Thanksgiving with Jip

Jip and I had a memorable Thanksgiving. She started the day by asking for yams with rosemary. They’re not usually on her list, and so hunting them down in the market took a while. When I got back, the caregiver told me that she and Jip had been discussing where Jip and I should go for a walk after the feast.

I couldn’t believe my ears. Jip never goes for a walk. She has left this apartment fewer than ten times this year. But they had decided that Jip and I would be leaving for Railroad Park at around 4 in the afternoon.

It was cool for Bangkok (70s, breezy, think Hawaii weather), and the park wasn’t crowded because nobody else besides a few Americans had the day off. Now and then an old man would shuffle past us, jogging just a little faster than Jip’s wheelchair was rolling.

At first Jip asked me about certain sounds, but eventually she got quiet and I realized she was in that mode so familiar on Thanksgiving: eyes closed, half asleep, digesting. Lots to be thankful for here.

Thanksgiving with CDC

At work we held a “taste of Thanksgiving” on the day before. Lots of Thais said they’d been with CDC for several years, but had never understood the holiday. The main idea of our mini celebration was to share the traditions. We sat in a circle while a handful of Americans told what remembered from growing up with Thanksgiving.

The common themes were the three F’s: family, food, and football. Some people said it was their favorite American holiday because it wasn’t tied to presents or religion. At the end, everybody had a chance to mention something they were grateful for.

We didn’t do a potluck. The traditional foods are tricky to find in Bangkok, so we decided not to pressure anyone into bringing something that wasn’t just right. Instead, experienced volunteers showed up with just enough turkey and stuffing, cranberries, and pumpkin pie for first-timers to get a sense.

It was a nice cross-cultural event. Nobody had to travel through busy airports to get there, and nobody fell asleep on the couch after what was really just a mid-afternoon snack.

International Friendly

What started as small soccer contests after work grew into an invitation to play in Laos. A few dozen of us had competed against each other locally in a round robin tournament among parts of the U.S. embassy community. Last weekend we combined forces to challenge our counterparts in Vientiane. I was one of three to make the trip from CDC.

The gung-ho hosts at the embassy in Laos had thought of everything. We were met on the Thai side of the bridge by a caravan of vehicles with bulletproof windows. Though the vans had just come from the Lao side minutes before, a crew sprayed the hubcaps with disinfectant as we came into the country. (No telling what strains of bird flu and other pandemics-to-be might be lurking in Thailand.)

Soon we were lunching with the ambassador, a pleasant and athletic 50-something. He revealed no secrets about his team’s strategy for the match that afternoon. Later, we wished we’d had better intelligence. Though badly outnumbered on the bench, they forced a tie after 90 minutes of regulation.

The senior diplomats from each side conferred. A growing crowd roared for more: cheerleaders, family members, and people who had heard there would be a party afterwards. The decision was made to play another 15 minutes. When that overtime period ended with the score still 2-2, another one was added.

Each team wangled one more goal. Having played for two hours, a draw seemed more appropriate than it had seemed thirty minutes earlier. Besides, the buffaloes were done roasting. Handshakes were exchanged. All agreed that the cause of international relations had been advanced.

(A bit more detail about this junket appears at hipbelt, a sister blog where travel tales get told.)

Benja Ped

Sobs from Jip’s night-time caregiver woke me in the wee hours. She’d just received a call telling her that her brother had been in a motorcycle accident. I agreed that she should go to the hospital to be of help, while I took over her shift.

The next time we saw her, she had a bump on her forehead. She explained that she had unintentionally collided with a farming tool that her father had been carrying. Later we heard that her mother had been slow to recover from an illness.

I expressed my sympathy for all the bad luck that had seemed to pile up in her life. “Oh, it’s because I’m 25,” she said casually, as if that clarified everything. Jip filled me in. It appears that many Thais believe in what’s known as “benja ped,” an old tradition that suggests one’s 25^th year will be a rough one.

It’s a coming-of-age idea. Historically, adult responsibilities kicked in around then. Today, people sometimes choose to be extra careful, or to make extra merit, during this time of transition. I took an informal poll at the office. Roughly half of those I asked had a memory to share from when they were benja ped (the words mean “25” in Pali, an ancient language from which Thai borrows heavily). The others dismissed it as an outdated folk custom.

Stand-alone Sleeves

In Chicago when I was growing up, we stashed seasonal clothes at the back of the coat closet. That’s where we’d look for mittens, scarves, ski masks, and a circle of wool known as a head band that was mainly designed to keep our ears warm on snowy days.

This month Thai people begin rummaging around for their equivalent of winter garments to handle temperatures that get down as low as 70° F. on the chilliest days. I haven’t seen any mittens or head bands, but several pairs of stand-alone sleeves have appeared. These are designed to supplement a short-sleeved shirt. Slipped on over the wrist, forearm, and elbow, they’re apparently a compromise between wearing a jacket and shivering in the cool season.