Capitalism Killed The Turtles

At breakfast, I met an Australian family: Rupert and Rani and their kids Lachlan, Milla, Gil and Marlowe, who were on a month's-long trip around Southeast Asia. We sat around discussing the fate of the world and coming up with grand ideas about Lach making the big money in Sydney. I think I should get a cut after it's a ginormous success, since I was there at the brainstorming. But that's just me.
Also, I got to hear how Lach woke up one morning earlier this week with a brand new tattoo, and no recollection of the night, or even getting the tattoo.
My primary question remains unanswered: Daffy Duck?

Breakfast was actually a quite good buffet that was included in the cost of the room. And the coffee was outstanding.
We went our separate ways, and I did my usual walkabout, randomly canvassing hither and yon about town. This time I hit a few wats.

I was making my way back toward the hotel, when I ran into Rupert and the young boys, going for hot chocolate.
(Side note: hot chocolate?! Here? In the heat?) we chatted and Rupert invited me to join them on a trek to Chinatown to partake in a little eco-guerrilla action to free baby turtles destined for the cook pot. Apparently, Rani is an eco-warrior with a side job.
As we made our way to where they are sold – along with live eels, fish and toads – we stopped several times to shop for hats, and clothes.

Unfortunately, by the time we made our way to the bazaar, the turtles were gone, likely already in the broth. Rupert made the (probably inaccurate, but we're going with it anyway) point that if we hadn't stopped to shop, the turtles would have still been there to loose into the river. Given that the prime impetus for the Great Chiang Mai Turtle Emancipation of 2017 was Rani and she was the person wanting to stop 'n shop, the potential irony meter twitched large.
The rest of the day was a humdrum melange of beers, massage and Panang curry. Yawn.