Bangkok Modern

"Rich families may have lost their shirts when the economy tanked, but they all had plenty more shirts hidden away," Tom says. "And the Thais love to shop. They kept their purses closed for a few years, but now they're back in action." We've just come from the Emporium, where I practically bought out Propaganda, a store that sells whimsical housewares by local designers—a bottle opener that resembles a shark's fin, a toothbrush holder in the shape of a molar. Now we're refueling at Kuppa, a spacious café co-owned by a Thai and an Australian. Kuppa has its own coffee roaster, is strictly non-smoking (an almost unimaginable concept in Asia), and serves food that runs the global gamut, from a baguette sandwich of Virginia ham and Monterey Jack to Thai grilled chicken to pizza with sausage, roasted peppers, and onion jam. It's the kind of place I could imagine turning into my official hangout if I moved to Bangkok.

And Kuppa is filled with Thais. My own observations, plus hard facts, back up Tom's theory. Economists say that a lot of the domestic growth (the economy is expanding again) is due to domestic spending, and credit card usage is high. The expats do their part as well. When we're finished with lunch, Tom leaves a generous tip on the table—an unusual gesture in Thailand. "Tipping is big now among American expats," he says. "The baht is low and tourism is too, so the service people need it."

The last night of my visit is Loi Krathong, the annual full moon festival. In Bangkok, there are fireworks and celebrations on the river, so all the restaurants, hotels, and sightseeing boats on the Chao Phraya are booked up far in advance. Luckily, Gahn Chaiprasit, a commercial film director I know, invites me to join him on a boat his company has chartered for the evening.

Late that afternoon, a huge rainstorm floods the streets and brings traffic to a standstill. The doorman at the Sukhothai hails me a cab, but the driver refuses to take me to the Ratchawong Pier, where the boat is docked. Ridiculous, he declares: after this downpour, and on Loi Krathong no less, it will take at least an hour. I persist, the price goes up, and off we go. The driver was right—traffic is horrendous—and he grumbles the whole way. Bangkok may have changed for the better, but bad weather, traffic jams, and crabby cabdrivers are woes it still shares with big cities everywhere.

It turns out everyone else is late too, which means I am on time. Gahn's company, Big Blue, is impressively egalitarian, and everyone, from directors and producers to drivers and maids, climbs aboard. The group is international: there's a Filipina-Australian model with a pierced tongue, and her husband, a Singaporean filmmaker; a Burmese art director based in Vietnam; a sullen teenager from Atlantic City, someone's visiting nephew, his Discman headphones shutting out the world. Gahn introduces me to two Thais who studied at the Pratt Art Institute in New York and to a producer who comes from a Bangkok "hi-so" (high society—the ones who had all those extra shirts hidden away) family and has an apartment in London. The wooden boat is open on all sides, with a peaked roof. There are tables set with linens and flowers, and a lavish buffet.

During Loi Krathong, Thais send tiny floats onto the river for good luck, and these elaborate arrangements of flowers, burning incense, and flickering candles bob all around us. Downriver, in front of the Oriental, the fireworks begin. Music drifts across the water, hundreds of tunes, it seems, from hundreds of boats. We pass a famously hideous high-rise condo, a relic of the boom years, its base modeled on Notre Dame and its domed roof a replica of the U.S. Capitol. Up above, the brilliant full moon illuminates Bangkok's glittery temple roofs and skyscrapers. I am sitting at the stern, my legs dangling over the side, sipping a beer. The warm breeze carries the river's complicated brew of fragrances. I recall my first trip on the Chao Phraya, now so many years ago, and I feel myself once again falling under Bangkok's spell. The fabulous food, the gracious people, the river, the fragrances, the moonlight—none of this has gone away. And while the city's contemporary urban ills haven't disappeared either, Bangkok's latest, most stylish incarnation makes them much easier to bear. I'm definitely coming back.