As Mr Smith flicks through a manga-style comic that explains how to use the amenities in the room, I absentmindedly wonder out loud: ‘Nuttaporn or Pimp?’ Mr Smith looks perplexed, but that could be because he still hasn’t worked out why the whirlpool bath, big enough to hold all of the passengers on Noah’s ark, is filled up not by a tap but by a gushing rain shower above it. ‘My Thai name,’ I persist. ‘Should it be Nuttaporn or Pimp?’ Admittedly we’d tittered when encountering a few Porns and Pimps on an earlier shopping trip, but they were all lovely lasses who didn’t seem to find their names amusing in the slightest.
It transpires that the suffix ‘porn’ is a popular one in the Land of Smiles – there’s Amporn, Pasaporn and Jatuporn, but none has as good a ring to it as Nuttaporn. With guidebooks advising you to learn the language and embrace the culture, I feel almost obligated to adopt a local name.
Since we arrived at Ma Du Zi, I’ve been trying to immerse myself in all things Bangkok. In fact, I’m still feeling the irascible effects of some lip-smacking som tam (spicy papaya salad) and use this as an excuse to glug down an icy Singha beer from the minibar. Earlier we’d scaled 25 floors (with the help of an elevator) to Long Table at Column, just around the corner from the hotel. There we’d taken in the crimson sun slinking down and the stunning skyline firing up, while taking advantage of the happy hour. I’d also used this as an opportunity to order the friskily fresh som tam, which I can never get enough of when I’m in town. Cockily, I’d insisted on having it pet mak mak (very spicy). I got my comeuppance when I nearly went into anaphylactic shock and had to exit with a spluttering walk of shame, tears streaming.
By now Mr Smith is up to his eyebrows in fragrant bubbles, courtesy of the infinity soak bath and organic Panpuri bath oils and salts with jasmine flower extract. Any hotel in the region worth its grain of salt (and intent on keeping some local flavour) accessorises its bathrooms with Panpuri. It’s a brand so virtuous I’d be surprised if Gwyneth Paltrow – she of the macrobiotic diet and holistic lifestyle – didn’t have the supplier’s number on speed dial. The only animal-based ingredients you’ll find on the labels are honey and beeswax. Several shops stock it, but the main branch, complete with its own Panpuri Spa, is located in the Gaysorn shopping centre, only a few minutes away by Skytrain.
Allowing him to wallow in peace, I finish off the Singha and hang my shopping in the teak walk-in wardrobe. There’s no having to elbow each other out of the way with ample room for both of you and all of your acquisitions. Trust? Commitment? Communication?
No, the secret to a long and happy marriage is a walk-in wardrobe. Preferably, one each. As Mr Smith’s luscious bath turns him into a shiny pink prawn cocktail, I also feel a glow, albeit a post-purchase one, as I survey my impulse buys with no regrets. I’m not even going to let Mr Smith put me off my playsuit from Mob.F, which he maintains looks like a super-sized babygro.
Aimed at forward-thinking fashion followers (oxymoron intended), the recently launched Mob.F in the Siam Center brings together 42 fashion labels, sporting both established and up-and-coming Thai talents. Thanks to the store’s White Café, Mr Smith was able to sip on a zesty cocktail and decorate his own cupcake while I browsed.
Inspired by some of Ma Du Zi’s decor – the spun caramel-coloured meringue-meets-nest lamp, the shaggy cow-print bathroom stool and a wastepaper basket that appears to be strapped into a corset with criss-crossed red stitching – we then head to the Shop @ TCDC (Thailand Creative & Design Centre) in the Emporium mall. Originating as a space to showcase international designers, the focus has shifted to promoting young Thai creators, with tongue-in-cheek crockery, digital-print cushions, wire chairs and horse-shaped lamps all up for grabs.
Because he’s not flushed enough, Mr Smith leaves the misted-up wet room to make himself a pick-me-up, following the comic’s instructions diligently to ensure his Illy espresso is fashioned to barista standards. Earlier Mr Smith had been a bit prickly when I’d reminded him that I had some work to cram in, but as he settles into a leather swivel chair, flicks on the widescreen TV and puts his feet up on the perfectly placed stool, he’s as happy as a clam at high water – especially since the picture is complemented by Bose surround sound. Luckily for me, our Studio 53 suite, number two on floor Z, has a separate lounge-cum-study overlooking a pretty garden. The austerity of the fax and printer are counter-balanced by a soothing green sofa, just in case work gets on top of you. My head conjures lusty daydreams about replicating a similar working environment at home, but this is not conducive to meeting deadlines. Neither is flicking through the books crammed full of vivid photographs from across the region – another nod towards creating an indigenous ambience in the rooms.
With the sun setting, the bar is beckoning. When Mr Smith and I first arrived, we knew instantly this was the place for us. Ma Du Zi doesn’t have a lobby, as such; it’s been replaced by a convivial round bar with scarlet stools. Harnessing the hotel’s family-run feel, here you can enjoy a drink with fellow guests, before moving into the impressive Ma Du Zi Restaurant by Yuya, where stiff white tablecloths and sleek seats are enlivened by leather bookcases and marble filigreed windows. Yuya, the new chef at this French eatery, is actually Japanese, but his tortes and confits are strictly continental.
‘Leekpie!’ Mr Smith suddenly exclaims. It’s my turn to look bewildered. His plate, boasting a blushing pink Wagyu steak and an ornate asparagus parcel (I’d opted for the delicate red snapper from the set menu), shows no evidence of either a leek or a pie. ‘Your Thai name,’ he concludes. I’m so engrossed in my food that I rashly agree. Leekpie it is then.