Speaking of going places, I took advantage of a couple quiet weeks at the office to slip away from Bangkok for two short trips. One was to Cambodia, my first time there, despite working on the border for nearly three years in the ‘80s. Completing that circle felt wonderful. The other journey was one more networking run to Chiang Mai.
Jip dealt with my absences quite well, I thought. When I called to check in, she didn’t ask, “When are you coming home?” as she might have done four or five months ago. Instead I heard about the latest meals (a new staple: yogurt made from goat’s milk), and about how her exercises were going.
But the day after I returned from Chiang Mai, a tantrum erupted suddenly, for no reason I could ever detect. And during the past few days she’s been more anxious than usual about what time I’ll return from work. So I’m hesitating before booking what I had hoped could be a few weeks’ trip to the States a few months from now. We’ll see.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Summer Palace
Chao and I had been biking near a house that he and some friends have rented, about an hour upriver, in the town of Bang Pa-In. It’s a great spot for weekend getaways: nothing to do except bicycle, 
or watch boats ferry people across, or fish off the balcony, or swim, or drink whiskey, or read in a hammock down below the house, or float in an inner tube, or catch freshwater shrimp, or walk down the street to a large royal estate with a long history.
The rental house ensemble of about 15 people is an eclectic mix of talents and backgrounds. I think I understood the conversation well enough to identify an architect, a public relations guy, a bar owner, and a couple of journalists. That’s what I could hear. What I could see were lots of tattoos, some spaghetti straps, a few very hip pairs of Elvis Costello glasses, and every variety of hair length, including an amazing set of dread locks that when un-turbaned hung down to the back of the guy’s knees.
They’re just now getting started on this adventure, but have signed up for a six-year deal, so amidst the snacking and sipping and listening to Sinatra, big plans were on the table: how to remodel, who has which rights, and so on. I’ll be interested to watch how this second residence influences Chao’s decision about whether to stay in Bangkok, or to move a few hours east, after he is married sometime later this year.
A few weeks earlier, as a tourist, I’d spent a pleasant Saturday strolling through the manicured grounds of the king’s Bang Pa-In palace. (I knew it was going to be a good trip when the hour-long train ride to get up there cost me 20 cents.) But my day at Chao’s palace was even nicer. Always go places with locals, is my motto.
or watch boats ferry people across, or fish off the balcony, or swim, or drink whiskey, or read in a hammock down below the house, or float in an inner tube, or catch freshwater shrimp, or walk down the street to a large royal estate with a long history.The rental house ensemble of about 15 people is an eclectic mix of talents and backgrounds. I think I understood the conversation well enough to identify an architect, a public relations guy, a bar owner, and a couple of journalists. That’s what I could hear. What I could see were lots of tattoos, some spaghetti straps, a few very hip pairs of Elvis Costello glasses, and every variety of hair length, including an amazing set of dread locks that when un-turbaned hung down to the back of the guy’s knees.
They’re just now getting started on this adventure, but have signed up for a six-year deal, so amidst the snacking and sipping and listening to Sinatra, big plans were on the table: how to remodel, who has which rights, and so on. I’ll be interested to watch how this second residence influences Chao’s decision about whether to stay in Bangkok, or to move a few hours east, after he is married sometime later this year.
A few weeks earlier, as a tourist, I’d spent a pleasant Saturday strolling through the manicured grounds of the king’s Bang Pa-In palace. (I knew it was going to be a good trip when the hour-long train ride to get up there cost me 20 cents.) But my day at Chao’s palace was even nicer. Always go places with locals, is my motto.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Be Careful What You Wish For
After complaining about heat for much of this month, Saturday I found myself shivering. The weather was classic Seattle: endless gentle rain, along with fleece jacket temperatures. My hands even felt numb.
Of course, having water poured down my back during the annual Songkran festival didn’t help. Chao and I were bicycling on a back street, proud of ourselves for having avoided the mayhem of the main market, where a fire engine had been requisitioned to spray passersby.
But I still couldn’t escape my fate (perhaps I was very naughty with squirt guns in a past life?). As our bike ride was just 100 yards from its destination, an innocent-looking older man approached me, holding a silver bowl. As I pedaled past slowly, he soaked me with a gentle but thorough motion. The rain began not long afterward, before I could dry out.
Of course, having water poured down my back during the annual Songkran festival didn’t help. Chao and I were bicycling on a back street, proud of ourselves for having avoided the mayhem of the main market, where a fire engine had been requisitioned to spray passersby.
But I still couldn’t escape my fate (perhaps I was very naughty with squirt guns in a past life?). As our bike ride was just 100 yards from its destination, an innocent-looking older man approached me, holding a silver bowl. As I pedaled past slowly, he soaked me with a gentle but thorough motion. The rain began not long afterward, before I could dry out.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Heating Up
Jip is having a pretty good summer. Before we moved here, we always assumed this time of year would be a problem. American doctors told us to avoid heat, saying it would likely make her worse. If anything, she has become stronger.
Recently she revived a set of trunk exercises that she hasn’t wanted to do since Seattle. She’s also been asking for the large “standing frame” that we left behind. It’s a device that allows her to get vertical and bear weight.
And while many people here manage this sticky weather by wearing as little as possible, Jip is still sporting long-sleeved shirts.
Meanwhile, I could use a good cool breeze off of Puget Sound about now. This month the sweat just pours off me. The worst is when I’ve been walking outdoors, then stop momentarily where the air is still, like at a covered market. Suddenly I sprout droplets. The Thais around me of course look like they just stepped out of a salon.
This month also makes me think I should take up a less physical sport—say, knitting. Evening soccer practice at the British Club is tolerable (though afterward, despite a shower, I still become a human waterfall while waiting for the SkyTrain).
But our weekly games on Saturday afternoons bring to mind the phrase “mad dogs and Englishmen.” During those full-sun contests, I definitely feel my age. So while Jip thrives in her native climate, I’m just trying to keep a respectable core body temperature. And changing my shirt three times a day.
Recently she revived a set of trunk exercises that she hasn’t wanted to do since Seattle. She’s also been asking for the large “standing frame” that we left behind. It’s a device that allows her to get vertical and bear weight.
And while many people here manage this sticky weather by wearing as little as possible, Jip is still sporting long-sleeved shirts.
Meanwhile, I could use a good cool breeze off of Puget Sound about now. This month the sweat just pours off me. The worst is when I’ve been walking outdoors, then stop momentarily where the air is still, like at a covered market. Suddenly I sprout droplets. The Thais around me of course look like they just stepped out of a salon.
This month also makes me think I should take up a less physical sport—say, knitting. Evening soccer practice at the British Club is tolerable (though afterward, despite a shower, I still become a human waterfall while waiting for the SkyTrain).
But our weekly games on Saturday afternoons bring to mind the phrase “mad dogs and Englishmen.” During those full-sun contests, I definitely feel my age. So while Jip thrives in her native climate, I’m just trying to keep a respectable core body temperature. And changing my shirt three times a day.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Mango Plumpness
Some people tell me I’m looking skinny. I haven’t really noticed, but I believe them. Eating rice instead of pasta, and walking around in 100 degree heat, would do it to anyone. By the time May is over, though, I expect I’ll be back at my American weight. Why? It’s mango season.
In these parts, April is not only the peak month for outside temperature, but also for the world’s most consumed and number one selling fruit. And we’re not talking about that mushy, stringy, been-in-a-refrigerated-truck-for-the-last-three-weeks-since-it-was-plucked-too-early-off-the-tree-in-Mexico mango. Over here, the mango is as close as a fruit gets to being ice cream. You don’t even have to chew. It goes down that easy.
What’s more, the ripe mango in Thailand often gets served with a wicked accompaniment of sticky rice, coconut milk, sugar and salt. This combination has been known to add more spare tires to more foreigners’ middles than the all-you-can-eat cafeterias add pounds to unsuspecting freshmen during their first semester at college.
So fear not. At my current rate of one plate of “khao-niao-mamuang” per day, being skinny is the least of my worries. Here’s a recipe. To make it really authentic, toast up some sesame seeds and sprinkle those on top.
In these parts, April is not only the peak month for outside temperature, but also for the world’s most consumed and number one selling fruit. And we’re not talking about that mushy, stringy, been-in-a-refrigerated-truck-for-the-last-three-weeks-since-it-was-plucked-too-early-off-the-tree-in-Mexico mango. Over here, the mango is as close as a fruit gets to being ice cream. You don’t even have to chew. It goes down that easy.
What’s more, the ripe mango in Thailand often gets served with a wicked accompaniment of sticky rice, coconut milk, sugar and salt. This combination has been known to add more spare tires to more foreigners’ middles than the all-you-can-eat cafeterias add pounds to unsuspecting freshmen during their first semester at college.
So fear not. At my current rate of one plate of “khao-niao-mamuang” per day, being skinny is the least of my worries. Here’s a recipe. To make it really authentic, toast up some sesame seeds and sprinkle those on top.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Just Say No to Stuff
If you’re looking for a way to clear out some clutter from wherever you live, I recommend moving abroad. We tossed and tossed.
Even now, nearly nine months since we arrived, the closets in our very airy apartment are nearly empty. Of course we could fill them up again. But having made several hard choices while purging in Seattle, I doubt we will.
For instance, I spent hours sorting through the filing cabinet, because I was sure that the one piece of paper we needed would be the one I discarded. Yet I have hardly touched what I kept.
And shoes—I recalled that quality shoes would be hard to find here. So I brought along several pair. Now I only wear two of them regularly. The other day I bought some fine flip flops (75 cents), which have become my favorites.
Any regrets? I’ve yet to see a big wok I like as well as the seasoned old friend that went byebye at our yard sale. But to replace that item, we’ve come to the right continent.
Even now, nearly nine months since we arrived, the closets in our very airy apartment are nearly empty. Of course we could fill them up again. But having made several hard choices while purging in Seattle, I doubt we will.
For instance, I spent hours sorting through the filing cabinet, because I was sure that the one piece of paper we needed would be the one I discarded. Yet I have hardly touched what I kept.
And shoes—I recalled that quality shoes would be hard to find here. So I brought along several pair. Now I only wear two of them regularly. The other day I bought some fine flip flops (75 cents), which have become my favorites.
Any regrets? I’ve yet to see a big wok I like as well as the seasoned old friend that went byebye at our yard sale. But to replace that item, we’ve come to the right continent.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Buyin’ and Sellin’ in the ’hood; or, What the Neighbors Say – Part Three
Our soi is more residential than most, but it does have a restaurant or two along its length, as well as a failed nightclub and a thriving brothel. It’s only as I near the main drag that I begin to hear buses and jackhammers and other such city sounds. Otherwise, about the loudest noise we hear at home is the daily broadcast from loudspeakers of the national anthem, at 8am and 6pm.
The main street caters to foreigners of all stripes. Signs outside businesses are more likely to be written in English, Korean, or Japanese than in Thai. Within a ten-minute walk from home, I can find restaurants featuring at least two dozen cuisines. I could buy a new Volvo sedan or a Ford pickup. In the evenings, the sidewalks fill up with vendors hawking everything from fake Rolexes to silk shirts. Sometimes an elephant lumbers through the chaos, led by men selling what they claim is elephant food.
Generally my trips out to the road are for groceries or my own meals. I do the shopping at one of two supermarkets. The aisles in larger one would look familiar to most American shoppers—peanut butter, corn flakes, soy sauce—the main differences being brand names and a few categories that aren’t represented in the States. (Twenty feet of shelf space is devoted to “essence of chicken,” which comes in several flavors, including chocolate.)
That supermarket occupies the basement of a large department store. Next door is a five-star hotel. Across the road is the smaller supermarket, dominated by bargains and more everyday items (holy basil, whiskey, 10-kg. sacks of rice, fish sauce, that kind of thing). Throw in storefronts offering foot massages, lattes, prescription drugs (without a prescription!), and you kind of get the picture.
The main street caters to foreigners of all stripes. Signs outside businesses are more likely to be written in English, Korean, or Japanese than in Thai. Within a ten-minute walk from home, I can find restaurants featuring at least two dozen cuisines. I could buy a new Volvo sedan or a Ford pickup. In the evenings, the sidewalks fill up with vendors hawking everything from fake Rolexes to silk shirts. Sometimes an elephant lumbers through the chaos, led by men selling what they claim is elephant food.Generally my trips out to the road are for groceries or my own meals. I do the shopping at one of two supermarkets. The aisles in larger one would look familiar to most American shoppers—peanut butter, corn flakes, soy sauce—the main differences being brand names and a few categories that aren’t represented in the States. (Twenty feet of shelf space is devoted to “essence of chicken,” which comes in several flavors, including chocolate.)
That supermarket occupies the basement of a large department store. Next door is a five-star hotel. Across the road is the smaller supermarket, dominated by bargains and more everyday items (holy basil, whiskey, 10-kg. sacks of rice, fish sauce, that kind of thing). Throw in storefronts offering foot massages, lattes, prescription drugs (without a prescription!), and you kind of get the picture.
Buyin’ and Sellin’ in the ’hood; or, What the Neighbors Say – Part Two
All of this commerce happens in a lane that is too narrow for cars to pass each other. The fruit guy parks at a spot where others can get around him by swerving into a driveway. The lane has five driveways. Two lead into apartment buildings, while three are blocked by tall gates, announcing and gilding the fancy homes behind.
In our part of Bangkok these homes are likely to be owned by wealthy Indians. I imagine the music wafting through our windows from neighbors could just as easily be heard in Delhi or Mumbai. Kids playing soccer or lighting firecrackers in the courtyard of the apartment across the lane are speaking English with an accent from the subcontinent.
Weekday mornings, vans with uniformed drivers pick up kids from the lane and whisk them off to various private international schools. From our building, all the kids go to the Lycée Français International de Bangkok. Once they get home in the afternoon, we typically hear French spoken by the side of the pool.
The lane leads to a slightly wider street, known as a “soi,” where the buying and selling is still mostly outdoors, but more stationary. For instance, just beyond the corner are a stand selling curries, a man treadling a sewing machine, and a woman creating caffeine drinks of various colors and temperatures. All of these businesses disappear after dark. The food salespeople pack up their carts and roll them away, while the tailor covers his sewing machine with a tarp and chains it to a wall.
In our part of Bangkok these homes are likely to be owned by wealthy Indians. I imagine the music wafting through our windows from neighbors could just as easily be heard in Delhi or Mumbai. Kids playing soccer or lighting firecrackers in the courtyard of the apartment across the lane are speaking English with an accent from the subcontinent.
Weekday mornings, vans with uniformed drivers pick up kids from the lane and whisk them off to various private international schools. From our building, all the kids go to the Lycée Français International de Bangkok. Once they get home in the afternoon, we typically hear French spoken by the side of the pool.
The lane leads to a slightly wider street, known as a “soi,” where the buying and selling is still mostly outdoors, but more stationary. For instance, just beyond the corner are a stand selling curries, a man treadling a sewing machine, and a woman creating caffeine drinks of various colors and temperatures. All of these businesses disappear after dark. The food salespeople pack up their carts and roll them away, while the tailor covers his sewing machine with a tarp and chains it to a wall.
Buyin’ and Sellin’ in the ’hood; or, What the Neighbors Say – Part One
This may help picture where Jip and I live.
At 6am we hear a bicycle horn. It’s the scrap guy. He wants people to know he’s buying. If you’re selling, he’ll be back by in a few minutes. Formal recycling programs aren’t necessary here. One set of people look through the trash after dark, hoping for treasures; another set comes by during the day, offering a small sum for slightly higher-quality junk.
An hour later, the broom guy rides by. He too is on a bicycle, which like the scrap guy’s is specially fitted with accessories. More than fifty brooms, dustbins, and various other house wares stick up and lean out, flagpole style, from various slots in the broom guy’s rig. The net effect is of a moving brown jungle. From the middle of the jungle, the broom guy peers out, chants the names of his products, and attempts to steer. I assume there are accidents.
Later in the morning, and sometimes again before sundown, the fruit guy shows up. In our neighborhood the fruit guy is really two people. One drives the truck, narrating the menu and prices over a loudspeaker. The other sits in the back, surrounded by mounds of mangoes, oranges, guavas, pomelos, and whatever else is in season.
At 6am we hear a bicycle horn. It’s the scrap guy. He wants people to know he’s buying. If you’re selling, he’ll be back by in a few minutes. Formal recycling programs aren’t necessary here. One set of people look through the trash after dark, hoping for treasures; another set comes by during the day, offering a small sum for slightly higher-quality junk.
An hour later, the broom guy rides by. He too is on a bicycle, which like the scrap guy’s is specially fitted with accessories. More than fifty brooms, dustbins, and various other house wares stick up and lean out, flagpole style, from various slots in the broom guy’s rig. The net effect is of a moving brown jungle. From the middle of the jungle, the broom guy peers out, chants the names of his products, and attempts to steer. I assume there are accidents.
Later in the morning, and sometimes again before sundown, the fruit guy shows up. In our neighborhood the fruit guy is really two people. One drives the truck, narrating the menu and prices over a loudspeaker. The other sits in the back, surrounded by mounds of mangoes, oranges, guavas, pomelos, and whatever else is in season.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Out of Dodge
Last week’s lottery draw came and went, and we are no richer. At least not cash-richer. But Jip and I have taken a fine outing to the countryside, to a town where she used to work, and where our friend Therese has a little house.
We absorbed the kind of quiet that seems to exist only on farms and along vacant stretches of road. Mango trees rustled. Swallows dipped.
Chao, who came along for the daytrip, snapped some photos.
Therese and a few other familiar faces spent much of the afternoon in hammocks. Folks who work the nearby rice fields dropped by. We didn’t really DO anything, but somehow the time passed quickly. That’s often how it is in Thailand, I find.
On the way home, Jip cracked jokes about things that on a different day could just as easily have come out as complaints. Watching her giggle as she reclined in the van, I felt very well-to-do.
We absorbed the kind of quiet that seems to exist only on farms and along vacant stretches of road. Mango trees rustled. Swallows dipped.
Chao, who came along for the daytrip, snapped some photos.Therese and a few other familiar faces spent much of the afternoon in hammocks. Folks who work the nearby rice fields dropped by. We didn’t really DO anything, but somehow the time passed quickly. That’s often how it is in Thailand, I find.
On the way home, Jip cracked jokes about things that on a different day could just as easily have come out as complaints. Watching her giggle as she reclined in the van, I felt very well-to-do.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
My Lucky Day
A bird pooped on me as I walked under an electric wire. My teacher remarked on it (no hiding the green blot on my white shirt) at my early morning language lesson. He said for Thai people, being bombed in that way counts as good luck. He urged me to take advantage of the omen by playing the lottery.
The secretary at work agreed wholeheartedly, and immediately wanted to know the species. When I told her “pigeon,” she looked it up on a website that assigns numbers to every kind of animal or dream you can imagine. Pigeons turn out to be associated with “66.” She told me to choose a ticket ending with those two digits.
When I didn’t head out the door right away, she sent somebody after me: “I heard about your happy accident this morning, and I’m going out anyway in a few minutes—would you like me to buy that ticket for you?” I think they were both afraid that I wouldn’t really do it, or that I’d wait a day, meaning that some of the luck would have worn off.
So I’m now the proud holder of ticket xxxxxxxxxx66. Not only that, lots of colleagues have told me that they heard about my good fortune, and they plan to piggyback on it by picking the same number. If it gets pulled out of the hat next week on the day of the drawing, you can bet the Thai Audubon Society is going to end up with a big donation!
The secretary at work agreed wholeheartedly, and immediately wanted to know the species. When I told her “pigeon,” she looked it up on a website that assigns numbers to every kind of animal or dream you can imagine. Pigeons turn out to be associated with “66.” She told me to choose a ticket ending with those two digits.
When I didn’t head out the door right away, she sent somebody after me: “I heard about your happy accident this morning, and I’m going out anyway in a few minutes—would you like me to buy that ticket for you?” I think they were both afraid that I wouldn’t really do it, or that I’d wait a day, meaning that some of the luck would have worn off.
So I’m now the proud holder of ticket xxxxxxxxxx66. Not only that, lots of colleagues have told me that they heard about my good fortune, and they plan to piggyback on it by picking the same number. If it gets pulled out of the hat next week on the day of the drawing, you can bet the Thai Audubon Society is going to end up with a big donation!
Monday, February 20, 2006
Five-star Service
Jip spent a couple nights in the hospital thanks to low sodium, an old nemesis. This was discouraging to me, because she’d been doing so well physically here, and because I thought we had seen the last of that problem. It didn’t seem to bother her, though. And the care we got at a private hospital in Bangkok was amazing.
It was like an elegant hotel: picture windows looking out on a gorgeous courtyard, body gel and fancy shampoo in the bathroom, delicious food available anytime from an
ala carte menu. For patients’ relatives there was a sink in the room for washing dishes, and high speed internet access in the lobby. Nearly everyone spoke English.
The nurses didn’t wake us up four times per night to take blood pressure. They also hit the vein on the first try, and they seemed to already know what we had told their colleagues on the previous shift. We saw firsthand why “medical tourists” are coming to Thailand for health care.
It turns out that one of our caregivers has worked in several Thai hospitals. So when she showed up to help us check out, she knew a few tricks that helped make things even smoother. Jip now appears to be back to normal. When we got home she was all smiles, ready to start in again on her routine.
It was like an elegant hotel: picture windows looking out on a gorgeous courtyard, body gel and fancy shampoo in the bathroom, delicious food available anytime from an
ala carte menu. For patients’ relatives there was a sink in the room for washing dishes, and high speed internet access in the lobby. Nearly everyone spoke English.The nurses didn’t wake us up four times per night to take blood pressure. They also hit the vein on the first try, and they seemed to already know what we had told their colleagues on the previous shift. We saw firsthand why “medical tourists” are coming to Thailand for health care.
It turns out that one of our caregivers has worked in several Thai hospitals. So when she showed up to help us check out, she knew a few tricks that helped make things even smoother. Jip now appears to be back to normal. When we got home she was all smiles, ready to start in again on her routine.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Back to the Opera
Before we moved here, I did some Googling to discover which of my American addictions I would be able to indulge in Bangkok. While “Bangkok + baseball” yielded nothing promising, “Bangkok + soccer” overwhelmed me with options. The big surprise, though, was “Bangkok + opera.”
I found out that not only does Thailand have a fine opera company, but that it had plans to put on the first opera in Wagner’s Ring cycle, “Das Rheingold.” Recently those plans became reality, and I had a front row balcony seat.
Wagner would have approved. Bangkok Opera is the real deal. The director’s local touches reminded me of the way Seattle Opera’s director made this timeless tale seem like a homegrown product.
The story kicked off with Valkyrie ballerinas dressed in classical Thai gowns. Wotan lived in a Thai-style house. Loge showed up wearing Bermuda shorts and flip flops. Erda had several arms, like a Hindu deity. And when the gods marched up the rainbow bridge at the end, Valhalla looked remarkably like the Bangkok skyline.
The hall was far from sold out (thought the princess showed up again), so it may be tough to convince the board that Bangkok Opera should mount the rest of the cycle. But I can dream. This company has the right stuff.
I found out that not only does Thailand have a fine opera company, but that it had plans to put on the first opera in Wagner’s Ring cycle, “Das Rheingold.” Recently those plans became reality, and I had a front row balcony seat.
Wagner would have approved. Bangkok Opera is the real deal. The director’s local touches reminded me of the way Seattle Opera’s director made this timeless tale seem like a homegrown product.
The story kicked off with Valkyrie ballerinas dressed in classical Thai gowns. Wotan lived in a Thai-style house. Loge showed up wearing Bermuda shorts and flip flops. Erda had several arms, like a Hindu deity. And when the gods marched up the rainbow bridge at the end, Valhalla looked remarkably like the Bangkok skyline.
The hall was far from sold out (thought the princess showed up again), so it may be tough to convince the board that Bangkok Opera should mount the rest of the cycle. But I can dream. This company has the right stuff.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Sport Day
How about this for a fine day on the job: The office is locked. Email is on hold. Everyone meets on the basketball court that is part of the Ministry of Public Health’s sports complex, dressed in one of four different colors. The randomly assigned teams have been meeting at lunch over the previous few days, working out their cheerleading routines.
In between the final rounds of the basketball, chairball, and “futsol” (6-a-side soccer) competitions—badminton, pingpong, and petanque were settled earlier—various party games are quickly pulled together. And we’re not just talking about tug-of-war and egg-in-a-spoon races.
There’s also the contest to see who can assemble a group whose collective weight comes closest to 550kg. Nobody seems to mind stepping on a scale in public and having their weight broadcast to the crowd. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised--people here freely ask about age and salary. They seem surprised when I tell them that Americans routinely lie about all three of these subjects.
Lunch for 200 is catered. The IT department screens a highlight video it has put together from the preliminary rounds. At 4pm, when the dust from the final game has settled, and the last song has been sung, the director presents trophies to each of the teams, thus putting to rest all of the boasting that has preceded this day. Not bad for government work!
(P.S. If you look closely at the photo, you’ll see that my earlier request, for a goal scorer to be sent this way, was answered! Let’s hope I can get a few more for my regular weekend team.)
In between the final rounds of the basketball, chairball, and “futsol” (6-a-side soccer) competitions—badminton, pingpong, and petanque were settled earlier—various party games are quickly pulled together. And we’re not just talking about tug-of-war and egg-in-a-spoon races.
There’s also the contest to see who can assemble a group whose collective weight comes closest to 550kg. Nobody seems to mind stepping on a scale in public and having their weight broadcast to the crowd. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised--people here freely ask about age and salary. They seem surprised when I tell them that Americans routinely lie about all three of these subjects.
Lunch for 200 is catered. The IT department screens a highlight video it has put together from the preliminary rounds. At 4pm, when the dust from the final game has settled, and the last song has been sung, the director presents trophies to each of the teams, thus putting to rest all of the boasting that has preceded this day. Not bad for government work!
(P.S. If you look closely at the photo, you’ll see that my earlier request, for a goal scorer to be sent this way, was answered! Let’s hope I can get a few more for my regular weekend team.)
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