“THERE ARE RUMORS that there’s going to be a coup tonight,” my girlfriend told me over the phone last week. I was visiting Kuala Lumpur. She was in Bangkok. “But so far they seem to be just rumors. People have seen tanks moving around, though.”

After a year of ongoing political tension in Thailand, surely this wasn’t the time—this Tuesday night that seemed like any other, a night in which I was stuck in another country—when a cabal would seize the kingdom’s reigns of power. Perhaps the tanks were simply being reassigned to the restive south.

They were not. They were headed downtown.

Soon, CNN was reporting that a coup d’etat was under way. My heart beat faster. I started to sweat despite the frigid conditions in my hotel room. What might this mean for Thai people? For tourism? For Southeast Asia? And why couldn’t the military have waited one more day, till I was back in Bangkok?

I stayed up all night following the news online. Details emerged: A coalition headed by General Sondhi Boonyaratkalin had taken over the government, acting while Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra was in New York for a United Nations meeting. There were no reports of violence.

In Bangkok, it turned out, the coup leaders had ordered all domestic television stations to yank their current programming in favor of stock footage of the much-loved King Bhumibol Adulyadej performing charitable acts. Some stations broadcast patriotic songs. It was eerie, friends told me. Foreign news channels shut down briefly and then were censored whenever anti-coup sentiments were expressed.

On the flight to Bangkok the next day, I considered the ramifications: This was the first military coup in fifteen years. Though Thailand has a long history of intermittent military rule—23 coups in the last 74 years—the kingdom had remained a bastion of democracy in Southeast Asia.

My plane touched down in Bangkok. On the ride from the airport to my apartment in the middle of the city, I saw only a single military transport truck; TV footage had showed numerous tanks and masses of soldiers around the city. Where were they now? Was this what a revolution really looked like?

There were no protests, no civil unrest of any kind. On the streets, Thai people walked around just like any other day; some foreigners even posed for photos with obliging soldiers. A military council had declared martial law and suspended the constitution, I thought, and no one seemed the least bit surprised.

That evening, I had dinner with my girlfriend. She was delirious, having stayed up through the night reporting on the coup for her television network. We were both incredulous at what had transpired over the last 24 hours.

The “bloodless blitzkrieg,” as one news report was now describing it, was made possible because the king, whom Thais regard with unending reverence, had approved of the transfer of power. So there was no public uprising—to express displeasure with the coup would now be tantamount to criticizing the king.

I spent several hours the next day walking around Bangkok and talking to people. The few soldiers I saw were relaxed despite their camouflage gear and military hardware; they looked less like troops prepared to do battle than bored traffic cops waiting for the shift to end. The junta announced it would name a transitional government in the next two weeks; democracy wouldn’t return for another year, when new elections can be held.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” a Thai woman in her twenties told me. “There’s no violence. People are living their lives as usual.”

I had returned to Bangkok expecting to see chaos. There was no unrest. In 2003, however, I had witnessed the beginning of protests that eventually caused the demise of the Bolivian president in La Paz. Then, tension was in the air, protests were violent, and, after I’d left the city, government troops eventually fired on demonstrators, killing several of them.

But here in Bangkok, no one seemed to mind. They didn’t even appear to be discussing it.

“The people support this,” said a Thai man working in a hotel. “It will only have a short effect. Within two weeks, power will return to the people.”

I took a motorcycle taxi back to my apartment. As I climbed on behind the driver, he asked me where I was from and whether I liked Thai food. I told him I was from America and that, yes, I liked Thai food very much, but what did he think of the coup? What about the prime minister?

“Oh, ha ha,” he said. “Thaksin is already gone! Ha ha! Bye bye, Thaksin! So, what is your favorite Thai dish?” •

Newley Purnell is a freelance journalist. His blog is at newley.com.