Wat Phra Buddha Bat

During Labor Day Weekend I spun up to Saraburi Province, about two hours north of Bangkok, to check out one of Thailand’s oldest and most important temples. I expected to find tradition, housed amidst crumbling walls. Instead, the place brims with young energy, and it gleams. How hip is it? The temple’s website address is featured on the entrance sign.

Read all the details of this quick excursion at hipbelt, holybasil’s sister site devoted just to travel.

Tuuk Chalok

Just when I think I’m caught up on major aspects of Thai culture that differ from my own, something comes along, slaps me across the face, and says “Duh! You mean nobody ever told you that…?”

This week I was riding in a colleague’s car, talking about car insurance. She mentioned that she’d had several fender benders, and was concerned that soon she would have to change insurance companies. “Or maybe just change cars … this one isn’t tuuk chalok.”

I asked what the phrase meant. Instead of explaining it directly, she pointed to a hand-written sign in the back window of the car ahead of us. Traffic was barely moving (in other words, a normal day in Bangkok), and I had time to pick out the words, “This car is red.”

But the car wasn’t red, it was black. My friend explained that probably the owner had come to believe that the color of the car wasn’t a good fit (tuuk chalok), perhaps because of a string of bad luck similar to hers. Rather than re-paint the car, or replace it with a new one, this owner had decided to publicly claim (or perhaps announce to the car’s spirit? I wasn’t sure) that the car’s true color was not what it appeared.

I love this notion that people can changes their destinies through a declaration. It challenges the reputation some Asians have among Westerners for unquestioningly accepting fate. Thai people often change their names from one that is not tuuk chalok, usually in consultation with a respected monk.

Not long ago a group of us went to a restaurant where the front door faced west. That direction (sunsets, finality, death, and so on) is considered inauspicious by some people in Thailand. But no worries—above our table was a sign announcing that “this restaurant faces east.”

Better Than Blood Doping

Beginning a slow jog the other night, I waved to the security guard. Our exchange followed the usual script:

He: How many minutes tonight?

Me: Oh, I’ll probably go for about ___ minutes (I make my best guess)

He: OK, I’m timing you!

Me: Ha, ha, ha.

I reached the end of the block and rain started to sprinkle lightly. When the lightning began a few minutes later, I wondered if I should turn around sooner than I’d expected. But I welcomed the break from muggy weather, so I kept going. (On typical days, considering Bangkok’s sooty air, I’ve even thought that running in this city might be doing my body more harm than good.)

Before long the downpour was in full force. Puddles merged to become small streams. Heading into the wind, I had trouble keeping my eyes open.

I turned into a long side street and had the road to myself. Drivers were deciding to wait it out. Running to the end of the street and back took about five minutes. Nobody else seemed to be about.

My shoes were heavy with water, but it didn’t make any sense to take them off. My shirt, on the other hand, seemed unnecessary. I hung it on a tree and began another lap. It was tempting to bare all, as it was dark and I was practically naked anyway.

Seven laps later, I had transformed into a world class runner. My pace under those inspiring conditions had gotten so fast that I was sure my watch had stopped when I checked my times under the streetlights at the end of the block. Best of all, I felt I could go forever.

The guard couldn’t believe it when I finally returned home, having been away about twice as long (and maybe three times as far) as I’d predicted. Another reason why the rainy season is becoming my favorite.

Been There Done That

Took a trip this past weekend to a place, Kanchanaburi, I’d remembered fondly from twenty years past. Read all about it on holybasil’s sister site devoted only to travel, hipbelt.

Gender Bender

About once a month I get a massage at one of the various storefronts in our neighborhood that offer several different menu items: foot, whole body, head only, with oil, with herbs, and so on. These places are all above board, but the routines, decor, and prices vary widely.

They also come and go—I suspect that not many of the proprietors have had business training. This turnover rate means that I’m always continuing the quest for the perfect massage. I know that there is no such thing. I also know that I’ll never run out of possibilities.

This week I tried a new spot, located on a lower floor in an apartment building that rents to people of several nationalities. About half the time my masseuse turns out to be a man, but this time I wasn’t really sure at first. Trying not to stare, I kept sneaking glances, but s/he wasn’t giving me any clues. Loose clothing, unisex haircut, never said a word. I wasn’t even clear about whether or not s/he was Thai.

Eventually the kneading and pressing that characterizes massage here began to get closer to some classified areas. For my peace of mind, I sort of wanted to know a little more about who I was dealing with. I reasoned that perhaps the rules at this establishment were different from what I was used to.

I cleared my throat and tried to communicate in Thai an idea something like, “Go easy—that place on my upper thigh is a little tender.” In fact the pressure wasn’t too bad. I simply hoped that s/he would answer, so I could tell if this was a soprano or a baritone. “Why? Did you get injured there?” he said in a deep voice.

Ah. Relaxation came easily after I had a gender to assign to my masseuse. He did a pretty good job, despite a few failed attempts to bend my body into a pretzel shape. (This guy was athletic, and I think he wanted to show off his own flexibility, without perhaps stopping to assess my own lack of it.) His appearance might be a fashion statement that I would be able to interpret more easily if I was still in my twenties.

Afterward I went to the front desk to pay up. Normally I like to hand a tip directly to the person who worked on me, so that I’m sure it reaches them. I waited for a few minutes, but my guy was nowhere to be seen. As I was putting on my shoes, an angry-looking woman customer stormed into the room from the place in the back where the massages happen. She was wearing a head scarf of the kind seen in moderate Islamic countries.

In English she said to the boss, “Give me phone.”

The boss smiled but looked surprised. “Is everything OK?”

“Give me phone. I want talk my son.”

Soon she was shouting into the phone, “They give me man. I come here get massage. I no want man. They trick me. He not speak. They think I not know. But I know! (Pause.) How I know? I no need check. You not believe? You check! You come downstairs check!”

As I left the building I saw a young man trudge out of the elevator and head for the shop. Something told me that nobody in there was going to be able to relax for a while.

Lesson Learned

Here’s how not to study Thai language:

Carry around a pack of flashcards you made over a dozen years ago, pull them out once a day while riding the bus, quiz yourself, reward yourself for correct answers by retiring that card from the pack.

I’d been relying solely on this method of language study for about a year, when a Thai friend at work said (with unusual directness for this country), “Considering the number of opportunities you’ve had to get good at it, your Thai is really quite poor!” The truth stings.

Last year I studied with a tutor whose style I liked because, despite learning from him for over three months, I never knew whether or not he could speak English. He had a knack for being able to explain in Thai nearly anything we wanted to talk about, using a vocabulary that I could follow. It was as if he knew exactly which words I already knew.

Then Jip and I moved, going to his school wasn’t as convenient, and I convinced myself that I could do just as well on my own with the ancient flashcards. Gradually it hit me that I wasn’t graduating many cards from the pile. Words I thought I’d mastered yesterday were gone by tomorrow.

Last week I got a new teacher. During our three-times-weekly lessons, she supplies the English word if I ask her for it, but otherwise we only speak in Thai. I make new flashcard for each of the words she gives me. Lo and behold, I haven’t forgotten a single one. Words stick much better when you learn them because you need them.

Wat Huay Mongkol

Not far from the resort town of Hua Hin, where the royal family has established several palaces over the years, sits a shiny new temple in honor of a long-dead but still revered Thai monk by the name of Luang Phor Tuad.

We turned into the main entrance to this shrine, passing parking lots devoted solely to tour buses, and came face to face with maybe the largest statue of a real human being I’d ever come across. (Think of Lenin in Red Square, only about three times bigger.)

Naturally I got curious what all the fuss was about, and how this destination temple came to be built where it is (the monk himself hailed from a province nearly 1,000 kilometers further south) and at this moment in history.

Chao and Lek’s attempts at answering my questions involved lots of Thai vocabulary I’d never heard, so when we got home I also asked Google. In response to entering the names of the monk and the temple as keywords I got dozens of websites devoted to the sale of amulets, charms, and talismans.

Recently a particular style of amulet known as Jatukham took this country by storm. At one point sales reportedly accounted for about one percent of the gross domestic product. The beliefs surrounding them seem to have more to do with the supernatural than with Buddhism (although those two ways of life are often intertwined here). They’re also linked in some way that I don’t completely follow to a 100-plus-year-old policeman who died earlier in the year.

Folks sports these pocket watch-sized medallions, hung outside clothing from specially designed necklaces, in the belief that they’ll be protected from car crashes or similar mishaps. Jatukham seemed especially plentiful in the south, compared to Bangkok.

Chao has written about them for his newspaper, and seems also to be interested in their investment potential. Wat Huay Mongkhol is apparently an epicenter for their manufacture and trade. No doubt there’s much more to the craze than is dreamt of in my philosophy.

Leaving Jip Behind

When the subject first came up, Jip said she didn’t want to come with us to Ban Krud for the anniversary of her dad’s passing. But an hour before we were to head out, it struck her that if she went along, she wouldn’t be alone that night with a caregiver she is still learning to trust. Out of the blue she said, “I want to go too.”

At that point, a change in plans would have been possible but tricky. We’d have needed to find a van, waited half a day for her to finish her bathroom and shower routine, organized her food, and packed a really big bag of stuff.

I knew she wasn’t completely serious about wanting to take the trip. Yet I still felt terrible leaving her behind on a journey that was about family and her dad. In fact I felt a bit like her dad when I told her, “next time.”

When we returned to Bangkok, she was smiling and calm. I’m sure she had no regrets about skipping the long drive. Her mom returned with us for a short visit, which in my mind made up for Jip having missed out on the ceremony itself.

Not Kansas

On the way south we stopped at a former royal retreat, built three kings ago, known as the Mrigadayavan Palace. These days the buildings and the surrounding grounds have been renamed in honor of a current princess known for her environmental stewardship.

The three of us rode bicycles along shaded paths, and explored a boardwalk built through a mangrove swamp that the princess herself helped plant. I learned that this essential shellfish habitat used to be much more plentiful along tropical coastlines that it is now.

I also learned that the name of Jip’s province translates to “land of many mountains.” I’d always thought of the area mostly as an endless beach. Yet among the high hills on either side of the road from Bangkok are lots of craggy peaks that somehow I’d never noticed before.

No Place Like Home

Jip’s younger brother Chao, his wife Lek, and I went to a ceremony remembering Jip’s dad in her village last weekend. It was the first time I’d been to Ban Krud without Jip.

In an odd way it also felt like my home. I couldn’t walk a hundred yards without being invited in for a chat. Jip’s older brother, Jieb, hosted a barbecue for some neighbors. Everyone there remembered me from our wedding ten years ago.

Jip’s mom and sisters-in-law put together a lunch for the nine monks who chanted in memory of Jip’s dad. Jieb lit the candles, Chao offered the monks first helpings of food, and I handed out envelopes containing small gifts. Just as at Chao and Lek’s wedding last year, I was considered part of the family in an easy, natural way. My role was to do what Jip would have done had she been there.

Ban Krud is a lovely place to be from. The ancient trees along the road near the railroad station are as welcoming an entrance as can be found anywhere. They’re also full of brilliant birds—no wonder Jip became a serious birder.

So How’s Jip Now That I’m Back?

Jip managed fine in my absence, all things considered. She was grouchy for about a day. Then she figured out that without me around, she could push the envelope on a few obsessions that she knows I don’t approve of. I suspect the caregivers spoiled her by letting her brush her teeth for as long as she liked, and by putting up with an endless clothes selection routine every time. With that kind of pampering, what’s not to like about having your husband out of the country?

Lately she acts like a rebellious teenager. She tells people what she thinks, stays up past midnight, demands that her parent (more and more my role) stays out of her business. I have to hand it to her—the strategies she uses to stay in control of her life are remarkably inventive. I often wish that creativity could be channeled into other pursuits as well.

Like what? People often ask whether she would enjoy listening to books or monks on tape. A few years back, when she first dealt with low vision, she used to spend a couple hours a day with recordings, or listening to people read aloud. Now her attention span for that kind of thing is limited to about five minutes. Occasionally she’ll agree to let me share some of the email messages and letters I’ve received; rarely, she’ll ask to answer one

Her vocation remains exercise, which she does between 5 and 8 every afternoon, rain or shine. She also averages three hours daily on oral health care, which I suppose makes it her avocation.

This is our life.

Back Home

When I taught school I used to always observe my feelings carefully during the first few days after returning from a long break. I figured that if I wasn’t happy to be with my students after relaxing with friends and family, then perhaps I should consider a change (new grade, new school, new career?) during the following school year.

That system worked well as a gauge for how much I was enjoying my current setting. By that measure, I’m in a very good place at the moment. Coming back to Bangkok feels just right. As I jogged down our little street on the first morning following my arrival, I found myself drinking in all kinds of delightful little details of Thai life.

I’m not taking anything away from the U.S., which was lovely and battery-charging and blissfully free of humidity.

It’s just that it feels great to be back in the Big Mango. People are smiling and sauntering. Dogs are lying on the sidewalk. In my head is a list of dishes I want to order at my favorite eating spots.

Nonstop

Sprinting around America for the first time in many years reminds me of returning from college over my first Christmas break. So many friends! So few responsibilities! So much hanging out! Not really doing anything, but getting so much done!

In this case I returned to college, for my 25^th reunion. (Note how young we all look.)

Then I spent a week catching up with more than 35 family members as they whirlwinded through our favorite haunt in Michigan.

Quality and quantity time!

Now I’m in Seattle, working the phone. A nice bonus of passing through on short notice is that people make room in their schedules. If I still lived here, and I were to call about getting together, most likely I’d hear, “Sure, a couple months from now we’ve got a free evening.” But when I say, “I’m here till Sunday,” then suddenly the calendar opens up.

One Down

Yesterday a caregiver quit. She’d been on the job just over a week.

Jip’s brother Chao assured me on the phone that the remaining two are confident they can manage without replacing her. Jip likewise says she would rather not look for a new person until I get back.

I was surprised we lost her. This woman was the one who called in sick on her second day (she explained when she returned that she hadn’t wanted Jip to catch her cold). I had also ridden the bus with her once, after she’d worked the night shift. Her agency was located close to my office.

On the bus she and I had talked about food (the Thai equivalent of discussing the weather). We’d gotten to know a little more about each others’ families. She had even convinced me to drop by the agency and meet some of her fellow caregivers.

I thought, “We’re bonding. This is fun. She likes Jip. This is a keeper.”

Shows what I know.