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.