasteries in Europe destroyed or looted for stones, bricks, and other materials. At the time, it was still uncommon to recognize the inherent historical value of old buildings.

Barnard, born to modest means but later achieving financial success as a sculptor, faced near financial ruin due to his obsession with acquiring and preserving medieval art and architecture. 

His passion drove him to collect an extraordinary array of European artifacts and architectural elements, which he displayed in his private museum in Upper Manhattan. 

Recognizing the cultural significance of Barnard’s work, John D. Rockefeller Jr. purchased Barnard's entire collection in 1925 and donated it to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. 

Along with this generous contribution, Rockefeller also gifted land in what is today Fort Tryon Park to provide an ideal setting for a new museum dedicated to medieval art. 

To enhance the immersive experience, five authentic medieval cloisters (monastic courtyards from France and Spain) were purchased, disassembled, transported to New York, and meticulously reconstructed brick by brick. These ancient structures now hold the exhibitions at the museum.

When The Cloisters opened in 1938, it stood as a remarkable achievement, both a tribute to Barnard’s artistic vision and Rockefeller’s dedication to cultural preservation.

By the nature of the collection, the art is mostly religious, but there are some really interesting and fairly whimsical items on display as well. 

For example, one wall featured a painting of a camel. Camels would have been unheard of in Europe, but due to extensive Medieval trade with the Middle East, art from Egypt, Syria, and Arabia would have made its way back to Europe.

The Fuentidueña Apse, on the other hand, is an incredibly well-preserved example of a Romanesque chapel. Originally part of a 12th-century church in Fuentidueña, Spain, the stunning structure was nearly destroyed by war before its rescue in the mid 20th century. This ambitious effort not only preserved the structure but also allowed a significant piece of European history to find a new home where it continues to inspire visitors.

Descending the stairs of the museum, we came into a bright and airy room wrapped with stained glass windows.

This solemn and reverent hall displayed coffins of several Medieval knights, lords, and ladies.

I was very curious to learn more about how every buried knight had a carving of a dog at his feet. These carvings symbolize loyalty, courage, and guardianship, which are qualities admired in knights.

The presence of a faithful hound at a knight's feet was believed to signify the knight's unwavering dedication to duty and the protection of his family or kingdom. The symbolism ties closely to the themes of steadfast devotion seen in medieval religious and artistic traditions.

Before leaving, we visited the "Unicorn Room", perhaps the most famous exhibition at the museum.

The Unicorn Tapestries are among the most enigmatic works of medieval art. This series of seven woven panels, created in the late 15th or early 16th century in the Southern Netherlands, depicts the hunt, capture, and symbolic death of a unicorn. Praised for their vibrant detail, each panel features lush, detailed depictions of flora and fauna, with over a hundred identifiable plant species woven into the design. 

While the exact meaning of the tapestries remains a mystery, they are often interpreted as allegories of love, purity, and Christian symbolism, with the unicorn representing Christ, and its capture symbolizing the Passion. The tapestries' remarkable preservation, combined with their captivating imagery, makes them one of the most treasured highlights of The Cloisters' collection.

The most famous tapestry at The Cloisters, and the image which adorns most of the items in the gift shop, is The Unicorn Rests in a Garden.

One of the most interesting artifacts on display was a narwhal tusk, recovered from a medieval castle's collection.

Once thought to be the horns of unicorns by Europeans who had never seen, nor could ever imagine a narwhal, these tusks were treasured and kept in churches across Europe. One tusk at Saint-Denis near Paris was believed to have been gifted to Charlemagne in the ninth century by the Abbasid caliph Harun al-Rashid. Another, housed in San Marco, Venice, was said to have been a gift from the legendary Ottoman Sultan Süleyman the Magnificent himself.

It was still early in the day, and since our ticket also included entry to the main branch of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, we decided to make our way towards America's largest museum and the fifth largest in the world.

Founded in 1870, the Met was created by a group of businessmen and philanthropists who wanted to create an institution for the preservation of arts and artifacts which would educate and inspire the American public.

The Temple of Dendur is one of the most iconic and awe-inspiring exhibits at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. Dating back to 15 B.C., the temple was originally constructed by order of the Roman Emperor Augustus to honor the Egyptian goddess Isis, the god Osiris, and two deified sons of a local Nubian chieftain, Pedesi and Pihor. 

The temple once stood on the banks of the Nile in Dendur, a village in Nubia (now part of modern-day southern Egypt). In the 1960s, when the construction of the Aswan High Dam threatened to submerge numerous ancient monuments, the Egyptian government gifted the Temple of Dendur to the United States in gratitude for its efforts in helping to save other endangered sites. The temple was dismantled, transported to New York, and meticulously reassembled in a specially designed wing at The Met.

Displayed within a vast, light-filled gallery with a reflecting pool that echoes the temple’s original riverside setting, the structure invites visitors to experience the grandeur of ancient Egyptian architecture up close. The sandstone temple is adorned with intricate carvings depicting scenes of offerings to the gods and hieroglyphic inscriptions, blending Egyptian iconography with Roman influences.

After a cup of coffee, we moved on and explored more of the exhibits. In the American Wing, I especially enjoyed the beautiful stained-glass windows made by Tiffany and Co. I had a much greater appreciation for Tiffany glasswork after visiting the New York Historical Society.

I had a wonderful time in New York, but it was time for me to fly back to Thailand. I had only booked a short trip back to the States, and I needed to get back home.

That night, I bade farewell to my mom and brother. After a nice dinner by the fireplace at Mom's hotel's lounge, I headed back to JFK. My flight was delayed by several hours, but it was fine... by 2am, I was finally boarded, and ready to head back to Bangkok by way of Manilla.

Ellis Island

After a soft pretzel and a cup of coffee on the boat, Mom and I disembarked the ferry from Liberty Island and stepped onto the docks in front of an imposing red brick French Renaissance-style hall.

Between 1892 and 1954, nearly 12 million immigrants arrived in the United States via their first port of call at Ellis Island. The country's most famous immigration center, currently federally operated and managed jointly by both New York and New Jersey, was reopened as a museum in 1990 after decades of abandonment. It is now part of the Statue of Liberty National Monument.

One of the most iconic features at the museum is the Annie Moore Statue. The bronze statue was a gift from the Irish president, and commemorates Annie Moore (1874-1924), the very first immigrant to pass through federal immigration inspection at Ellis Island in 1892. A twin statue is located at Cobh in Ireland, from where many Irish and European immigrants departed. It symbolizes the long close history of immigration between the Ireland and the United States. The statues were created by Jeanne Rynhart who also designed the famous statue of Molly Malone in Dublin.

When Annie Moore arrived in the United States, she was welcomed by immigration official and given a $10 US golden eagle (worth around $2000 in 2025 money) to commemorate her as the first immigrant to arrive at the office.

Ellis Island stands as a powerful symbol of hope, hardship, and the immigrant experience in America. For millions of people seeking a better life, it was the first stop on their journey to a new beginning, yet for many, the experience was fraught with uncertainty and fear.

New arrivals would disembark from their ships, clutching their meager belongings and what little money they had. They stood in long, winding queues, anxiously hoping that their contacts in America had completed the necessary paperwork. The inspection process was swift for some, but for others, it was a daunting ordeal that could stretch into days or weeks.

The medical examinations were particularly intense. Doctors would perform what became known as “six-second physicals,” scanning immigrants for any visible signs of illness, injury, or disability. Those who raised concern might be marked with chalk on their clothing. This mark led to an extensive quarantine, invasive medical testing, or, in the worst cases, deportation. The prospect of being turned away after such a long journey was terrifying, and for families separated during the process, it was heartbreaking.

For those who faced deportation, there was still one final hope: the Court of Appeals. Here, a small number of immigrants could challenge their rejection, presenting evidence or testimony in hopes of reversing the decision.

The government provided translators as advocates to help new prospective immigrants make their cases. However, the court process was not always easy, and many suspected of coming to America without proper funds or with plans of working illegally were ultimately turned away and deported back to their homelands.

For those who were detained, the experience was bleak and isolating. The dormitories at Ellis Island were cold and crowded, with rows of iron-framed beds packed into shared spaces. Immigrants who had to stay overnight or longer endured uncomfortable conditions, their fate hanging in the balance as they awaited decisions that could alter the course of their lives.

Those with medical issues had to stay on the island for weeks or months until cleared by doctors.

Today, the Ellis Island Immigration Museum tells these powerful stories. The museum is home to a vast collection of artifacts that reflect the journeys of those who passed through its halls. Historical records document the struggles and triumphs of immigrants, while video testimonies from modern-day immigrants give voice to those continuing this journey today.

Watching those testimonies filled me with immense pride in what it means to be American. The courage, resilience, and determination shared in those stories exemplify the true spirit of immigration and the belief that people from all walks of life can contribute to building something greater. 

Liberty Island

Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free

A small fleet of ferries run between Battery Park, Liberty Island, and Ellis Island every day, shuttling visitors of the national monument between its two main locations.

We boarded Miss Liberty at Battery Park, and after going through airport-style security (understandable due to the statue's status as a national symbol), we were soon on our way across New York Harbor and heading towards the Statue of Liberty.

The inside of the boat was warm and cozy, with a small snack bar and plenty of seating, but Mom and I ascended the stairs to the upper deck. We wanted to have a great view of Lady Liberty as we crossed the harbor.

I have only been to New York City one time before. Twelve years ago, when I was in my Senior year of college, my mom took my siblings and me on a Spring Break trip to the Big Apple.

Hurricane Sandy, one of the most devastating storms in the nation's history with winds up to 110 mph, 233 deaths, and over $50 billion of damage, had recently hit New York, and the Statue of Liberty was one of the landmarks damaged in the storm. It was closed for repairs when we visited. We took a New York Harbor cruise instead, and I could only see the statue from afar.

 

This time, I was actually going to visit the Statue of Liberty, and I couldn't have been more excited! It's one of America's most iconic symbols, and somewhere I had been wanting to visit in person for most of my life.

About 25 minutes after boarding, the boat arrived at Bedloe's Island, also known as Liberty Island. Like millions of Americans over the past century, we got our first glimpse of Lady Liberty as we were making our way across the harbor.

Since 2007, Lady Liberty has appeared on the $1 coin. Even though I've seen her on coins and in photographs for all of my life, it was still an entirely different experience to see the statue in person with my own eyes.

Officially called "Liberty Enlightening the World", the statue was a gift from the people of France to the people of the United States.

At the time, France had gone through a tumultuous period of alternating monarchies, empires, and republics, and looked to the United States as a symbol of republican stability and liberty. France, in turn, was considered America's closest and oldest ally. France was the first foreign nation to recognize United States sovereignty and was integral in America's victory in the Revolutionary War.

The brainchild of French artist and sculptor Frédéric Auguste Bartholdi, the Statue of Liberty is made of copper. When it was unveiled in 1886, it was a bright, shiny brown like a new penny. By 1906, however, the statue's copper had oxidized and had developed its famous blue-green patina.

The statue is that of Libertas, the Roman goddess of freedom. She holds a torch above her head and carries a tabula ansata inscribed JULY IV MDCCLXXVI, or July 4, 1776, the date of the signing of the United States Declaration of Independence. Her left foot treads upon a broken chain and shackle, which symbolizes America's victory in the Civil War just years before.

The original concept of Lady Liberty's torch as envisioned by Bartholdi, was a copper torch covered in a shell of gold and illuminated by floodlights. However, worries about electrical expenses at the time caused him to reimagine his design. Instead, he first tried to design a torch with cutout windows before finally settling on a stained-glass flame.

The original torch lit up the top of the statue until 1984, when nearly a century of weathering necessitated a renovation. With newer technology, the United States government, in honor of the original design, replaced the torch with a new copper and gold torch according to the original specifications. The older stained-glass torch now sits at the on-site museum on permanent display. Although there are stairs to the top of the torch, public access has been barred since 1916, and now the highest that most people are permitted is the statue's crown.

We had pedestal tickets, which granted us access up to the base of the statue. Crown tickets were more expensive. In hindsight, it would have been a good time to visit the crown as the monument was way less crowded than usual due to the cold weather.

We showed our tickets, went through security again, and were granted access to the statue's pedestal. While the statue of Lady Liberty itself was a gift from France, the pedestal was designed and built by the United States.

Instead of climbing up the steps of the pedestal, we took the elevator. Soon, we were looking out from 151 feet across New York Harbor.

From inside the pedestal, you can look up into the windowed ceiling to see the narrow double-helix staircase winding its way up to the statue's crown.

From the look of the metal scaffolding inside the statue, it's really no surprise to learn that the interior supports were designed by none other than Gustave Eiffel. I even quizzed my wife about this. I showed her this photo and asked her who she thought designed it. She got it on the first try. That's how recognizable his designs are!

As we descended down the stairs, we saw some of the gigantic bolts which attach the statue to its base.

It was lunchtime, but none of the junk food at the on-site canteen appealed to us. We browsed the giftshop, got our national park passport stamps, and queued up for the next ferry to Ellis Island, the second stop on our full-day national monument tour.