T A B L E_T A L K Ever picked up and moved cross-country or overseas? Share your stories in the Wanderlust area of Table Talk R E C E N T L Y This week in travel A new U.S. passport, a fictitious country in the South Pacific and a buyout of Reno Air (11/20/98) Body talk By Dawn MacKeen Sometimes what our gestures say is not what we mean. International business traveler Roger Axtell has learned that the hard way (11/19/98) On the road with the Smokejumpers: Part Three By The King Teen Sold out in San Diego, boffo in Bakersfield -- the band's odyssey ends on an up note (11/18/98) Orchid ice cream By Eric Hansen An aficionado journeys to Turkey to discover the birthplace of this aphrodisiac treat (11/17/98) Another Africa By Chinua Achebe Beyond the stereotypes and clichés, a photographer and writer journey into the heart of the continent (11/15/98) Browse the Wanderlust Feature archives Wanderlust's Official Travel Book Partner S A L O N E M P O R I U M FREE! 12-ounce bag of Salon Blend with a purchase of $30 or more. While supplies last.		---------------T h e  r a b b i s  o f  B a n g k o k ---------------A traveling Jewish band from California meets a ----------------------trio of Hasidic Jews in the teeming city of Live --------------------Sex Shows and Thai Full Body Massage. BY DOUGLAS A. KONECKY | The motor scooter carrying the rabbi screeches to a stop on the street outside the Bangkok hotel. All the taxicab and tuk-tuk drivers along Sukhamvit 22 glance up, cigarette in hand, as Rabbi Karpas places both hands on the rear seat of the scooter and dismounts backward with one jump, long black coat flying in the air. His knees buckle slightly as his heavy black shoes touch down on the cobblestones, then he throws out his arms, straightens up and, in the same motion, begins striding toward the hotel lobby. I've been standing at the hotel's front door waiting for him while my partner, Yosi, has been inside chatting with the concierge. Of course I recognize the rabbi immediately. Despite the sweltering heat and sodden humidity of Bangkok, Rabbi Moshe Karpas is wearing full Hasidic costume: thick, untrimmed black beard, long forelocks barely concealed under a wide-brimmed hat, heavy black gabardine coat over sweat-soaked white shirt and brown tie -- unique clothing in a land of tank tops, shorts and thongs. You'd expect him to stand out, but nobody notices. He moves too fast to be conspicuous. The Thais on the street lean back against their cabs and exhale thoughtfully through their noses as the rabbi rushes past them. They don't know he's a rabbi. They have neither seen nor heard of one. I've also been trying to get away from Ahnee, the pretty young Thai hotel concierge in the tailored business suit, and all her embarrassing questions. A few minutes ago she put down her collection of brochures and pamphlets, looked me in the eye and suggested: "So maybe tonight you like go Live Sex Show?" "Pardon me?" I say, staring at her to make sure I heard her right. Yosi and I have only been in Thailand an hour. I'm still not used to women in business suits asking me such pointed questions. "You American, right? You enjoy, I think," she says. "Nice girl, young girl, not dry-up old hag, she stretch her body like rubber band and ..." "Oooh, excuse me a moment," I say, and walk over to the two potted date palms, where I am standing when Rabbi Karpas stops suddenly as he hits the sidewalk, then unfolds the thin black Nokia cell phone he is carrying in his left hand. With a resigned face he pulls out the antenna and says hello, then slaps his free hand against his forehead in exasperation as he turns and paces down Sukhamvit 22, listening. I walk back to the concierge's desk, where Yosi is trying to teach her the word "Jew." "Zhoo?" she says. "Not 'Zhoo.' 'Jew,'" Yosi says. "This man we are waiting for is a rabbi. Have you ever heard of a rabbi?" "Raa-bye?" she says, embarrassed. Yosi glances at me, disbelieving. He is Israeli, though he lives in California now. He finds it harder than I do to believe that people don't know what Jews are. "Aren't you a Buddhist?" he asks her. "Yes, I am Buddhist," she says, lowering her eyes. "Well, Jewish is like Buddhist, it's a religion too. You know?" She's not sure about that. "My country 80 percent Buddhist," she says, "10 percent Muslim, 5 percent Cath-a-lick." "What about the other 5 percent?" I ask her. "Hindu," she says. "So maybe tonight you like go Thai Full Body Massage?" Just then the front doors of the hotel fly open and the rabbi bursts past two bowing Thai doormen in white jackets and brown slacks. "Shalom!" he shouts, rushing up to us. He walks like he is two or three people, his coat flying in every direction, cell phone in one hand, other hand extended for us to shake. "I'm Rabbi Karpas. You're Yosi, and you're Doug?" N E X T+P A G E | The one thing that warms a musician's heart