The longer you live, the more friends you tell goodbye.
A lifetime ago in Bangkok’s Chitralada palace garden I met Her Stunningly Gorgeous Majesty Queen Sirikit of Thailand. Tiny perfect figure. Ebony black hair. The face marble. Swathed in Thai silk. We stayed friends all these years. She left us last week.
We had many visits — me there, she here. Once, in accented excellent English as we sat in the sweltering sun, she told me: “Due to my country’s blessed weather I have no lines in my face. It is because I perspire so often. This is what keeps my skin smooth.”
Over the years we did for one another. She wanted Bloomingdale’s to open a Thai department to sell her country’s handicrafts and Thai silk. I would do interviews there. She’d invite me to her parties here. We met in ’61. We’re talking a long friendship.
Once, in the years I was on the TV news, she did an exclusive one-on-one sit-down interview with me. I specifically wore a white Thai silk suit in her honor. It was in a suite in the Plaza. The contingent was staying there. In comes Her Majesty flanked by more than the Thai army. And what’s she wearing? A stunning white Thai silk suit. She certainly wouldn’t change clothes and for me to schlep home would’ve taken too long. I wanted to shoot myself but that needn’t have been necessary because her staff would have done that for me.
Or take the dinner she planned in my honor in upcountry Chiang Mai. It was right off my plane’s arrival and my hair looked like it had been ripped off a camel’s behind. I was wearing this big floppy hat. The kind to protect you from the sun. I am chauffeured directly to this banquet for me. No stopping at the hotel for improvements.
I am seated next to Her Majesty. Smack alongside this elegant stunning lady in a tightly packed table. From nerves, I dropped a utensil. Although 75 servants would have grabbed it for me, I stupidly bent to retrieve it. In doing so my wide straw brim scraped Her Majesty’s face. She paid it no mind but half the country’s soldiers — bayonets in place — raced to shoot me.
Among her gifts to me were a handmade woven dark straw basket evening bag. The lining Thai silk. The handle 18-k gold. The bag trimmed in diamonds. I have it still. Another time a brooch. A 24-k gold beetle. Its sides laminated with an actual beetle’s wings. Why? “Because,” she said. “Beetles are earth’s longest lasting creatures.” I have it still. And what had she wanted from me? A little drugstore packet of Kleenex.
My last time with her was when Thailand suffered its massive tsunami. People washed away. Homes destroyed. Lives lost. My friend Geoffrey Weill, one of the world’s most successful travel experts, and I had two longtime close South African friends — young teenage sisters, lost. Gone. We were crazed as to what happened to them.
I flew with Geoffrey to Thailand. Queen Sirikit gave us a high-ranking air force officer. He commandeered an army plane. We flew to Phuket, where the Israeli army, accustomed to death, was in charge of bodies and their severed parts. One of our friends had the South Africa map tattooed on her side. Thus, they could identify her.
After that Her Majesty was not well. She had stepped down. Her once gorgeous figure had taken on weight. She was receiving no more. I did not see her again. But I will love her always.
Speaking of international matters brings me to Saudi Arabia. Once, a violent sandstorm disrupted all wire services. This sign suddenly appeared: “Until further notice, please limit calls to four wives.”
