**Farewell to Thailand’s Gem**
The longer you live, the more friends you have to say goodbye to.
A lifetime ago, in Bangkok’s Chitralada Palace garden, I met Her Stunningly Gorgeous Majesty Queen Sirikit of Thailand. She had a tiny, perfect figure, ebony black hair, and a face like marble. Swathed in Thai silk, she was the embodiment of elegance. Over the years, we stayed friends.
She left us last week.
We shared many visits—sometimes I was there, sometimes she was here. Once, as we sat in the sweltering sun, she told me in her excellent accented English, “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 things for one another. She wished for Bloomingdale’s to open a Thai department to sell her country’s handicrafts and exquisite Thai silk. I would conduct interviews there, and she’d invite me to her parties here.
We first met in 1961. That’s a long friendship.
During my time on TV news, she granted me an exclusive one-on-one sit-down interview. I specifically wore a white Thai silk suit to honor her. The interview took place in a suite at the Plaza Hotel, where the Thai contingent was staying. In walks Her Majesty, flanked by more than just the Thai army—and what was she wearing? A stunning white Thai silk suit. She certainly wouldn’t change clothes, and asking me to go home to change would have taken too long.
I wanted to shoot myself—but that wouldn’t have been necessary because her staff would have done it for me.
Another memorable moment was a dinner she planned in my honor in upcountry Chiang Mai. I had just stepped off the plane, my hair a mess like it had been “ripped off a camel’s behind.” Wearing a big floppy hat to protect myself from the sun, I was chauffeured directly to the banquet without stopping at a hotel to freshen up.
Seated next to Her Majesty at a tightly packed table, nerves got the better of me—I dropped a utensil. Although seventy-five servants would have eagerly retrieved it, I foolishly bent down to pick it up myself. In doing so, my wide straw hat brim scraped Her Majesty’s face. She paid it no mind, but I could swear half the soldiers with bayonets in place were ready to shoot me.
Among her gifts to me were a handmade, woven dark straw basket evening bag, lined with Thai silk, featuring an 18-karat gold handle and trimmed with diamonds. I still have it. Another gift was a brooch—a 24-karat gold beetle with actual beetle wings laminated on its sides. When I asked why, she said, “Because beetles are earth’s longest lasting creatures.” I still treasure that as well.
What did she want from me? A small drugstore packet of Kleenex.
My last time with her was during Thailand’s massive tsunami disaster. People were 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, who were missing. We were frantic.
I flew with Geoffrey to Thailand. Queen Sirikit assigned us a high-ranking air force officer who commandeered an army plane. We flew to Phuket, where the Israeli army, experienced in handling death, was in charge of the recovery of bodies and severed parts. One of our friends had a South African map tattooed on her side, which helped identify her.
After that, Her Majesty was not well. She had stepped down. Her once gorgeous figure had taken on weight. She was no longer receiving visitors. I did not see her again—but I will love her always.
Speaking of international matters, a related anecdote comes to mind from Saudi Arabia. Once, a violent sandstorm disrupted all wire services, and suddenly this sign appeared:
**“Until further notice, please limit calls to four wives.”**
https://nypost.com/2025/10/28/opinion/remembering-the-many-visits-with-thailands-queen-mother-sirikit/
