Thai Language Update

My spoken Thai is back to about where it was the last time we lived here. Navigating activities of daily living is easy. Thais in stores and restaurants often ask, “How many years have you been studying?”

But they’re just being polite. My vocabulary is smaller than most kindergarteners. And the words I need now are the ones I won’t use every day. So I still don’t do too well on the phone, or when conversations veer suddenly. Unfortunately, I can’t count on Jip to translate. When I talk to the caregivers, I usually want to talk about Jip, so using her as a go-between isn’t appropriate.

The good news is that unlike eighteen years ago, I’ve figured out the alphabet, so now I can pick up new words without having to hear them first. But being able to read doesn’t help when I have some complex, important idea that I really want to get across, and nobody around speaks any English.

To supplement my flashcards and audiotapes, I signed up for a tutor, to begin next week. With a little work, 2006 (or 2549, according to the Thai calendar) will be the year of speaking beautifully. Happy New Year!

Over the River and through the Woods

Rarely have I made New Year’s resolutions, and even more rarely have I remembered them. But in 2005 I’ve been dreaming for a long time about making a trip to Jip’s home village and her 95-year-old grandmother. Last weekend we managed it.

I hadn’t been confident that we would really pull off the five-hour drive, so I didn’t say anything about it to most people. Even as our rented van pulled onto the highway, I still was half expecting Jip to insist that we turn around. She didn’t do that, but she did kind of whimper much of the way. Not surprising--she was nervous about what we would find, about the interruption in her routine.

What we found was a full moon, a sky full of stars, and no trace of the two-foot-high floods that had made a mess of the house just a month before. Jip grew up just a mile or so from the Gulf of Thailand, in the skinniest part of the country, where many of the 400 plus villagers depend on the sea for their livelihood. There’s nice air there. A strong breeze was blowing through the coconut trees as we rattled the front gate to wake up Jip’s mom.

Grandma got up too. To see the sparkle in her eyes as she came into the kitchen, you’d have never known she was sleeping a few minutes before. Jip’s eyes couldn’t see her, and Grandma’s ears couldn’t hear Jip, but despite the senses they’ve lost, they both knew the other was in the room, and their grins lit up the place. Lovely to watch.

In the morning it was as if we’d been there for years. No special changes in the routine on our account. Jip’s oldest brother, who hadn’t been roused by our late night arrival, waved on his way to the market, but otherwise was very low key about greeting the sister he hadn’t seen for about four years.

Meanwhile, I was thinking of all the ways the village reminds me of the place on Lake Michigan where I used to spend time with my grandmother. The sound of that breeze, the smell of the closets, the way it gathers the family. In fact Jip and I had weddings in both spots.

Now and then grandma would make her way over to where Jip was sitting. Jip told me later that grandma had said, “It’s good you came. I might never get to see you again.” Very casual. Buddha grandma. No fear of what comes after this life.

A week later, Jip says she doesn’t remember much of the trip, but if you’d have seen her face on the way back you’d have known it was worth making. She was as serene as I’ve seen her in months. Buddha Jip.

Nostalgia Travel

The caregivers say they’d rather have the money than the time off, so I’ve been free on these extended weekends to explore a bit. Two weeks ago I took a trip down memory lane by going to the Thai-Cambodian border, where Jip and I first met nineteen years ago. My specific destination was a series of Khmer-style temples that were built around the turn of the last millennium.

Some of them look a little bit like Angkor Wat in miniature. Within a 150-mile radius dozens of them still stand, many of them apparently intended originally by their
builders as dwelling places for the gods. I was most interested in seeing Prasat Phnom Rung, where I recall many of us going for picnics in the late 1980s.

At that time the temple was missing a large carving, known as the Narai lintel, which was traced to the Art Institute of Chicago. The Thai newspapers back then were full of editorials demanding its return. So it was fun to have our friend Marjorie take my picture beneath it, and to remember the friends from the refugee camp days who used to enjoy outings there.

Month of Holidays

A bonus of working for a two-country collaboration: we celebrate both governments’ days off. That has meant several long weekends for me, beginning with Veterans’ Day, followed by Thanksgiving (but not the day after), last Monday’s national birthday party for the king, and finally the Thai Constitution Day on December 12. Nice duty!

World AIDS Day was a work day, naturally. Despite the breaks, I’ve been busier at the office lately than I was during the first month. Most people know me now and know why I’m there. My steep learning curve has begun to flatten out—initially I had lots to learn about the disease, public health procedures, and spending the taxpayers’ money—so now I actually put my experience into practice.

The annual report and a renewal of the collaboration’s first five-year agreement will both keep me scribbling away over the next few weeks. My business card says “writer/editor,” but mostly what I do is look around for what others have already written, synthesize it, and then spread the word. So it’s part librarian, part grammarian, part knowledge manager, and part public relations guy.

Things never seem to get too heavy—hey, this is Thailand—even when deadlines come around or big meetings are on the schedule. Last Friday everyone called it quits early and went outside for the first installment of the six-week-long interoffice sports competition. With a schedule like this, who needs Christmas?

Seen in a Bangkok Supermarket

For wet agriculture you apparently have to go direct to the rice paddy.

Turkey Day

Some people I know managed to track down the traditional Thanksgiving dinner in this town, but they always qualified their assessment of it with “not like home,” or words to that effect. Instead I opted for plaa pad kee mao, which translates roughly as “drunken seafood noodle stirfry.”

What made the day feel festive was the company. My brother Tim (who ordered duck) happened to be in the country, spontaneously stretching the four-day weekend into a 10-day diving trip. It was short notice—he sent me an email after he was already on the ground in Bangkok—but good timing. We caught up a bit over dinner, then toasted being together at an open-air bar on the roof of a 62-story hotel.

Just goes to show that if you’re feeling grateful, it doesn’t much matter how or where you celebrate this holiday. In one sense this year’s version was one of our most appropriate ever, as the voyage that Jip and I have made to a new world is going very well.

Loy Krathong

The twelfth full moon of the year in the traditional Thai lunar calendar appeared a week ago. It’s a night to seek blessings for the next year and ask that bad luck from the past year be carried away. All around the country, people head to a river or canal and float small lotus-shaped vessels (krathongs), bearing candles in homage to the goddess of the river.

Jip’s take on this holiday is to boycott. She doesn’t get the logic of adding junk to a river whose goddess you are trying to thank. (Krathongs sometimes also contain food, flowers, fingernail clippings, you name it.)

But I kind of like it. Those famous Thai smiles are out in force. Families and couples share krathongs as nice symbols of togetherness. One-night entrepreneurs spread their wares on mats or blankets, lighting them with lamps powered by car batteries. After grabbing supper at a crowded market, I took a boat home. Watching the candles along the river’s edge, I got the sense of a giant, nationwide picnic.

Change of Seasons

The outdoor temperatures are steadily dropping (down from the mid-90s to the mid-80s), though I still walk around with a small sweat moustache almost everywhere I go. Jip often asks for a blanket. She’s not alone: once the thermometer dips into the 70s, many Thais dig into the back of their closets and pull out extra layers.

Lately the weather has seemed unable to decide. It’s been strong sunshine in the morning, followed by a good downpour in the afternoon and sticky humidity in the evening. But just a few days ago, at a ceremony in the country’s most famous temple, the prince formally changed the clothing worn by the emerald buddha.

In case I had missed that sign of the “cool” season’s overdue arrival, department stores and hotels today drove home the point by putting up Christmas trees, or at least hanging ornaments from the palms outside their front doors. I saw at least half a dozen of them on my way home.

At the bus stop, a woman wearing a wool scarf was coughing and looking miserable. Tonight’s predicted low: 71°.

Speaking of Food Choices

You know how, at restaurants and fast food places in the States, you sometimes have to navigate an endless decision tree before your order is finished? Ranch dressing, or Italian? Sprite or Coke? Mashed or fried?

Thai waiters never put me through that maze. Half the time, they don’t even let me finish my sentence. I’ll start to ask for something, and before I know it they have supplied the name of the food they think that I really want. (Or perhaps the food that they have been having trouble getting rid of lately?)

And I am so grateful. I’ve ended up with some delicious meals that were chosen for me. I’ve learned the names for some dishes that I’d happily order again. With Thai food, it’s hard to go wrong, so the risk of getting something inedible is small.

Lately my favorite thing is to approach a dessert counter that is full of 101 different colors and shapes, and to basically say to the people serving, “you decide.” Sometimes the resulting bowl is full of wiggly sweet pasta-like stuff under ice shavings; other times, beans soaked in syrup; once in a while, soft tofu in a ginger sauce. I can’t miss.

What’s on the Menu: Update

Recently fish and kale went off the list of a dozen or so comfort foods that Jip will eat, and were not replaced. She says she’s tired of them, which I can understand. But I suspect that taste isn’t the issue.

As in many other areas of Jip’s life, routine and risk-avoidance are her priorities. When I’ve brought her something
that was prepared outside the house, she has wrinkled up her nose at it because it might contain MSG or some other nastiness. (Come to think of it, she may be right about that.)

Jip’s niece Boe, who is majoring in culinary arts at college, cooked a wonderful dish with fresh ingredients, on our very own stove. Jip ate it happily, until she remembered that Boe had worn some perfume on a previous visit. From that point on, the food tasted “stinky.”

Holy basil, Chinese morning glory, and a weird looking veggie known as a winged bean remain favorites. She gets plenty of protein, thought it’s almost exclusively from tofu and pumpkin seeds. And we’re always running out of her favorite fruits. Jip cleans her plate. All the food groups are represented.

So why do I keep urging her to add more variety to her diet, or at least to throw in some Thai specialties now and then? To me, it’s a shame to be surrounded by the world’s best cuisine, and not to broaden one’s food choices. I know, I know … I need more to worry about.

Diagnosis

Disease-wise, Jip continues to be no worse than she was in Seattle. A nurse friend of ours wrote to say that "no worse" really means "better," with all the transitions we’ve had. Jip's emotions still ride the roller coaster, however.

Last Monday morning, Halloween, her first words to me were, “Trick or treat?” Big grin. I thought, “Gonna be a good day.” I was glad, because we’d been seeing a few symptoms that pointed to a possible bladder infection. When Jip has had those symptoms in the past, the uncertainty has usually made her agitated and a little obsessive.

But she wasn’t concerned last week. I suggested we take a urine sample to the hospital to be tested. Jip said, “Why? I’m taking d-mannose.” This is a powder she swears by, which apparently coats the bladder walls with something slippery, making it tough for bugs to grab hold.

Despite Jip’s confidence, I brought a urine sample to the lab. It came back clean. The doc diagnosed the problem as “husband without enough to worry about.” Which I suppose is the right kind of problem.

Sans Frontières

During the week I’m surrounded by Asian and American ways. On the weekend it’s Europe’s turn. I play football (soccer, to you) with the British Club Casuals most Saturday afternoons.

Among the sides (teams) in our MBMG International League are the Bulls Head Brazilians, German All-Stars, Les Gaulois, Dubliner, Robin Hood FC, Bangkok United (Japanese), and SunBelt ThaiVisa, which feature a number of Africans.

Unfortunately, the BC Casuals need a few more goal scorers. Or perhaps we ought to sing more before matches (games), as the Brazilians are fond of doing—or drink more afterwards, as we were invited to do by Germans after a heartbreaking loss two weeks ago.

Saturday and Sunday evenings, the English Premier League is broadcast on TV. Watching the likes of Arsenal and Chelsea and Tottenham Hotspurs, I feel pretty far away from Bangkok. It’s addictive enough that I even find myself tuning in Tuesdays, after practice with the club, to “Football Focus,” an analysis of who’s on top of the table (standings) and why.

The Family That Trains Together

The standard apartment in our foreigner-friendly part of town offers a swimming pool and fitness center. I head downstairs most mornings to break a sweat in air-conditioned comfort while catching the evening (in Atlanta) news on CNN. If the headlines from Iraq are too discouraging, a few laps in the pool usually get them out of my system.

At first I made the mistake of watching baseball on TV while running. It was hard to concentrate on both simultaneously. Once, during a stressful ninth inning, I got thrown off the back of the treadmill. One second I was sending good vibes to the Cubs’ closer, who had loaded the bases; the next second I was sprawled on the floor.

Jip’s exercise is more intense than in Seattle. She never skips a day of leg pushes and yoga. Taking a shower also gives her a workout, because we didn’t bring along the waterproof wheelchair she was using before. Now Jip sits on a modified bench, which has a low backrest. Because some of the muscles in her trunk region don’t get messages from her brain, this new setup forces her to build up the ones that do.

The pool also draws Chao, who has a bad back and so likes to swim. We see more of him than we would if we lived in a place with fewer amenities. Lately Jip’s niece Boe has jumped on the calorie-burning bandwagon, too. She called last week to ask if she could come over to “do fitness.” Apparently the treadmill agreed with her—she plans to spend the night three times this week.

Carrying the Torch

Call me sentimental, but I like this idea: by taking a public health job, I’m contributing in a small way to things Jip had planned to do after getting her master’s degree in public health. She had always seen herself returning to work in the north, with the hill tribes. But early on in her studies, she was diagnosed with this disease and life took a different direction.

I was her editor back then. Papers she wrote about health statistics passed through my hands before they were turned in, as did applications she filled out before being allowed to do research on human subjects. Now all that vocabulary comes flooding back as I work on similar documents.

Another bonus: I stay current on all the latest threats. Take bird flu. Jip has been telling me for the past year that I should avoid eating chicken and eggs. I’ve been nodding in that way that husbands do, then going ahead and doing what I’ve always done.

I thought the problem was being hyped, especially here, because of the recent visit by the Secretary of Health and Human Services, and the heads of the CDC and WHO (in the photo below, they’re all in the front row, while I’m the guy in the back on the right, staring at the rising helium balloons). Then every day this week we get fresh reports about H5N1 being found in a new species or on a new continent. Maybe it can’t hurt to change my diet, following Jip’s lead yet again.

Job

My vacation ended voluntarily this month. Now I brave the Bangkok commute for about an hour each way, taking sky train, motorcycle taxi, van, bus, or boat.

I’m the writer/editor for the CDC’s Global AIDS Program. Over here the CDC collaborates with the Thai Ministry of Public Health on preventing, caring for, and monitoring a handful of infectious diseases. Mostly the focus is on HIV, TB, and lately, bird flu. About 15 Americans and 150 Thais share an office.

Most of the day I’m at a computer, dealing with reports and scientific abstracts. In the background I hear the sounds of Thai language floating between cubicles. I teach informally, about things like participles and passives and plurals. In time they may add “records manager” to my title.

It’s one of the few times in my life when I haven’t worked in formal education. My contract lasts one year. For the moment this work is fun and social. I miss having kids around, but I don’t miss some of the silliness that happens in schools among adults.

Khao Yai National Park

In July Thailand’s best-known national park joined the list of the 800+ World Heritage sites. This honor, given by UNESCO, goes to “cultural and natural heritage around the world considered to be of outstanding value to humanity.” The U.S. claims about twenty World Heritage sites, including a dozen of the most famous national parks and the Statue of Liberty.

During Greg’s visit he and I figured we’d better have a look at Khao Yai to see why it was in the same league as Yellowstone and Olympic. We got there by sky train, motorcycle, bus, songthaew, and pickup truck, in that order.

All we knew before arriving was that hikers were encouraged to wear special socks to keep the leeches off. Nobody told us about the massive spiders that like to build their webs across the paths. Or about the pileated gibbons.

Luckily, we caught a ride on the last leg of our journey with a researcher who a) knew quite a lot about the pileated gibbons, b) was free to have dinner with us, and c) didn’t mind driving us to the trailhead the next morning.

Before the day was over we knew why Khao Yai is considered so special. We heard the songs of the gibbons as dawn broke. We trekked past some seriously big trees. Just as we thought the trail was taking us through yet another jungle habitat to the land of despair, we emerged at a gorgeous grassland, where the park has set up a wildlife watching tower.

Now that he is back in Seattle, Greg has posted pictures of this trip to the Internet. Click here to see how we looked on our travels, as well as several shots of our fancy apartment in Bangkok.

Sundays at Home

Sundays have become more social. We’ve started hosting a small meditation group in the morning (about the same time that Quaker Meeting for worship used to begin back in Seattle). Or somebody phones about dropping by in the afternoon.

Jip tolerates having the extra people around. At least, she appears to be enjoying herself while they’re here. Tonight one of her oldest friends, who has been away from Thailand during the time we’ve been here, came over and brought along her parents. Jip smiled throughout the entire visit, but as soon as they left she announced that she was through hosting for a while.

So we’ll see what happens this coming Sunday. It’s also a day when I learn more about the week gone by. Jip often tires before I get home from work, which means sometimes I don’t discover small changes in routine or little bits of news until it’s my turn to be caregiver.

She has mostly been in good spirits lately. It hasn’t seemed to bother her that I’m gone for longer each day than I was before this job started. But maybe the anti-visitor talk means she isn’t handling the change in routine as well as I first thought.

Small Town

Of all the transitions Jip and I have made lately, the biggest is probably the switch from city to megacity. Bangkok is dense. It’s not Hong Kong, but compared to Seattle things are much more vertical and shoulder-to-shoulder. I feel it especially during commutes, when people spill in and out of the sky train, and on sidewalks, where everybody and everything is much closer to me than I’m used to.

Our food choices aren’t that different than they were before; we still speak lots of English; being surrounded by many cultures is nothing new. But being among many millions every day means things are a little more impersonal than we were used to.

That’s why one set of connections in Chiang Mai made a big impression on me. I had searched my college website before going, and discovered three other alumni, all from graduating classes in the 1950s. A few days before my visit, I emailed them, suggesting we chat.

I didn’t hear back right away. But someone else up there, the head of a local language school, suggested out of the blue that I “really should meet this older guy I know, name of Ed.” I said, “His last name wouldn’t be ‘Rose,’ by any chance?”

Of course it was. And of course his wife taught at that same language school. And of course the secretary had their phone number, and he was at home, and happy to have lunch with me, and would have never checked the old email address I had used to write him.

A few other people I spoke to that weekend also knew Ed, all for different reasons. He’s not especially famous -- Chiang Mai is just that kind of place. He does have one claim to fame, though. It turns out one of Ed’s interests was raising Siamese cats. After lunch, he pulled out of his wallet a set of Thai postage stamps. “These were my babies,” he said proudly.

Going North

Last month I spent a couple days in Chiang Mai, the northern Thai city where Jip has fond memories and we have several pals. The idea was to look for reasons to move there some day. I found several.

The top one is that despite being the second largest town in the kingdom, Chiang Mai’s population is literally fifty times smaller than Bangkok’s. Right away I found fewer degrees of separation between people. In a pattern familiar to me from living in Seattle, folks who have similar interests seem likely to know each other in Chiang Mai.

In forty-eight hours I had about a dozen good talks with old friends or friends of friends. Everyone was sold on our coming there – sometimes because they like us, but always because they like their lives there. Most people talked about quality of life: Chiang Mai offers sports, dining, friendship, and health care opportunities that compare favorably with Bangkok’s, but without the smog and traffic.

Making ends meet might be a bigger challenge up there, but with some creativity and lead time it wouldn’t be impossible. And there are non-financial perks: one can get anywhere in town on a bicycle. We could be in the mountains in minutes by car. I even went for a run outdoors for the first time in three months.

Jip supports my explorations. Going up there meant I was away from her for the longest period since we arrived in Thailand, but things went fine with her and the caregivers. Probably I’ll return to Chiang Mai every couple of months for a few days each trip, in order to expand the network and double check that the docs will be good enough. Perhaps we’ll become northerners in a year or so.

Greg Visits From Seattle

Our good friend Greg is in town for a week. His presence is a fine gift for both Jip and me, made possible by his generous wife, children and employer, who realistically are giving him up for nearly two weeks, when you figure in jet lag.

He and I are bopping around town as if it had been our home for years -- shopping in little markets, going to the cinema, eating on the street, taking the canal taxis. By showing him around, I'm finding out how much I've learned about the city in three months. Next week I start a regular 9-to-5, so this time also feels like the last week of summer vacation.

Greg's sense is that Jip is much stronger, more alert, easier to understand, and generally in a better space than when he last saw her. I value his comparison, because he had very regular contact with her in Seattle. At least once a week, he would drop by to help Jip stretch her lower body. When she heard him walk in the door two days ago, her first words were, “Grab a leg!”

A Night at the Opera

The Hungarian State Opera was in town for a special festival of the arts. They put on Rigoletto. I had to go. Who knows when might be my next chance to hear Verdi?

At first the scene in the lobby fit the stereotype. The men sported tuxes; the gowns on the women ranged from silk to sequins to nothing more than a slip. I heard any number of European and Asian languages spoken. The sandwiches for sale at the concessions had no crusts.

But just before the curtain was to go up, several officials literally rolled out a red carpet. A fleet of Mercedes pulled up outside the front, where nobody had been allowed to drive. Out stepped the princess. Everyone else stood at their seats as she walked to her own special armchair, dead center of the VIP section. She had to sit all by herself.

After the performance, and after the presentation (“by order of Her Royal Highness”) to the singers of lovely bouquets, we all waited for the Mercedes to pull away before exiting our own seats.

Apparently the princess is a well-known patron of both western and Thai classical music. We may run into each other again.

Seen in a Bangkok Park

Better to leave them at home where you can keep an eye on them.

Reconnecting

Jip’s interest in attending the Siam Society talk the other night gives me hope that she’ll also begin wanting to see more people from her past. So far visitors have been a low priority. Not that we've had many. Usually, a guest is a problem rather than an opportunity for her.

The exceptions are family (although she told her mother to go home after three days) and people from the really old days. A gang of nurses Jip had worked with in '84 and '85 dropped by one afternoon. Jip happily listened to them, ate in front of them, showed them how she does her exercises.

A few days later, a Thai friend from her UW years came over, somebody who's been a huge help in finding caregivers and giving me advice. Jip's first words were, "You can talk to John." So that's what happened, for about ten minutes, until Jip made it clear that the visit was over.

I’ve learned the hard way that not allowing Jip power over her time can backfire. But I’d love it if she slowly began to find more pleasure in having company, or going out. My big dream is a trip south (four hours by car) to visit her 95-year-old grandmother. That is a reunion I’d love to watch.

In Seattle we were surrounded by many friends, but as Jip’s main caregiver I didn’t see other people as often as I would have liked. Now I have more freedom, but I know fewer people. It was nice to hang out this weekend with our old pal Marty, who passed through on her way back to the States from a trip to Tibet. Jip wasn’t feeling too social, but I probably talked more in one afternoon than I had throughout the previous ten weeks combined. If you happen to pass this way, you might get an earful.

Check Out This Headline: Jip Asks to Go Out on the Town!

We’ve been here ten weeks. Jip has left the apartment exactly once. I’ve proposed excursions. She has usually replied that she is too busy.

I figured that her routine was giving her comfort, so I stopped asking so often. Also, dust and smells often bother her. No shortage of those in this town.

Then she stunned me this morning. I casually said I was planning to go to a lecture at the nearby Siam Society. She casually said she wanted to join me. Like we do this every night.

I was simultaneously delighted, and worried that getting her there would be enough hassle that she would never want to go anywhere again.

But we made it there and back, despite bumpycrowdedstinky sidewalks and crossing Sukhumvit Rd. at rush hour and a sudden downpour on the way home. Bangkok has a long way to go before it is ADA compliant, but along the way several strangers were helpful to us. The lecture was fine, and Jip didn’t complain once. I can’t wait till the next outing.

CareGIVING

I’m awed by how our two caregivers keep on giving, twelve hours a day. On Sundays, when it’s my turn, I’m exhausted after about half that long. They don’t seem bothered by Jip’s randomness. Maybe it’s because they’ve never known her any other way, or maybe because Thais just let stuff roll off more easily.

Sometimes, from the other room, I’ll hear a caregiver and Jip giggling together, followed by Jip vigorously protesting something, followed by a long silence, and then back to giggling. (This disease is never boring. Maddening, yes … but never dull.)

I generally don’t step in to find out what the problem was. Jip’s relationships with her caregivers, and the solutions they evolve to problems, must and should be different from the ones she and I have worked out.

Luckily, she hasn’t shown the temper and hopelessness that upset us all so much two winters ago. Some people suggested back then that winter itself might be the problem … another reason why Thailand might be better than anyplace else we could be.

How’s my Thai Coming Along?

Well, I don’t dream in Thai yet.

But last weekend a well-dressed stranger fell into step with me on the street and asked me to donate to some suspicious-sounding cause. Without even having to think, I explained that I couldn’t, because I hadn’t won the lottery yet.

Now not only did this exchange happen quickly, but I am sure that this person understood me on the first try, because she let out a huge guffaw, and stopped following me.

More typically, I have to re-pronounce my words several times, because I’ve gotten the tone wrong. Finally the other people throw back their heads and say “Oh!” And then they re-re-pronounce the word, which of course to me sounds just like the first way I said it.

So How is Jip Really?

 

 

 

 

I rarely ask her how she’s doing. The answer might be different every few minutes. She’s not as clear about her likes and dislikes as she once was.

To me, her quality of life is better than when we lived in Seattle. She gets lots of attention, she still feels in charge of many parts of the day, and she's eating well. When she’s happy, she’s still got the greatest smile in the world.

Physically, she is doing no worse, which is a relief. I had been afraid that the heat and the strain of moving here might take a big toll. Emotionally, she goes up and down pretty fast.

There's no predicting what's going to worry her. Sometimes the apartment (or my mouth!) smells “stinky,” “dusty,” “fishy,” or “stale.” Other times she wakes up thinking about a Thai cult that she heard about before we arrived. At meals, she interrupts to remind me that I shouldn’t eat eggs or chicken in this land where bird flu was a problem last year. Then something funny will occur to her, and a big laugh will erupt out of nowhere.

Complicating the task of gauging Jip’s moods is her almost unintelligible speech. She can be talking for several minutes before I understand the big picture. Luckily, she keeps on talking almost all the time, sometimes even talking to herself when she is alone.

So is Jip any happier than she was in the States? Not really. Would she be any happier anywhere else? Probably not. Does she have a toothache? No she doesn’t! Let’s celebrate her non-toothache, and all the other things she ISN’T complaining about!

A visit from P’Su

Last Wednesday, Jip had been fussy much of the day, complaining about this and that but never getting specific. Her moods had been swinging more than usual during the previous few days. I thought we might lose a caregiver as a result.

Then an acquaintance of Jip’s, P’Su, stopped by to visit. I had met her once before, back in March when I came to scout. She’s a wonderful spirit, active in lots of peacemaking initiatives here. Her energy changed the atmosphere almost immediately.

P’Su had once helped another woman Jip knew well, by forming a hospice team for her as she approached her too-early death from cancer. On impulse I asked if she had time to help me translate some ideas to the caregivers that had been too complicated for my Thai. She agreed, and about an hour later, we’d all five had a wonderful exchange.
We talked about how pleased I was with the quick learning they’ve done about Jip’s likes and dislikes. They told us what they were still unsure and afraid about. P’Su was the perfect interpreter, because of her experience with Buddhism, and with other chronically ill people. I felt really hopeful afterwards.

It's likely that a few folks like P’Su will join us now and then for a meditation group here in our apartment. I doubt we'll meet as regularly as we did with the small Thursday night group in Seattle, but at least we'll get a start.

An Excellent Adventure

We’d been here nearly eight weeks last Wednesday when I spotted this in a local magazine: "Amazing Bangkok Cyclist runs daily organized bicycle tours of the capital. Includes bike rental, snacks, drinks, fruit, water, guide fee, boat transfers and insurance."

It was one of those sticky days when people have to change their shirt three times, and the tour was leaving in less than an hour, but I hopped off the couch nonetheless. Shortly after the group headed out, I knew it was the right choice.

We rode through back alleys, into sweaty markets, and alongside stalled traffic. Thanks to our fearless Thai guide, who stared down taxi drivers and truck drivers alike, all three of the paying customers in the group soon made it safely to a quiet temple alongside the big river, where we threw our bikes onto one of those cool long-tailed boats that ply the local waters.

Once we were on the other side, it was like a new country: jungle-y vegetation, village sounds, nothing written in English. People waved to us as we passed, and then probably wondered among themselves why we chose to be out in the afternoon heat instead of taking a siesta in a hammock under a coconut tree. Our route took us on little narrow sidewalks, raised up on stilts. Riding there required even more concentration than navigating the urban jungle we’d just come from.

A week later, I’m still revisiting that side of Bangkok in my head. I hadn’t been out of town at all, so this was just the spur I needed. The next two days found me exploring even further afield, with Jip’s blessing. If you visit us, bring bike gloves!

No Hurricanes Here

Katrina is in the headlines, which reminds me to comment on our weather.

The conventional wisdom is that Thailand has three seasons: hot, hotter, and hottest. Using that scale, it’s hotter season here. In Bangkok that means that every few days it dumps buckets of rain for about two hours in the afternoon. Nothing really stops (traffic is always at a standstill anyway); people just open umbrellas and carry on. Afterwards the air feels just a little bit fresher and there’s a nice coolness to the evening.

In between downpours, it’s just humid. Chao told me this story: apparently the ringer on his cell phone stopped working. When he took it in for repair, they told him that he wasn’t alone – dampness affects lots of phones here. The solution? Pop it in the microwave for a few seconds. Now it works fine.

The outside temperature hasn’t varied much at all since we arrived (high-80s, feels more like high-90s). Indoors, we alternate between opening the windows for a cross-breeze, and switching on ceiling fans or air conditioning. Jip’s internal thermostat hasn’t really adjusted to the new surroundings, and so she is constantly asking for adjustments: changing clothes, adding blankets (!) or whatever.

We’re looking forward to “hot” season, which should start in about a month. Meantime, we’ll enjoy the first real thunder and lightning we’ve heard for years.

What’s on the Menu

The good news is that Jip’s appetite is good and she generally likes what she eats. The bad news is that she eats the same damn thing at nearly every meal.

I’m still waiting for her to wake up and ask for something really hot and spicy. But no. Here we are in Thailand, where the cuisine varies from tangy to sweet to fiery to coco-nutty, and Jip plays it safe. Her breakfast tastes run almost exactly the same as they have for the last couple of years: oatmeal and rice soup.

Happily, her diet includes more fruit than she was eating in the States, and of greater variety. In addition to guava and papaya, she now eats lots of the huge grapefruits known as pomelos. Sometimes she has been tempted by a pink, scary-looking number known as dragon fruit (shown at right).

Alas, almost every afternoon she requests that I make her holy basil and tofu. At night it’s kale and carrots, rain or shine. Now, I admit that I do a pretty good job with these dishes (how could I not have the recipe down pat by now?), but how about some cool local seafood now and then? Instead, Jip asks for salmon.

Chao and I keep trying. He brings over new Thai delights often. We wave them under her nose. And then guess who ends up eating them?

Librarian-types Out There Might Appreciate This

On the sixth floor of a shopping mall yesterday I watched kids of all ages reading for fun. They were stretched out in many different poses; I was sipping a raspberry smoothie. We were all in a new kind of library, called TK Park (short for "Thai Knowledge?")

Some clever designer has laid out the room so that everybody fits in somewhere. There’s the “music corner,” the “book wall,” the “reading bleacher,” and a bank of computers called the “e-library.” Bright colors and lots of curved lines make the space very inviting to a young person’s eye.

Some of the kids were horizontal on huge interlocking cushions; others were fetal position, squeezed into small hexagonal cells that are suspended from the ceiling. Still others were leaning on each other, heads on each others’ shoulders.

Judging by the lack of empty seats in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon, it’s a big success. The government office responsible for this brainchild calls it a place where 21st century kids can get 21st century information. Does the mall nearest you have anything similar?

Getting the Word Out

To my ears, Jip’s speech has become mumblier since we arrived. If I’m right about that, it’s probably because the nerves controlling her mouth muscles are progressively being blocked off and fewer messages are getting through.

But I could be wrong, because I’m in that stage of learning a language where everything sounds like everything else. I often have to say to Jip, “Let’s start over,” because I’m not even sure if she’s speaking English or Thai. Happily, In Thai her words still come out fairly clear – apparently one’s mother tongue originates in a different lobe of the brain. So communication between Jip and the caregivers is relatively easy (although sometimes they shoot me a look that says, “Did you catch that?”).

How about communication between the caregivers and me? When we first met, I thought things were going along wonderfully during the day shift. Then her replacement came, and Jip was taking a nap. In my best Thai, I asked the second one to wait until Jip woke up before going into the bedroom and meeting her. They both nodded, the first one grabbed the second one by the hand, and they both ran giggling into the bedroom. So much for my best Thai.

Jip doesn’t usually get too frustrated by whether people can understand her. More often, her expression says, “What’s the matter with your ears?” But I’m looking forward to a day when I can really talk about everything I’m thinking about. I wish that for Jip, too, even though two-way conversations don’t seem to be her highest priority these days.

So What Do I Do All Day?

My jobs are now chief cook, bill-payer, and husband. Soon I hope to shed the first of these titles (I now appreciate the Seattle dinner deliveries more than ever) and concentrate on the second. Jip’s food is important to her, though. It’s one of the few things she still has control over. So in the interest of not forcing too many changes at once, I’m still doing the grocery shopping and most of the meal preparation.

That still leaves time for a swim every day, playing tourist now and then, and trying to improve my Thai. (It’s pretty rusty; I last lived here in 1989.) Luckily, the pace in Thailand isn’t like America’s. What doesn’t get done today can almost always be done tomorrow. Or not.

Taking Care of Jip

Two young women each work twelve hours, six days a week. They’re clever and cheerful. Both seem to have the Thai ability to keep a spirit of fun in their days with us (in Thai the words for “work” and “party” are close). Jip likes them and vice versa.

Neither seems to mind Jip’s routines, which these days can be slow and a little strange. (Swishing her mouth for an hour before breakfast?) If there’s a spare moment, they fill it with puttering around, rearranging the piles that I seem to leave behind everywhere.

We found them through an agency that one of Jip’s friends had used for her father a few years ago. Ya is quiet in a way that fits the night shift, and has done this kind of work for ten years. Jieb is younger and gigglier, with the cell phone generation’s energy.

So we’re covered ‘round the clock, which means I can go to bed when I feel like it, and then wake up the next morning without an alarm. What a gift to have somebody else give Jip her 2am medicine! Sunday is the caregivers’ day off, just so I don’t forget how to do it.

Home Grown

The housing scene amazed me. Chao took me around his neighborhood, where we saw the whole range: tin shacks by the railroad tracks, nothing-special places where the doors were too narrow for a wheelchair, and a mini-village of three thirty-story towers with a swimming pool at the base of each one.

Then a real estate agent hooked us up with a gorgeous apartment – quiet, deep elevator, workable bathroom, the works. It’s even got a lunch counter, so Jip can wheel right up and supervise my cooking. I knew it was the place as soon as I saw a cousin of my favorite tree growing outside our window:

http://www.nps.gov/plants/alien/fact/alju1.htm

A few of our neighbors in Seattle had one, which I always coveted. The UW campus has a nice one too, near the Hub.

This apartment also has an extra bedroom! And four bathrooms! Why don’t you hop the next flight? Send me an email and I’ll send you our address.

Ain’t Seattle

Bangkok is not the nice calm Northwest. It’s the city of angels … much more like L.A. than what we’re used to. We’re talkin’ taxis and beggars and 24/7 and doormen and guys on the street with fake Rolexes. Nobody lives in little houses on the corner, surrounded by a plum tree in front and a Japanese maple in the back. But there are coffee shops everywhere, and big supermarkets featuring organic vegetables, so I guess there’s a little bit of Seattle here after all.

Hey There

Greetings from Balmy Bangkok. Our move to Thailand is going very smoothly. Jip is getting more and more used to her native land; she never asks about returning to the States.

We arrived a little over a month ago, but the pace is only now slowing enough for me to pick up the latest Harry Potter. It took a while to find good housing and good caregivers for Jip, even with lots of help from her brother Chao, who lives here in the bustling city.