It's PR, not ER
On taking selfies in Thailand, a night at The Fifth Avenue Hotel, and Montaigne (sorry).
In this edition of Let’s Go, with Matt Ortile: tips for Bangkok; thoughts on The Fifth Avenue Hotel in New York City; links to what I’m currently reading and wearing; and a little something for Father’s Day this weekend. Also, I’m teaching a creative writing class this weekend! More info here.
When I went to Thailand for work in April, I tried to tack onto the trip a better-than-nothing 24 hours in nearby Manila, where my family lives. But when you’re a professional traveler, your schedule is rarely your own to make.
All this to say, it was too tricky and costly to pop over to the Philippines, to pull off the kind of quick visit home that my friends and colleagues in New York seem to manage almost every month—to Connecticut, to Florida, even to Los Angeles. I envy them. The flight from Brooklyn to Manila alone takes an entire weekend.
I relayed all this to my stepfather (whom I love, adore, and call ‘Dad’) when I called him to say I had just wrapped a week in Thailand, and yeah, I know, I want to, but I don’t think I can. He and my step-sisters were disappointed. Our whole family—scattered between Cebu and California and elsewhere—was complete in Manila for one night only, and I couldn’t be there. They had planned a big dinner. A place would be saved for me.
When Dad said as much, I cried, of course, because I bear the cross of immigrant obligation. My guilt over missing “the big stuff” has gotten worse over the years since my mother died. Today is June 13, 2025. It’s Mom’s fifth death anniversary. You’ll forgive me for launching this newsletter with the melancholy stuff.
Over the phone, Dad asked me to send photos from Thailand. I shared pictures of me at work: eating fried rice in Bangkok’s Chinatown with a tour guide, swimming in the warm waters of Krabi, boating through the canals of a floating market in Amphawa—all in front of a production crew with serious-looking cameras. I was the on-screen talent for a short branded film, I explained.
Dad was impressed. “I thought you were just doing your usual thing,” he said. “You know, taking selfies.”
He’s never totally understood what I do for a living, I think. When I suddenly lost my job in early 2023, he said, “What is…‘laid off’?” (It was only after I brought him a finished copy of my book that he could explain my career to his fellow doctors.) That I moved from editing at a literary magazine to seemingly going on vacation every month must have confused him more.
My colleagues and I often talk about how our work can seem glamorous to some, frivolous to others. It can be fun, delightfully weird, and, when we’re lucky, personally meaningful. However, the constant travel can be hard on the body and the heart. I now must take a new medicine after fatiguing back to back assignments to Thailand and France. I’ve had courtships in New York fizzle out due to my unwieldy schedule. I try not to complain. It’s nice work if you can get it.
I wonder sometimes if Dad would “get it” or “get me” more if I were something more objectively serious, like, I don’t know, a war reporter on CNN. I try not to wring my hands too much about the moral worth or weight of my creative-corporate work. As some industry friends say, “It’s PR, not ER.” But I’m glad for it. I’m good at it. The fact is, whether or not the planet is burning, people will always travel—to make a living, seek sanctuary, do good in the world, have fun, and see their loved ones when they can.
My job, I like to think, is to ensure they do so as safely, thoughtfully, and well as they can. At least that’s what I’m telling Dad next time he asks. (Happy Father’s Day, Papá.)
Let’s Go: to Bangkok ✈️🇹🇭
One-stop flights to Suvarnabhumi Airport (BKK) in August and September are currently in the low $700s from New York; in the high $600s from Los Angeles and San Francisco. Most go through Japan or South Korea; grab a ticket with a long layover, if you’re up for it, and take a lightning-fast dip into Tokyo or Seoul. I flew through Hong Kong on Cathay Pacific; though I didn’t fly the new Aria suites, the old business class is still very comfortable—and serves one of the best Hong Kong egg tarts I’ve ever had in my Southeast Asian life.
In Bangkok, I stayed at the Anantara Siam Bangkok Hotel and the Rosewood Bangkok. The former is stately and massive, the latter is modern and sumptuous. I also visited Capella Bangkok, named the world’s best hotel by the folks at The World’s 50 Best (and, I am obliged to say, a Condé Nast Traveler Gold List 2025 honoree); its villas along the Chao Phraya River are some of the best keys in the capital. There are plenty of Airbnbs and budget options throughout the city, if that’s more your speed. That said, the hotel scene in Bangkok is hyper-competitive, so a lot of five-star properties are more affordable than you may first think.
I had a marvelous dinner at Soma, one of the city’s newest kitchens which serves Thai classics upped a notch at accessible prices; get the huge grilled river prawn. Next time I visit, I’m planning to score a table at Sorn, which this year became the first restaurant in Thailand to earn three Michelin stars. Spend your cash (as of this writing, a US dollar is roughly 32 Thai baht) in Chinatown, where you really can’t go wrong with any stall you hit. Unfortunately, I cannot tell you where I was blessed with some life-changing fried dough dipped in pandan sauce, probably because I legally cannot before the short film drops and also because I literally cannot remember.
The truth about Southeast Asia is that experiencing “authentic” culture really does mean going to the mall. How else are we to survive the sweltering heat and humidity? (Pack lightweight and easy-to-wash clothing; a pair of linen pants is perfect for visiting temples, where you must dress modestly.) Sprawling Central World and ICONSIAM are the most popular malls, but I also enjoyed the much more manageable Gaysorn Village, where I got a hand-painted overshirt from Chiang Mai, a city in northern Thailand known for its artisan pieces.
In Thai, hello is “sawadee ka” or “sawadee kap”—women use the former; men use the latter. (I’m using phonetic spellings here.) Thank you is “kop kun ka” or “kop kun kap”—same principle. You’ll notice locals making a prayer-like gesture when they greet each other or say thanks. Mirror them to stay respectful. It became second nature to me after a just four days in Thailand. I kept doing it in Hong Kong on my way back to New York.
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what’s in my carry-on:
I bought some Loewe perfumes from Galeries Lafayette in Paris this past Thanksgiving and the flirty sales associate sent me home with a sack full of samples that I’m still working through half a year later. I currently love the sexiness of the Loewe 7 eau de toilette, a peppery, appley, incensey concoction. A Fragrantica reviewer said, “I feel like a neanderthal whenever I try to describe scents but this one smells like straight up man.”
People extoll the virtues of French pharmacy brands like Caudalie and La Roche-Posay, but the undersung hero, I believe, is Avène. I’ve recently been converted to the marque’s concentrated cold cream, which I am using to remedy my miserable scaly hands. (Yes, the stuff is cheaper in France.)
I’m reading Sarah Bakewell’s How to Live: A Life of Montaigne in One Question and Twenty Attempts at an Answer, a wonderfully lucid biography of the man who invented the essay form, because I’m teaching a creative writing class this weekend and trying to wrap my head around how to explain the fundamentals of personal essays. See how I do by signing up for the class below.
*knock knock* housekeeping!
Did you know I teach creative writing classes? Now you do. On Sunday, June 15, at 2:00 p.m. ET, I’m teaching a two-hour seminar and workshop over Zoom called An Introduction to Personal Essays: Curiosity Over Catharsis. We’ll break down two myths about the genre—that our story must have an obvious “ending,” and that we write essays to achieve “catharsis”—in order to develop a more sustainable writing practice, one built not only on the story of our own lives. Should be fun! One and all, from beginners to self-proclaimed experts, are welcome. Sign up here ($70).
checking out: The Fifth Avenue Hotel
WHERE: The Fifth Avenue Hotel in New York City, on the corner of 28th Street and, well, Fifth Avenue
WHAT: One of two maximally decorated hotels that arrived in Manhattan and made paisley-swathed splashes in the last year or so; this one is by designer du jour Martin Brudnizki, and the other, the Warren Street Hotel in Tribeca, is by living legend Kit Kemp
WHEN: Sunday night, June 8, 2025
WHY: I am not joking when I say that the reason is under embargo.
HOW: Thank you to [redacted] for hosting me!
FIELD NOTES: The place is overflowing with character. I enjoyed all the patterns, textures, and twee Orientalism tbh—look at that bedside lamp in the shape of a pagoda! The pastry cart at breakfast is worth it (a selection of three for $22). Dinner at Café Carmellini was good and quite expensive, on par with New York hotel restaurant prices; the duck tortellini is so rich and delicious that five pieces are somehow more than enough yet wholly insufficient. The Portrait Bar, vibey and dark, has been a hit with locals since it opened; head upstairs for a less clamorous scene where you can actually hear your date. It’s an ideal staycation hotel. It’s so cozy and residential in feel that I didn’t feel bad staying in bed and having a movie night (the TV is nicely set up with all the streaming services). I put on The Birdcage, which paired nicely with the hotel’s—frankly—very gay design. I loved it.
Loved this, Matt. And so glad to see you here!
“The truth about Southeast Asia is that experiencing “authentic” culture really does mean going to the mall. How else are we to survive the sweltering heat and humidity?”
THIS. Same in KL.