But with the Mona Lisa I always thought she was keeping the secret to herself. With the Buddha, it was like, if you politely asked and listened ever so intently, he’d share that wisdom with you. The only question was, what question should I ask?

CHAPTER FOUR

There was sweat dripping from Philippe’s nose…or should I say Santa Claus’s nose. Philippe was dressed in a heavy red Santa suit, complete with hat, black boots, and long white beard. Three of the other staff members were dressed as elves. Overnight, the palm trees had been festooned with Christmas lights and ornaments, and there was a blow-up scene of Santa and his reindeer on the roof of the pool cabana. They’d even set up a life-sized nativity scene by the poolside bar. It looked as though the three wise men were waiting for a cool drink—presumably nothing alcoholic.

The waiters were moving through the crowd with hot rum drinks for the adults and hot chocolate for the kids and wishing everybody a “merry Christmas.” It was Christmas Day in Thailand. If the white sand had been white snow, the palm trees had been evergreens, and the temperature hadn’t been hovering in the high nineties, it could have been Christmas morning back in New York City.

In some ways, I thought, the weather here was probably close to what it would have been like at the original Christmas in Bethlehem. At least, it was a lot more like it than some Hallmark-card moment with snow and a blazing fire. On the other hand, I knew that most of the people in Thailand were Buddhists and this probably didn’t mean much to them, except as something else to please the tourists.

To most people back home this scene would have seemed surreal—a brilliant blue ocean in the background under a near-perfect sky framing a bright sun. But for me, this was Christmas. No cold or snow, skiing or skating, no chest nuts roasting on any fire helping to warm the winter weather. This was our Christmas, Christmas in Thailand. Okay, maybe just once it would have been nice to stay home, feel the cold, and play in the snow. That was the Christmas Beth was having this year. Her first Christmas at home.

Santa was in the process of calling up each guest and giving him or her a small present from his bag. Mine was a little key chain with a flashlight and a laser pointer, my father got a pen-and-pencil set, and my mother’s gift was a silk scarf—all compliments of Santa…otherwise known as the hotel.

First thing that morning we’d also opened one present from each other. My father gave my mother a nice gold necklace, she gave him a digital camera, and my present was an iPod. The family rule was one present each, and it had to be something small enough to pack. The rest of the presents were at home in the living room under an artificial Christmas tree, waiting for our return.