Pick Your Own Definition

Longtime expats here inevitably develop pet theories about the differences between Thailand and wherever home used to be. A Brit I met on a Siam Society trip earlier this month likes to talk about what he terms the respect continuum.

His idea is that Easterners and Westerners often find themselves on opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to privacy and tolerance. For example, it’s not unusual here for a late night party to intrude on others’ personal space—loud music after hours doesn’t lead to calling the police, as it might in the West. The Thai attitude in this case is live and let live.

This fellow calls that attitude disrespectful. But he also knows that Thais mean no disrespect when they engage in community fun that compromises others’ “rights,” such as the water throwing that happens every year at Songkran. He might even admit that being alone here is rare, and considered something to be avoided if possible.

Furthermore, he admires what he feels is a high acceptance in Thailand of people who are different from the norm. He says Thais are much more willing than Europeans to show consideration to gays, different religions, foreigners, and so on. As Aretha sang:

R-E-S-P-E-C-T
Find out what it means to me

Gotta Start Somewhere

Jip’s caregivers are trying to eat healthier. I have to smile listening to them talk about it. Right under their noses is somebody who always gets her 5 to 9 daily servings of fruits and veggies, who loads up on fiber every morning, keeps her total fat intake way under a third of her total calories, and regularly eats sources of omega-3 fatty acids. Jip could pretty much write the handbook on nutrition.

Yet for her caregivers, turning over a new dietary leaf means daily doses of chlorophyll liquid supplement. According to the label on the bottle, chlorophyll is a good “odor neutralizer.”

(To be fair: lots of Thai people have fallen into poor eating habits over the past couple of decades. Especially in urban Thailand, fast foods and suspicious snacks are much more readily available than during my first trip here in 1986, when I recall the opening of a Dunkin Donuts shop being a huge deal. Back then, more people ate more like Jip does now. Today, Ministry of Public Health Ministry people always tell our office that while they appreciate the U.S. assistance with infectious diseases, their bigger concerns are diabetes, obesity, heart disease, and cancer.)

Pink Season

There’s a very pink tree in bloom here at the moment. If memory serves, it’s right on time. Yet the air temperature isn’t as cold as it should be. Everyone has commented that Thailand’s cool season (never long enough—or cool enough—for my tastes) never showed up at all this year. As the scientists have been telling us for a while, weather is getting wackier and wackier. But this one tree species (Tabebuia rosea) doesn’t seem to have gotten the word. Perhaps we should consider basing seasons’ names on color instead of temperature?

Pride in Workmanship

If you want your scissors sharpened or your shoes repaired in the U.S. nowadays, odds are good you probably have to go to a mall, if you can find those services at all. Here in Thailand there are thousands of street vendors whose specialized skills can still be purchased at a pushcart… assuming that the customer arrives before the goods are rolled down the street toward the vendor’s home.

In our neighborhood sits a guy who does all things wristwatch. He changes batteries, replaces wristbands, solders loose wires. His prices are reasonable. Best of all is his slow, patient technique. I’ve been known to wait a whole week for him to be around, just so I can watch him work.

Last time I brought him a problem, he spent at least 15 minutes longer on it than I would have expected, just so he could get it right. Whenever he chose a tool, it was the perfect one for the task. Removing the watch’s crystal, he paused to dust off the face with a cool little bellows-like gizmo that seemed designed for only that one task and none other. Then he fished through drawer after hidden drawer in his cart, pulling out spare parts that presumably he had saved “just in case.” It wasn’t enough for him to find the odd-sized band or the custom clasp—he also had to hone and file and create a tight fit.

His focus, like his tools, is sharp. Not for him the side conversation or the wave to a passerby. Even when he’s finished and I try to slip him something extra, his directed gaze doesn’t change. “It’s all part of the service here,” he says, passing me back my attempted tip.

Back to Ban Rai

After visiting Jip’s family in the South, Murph and I had time for one more trip before she had to return to the U.S. We took a van up to a small town that I wrote about on hipbelt about 18 months ago. The attractive resort there and its friendly owner haven’t changed. We ate a delicious dinner at treehouse-style tables next to the lodge, and as before the owner refused to me pay for the meal. When we asked about massages, she replied that the town still didn’t have a shop of its own, but that the hospital where she worked during the day offered Thai herbal massage as part of its outpatient therapy. Soon we were on the table. I have no idea what our host listed on the hospital registration forms as our complaints, but the cure was lovely.

I thought Murph would enjoy seeing the monastery in Ban Rai that remains the most unusual religious building I’ve visited in Thailand. Wat Tham Khao Wang looks more like a palace than a temple. For one thing, it’s four stories high. For another, it appears to emerge from a mountainside. Its wooden rooms generally have one side open to the elements. We climbed a series of stairs to the top level, only to find a weird shrine constructed mostly from empty bottles of Red Bull. At the base are pictures of the king and queen, at the top is a Buddha image, and around the edges are various containers for burning incense. I knew some people put lots of faith in energy drinks, but I hadn’t been aware that they were worshiped in this way.

Hospice at Home

Jip’s Grandma has lived nearly a century. Yet when we visit the family home, she always comes across as the healthiest of the three generations of Thai women in the room. Mom needs help to do certain tasks because of her arthritis (though it’s hardly noticeable because her spirit is so strong). Jip of course has lost lots of abilities.

Grandma’s main limitations, other than poor hearing, have mostly seemed self imposed. She would say that she has earned the right to take it easy and be waited on. To her, the idea that older people should hang on to their independence as long as possible is ridiculous. She used to gently complain to Jip that a “younger” (early 80s) woman across the road got more frequent “service” from her family than Grandma did.

This month Grandma is finally getting her wish, although she may not have much awareness of it. Over the last several weeks, age has finally caught up with her. She appears not to really be able to tell the difference between night and day, sleep and being awake. Mom has hired a neighbor to help with some of the basic needs.

When Chao, Jip, Murph, and I drove down last weekend, life was happening all around Grandma. She lay on a small mattress near the center of the living room, but she wasn’t always the center of attention. She was still surrounded by all of the things she has always felt a responsibility to look after—various heirlooms, a little white dog named Diamond, maybe some gold stashed away somewhere—but now they were other people’s problems.

She can’t walk or feed herself anymore, but those changes don’t especially concern anyone, except possibly Diamond, who spends much of his day curled up nearby her. Everyone simply accepts that her time is coming soon. Now and then a neighbor drops by “just to see the old person.” (Grandma may be the longest living resident of Ban Krud.)

During our first visit there after returning to live in Thailand, Grandma told Jip that the two of them might never see each other again. Looking at her sparkling eyes back then, the prediction seemed hard to believe. This time, Grandma is no longer able to say it, but she doesn’t have to. We’re all ready.

Born on Christmas Day

My sister Murph is in Bangkok for two weeks, so Jip and I were able to celebrate Christmas with family for the first time in a while. Putting up a tree in the living room seemed in order. Murph and I inspected the plastic imitation-spruces at the department store but couldn’t bring ourselves to go that route. Instead we opted for long strings of fairy lights, which we strung on two tallish tropical plants that we brought inside from the balcony. With a few ornaments on the branches and a few presents underneath, the trees almost looked like they came from a single stem.

The caregivers by this point are like part of the family, and none of them had really ever had a proper Christmas morning. The one working the night shift happily agreed to stay a little late, and the one working the afternoon came a little early, bearing a fine assortment of Thai treats. By 10:30, all three were definitely proclaiming tidings of comfort and joy.

We let nothing us dismay as we gathered in the kitchen for a good feed, featuring coconut milk something-or-others, sparkling cider, guavas, and a few other things that have never appeared together on any holiday menu that I’ve ever seen. Jip didn’t partake, but she enjoyed listening to the squeals coming from the groaning table. More shrieking followed as we opened a few presents.

By noon things were back to normal. Jip’s daily routine was well underway; the three bottles of perfume that the caregivers had specially requested from America were stashed away where Jip didn’t have to smell them. Murph and I headed off to a quirky attraction that attempts to offer a one-stop tour of the entire country’s most important architecture. The Ancient City’s scale models are placed roughly where they belong on a big piece of Thailand-shaped land our near the airport. Our full afternoon of bike riding past palaces, stupas, and temples was another Christmas first.

Setbacks

In the past couple of months Jip has had a couple of flare-ups caused by her disease—the first backsliding we’ve seen in more than three years. Luckily, she seems to be back to normal now. But these episodes sadden me after such a long period of stability. The caregivers and I have talked together about the possibility that their jobs could get harder in the future.

One unusual sign was Jip’s number-than-usual mouth, which made eating and speaking more difficult. She didn’t seem bothered, but the women all mentioned their concern. That lasted about three weeks. Later, Jip had another low sodium episode. It was easy to fix, but before we turned it around, for about half a day she looked pretty woozy and unresponsive, which was new to this group of caregivers. One in particular seemed quite spooked by the whole thing.

I’d like to think these setbacks will be temporary and rare. They’re also a reminder us to treasure each day. I know it’s a cliché, but happiness is a choice. Jip has always been the greatest teacher of that lesson. It’s best for us to be thankful for all the stuff that is working well.

Getting Exercised in Indochina

Back to Angkor Wat for another chance to run among the temples. Several mates joined up this year, multiplying the fun. In fact the race came at the end of an athletic week. Vinnie, my pal since fifth grade, and his wife Tina met up with me in Vietnam to do some biking through the Mekong Delta. We then speedboated up the river to Phnom Penh, and then went on to Siem Reap by car.

Two years ago, the three of us arrived at Angkor Wat together from the Thailand side. Vinnie and Tina, whose home is in the U.S., enjoyed that trip enough to come back for a rerun. No telling what kind of sporty Southeast Asian adventure we’ll dream up for 2011.

Thanksgiving Delicacy

Yesterday we had the day off work because our office follows the American holiday schedule. I prepared lots of Thanksgiving food for Jip and myself, expecting we would probably have a quiet, early meal around 2 or 3 in the afternoon. Jip doesn’t like to eat much in the evening.

But she surprised me by saying that she already had a lunch plan and that my food would have to wait until after her exercises, maybe around 7pm. OK, I said, but I better go out and get something to eat now before I faint (I’ve learned not to argue about the small stuff).

I ended up at a place near our apartment that has always caught my eye but I’d never gone in before. It seemed like they could whip up something quick. Then I realized that it was mostly a Chinese menu, specializing in dim sum.

Dim sum is fine if you know what you’re doing, or if they bring around the cart and you can point, but neither case was true, so I decided to keep it simple and ask if they had any Thai salad.

He replied that yes, they had salad, but I didn’t catch what kind. The word he used didn’t sound familiar, but I figured I can always learn something new. Then the plate arrived and it didn’t look familiar either: kind of opaque and a little bit noodle-like, but not exactly.

The taste wasn’t familiar. If you want the truth, it was a little like chewing on shredded plastic. I was faced with that decision you sometimes arrive at with celery: spit it out or swallow the undigested fibers.

After a few swallows I thought maybe I didn’t really need to finish this meal. Food at most places in Thailand has the advantage of being cheap enough that you can always give up and start over if it’s not working for you. So I paid up and walked off, thinking about where I would go for my second lunch.

On my way out I happened to spot the name of my dish on a hand-written chalkboard menu. I recognized the word for salad, but the words “maaeng ga phroon” meant nothing to me. I figured I’d ask a Thai friend at work to translate. In case it was something really weird, I didn’t want Jip to know what I’d eaten.

My friend raised his eyebrows a little bit. “What kind of place was this?” he asked. I told him it was Chinese. He nodded and said, “Yeah, they always care more about texture than taste.” He didn’t want to tell me at first, but I pressed him and so he coughed up what I’d had for Thanksgiving: jellyfish!

Grand Opening

Last Saturday Jip and I made the trek to Prachinburi, a province about two hours east of Bangkok, to check out the restaurant that Chao and his wife have just opened. They did a fantastic job building the open-air, lunch-and-dinner place. It sits next door to a rice field, where diners feel like they’re picnicking.

This grand opening is a milestone for Chao and Lek, who were married more than three years ago but have had a commuter marriage for most of that time. Chao recently resigned his job at Thailand’s biggest newspaper in order to live with his wife, who takes care of her father and runs the family bookshop. It wouldn’t surprise me if together they ended up starting a new family next year, in addition to this new business.

But it’s also a milestone for the connection between Jip and her younger brother. Throughout the time we have lived in Bangkok, Chao has been a frequent visitor, sometimes just to say hello, sometimes to use the pool at our apartment. We’ve even seen a fair amount of him during the construction and outfitting of the restaurant, because he has had to buy supplies in the big city, and has often spent the night at our place.

Restauranteuring is consuming work. Now that the place has officially opened, I doubt he’ll take many days off. If we want to see him, we’ll likely need to take a drive to the country, as we did last weekend.

Vets World Cup

Bangkok’s soccer league for old men tried out the idea of everyone playing for their home country. After countless matches as the lone Yank among Brits, it was strange but fun to play on a team of (North) Americans.

Not that it was easy to fill the roster. Three of us from the States had to combine forces with three Canadians and a naturalized U.S. citizen who was born in Turkey, just to be able to reach the minimum number of players. Japan, by contrast, fielded three of the 18 teams. England and France had two apiece, and many other European countries were out in force.

But for those countries it’s not unusual for the teams to break down by nationality. During the regular vets’ league season most people end up sticking with their own kind. For whatever reason, us Americanos—maybe because we’re in short supply to begin with—have ended up shared around. Not that I mind playing for the British Club. I get to hear some different accents and to keep up with who’s on top of the English Premier League table.

Yesterday's team, unlike many of the British Club squads I’ve been part of, made a respectable showing in the final standings. A dynasty in the making?

Going Native

Four years and counting, yet I still don’t know how to sleep in Southeast Asia. Air conditioner? Fan? Open window? Each has its advantages.

Our place often gets nice breezes at night, so what has worked best recently is to set up a little tent made of gauzy fabric and place it on the bed. The idea is the same as mosquito nets that hang from bedposts. But because we don’t have bedposts or a low ceiling, I bought a free-standing pop-up device that assumes its shape when you pull on a cord at the top. During the day we stash it in a closet, where it looks like a tall folded umbrella.

Does that make me a native? Or a slow learner? Before you decide, you should know that I now finally am consistent about looking to the right before crossing the street in this drive-on-the-left country. It’s only taken me this long to figure out which lane is going to hit me first.

Loner Krathong

Last night was Loy Krathong, the annual chance to go down to the river with your beloved and launch a little banana leaf boat with a candle in it. Originally it was meant as a day to express gratitude for all the good things nature has done for you over the year. During the twenty-plus years that I’ve been aware of this holiday, it seems to have morphed into more of a Valentine’s Day than a Thanksgiving.

Jip has never been a big fan of Loy Krathong (“what part of polluting the river says ‘thank you?’” she asks, quite reasonably). For the past couple years I’ve been able to sweet-talk her into at least acknowledging the romantic part of the day. But after I finished making our krathongs this year, she declined at the last minute to participate. I went downstairs to the little fountain at the gate to our apartment, thinking that at least I wouldn’t waste the banana leaves.

I invited the security guard to join me. He now thinks I’m even loonier than he maybe already did, but I also think he was secretly pleased to have a chance to thank the water gods.