Meet and Greet

Jip’s reaction to visitors may be changing slowly. Until a few months ago, she rejected most people’s offers to drop by. If guests came over unexpectedly, she often deflected their attempts at conversation, or made it clear that she wanted to get back to her schedule.

When I knew in advance that someone would arrive, I usually didn’t warn her. That way, she didn’t have time to think of all the reasons why she didn’t want company. Sometimes she had a good time in spite of herself.

Jip hardly said a word about my parents staying with us when they were here not long ago. Then we had a call from a couple Jip hadn’t seen since the mid-‘80s. They came over with old pictures that looked familiar. (Sure enough, I found a near perfect match for one of them in a photo album of ours. Clearly it had been taken on the same day.) These folks stayed more than two hours—a Bangkok record—and Jip hardly stopped talking the whole time.

If you asked her, Jip would still say she prefers an extremely consistent routine. But now and then she can deal with little swerves and surprises.

Home for the Holidays

Ten years to the day after our Thai wedding, my parents and Jip and I all re-lived the event with a visit to Jip’s mom and grandma in the village. Their house is where Jip grew up, and is the only one Jip’s mom (right) has ever lived in. Last time we were there , 96-year-old Grandma told Jip, “It’s good you came. I might never get to see you again.”

But she seems in good form. Our welcome, this time mid-afternoon instead of after midnight, again made the six-hour drive worthwhile. Everyone just lit up. And by going down during the day, I remembered how pretty it is in the part of the country. The hills of Burma look inviting in the distance. Beachcombers gauge their progress by how much they can see of the glistening clifftop temple.

Jip’s older brother acted like a chamber of commerce director, touring Ma and Pa, as well as a couple of CDC friends who came along for the ride. After dropping them at a hotel, he and his wife took me to a bustling Saturday night market where the food choices beat anything I’d seen in Bangkok.

The routine at the house was slow and easy. Jip seemed content from start to finish. I could get used to this.

Reason Number 322 Why We’ve Got a Pretty Sweet Deal Going Here

My nose hairs have never had it so good.

When I go to the barber in this country, it’s an hour-long event, complete with multiple kinds of clippers, razors, scissors, brushes, powders, and antiseptic liquids of undetermined origin and purpose.

The goal of all this is to produce the skinhead look that I’ve decided is practical here. In theory, the whole job could get done in under five minutes. But Thais take their hair care seriously.

By the time we’re done, my whole head has been trimmed, not just my scalp. Thus the nose hairs, ear hairs, chin hairs, and even eyebrows have all gotten attention. If I’m lucky and there aren’t too many people waiting, a shoulder rub might get thrown into the deal. It sets me back two bucks, including tip.

A friend of Chao’s cuts Jip's hair. She comes to our place, and does both Chao and Jip in less time than I spend in the chair. Then again, Jip doesn't have nose hair issues like I do.

It seems never to be too late for a haircut here. On almost any street, you can find a barber open after dinner. Yet many people consider it bad luck to get clipped on Wednesday. This week, I forgot about that taboo. Could that explain why our evening caregiver failed to show up yesterday? Or why, as I write this, thousands of tiny ants are pouring out of my computer modem? (I really wish I was making up that last bit.)

Reunion

Since I left it in 1989, I hadn’t been back to the little town near the former site of the refugee camp. Our travels last week took us that way, so we stopped for lunch. Picking out the old landmarks was fairly easy. Things hadn’t changed much.

Soon Ma, Pa, and I found ourselves outside a corner shop where Jip and I used to meet up most nights, in our courtship days. Now, somebody sells mobile phones there, but back then it was a restaurant run by Mrs. Aun, a woman who came from the same province that Jip does. She and Jip had bonded , and before long she became like our mom, telling us when to get our hair cut, what to wear, and eventually who to marry (each other).

As I reminisced with my parents about Aun, along the street came a slow-moving motorbike. Hey!

Few things in life are more agreeable than reconnecting with an old friend or a long-lost relative, especially by accident. Aun was also moved by our reunion. She hadn’t known that Jip and I had really tied the knot (it took us several more years to figure out that she had been right all along), nor that Jip hasn’t been healthy (my eyes got surprisingly misty telling Aun that part—with most other people that never happens).

When I asked for news of the little daughter who used to hang around our tables at the restaurant, Aun told me “don’t move, be right back.” A few minutes later, the motorbike pulled up again, this time with both of them riding it. As you can see, the five-year-old I remembered has grown up.

Already Aun has been in touch with Jip by phone, and she may stop to visit us over New Year’s when she passes through Bangkok. The next time we see her won’t compare, though, to the lift I got from our chance meetup in the street last week. I’ll be living off it for some time to come.

Familiar and First

Ma and Pa are visiting from the States. Thanksgiving is a nice time to be together for me—I first set foot in Thailand 20 years ago, almost to the day. I remember calling home from the Bangkok central post office (back then making international phone calls was a big deal), reporting that I had arrived, had celebrated Turkey Day with some other Americans, and had found a job, all in the space of a week.

This year we marked the holiday overlooking the Mekong River. Jip passed on the chance to do some touring along the Lao and Cambodian borders, but she gave the three of us her blessing as we headed off for nine days away—the longest time she and I have been apart for several years.

On the first morning I went for a run on a small road near our hotel. The cooking fire smells, and the kids heading to the river with their little baskets full of toothpaste and soap, and the rooster soundtrack—all those things took me back twenty years, to life at the Cambodian border, where Jip and I met.

But I also experienced a first. As I ran between two villages, I caught up with an unaccompanied herd of cows, trotting along the road with their cowbells in full swing. They seemed surprised but not alarmed that their party had suddenly grown by one, and so I jogged along in the middle of the pack, feeling like I was in Pamplona, keeping an eye out for lunging horns, enjoying the music, very thankful to be on the road, out of the big city for a while, surrounded by family.

Running Around Town

My running partner and I no longer have a weekly rendezvous, now that Jip and I have moved to another part of town, but we still motivate each other by email. Recently he and I and 10,000 of our closest friends ran a 10K race in honor of UN Day.

Road races Thai style turn out to be well-organized affairs, starting at the coolest times of day and ending with free rice soup for everyone. The gun went off for this one at 6am. I had no idea beforehand about what my finishing time would be. When I train these days, I only pay attention to minutes, not distance. I’m also not used to keeping track of my splits in kilometers. I’d assumed that the rising sun and my advancing age would mean I would fade fairly quickly.

But when I got home I did some calculations and figured out that my pace was faster than I’ve run in about twenty years. I give credit to Dan, who claims his time was a personal record. Our results either mean that our partnership is working magic, or that somebody measured the course wrong.

As a warmup for the 10K, about three weeks earlier I ran without Dan in the annual Bangkok midnight run. I was drawn to it because it was short, and because it supports a good cause, an AIDS hospice at an upcountry temple. A few days beforehand, I headed out around 11pm for a training run, telling myself that I needed to understand real time conditions.

The night watchman at our place thought I was nuts, but it was fun to see who else was up and around at that hour. No other runners crossed my path, but more people than I expected were walking and playing and cleaning up around the streets. Back at the apartment, I figured I’d take a dip rather than wake Jip with the shower. Trouble was, all the lights were off at the pool. I wasn’t sure where the edge left off and the water began.

You guessed it. Big splash. Soaked shoes. Giggles from the watchman.

Dan asked, when I told him the story, if I had thought I was preparing for a midnight triathlon instead of a simple road race.

Loy Krathong with Jip

Loyal readers will recall that Jip doesn’t care much for the annual holiday honoring the river goddess, and so it was with low expectations that I proposed that the two of us float our krathong at the little lake down the lane. Sure enough, her first instinct was to scoff and wonder what part of no I didn’t understand.

Yet I persisted and was glad of it. When I came home from the market armed with banana leaves and toothpicks, she started to come around. I told her I would build the krathong myself (biodegradable, no styrofoam), and that after launching it we wouldn’t even have to wait around to see it capsize…a quick, five-minute ritual. OK, said Jip, but the lake was still out of the question. She suggested the bathtub.


We compromised on a little fountain right inside the entrance to our apartment. It was lovely. You’ll have to take my word that the spot of light at right is the candle in the middle of a very professional-looking boat made from banana leaves. (I’m a better krathong builder than photographer.)

Speaking of water craft, I was recruited as bow man for CDC’s entry in the annual embassy Loy Krathong boat race. We didn’t win, but neither did we sink, and several people commented on our excellent paddling form.

Sundays with the Vets

Soccer season started up again here. Thinking it best not to wait until the team captain took me aside and asked about my retirement plans, I voluntarily scratched myself from the lineup of the British Club’s Casuals team and instead joined its Veterans’ League squad.

For us older gents, team size, game length, field measurement, and net width are all scaled back. We also play less often: one Sunday a month, all afternoon, tournament style. There’s some down time between matches, which is nice for socializing. Everything gets organized by an exuberant Turk; a French team apparently always brings the sandwiches; the Germans pick up the beverages; while us Brits provide the witty repartee.


It’s not the World Cup, to be sure. Some guys look exhausted after the first half a game. But for me it’s great simply to be out there, chatting about Chelsea and Liverpool and the know-nothing refs, getting a little exercise and a lot of sun, knowing that Jip is getting good care from somebody else. It’s been a while since I’ve had a two-day weekend.

Full Squad

It seems that the hunt for a third caregiver is finally over, more than a month after it began. Ya, our rock, who’s taken care of Jip nearly since the day we arrived, happened to talk on the phone with her cousin. They both hail from a province in the north that has been underwater for much of the rainy season.

The worst flooding in several years has meant that jobs are harder to come by up there, so the cousin was happy to return to the big city. She’s worked here in the past, for the same agency that sent us Ya. Jip gets along with her quite well. In fact Jip is already muttering about how Ya could learn a thing or two from her cousin’s technique.

Meanwhile, I’ve reflected on the conversation I had with the woman in our office, about whether or not I was thinking enough of Jip’s needs. I conclude that she was projecting a little bit—she may have noticed her kids at home acting out whenever she gets busy with adult concerns.

Nonetheless, I think she is right to suggest that I watch out for things that may be going on with me whenever I see that Jip is unhappy. After all, the monks here say that peace in the world will begin first in the hearts and minds of each of us. Re-learning that lesson from an unexpected teacher reminded me that wisdom comes in many guises.

Hmmm

On the afternoon before the book club party, just after I start in on a project with a tight deadline at work, and just before the bosses drop by unexpectedly to negotiate next year’s contract with me, the phone rings and it’s Noi, the new kid. She wants me to know that she has quit the caregiver agency.

It turns out that Jip was her first and last placement. According to the rules of the agency, because Noi didn’t complete a full month on the job, she gets nothing. Can I help? she asks. I tell her to hang on while I go find somebody who can translate for us on the phone. I want to make sure I understand this right.

A woman I don’t know especially well is standing in the hall, and she says she can try. Her English isn’t the best in the office, but it’s lots better than my Thai. She talks to Noi for a minute and confirms the agency policy. I ask her to tell Noi that I’ll call the agency and explain that her work was fine but that she just wasn’t a perfect match for Jip.

After the woman hangs up, she asks about why I decided not to keep Noi. I tell her about a few of my worries. She asks if Jip gets frustrated with other people too. I say yes, sure. I don’t go into great detail. She says, “John, I think you should also examine yourself.”

I look puzzled. For one thing, I’m not sure if her words came out the way she meant, given that her English isn’t perfect. For another thing, this kind of advice is not very Thai. Being blunt here is rare. But she continues and I know I’ve heard her exactly the way she intended. She says, “John, I’ve been watching the email. You are involved in more and more of the work around here. I think you are thinking about other things when you are at home and not thinking about your wife.”

Whoa. I say, “Could be.”

I’ve got a book club party to go home and cook for.

She says, “Not ‘could be,’ John. Sure.”

We talk for a few more minutes, but we don’t really need to say any more.

Hosting

Meanwhile, I was getting ready to host the monthly meeting of the embassy book club. During the eight or nine months I’ve been attending this group, I’ve found most of the dozen or so regulars to be vocal, serious about finishing the books, and very generous with their hospitality. Finally it was my turn to put on the pre-discussion dinner and tidy up the apartment and find enough chairs and that sort of thing.

Keep in mind that with few exceptions, Jip and I don’t entertain. For about the past five years, it’s been overwhelming for Jip to be around lots of people at once. She can’t always tell who is speaking. She doesn’t pick up on the body language. If too many voices bounce around a room at the same time, she has been known to get a little freaked out.

So here in Bangkok we don’t own many plates, glasses, or spoons. Put it this way: if we let dishes pile up in the sink after breakfast, there aren’t enough clean ones left for lunch. Before this club meeting, I loaded up on plasticware from the local supermarket. Then I tried to prepare Jip for the event by talking about the guests (she knew nobody) and the menu (spaghetti). Pretty soon it was clear that I was more nervous about it than she was. A friend suggested that we both might relax if one or two folks from the group met Jip ahead of time, so at least some people would be familiar at the party.

That idea worked slick. Sam and Lesley, who hosted a few months back and live nearby, came over for ten minutes on a Sunday afternoon. A few days later, when the doorbell started to ring, Jip asked, “Is that Sam? Where’s Lesley?” She did her exercise routine as usual, on the rug in the middle of the living room, surrounded by people who paused, mid-appetizer, to admire her yoga abilities. When I asked her if the crowd was bugging her, she grinned and said, “Crowd? What crowd?”

And Then There Were Two

Last week started out with me telling the new kid she didn’t need to come back. She wasn’t working out, and even though things could have been lots worse, my gut told me they weren’t likely to get better quickly. I decided to nip it in the bud rather than bring about change by wishing, which I find never works.

So we’re back to two caregivers. One, Puang, has worked about a month with Jip, but it feels like we’ve known her for life. She’s funny and wise and knows just when to push and when to joke. The other, Ya, has been with Jip since the beginning, about fifteen months already. The recent staff turnover has brought her out of her shell a little bit. It seems like she enjoys being the experienced elder.

Until we find a replacement for Noi, the new kid, I’m not as free as I’d hoped to be. Still, letting her go was the right thing for the long term. Jip never said she was unhappy with her, but Jip’s words are no longer always a reliable gauge of how she’s feeling. She’s likely to criticize and praise the same caregiver on the same day.

Her actions usually tell a clearer story. Sometimes recently, Jip has done what we all do when under stress—resorted to strategies that we tried in earlier stages of life. She’ll plug her ears rather than discuss an unpleasant situation, or she’ll bang her fists in frustration if things aren’t going the way she’s used to. I noticed her doing things like that after the new kid’s shift was over. Since the kid has been gone, that stuff has been rarer.

Fewer Blues

This week we didn’t have another Stormy Monday. Tuesday wasn’t just as bad, Wednesday wasn’t even worse, and Thursday wasn’t awful sad. Since the time last week when Jip threatened to take a vow of silence, we haven’t had to welcome and train a new caregiver. Maybe the fifth try was the charm.

It comes back to me now that when we first came to town, we also had a period of revolving door hiring. So I shouldn’t complain too much this time … except that I no longer can devote all day to finding and coaching people like I could then. And the candidates who bailed out a year ago did so after their first day. This round, they’ve gone through three or four days of tutoring before vanishing.

The newest member of our three-person team shows up 45 minutes early every day and seems eager to learn. Jip described her at first as “a good kid.” Time will tell if she or the other newcomer will ever be as good as the woman who decided, after a year of working with Jip, to go back to school. It takes a while to figure out all the tricks of the trade.

Last Saturday I went out to play. Maybe this Sunday I’ll kneel down and pray.

How Was Your Monday?

• Had a few false starts in our quest to expand staff and create seamless care for Jip, but by the weekend I figured the new group had come together nicely,
• got my hopes up during my usual 24-hour solo Sunday shift, thinking it was the last one I’d do for a while,
• then Jip was awake more than usual during the night,
• the new caregiver showed up half an hour late in the morning, sounding like the routine was still a little fuzzy in her mind,
• no problem, I said, because the other newcomer should be here any minute, you two can help each other fill in what you don’t recall,
• except that the other newcomer didn’t come, sounding a little sheepish on the phone when I reached her,
• perhaps because she remembered my telling her that if she saw any problems with the job that I wanted to know as soon as she knew so that I could plan,
• but in fact she had tried to let me know early, in the classic indirect way, by phoning experienced caregiver number one to say she was worried about back pain,
• unfortunately caregiver number one figured she’d wait until the morning to phone me, but then slept in, since she’s not working until Monday evening,
• so I got the message direct from the source,
• leaving me two choices,
• take the day off to help out around the edges,
• or come home to find her and Jip both raving,
• the boss was OK with my proposal to telecommute today
• which would have worked fine
• if only the construction noise hadn’t started on the floor below us
• or if only the monsoon hadn’t arrived the moment I hung out the laundry to dry
• or if only the agency hadn’t called to say they were sending over the fifth new person in ten days for training because the back pain was looking like a permanent concern,
• at which point Jip screamed that she didn’t want to talk to anyone except me from now on because she was sick of having to be nice to all these unfamiliar voices…

Life After the Revolutions

A few photos from recent events:

Double Revolution

The ouster of the prime minister is still the main topic of conversation, but already the excitement is dying down. One camp seems to see the coup as a pre-emptive strike that averted lots of trouble. In other words, the sense of normalcy we feel shouldn’t be surprising—indeed, it was the goal of the planners.

Another group is disappointed that a political impasse should be broken this way in a democracy. In other words, things may be quiet now, but the root causes of the prevailing low confidence in the country’s direction can’t be addressed by a military takeover—trouble has simply been swept under the rug, according to this view.

In addition to this week’s government turnover, Jip and I are experiencing a revolution of our own at home. The first caregiver we hired, over a year ago, has given notice. I managed to get a couple of replacement candidates to come over fairly quickly, and they’ve both been apprenticing the past few days.

One of them in particular has a great sense of humor and lots of confidence. I haven’t heard Jip giggle as much in one day as I did yesterday afternoon, as I sat in another room and listened to the banter between her, the new caregiver, and the one who’s decided to move on. All three of them played off each other, cracking jokes and keeping the mood very light.

Thais in general think of work as a social activity. I’m hoping to restructure the caregiving schedule so that we end up with three women instead of two, and that their shifts overlap more often than they have in the past. I would also like to retire from my 24-hour Sunday shift, and from grocery shopping responsibilities. If things work out the way I’m expecting, this week’s laughter will echo for a long time.

Around the Water Cooler

Lots to talk about at work yesterday, mostly of the “where were you when you first heard?” variety. The consensus reaction to the headlines, among the Thais in our office, seemed to be “What took them so long? This should have happened months ago.”

Of course my colleagues aren’t necessarily a representative slice of the population. Educated Bangkok people may not feel the same way as the farmers and fishermen, whose numbers far outweigh the city dwellers, but whose opinions may not count as much.

I passed a few other government ministries on the way to mine, and noticed soldiers outside the entrances to each. But the Ministry of Public Health was “guarded” only by the usual traffic cops. Nothing like a coup to let you know how you rate, I guess.

Coup Day Two

Yesterday was a great day to do errands. Everything felt normal except the small number of people out and about. At a restaurant I popped into for lunch, the staff appeared so glad to have a customer that their attentiveness began to get a bit oppressive. I nearly had to swat them away. The only soldier I saw all day was looking lonely as he sat outside a building that houses the company founded by the former prime minister.

This morning I tried to go for a run at a park where I’ve seen soldiers playing soccer in the past. At the entrance gate I was turned away, even though cars were allowed to drive through. The government ministries are all open again, so I’ll be going back to work.

Far be it from me to speculate about the subtleties of Thai politics, and how this regime change will play out. It may even be harder to get good information here than it is elsewhere, because the local news sources are likely not as complete as those outside the country.

I don’t feel the sense of discouragement that we used to have twenty years ago, working in the refugee camps, when we were told by officials that the camps were closed but given no details about the reasons. Sometimes we could hear the booming of shells in the distance, but otherwise we had very little idea about was really going on.

In Bangkok today and yesterday it was the absence of noise that was unusual. My gut tells me that in the long run, any disruptions caused by the birth of a new government will be felt much more by a small handful of VIPs than by common folk.

No Biggie

At our new apartment we can almost set our clock by the sound of a sala-pao seller, who plies his doughy buns in the street below our window at shortly past 6:30 every morning. Today was no exception, which let me know that things would be business as usual, in spite of the sudden change in government here about nine hours ago.

I first learned of events after returning home around 10 from my usual Tuesday night soccer game. Chao, who works evenings as an editor for the country’s biggest-circulation newspaper, texted me a two-word message, which sent me scurrying to the Internet for details. At that time there weren’t many, as the soon-to-be-former prime minister was still planning to speak before the U.N. General Assembly.

After midnight my boss called a couple of times, first to say that the U.S. embassy would be closed Wednesday (and thus a day off for us too), and then again to report that the ambassador had judged the takeover to be so peaceful that we wouldn’t be getting a holiday after all.

As it turns out, Thai government offices are shuttered, including the Ministry of Public Health, where my office is based, so I’ll be working from home today. Report from our balcony: SkyTrain running normally, highway traffic lighter than usual, no sign of tanks anywhere!

Jip's Night Out

You first have to know how ornery Jip can get these days over the small stuff, in order to appreciate my joy at seeing her guffaw last night at her brother’s wedding reception. We were surrounded by party noises and strange smells that normally would have caused her to complain, but at this event her radar was apparently turned off, or at least disabled by the nice welcome she received from family and friends.

Her uncle, a jolly fellow whom we haven’t seen for several years, sought Jip out amidst the crowd at the restaurant, and soon had her in stitches. On hearing his voice, she initially put her hands together at eye level in a traditional Thai wai, or greeting of respect. I hadn’t seen her do that for anyone else throughout the fifteen-plus months we’ve been in the country.

He waved away such formality by urging her to reach out and feel his belly, which has expanded a little during his retirement. The two of them then traded news of various cousins, leading Jip to bust up over private jokes that I couldn’t follow. Soon Lek’s father came around to say hello—Jip had never met him, but was pleased to be introduced, because I had brought back such a nice report about the welcome he gave us all at the wedding in the countryside last month.

Each time that I thought to myself that perhaps we had overstayed—as when a waitress dropped a tray, or when someone suggested that we move indoors and away from the river, to where we could hear the live band—Jip took things in stride and simply smiled, rather than wrinkling up her forehead in the expression that I’ve come to recognize as the precursor to a mood swing.

Right up until the time we left by taxi for the short ride to the party, I half expected Jip to say that she had changed her mind and wasn’t interested. But apparently her feelings for Chao and Lek carried the day, or at least overrode the concern she had expressed earlier in the day that “people will be drinking beer there!”

In the end we hung out for about twice as long as I had expected we would. Jip was fawned over by Lek’s sisters and by her niece. Nothing seemed to rattle her, not even when, on the way home, our taxi driver reached over to reline her seat and it zipped backward much faster than anyone expected. She just laughed again, and I remembered how sweet it is to hear that sound.

High-end Living

Now that we’ve been here a few days, it seems like a really good deal. Once again we’re living pretty large. I had missed some of the details initially, while I was focused on door widths, waling around with a tape measure. But now I see how well everything works in this place, how luxurious it is, and what a nice view it has.

It seems that the previous owner of this place had been a wealthy retired businessman. He apparently had some stiff limbs, which explains the multiple bathtubs; and a fondness for video, thus the windowless in-home theater room, complete with padded walls. But he also must have been a bit paranoid … would you believe there are hidden cameras and bulletproof glass?

So at best we’re well protected, and at worse we’re under constant surveillance. The main thing for me is that Jip hasn’t said anything negative. At our old place she had a few pet peeves that she couldn’t let go of; now, she either hasn’t had time to invent any complaints, or the air and the lack of construction noise at night truly are better.

Why not come see for yourself?

Apartment Hunting

The deal here is you have to live nearby where you work. Bangkok traffic is so unforgiving that any other arrangement is a recipe for stress.

Yet Jip and I have a few unusual housing requirements, which turned out to be hard to meet near the Ministry of Public Health. Our specs include wide doors and deep elevators. The standard measurements here are often too tight for a wheelchair, except in a few buildings that maybe were constructed with foreigners in mind.

We also wanted a three bedroom place, because it has worked well this past year to have a room for the caregivers to call their own, even if they don’t sleep there. But Thai families don’t usually get that much privacy and personal space, so apartments that roomy are rare where I was first looking.

The real estate agent who helped us a year ago said he didn’t know that end of town very well. My online searches didn’t generate many leads. So I switched game plans and started looking on my own in a neighborhood halfway between our old apartment and my work. I just walked around in larger and larger circles until I saw a sign announcing an apartment for rent.

At first glance the place didn’t seem too special or fancy, but the rooms were big enough and the street was quiet. I called the agent again to ask him to negotiate for me (with housing, as with vegetables, the first price is not the final price here). To my surprise, he agreed to coach me, but nothing more. He said he had a good feeling about the landlady, and that I might do better on my own than he could do.

I felt like a kid who gets told that he has to start doing some chores around the house. I was so nervous about blowing it that I wrote out a whole script before I called to bargain. Just as I’d been coached, I told her not to decide right away, but instead to take a day or two to think about my offer. Amazingly, she called me back and agreed to the 20% cut I’d proposed.

New Digs

We’ve been busy moving to a new part of town, setting up new routines and phone numbers and Internet access and so on. In a way it feels as though we’ve finally moved to Thailand.

Our old place was surrounded by lots of conveniences that made it a perfect place to land when we were fresh from the States. But those same amenities sometimes made me feel as if we could have been anywhere in the world: the international signage, the English-speaking pharmacists, the five-star hotels.

The new neighborhood has a bit more Thai soul. On our first day here I saw monks making their morning rounds, and I thought “Oh, yeah—I almost forgot they did that in this country.” Nearly everyone in our new apartment building is Thai.

Glittery coffee shops and fitness centers are still within walking distance, but along the way I now have the option of buying veggies and fruit from sidewalk vendors instead of supermarkets. And I never see those short-term couples anymore that were so common in our old neighborhood: older Western men and Thai women, separated by about forty years, holding hands but somehow not on the same planet.

Bummer

I went up to Chiang Mai for a few days of r&r, and came back to find Jip had her first-ever bedsore. This discovery was discouraging, although not completely shocking. The books all say that skin problems are common in people who spend long periods in the same position. So far we’d been fortunate, probably because Jip stays pretty active for somebody with her abilities.

The trouble with bedsores is that they take forever to heal, because by definition they are located where the body meets the bed. If you don’t fix them right the first time, they come back again and again.

Happily, Lek’s sister is a nursing professor (she and Jip trained together, way back when). She taught me and the caregivers a few treatment and prevention tips. I also called another of Jip’s nursing classmates, a woman who has come by to see us pretty regularly. Her specialty happens to be older people, who are more likely to encounter this problem. She knew all about some special water-filled mattress pads. The next day she sent us one through a mutual friend who happens to work where I work.

So we’re still well looked after. When we first contemplated moving to Thailand, my biggest hesitation was that we would be leaving behind the remarkable network of caring friends and family who helped us out in so many ways. I still don’t think we’ll ever duplicate that combination of wisdom and kindness. But perhaps slowly, in a way that works for this setting, a group with similar instincts is beginning to form.

Welcomed In

In addition to being my in-laws, Chao and Lek have become good friends this past year. So it was especially easy to feel comfortable at their wedding. Most everything took place above the bookshop that Lek and her father run in a medium-sized town a couple of hours east of Bangkok. When I first walked in, I expected the usual formalities: scurrying for extra chairs, offers of hot drinks along with the standard glass of water, maybe some fish snacks.

But I didn’t count on the warmth of the smile on Lek’s father’s face, as he came forward to greet me. I was reminded of our old friend from the refugee camp days, Papa Louis: the two hands outstretched in a sort of “handshake hug,” the sparkling eyes fed by classic creases, the gift of making everyone feel as though they are the only ones in the room. I will remember that welcome most of all.

The next morning, Chao’s side of the family all gathered down the street from the bookshop, for the groom parade. I really enjoy this custom, in which the groom acts as a kind of suitor, backed by his supporters, who traditionally would be arriving from a neighboring village. A good yodeler brings up the rear, leading cheers that announce to passersby that an appeal for marriage is being made.

(Jip chose to rely on my after-the-fact descriptions, rather than contend with all the unfamiliar voices and obstacles of a fast-paced event like a wedding. She says that if they ever throw a small party in the city, for others like her who couldn’t make it to a mid-week event in the provinces, she’ll make an appearance.)

Once the parade reaches the bride’s front door, traditionally a few pretend obstacles are put up to block the path. A groom must use his wits, and perhaps a few clever bribes, to get past the barriers. Once he succeeds, in essence he is married. No pronouncing by a priest, or smashing of wine glasses—just acceptance by the bride’s father that the visitor is worthy, and can stay.

Clued In

Recently I’ve been to two funerals, a graduation, and a wedding. After the latest of these milestone occasions, the knot-tying of Jip’s younger brother Chao and his wife Lek, it struck me that I had mostly known beforehand how to behave, even though the traditions differ slightly from those in the States.

Not only does being confident about Thai ways feel good, it’s also nice to be included, treated as Jip’s representative, or just as part of the family. Over time I must have picked up enough of the protocol by osmosis that I don’t have to ask too many questions about what to wear and how to sit and when to wai. I’m not saying I’ve gone native, just that I feel less and less like an outsider.

The funerals were for people I hadn’t known, parents of colleagues at work. Most everyone at the office put in an appearance at least once during these traditionally multi-evening affairs. In one case the event took place at a huge temple where many other funerals were going on simultaneously. As we entered, we had to consult a blackboard for a list of which family was using which room.

Jip’s niece Boe graduated from college. I joined her parents, whom Jip and I have seen only once since our arrival back in Thailand, and a few relatives from her mother’s side, for photos in the morning and a dinner at an outdoor restaurant after the ceremony. Boe basked in the attention, especially when a large group of undergraduates surrounded her, linked shoulders, and shouted out a traditional good luck cheer.

So Where Were We Really?

To follow along on the journey that Joy and I took, look up “Samut Songkhram” in your favorite atlas or on Google Earth. If you’ve got a really good info source, you’ll discover that this part of the country is home to endless fields of salt, or at least that’s what “grows” there during the right season, which the current one is not.

Apparently the windmills we saw in the distance are used to help get salt water over the earthworks and into the paddies, where it is allowed to evaporate and leave behind a thick layer of white crystals. These are then raked into little salt mountains for further drying by people who have among the sweatiest jobs on the planet.

We hopped off the train too early—distracted by salt fields?—and had to catch up by hopping a motorcycle to a ferry, which took us across a river to Samut Sakhon. The people there acted as if they’d never heard a foreigner speak Thai before. This was quite good for my ego.

Seven or eight hours after setting out, we arrived back in Bangkok, but on the far side of town from where Jip and I live. For a few minutes we waited along a canal to catch a long-tailed boat that we thought might provide our seventh different kind of public transportation. But some tattooed boys who were diving backwards off the pier told us we’d missed the last one of the day, so we settle for a tuk-tuk instead. We both felt we’d gotten out of whatever ruts we’d been in.

The Local

I figure Joy and I logged about 100 miles, give or take, which to me qualifies as getting out of the rut. At one stage we were forced to literally hop a train as it chugged through what minutes before had been a fully functioning market along its tracks. Vendors pulled back (just far enough) the awnings and umbrellas that had been shading them all afternoon, as the two-car train passed centimeters away from their produce and fish.

Being veteran travelers, we figured out after about half an hour that this was not the express. Most of the other passengers weren’t heading all the way into Bangkok, but instead waited for their village to come into view and then started hauling a week’s worth of purchases toward the open door.

Eventually Joy’s seatmate got up as if the next stop were hers. As the train slid into a station she surprised me by flinging a full bag full of papayas onto the platform. Many of our fellow voyagers followed suit, tossing fruit of every description through the windows. Yet not a soul stepped down out of the train, for fear of being bowled over by monkeys. At the first sight of the too-ripe food, a stampede descended from who knows where to begin what apparently is a regularly scheduled feast.

A Day Out

We’ve been here long enough now to have outlasted some of the regulars in the neighborhood. A few of the familiar faces at the markets and along the sidewalks have begun to turn over, and many of the other tenants in our building have moved on to some other city or hemisphere. In a word, we’re achieving veteran status. Clearly it’s time to stir the stew.

Luckily an old acquaintance provided me an excuse to do just that. Joy Patman passed through on summer break from Seattle Schools—she and I taught together way back in the day—and we spent a delightful afternoon-into-evening traveling to the end of the line, hopping a new mode of transportation to see where it would take us, and then doing it all over again. Before we were through, we could claim SkyTrain, taxi, long-distance bus, two regular trains, a motorcycle, a ferry, and a tuk-tuk.

(Speaking of those two-stroke marvels, if you haven’t been following the misadventures of the two English lasses who are traveling from Bangkok to England in a pink tuk-tuk they’ve named Ting Tong, then drop everything right now and follow this link. You’ll be well rewarded.)

Ask Her for Her Autograph

Here’s Jip at the standing frame, imitating her favorite Major League pitchers. (Talent scouts please note: throws both right and left.) Though she hadn’t used the device for more than a year, as soon as she was vertical again, instinct took over and she began limbering up.

Reassembling this specialized piece equipment was made easier by a great set of directions written out by Greg. (Step number 4 reads: “Woo hoo! The tricky bits are now over! Have a Singha on me”!) He had taken it apart and helped ship it, after storing it for nearly a year in the basement.

At first Jip’s posture seemed off. I began tinkering with all the adjustable pads and levers, but somehow I couldn’t get them lined up so that her body was standing at attention. She was unusually patient—a sign of how important this activity is to her—as I sweated and swore and wished for a professional to come to my rescue.

In desperation I emailed the manufacturer. I confess my expectations for a helpful reply were low. But in less than 24 hours I had heard back, from the company vice president no less:

… It sounds to me like you have an issue with the knee placement or the sling strap length … forward me your serial number … take a picture of her from each side and from the back … If I can see her in the unit I can tell you what adjustments need to be done, no problem.

Who says you can’t get good customer service these days?

Ask Me for My Autograph

Middle age has made me thin enough up on top that I decided there was no point in trying to grow hair there anymore. So I walked into a barber shop yesterday and asked for the Zidane look. The row of haircutters, all going through World Cup withdrawal, knew exactly what I meant. They got out the clipper attachment number one, and pretty soon I could almost have passed for the head-butter himself. Can you tell who is who?

Anniversary

Today marks a year since our arrival in Bangkok. Immigrants, I find, almost always remember the day they first passed through customs. It is a kind of birthday, I suppose.

I confess that when we first came I thought it might be a short stay, that Jip wasn’t really going the right direction, that Thailand wasn’t necessarily going to improve her health any. But recently I watched her harness up in the standing frame for the first time since we’ve been here (it took me a few days to piece it all back together) and I thought, my god, she’s stronger than she was THREE years ago, let alone the day we showed up here. It really is remarkable how her physical health has steadied, and perhaps even made some gains, in this weather, which we’d been told so long to avoid.

We’ve been to see a doctor exactly twice over the year, once to simply introduce ourselves to a general practitioner, the second time to fix yet another hyponatremia episode. Granted, that second trip was a serious event, requiring a couple nights in the hospital, but even so, it was much simpler to deal with in Bangkok than it would have been in the States. And Jip has shown zero interest in visiting a neurologist, even though I’m told that there are several good ones in town, some who even have experience with her condition. A few folks have speculated that there is an Asian version of the disease, which for all we know prefers hot conditions to what we lived with in Seattle.

Thailand has also steadied me. My blood pressure is likely lower than it’s been for some time, certainly lower than during the fast and furious days just before and after we flew here. The pace then was pretty quick, as we emptied a house and looked for an apartment, at the same time that we were combining so many goodbyes with so many introductions. Today, the same nice place we’ve lived in all along here still serves us well, as do the same two young women, who still come every twelve hours, six days a week, to take care of Jip.

Training: Chugging Along

Jip’s standing frame arrived this week, so she’s ready to get vertical again. Exercise is already a high priority for her, sometimes taking up two or three hours of the afternoon. Adding this old friend to her arsenal of equipment will probably increase her appetite even more.

Look over these pics of her doing some trunk twisting on the edge of the bed. Even though she still doesn’t have complete control over those muscles, her balance is pretty good. I hardly needed to support her at all.


















My exercise routine is also changing slightly. I have a new running partner, in the tradition of the early morning weekend club that supported me in countless ways when we lived in Seattle. This guy is more serious than I am, and seems to handle the climate better, but we each manage to get what we need out of the arrangement.

He meets me at the corner shortly before 6am, at which point he’s already run for twenty minutes. Then we run to a large park, where we do a lap together. Then I rest for 11 minutes (his stopwatch) while he does another lap. Finally we run back to our place, I quit, and he continues on home for another twenty minutes. Everybody wins!

Stuffed

Speaking of taking football seriously, our British neighbors were frantic when I popped ‘round to watch England vs. Paraguay the other night. “Can you believe this?” he said, pointing at images of the king on nearly every television channel. She said, “We’ve been stuffed.”

We had no choice but to speedwalk to a nearby pub, The Black Swan, where a satellite dish was picking up the action. An international mix of fellow fans there agreed on one thing: England’s play was rubbish.

The good news is that every World Cup game since then has been broadcast live on regular TV, start to finish. The bad news, for Thailand, is that this month will not go down in history as the country’s most productive.

All the news media are dominated by coverage of the results. Gambling is apparently outrunning prostitution and illegal drugs as contributors to the gross domestic product. And bedtimes are not being respected—the last game of the day here begins at 2am Bangkok time.

I’m a good case in point. While blearily waiting for my second bus the other morning, I hopped on the wrong one, and proceeded to find myself on a highway going right back the way I had just come. I got to work an hour late.

Bangkok Masters Football Tournament, brought to you by Tesco Lotus

A special tournament for older soccer players was Organized, with a capital “O,” by the British Chamber of Commerce. When I signed up, I anticipated seeing some of the same faces that I had grown to have some sympathy with during the regular season, which ended recently. I’m talking about the greyhairs.

A few of those players were around, but most of the participants were strangers. Not surprising, considering that many had flown in to play this tourney. And not just flown from Chiang Mai or Phuket: our first match, in the morning, was against a team from Brunei. Before playing Malaysians in the afternoon, we watched Singaporeans go head to head with Australians.

Turns out this event was a pretty big deal. A slick 40-page brochure, meal coupons, and commemorative shirts (splashed with names of several big corporate sponsors) were handed to everyone who registered. An all-star team of ex-English professional stars put on a clinic in the morning, played an exhibition in the afternoon, and keynoted at the evening banquet.

It’s amazing how seriously people take their football in these parts. Who needs the World Cup? when you have over-35s willing to pay for plane fare, hotels, entry fees, and perhaps a couple nights’ worth of booze and wom…

…wait … I think I get it now.

Hush Comes Over the Crowds

Something was wrong as I came out of the movies a few nights ago. Bangkok was silent. This never happens.

Soon I arrived at a corner to find a dozen police. Two more cops blocked the stairway leading to the sky train. Any other week, I might have suspected a murder investigation. That corner houses a shrine that Bangkokians take very seriously. A few months back, when a deranged guy tried to destroy the shrine with a hammer, some nearby maintenance men destroyed him with a shovel.

But on this night I figured the quiet was the result of police redirecting traffic to accommodate a visiting monarch. Rather than wait to catch a glimpse of a royal Rolls, I walked home, enjoying the rare stillness along the normally busy road.

Not long before, when Murph was still in town, the king’s celebration produced another atypical calm. We assembled along the river to watch a practice session of the 52 royal boats, rowed by over 2,000 boatmen, who lift their paddles into the air like wings after every stroke. This ancient ceremony is relatively rare these days; it has happened only 14 times in my lifetime.

For the practice, the river was closed to other traffic, meaning that the usual mixture of tugboats and ferries and long-tailed power boats were all sidelined for the afternoon. Murph and I marveled at being able to hear the water lapping at the bank. Usually, like in most of the rest of the city, traffic noise there drowns out most natural sounds.

Our viewing spot happened to be the place where Jip trained as a nurse, many years ago. The current batch of students sold tickets and set out chairs along the water, as a fundraiser. It was fun to look at them and imagine Jip as she was then. She also enjoyed hearing us tell her afterwards about where we were. Based on her reactions to our descriptions, I gather it hasn’t changed much in the meantime.

Big Anniversary

King Bhumibol is the focus of a nationwide gala. Thailand is in holiday mode, big-time. I can’t think what the equivalent would be in the States. Probably what’s happening here this week simply couldn’t happen there at this moment in history. In a nutshell, the celebration is about unanimity.

Everyone agrees that the king is a great guy. And because as of yesterday he had been on the throne for sixty years, making him the longest-serving monarch on the planet, everyone feels drawn to hit the streets, or to put on a yellow shirt, or at least to light a candle, in his honor.

Granted, I’m not reading the Thai press, or following the many commemorative events with the perspective of a native. So if there are critics out there who feel that this massive party is too much, I probably wouldn’t know about them. But on the surface, the depth of feeling seems genuine. A Thai woman at work told me, “If anything happened to the king, I would cry for three months.” From what I’ve seen, she speaks for millions.

So, for a few more days, the fireworks and barge processions and exhibits and banquets for royals from 25 other countries will continue, and the traffic will snarl, and the regular street vendors will be forbidden on the sidewalks. And then when it’s all over, even though the political situation in Thailand is as messy as it is in most places in the world, moving forward will be a little bit easier. The glow from this week’s events should last a long time.

Comfort from Home

My sister Murph came to visit, bearing gifts. It happened to be my birthday, so I made out well. But Jip really scored. She had put together a request list of provisions that are difficult to get here. Murph succeeded on every count.

For the record, here was Jip’s inventory: dried blueberries (a staple at breakfast, but very expensive in Bangkok), colorful cotton socks (Jip still claims her feet are cold, and that locally made socks won’t warm them up), a collection of hairdresser’s capes that don’t smell like plastic (the better to keep her comfortable at tooth brushing time), brown rice crackers (you’d think they’d be easy to find here, but the Thai brands are flavored with things Jip doesn’t like), and, as a bonus, a just-published book by my cousin’s husband that Jip is enjoying having read to her (Miracles on the Water, by Tom Nagorski, Hyperion).

Then there was an envelope full of cash, provided by a very generous aunt, which allowed Murph and me to live large on an island while she got over jet lag. Normally we’d have opted for the bungalow-with-a-fan accommodations. Our bigger expense account led us to a VIP room on an isolated beach, where we had the very fine restaurant to ourselves.

A good time had by all!

Just What the Doctor Ordered

We had a few issues this week with the people who help Jip out. And the rainy season seems to have suddenly begun in earnest, so her legs are feeling stiffer than usual. And the pace picked up at my job. And I stayed up too late one night watching a movie that turned out not to be worth it. Long story short, Friday afternoon came and I was dragging.

Of course, some weeks are bound to go that way. That’s why the world has pubs, I suppose, and shopping malls, and karaoke.

What I did Friday evening to put the week behind me was walk ten minutes from the office to a nondescript storefront, where four matronly women wearing lab coats looked up as I pushed through the door. “Massage?” they asked. “Please,” I said. Soon I had changed into a pair of cotton pajamas and was lying on one of the dozen mattresses spread around the open room.

I had first heard about this place from a colleague at CDC. She had arrived ahead of me and was two mattresses away. “Make sure you tell them you want two hours,” she mumbled, before apparently slipping off to sleep.

The woman who worked on me had probably acquired her strong hands by harvesting rice in an upcountry village. She and her fellow lab coats laughed as they worked, gossiped about who was passing by outside, and commented on the action in a soap opera that was blaring from a TV.

Of course I have other massage options in Bangkok. At this place, clothing was not optional. It was free of candles and incense. The only decoration in the room was a set of Buddha images on the top shelf of a bookcase by the desk. But my cares wouldn’t have melted any faster in a fancier setting. The price, with a generous tip, came to under ten dollars.

Chiang Mai III

The last two times I went to the north, I was upfront about looking for a job. My approach during this sequel was less direct. I asked people at health-related organizations if they had considered teaming up with the CDC. I reasoned that if a small collaboration grew and took off, then they would have to hire me to manage it.

I know, I know, you’re thinking, “he’s dreaming WHAT?” I agree, the “information interview” strategy will take a long time to bear fruit, assuming it ever does. But I’m not in any hurry. Jip rarely talks about wanting to move to Chiang Mai anymore, having settled into her Bangkok schedule.

Also, salaries that would support caregivers and our other special needs are rare in Chiang Mai. I visited a former housemate of mine from the refugee camp days, who now lives there. She says she can afford a cool teak house and a new baby mostly because her husband works in Bangkok and commutes home on weekends.

Speaking of commuting, one potential collaborator I called on pointed out that considering Bangkok’s traffic jams, he could probably get to CDC faster by plane and cab from Chiang Mai than I get there via my daily combination of sky train, shared van, and motorcycle taxi.

So who knows where we’ll be living and working at this time next year? I’d still like to find a way to take advantage of Chiang Mai’s cooler weather, higher hills, and emptier roads. But if it takes us a while to pull it off, then as the Thais say, “mai pen rai” (never mind, don’t worry about it)!

Going Abroad

Shortly after walking across the border into Cambodia, I was approached by a man on a motorcycle who wondered if I wanted to visit the chicken farm. I must have given him a look that said, “Why on Earth?” because he elaborated: “You know, lay-dee!” First time I’d heard that term for that kind of place. I decided to pass up the offer.

Soon I found myself in a shared taxi, heading for the town where I planned to spend the night, about 50 kilometers inside the country. Nobody in this taxi was especially comfortable. There were eight of us inside, roughly 25 more in the back of the pickup, and one guy sitting on the hood. When road got bumpy, our “navigator” kept from being bounced off and into a ditch by holding on tighter to the windshield wiper.
Although it was my first time inside the country, Cambodia triggered lots of memories from our time in the refugee camp, which was sited minutes from the border. Certain smells transported me instantly: smoke from fires set by villagers in their fields, stagnant water, curry pastes in the markets. I also began to remember parts of the language that had long been buried. After a day or so I even started to figure out what people were talking about.

And I picked up right where I left off with a pair of American friends who had also worked in the camp. These two had followed the refugees back home when the camps closed in the early ‘90s. We spent our evenings having those endless conversations people have when they’ve hardly seen each other for twenty years. We didn’t manage to solve all of the world’s problems, but we did decide that most of the world’s politicians could have learned something from listening in on what we discussed.

(Billboard outside Mongkol Borei: The words on the sign say, "We no longer need weapons.")

On the Road Again

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.)

Updates

Here is the rest of the story about a few things mentioned here recently:

• My favorite tree species, which blooms in Seattle for about a month, hasn’t stopped blooming here at our apartment since we arrived over six months ago. It’s been joined by several purple orchids, which hang down from a trellis outside the entrance. We are lucky to live in such a nice building.

• Back in September, after seeing her at the opera, I wrote that I wouldn’t be surprised to run into the princess again. It didn’t take long. She showed up at a conference I attended last month about digital libraries. The Thai Library Association is under royal patronage, and she is the designated royal. Lots of pomp and cameras … very fun to watch.

• The same two women still take care of Jip. I had thought when we arrived that turnover might be high, because they would never really get to know her, at least not in the way her Seattle caregivers did. But perhaps enough of the wit and sparkle still shines through, despite the increased communication difficulties.

• At mid season the BC Casuals are 2-10, good for 12th place in our 14-team soccer league. If you know any goal scorers, please send them our way.

The Rest of the Story

I don’t know whether this has ever happened to you: something triggers an interest in those old stories that a favorite aunt has been telling you all your life… but then when you get around to asking her for more details, you discover that the opportunity has passed, because she isn’t quite up to it any more?

That’s kind of how it is with Jip these days. When people bring up a subject she knows lots about—either to make conversation, or because they really are curious to know more—she usually doesn’t feel like sustaining it. She still knows all the details, but she’d rather talk about what’s for dinner or when we are going to do something about the dust in the apartment. Her focus has narrowed to the here and now.

In Chiang Mai, my former teacher toured me around a cool temple and monastery known as Wat Umong. Its forest setting made me think Jip would like it there. I then met a guy for dinner who remembered Jip showing him that temple several years back, when he had been new in town. He even said it was affiliated with a school of meditation teaching that I knew she was once interested in.

I couldn’t wait to ask Jip more about the place when I got back to Bangkok. It had all the ingredients for a fun chat—distant past, happy affiliations, high significance and appeal. But she dropped it like a stone. No longer on her radar screen.

The effect of this disease on her speech is an even bigger obstacle to communicating with Jip. Often her words all run together, or her voice rises and falls like the sound of a car that won’t start. At this point I get about ten percent of what she says … and I do as well as anyone.

So I rely on facial expression for much of my understanding. (Her great smile means so much more to me nowadays than ever before.) That’s why when I pray for miracles, I no longer pray for Jip’s eyes or legs to work again. I would just love to be able to hear the rest of the story.

Chiang Mai Revisited

I took another trip north, to continue scouting around, in case we move there some day. The small town connections in Chiang Mai surfaced again. This time I called on a former Thai language teacher of mine, who has returned there recently.

As we were sitting on her porch, peeling oranges and generally passing a lazy afternoon, I happened to mention the cat guy. My teacher’s husband said, "Oh, Ed! I haven't seen him for years! Let's all go out to dinner with him tonight." Ed suggested, as we worked our way through plates of delicious shrimp and Thai vegetables, that the guy I should really hook up with is his friend Christopher. He takes care of a handicapped brother somewhere on the outskirts of the city.

The next morning Ed drove me to Christopher's house, which turned out to be a healing center, presided over by Christopher's wife Homprang. She teaches about massage, herbs, and various other traditional Thai treatments. Christopher’s brother requires round-the-clock care, which Christopher hires from a nearby rehab hospital.

Even without knowing much about her disease, Christopher and Homprang had good ideas about what might help Jip. They also knew, without my having to explain, what it’s like to be Jip’s husband at this stage.

Afterward I walked around the hospital grounds, which were full of the biggest trees I've seen in Thailand. Lovely people smiled from every bend in the road that circles the little island on which the hospital is built. I’d been up north less than 24 hours, and already it was starting to feel like home.

Merry and Happy

Our holidays were low key—the real festival was a couple weeks before, when we traveled down to Jip’s village. Over Christmas, we had few visitors or calls, but somehow it felt just right. The days around January 1st are the ones people in Bangkok look forward to. It seemed as if half the city headed back to their home province, or to the beach, or something.

My friend Davin, who lives in Beijing, came through on a vacation with his family. They’re used to traveling in Asia, so this town isn’t exotic for them. We took my favorite bike ride and went out for a couple of fun meals. I especially liked being around the kids, listening to them switch seamlessly between English and Mandarin.

One of Jip’s nursing school classmates dropped by. As a physical therapist, he wanted to see how she moves. They giggled their way through a few new exercise routines that I hope will help her become even stronger.

In general Jip has maintained her physical abilities since we arrived here. There’s still no sign of heat affecting her negatively, as many Seattle docs worried that it would. (We were also told that the Thai health care system wouldn’t know what to do with her, which has proved wrong. How easy it is to underestimate a system that one has no experience with!)