Traffic has been backed up at an intersection near our place recently, thanks to a demonstration staged by farmers. I’m not clear about the precise complaint, but they’re determined to get results. They have camped on the sidewalk for a couple weeks straight.
Unlike protests of the past six months here, this struggle doesn’t make headlines, and the protestors don’t all dress alike. Yellow-shirted and red-shirted groups have made themselves scarce since Songkran. I’ve seen a few white t-shirts walking around with the words “Stop Hurting Thailand” printed in the colors of the flag.
Even though this motto may speak for the silent majority, by itself it won’t take care of the country’s troubles. The same words and design are posted on a big sign inside the Thai military barracks where I sometimes run, so already they appear to have been embraced by a faction that is associated with the status quo.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
A Full Day, Part 3
The kids’ bedtimes were approaching, so we said goodbye on the street. My phone rang again. Two other friends wondered which showing of Star Trek 2009 I wanted to meet them at. The movie is showing at dozens of theaters in Bangkok.
But when we met at the theater, Nick said we should choose another screen because the 8:00 show at that place was only for the luxury seats, which cost more than five times as much. We ran into the same problem at the 8:30 down the street. Happily, that part of Bangkok is so packed with malls that we were able to find a 9:00 show for 100 baht ($2.85).
My expectations for the movie were low. I’ve never been a Trekkie (I’m told that Trekker is actually the more respectful term). But I have to say it was pretty great. I’m kind of a sucker for any plot with a time warp in it.
Jip waited up for me. She nearly always does. Even when I tell her I’ll be home late and that she should feel free to fall asleep, she often wills herself to stay awake. When she hears my voice, she reports the latest news from the domestic front. In this case there weren’t many new headlines. She simply wanted to ask me what was the name of that baby who came to visit.
But when we met at the theater, Nick said we should choose another screen because the 8:00 show at that place was only for the luxury seats, which cost more than five times as much. We ran into the same problem at the 8:30 down the street. Happily, that part of Bangkok is so packed with malls that we were able to find a 9:00 show for 100 baht ($2.85).
My expectations for the movie were low. I’ve never been a Trekkie (I’m told that Trekker is actually the more respectful term). But I have to say it was pretty great. I’m kind of a sucker for any plot with a time warp in it.
Jip waited up for me. She nearly always does. Even when I tell her I’ll be home late and that she should feel free to fall asleep, she often wills herself to stay awake. When she hears my voice, she reports the latest news from the domestic front. In this case there weren’t many new headlines. She simply wanted to ask me what was the name of that baby who came to visit.
A Full Day, Part 2
Patama and Noi had to go. I ate breakfast. Jip’s caregiver made her some lunch. A few minutes later, Jip’s accupressurist/masseuse arrived. The phone rang. It was an American couple I know. They and their two young children are thinking of moving to our neighborhood from across town. We had already spoken about their coming by for a swim and maybe a meal at one of the nearby eateries. They were cruising our street, not sure of our exact address.
Thomas, aged four, headed straight in to the bedroom. He asked, “Why does that guy in the bed have that thing on his belly? What’s that stuff inside it?” He had been fooled by Jip’s short haircut. The thing on her belly was Jip’s urine bag, which normally sits under her shirt like a belt, but at that time was exposed while the accupressurist worked on her lower back.
The parents followed behind slowly. Before long the conversation turned to the daughter, Sophia (aged “zero,” according to her brother). Sophia had been in great spirits all afternoon. In the pool she had kicked up a storm. Later, on a carpet, she showed off the muscles that should have her crawling before this month is over. (She was born last August.)
The baby continued to gurgle happily while Jip asked about her. Jip likes kids. As a health educator in the refugee camps, Jip midwifed countless Cambodian babies. She eagerly accepted the offer to hold Sophia, and instantly declared that the girl felt to her to be about two years old. We decided that Jip’s sense of kids’ age was based on the Cambodian refugee children’s growth rates, rather than that of American expat kids.
The five of us went out for a meal on the corner. It was simple fare, but the dad was nearly squealing with excitement because that kind of storefront place is rarer in his part of Bangkok than in ours. He was even more delighted when the (tiny) bill arrived.
Thomas, aged four, headed straight in to the bedroom. He asked, “Why does that guy in the bed have that thing on his belly? What’s that stuff inside it?” He had been fooled by Jip’s short haircut. The thing on her belly was Jip’s urine bag, which normally sits under her shirt like a belt, but at that time was exposed while the accupressurist worked on her lower back.
The parents followed behind slowly. Before long the conversation turned to the daughter, Sophia (aged “zero,” according to her brother). Sophia had been in great spirits all afternoon. In the pool she had kicked up a storm. Later, on a carpet, she showed off the muscles that should have her crawling before this month is over. (She was born last August.)
The baby continued to gurgle happily while Jip asked about her. Jip likes kids. As a health educator in the refugee camps, Jip midwifed countless Cambodian babies. She eagerly accepted the offer to hold Sophia, and instantly declared that the girl felt to her to be about two years old. We decided that Jip’s sense of kids’ age was based on the Cambodian refugee children’s growth rates, rather than that of American expat kids.The five of us went out for a meal on the corner. It was simple fare, but the dad was nearly squealing with excitement because that kind of storefront place is rarer in his part of Bangkok than in ours. He was even more delighted when the (tiny) bill arrived.
A Full Day, Part 1
Yesterday began for me with a run in the neighborhood. I didn’t get out the door early enough. The heat slowed me down. I took a shortcut, circling back home 15 minutes sooner than I had expected to be done.
Two friends from work had called the night before, wondering if they could come over at 9 in the morning to read to Jip in English. Jip was pleased at the idea, even though she hadn’t met Patama and Noi before.
Before I left for my run, I sent my friends a text message, suggesting they delay by an hour. I didn’t think Jip would be ready. But when I got back I found she had hurried through breakfast because she was excited about the visitors. I wished I hadn’t sent the text.
Jip went ahead with her routine: toothbrushing, toileting, showering. The sweating from my run wouldn’t stop. I changed shirts three times. A friend from Chicago and I skyped, after not talking for over a year. We cut off the conversation when the doorbell rang.
Patama and Noi had been shopping. They brought bags of fruit. We chatted while Jip finished her shower. Sounds from the next room, a hard-edged banter with the caregiver, told me her mood had soured.
Jip lives pretty much in the present moment. So perhaps she was irritated by the caregiver’s efforts to move things along because of the guests. Or maybe the caregiver had gotten a phone call and had chosen to talk rather than explain she was working.
Whatever the reason, Jip was no longer interested in being read to. She wanted to dry off from her shower. I suggested she could wrap herself in a towel and say hello. She said, “no guests.” I knew from experience that those words really meant “there’s too much going on, I can’t process all of this at once.”
The visitors and I hung around in the kitchen, eating the fruit, until Jip was dressed. It was about 11:30. Jip asked my friends where they had graduated from. This question is common enough among Thais who meet each other for the first time. It helps establish where everybody fits in the social scheme of things. For Jip it’s also a way of determining who else she might know in common. Historically only a handful of schools in Thailand have offered nursing or medical degrees. Not surprisingly, they discovered three or four points of connection.
Two friends from work had called the night before, wondering if they could come over at 9 in the morning to read to Jip in English. Jip was pleased at the idea, even though she hadn’t met Patama and Noi before.
Before I left for my run, I sent my friends a text message, suggesting they delay by an hour. I didn’t think Jip would be ready. But when I got back I found she had hurried through breakfast because she was excited about the visitors. I wished I hadn’t sent the text.
Jip went ahead with her routine: toothbrushing, toileting, showering. The sweating from my run wouldn’t stop. I changed shirts three times. A friend from Chicago and I skyped, after not talking for over a year. We cut off the conversation when the doorbell rang.
Patama and Noi had been shopping. They brought bags of fruit. We chatted while Jip finished her shower. Sounds from the next room, a hard-edged banter with the caregiver, told me her mood had soured.
Jip lives pretty much in the present moment. So perhaps she was irritated by the caregiver’s efforts to move things along because of the guests. Or maybe the caregiver had gotten a phone call and had chosen to talk rather than explain she was working.
Whatever the reason, Jip was no longer interested in being read to. She wanted to dry off from her shower. I suggested she could wrap herself in a towel and say hello. She said, “no guests.” I knew from experience that those words really meant “there’s too much going on, I can’t process all of this at once.”
The visitors and I hung around in the kitchen, eating the fruit, until Jip was dressed. It was about 11:30. Jip asked my friends where they had graduated from. This question is common enough among Thais who meet each other for the first time. It helps establish where everybody fits in the social scheme of things. For Jip it’s also a way of determining who else she might know in common. Historically only a handful of schools in Thailand have offered nursing or medical degrees. Not surprisingly, they discovered three or four points of connection.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
H1N1 Comes to Thailand
The prime minister announced today Thailand’s first two cases of what’s being called here “New-DNA Flu 2009.” Both people already had recovered and gone home from the hospital. Lab results had just confirmed their strain matched the new human/pig/bird virus that has kept us quite busy at work these past two weeks.
H1N1’s arrival in Southeast Asia was inevitable, but politicians had been crossing their fingers that the country could dodge it. Nobody wants to give tourists another reason to stay away. Meanwhile, as we enter the time when seasonal flu usually peaks in Thailand, the scientists at my office are on the lookout for signs that New-DNA Flu 2009 has mixed with its cousin and reassorted to create a new-new strain.
H1N1’s arrival in Southeast Asia was inevitable, but politicians had been crossing their fingers that the country could dodge it. Nobody wants to give tourists another reason to stay away. Meanwhile, as we enter the time when seasonal flu usually peaks in Thailand, the scientists at my office are on the lookout for signs that New-DNA Flu 2009 has mixed with its cousin and reassorted to create a new-new strain.
Friday, May 08, 2009
Visakha Bucha
Today Thailand celebrates Visakha Bucha, the day when, as the story goes, Buddha was born, reached enlightenment, and passed away. The common thread to these events being impermanence, they are marked with candles, flowers, and incense—things that wither quickly.
At one temple I walked past today, worshippers blessed the central chedi using an ingenious pulley system. From a distance, it appeared that a large bird was flying over and over again to the top of the pagoda. (You might spot the bird just above the telephone wires in this fuzzy picture taken with my phone’s camera.)
Ducking through a gate for a closer look, I saw that the bird was made of metal. On a rope attached to the pulley, the bird trailed a bucket of water, which tipped its contents upon reaching the summit. Kids eagerly re-filled the bucket each time the bird
returned to earth, while their parents made merit with each “flight” by pushing small bills into a donation box.
I happen to be in Chiang Mai, taking advantage of the three-day weekend, the full moon, and the chance to catch up with some people I haven’t seen for too long. Nobody I know here wanted to join in the most devout observation of the day, a 10-kilometer climb up the side of the city’s famous mountain, starting at sunset and arriving at a classic monastery around 3 in the morning.
So I saved that stroll for another year, and instead met a friend just after dark for three circuits around Wat Suan Dok. We had lots of company there, of all ages. A sermon was being broadcast through loudspeakers, bells were jingling, and kids
were respectfully tapping at gongs. Yet the overall mood seemed to be one of silent reflection.
My friend pointed out that people in Bangkok don’t take time to celebrate Visakha Bucha. Perhaps they get stuck in traffic.
At one temple I walked past today, worshippers blessed the central chedi using an ingenious pulley system. From a distance, it appeared that a large bird was flying over and over again to the top of the pagoda. (You might spot the bird just above the telephone wires in this fuzzy picture taken with my phone’s camera.)Ducking through a gate for a closer look, I saw that the bird was made of metal. On a rope attached to the pulley, the bird trailed a bucket of water, which tipped its contents upon reaching the summit. Kids eagerly re-filled the bucket each time the bird
returned to earth, while their parents made merit with each “flight” by pushing small bills into a donation box.I happen to be in Chiang Mai, taking advantage of the three-day weekend, the full moon, and the chance to catch up with some people I haven’t seen for too long. Nobody I know here wanted to join in the most devout observation of the day, a 10-kilometer climb up the side of the city’s famous mountain, starting at sunset and arriving at a classic monastery around 3 in the morning.
So I saved that stroll for another year, and instead met a friend just after dark for three circuits around Wat Suan Dok. We had lots of company there, of all ages. A sermon was being broadcast through loudspeakers, bells were jingling, and kids
were respectfully tapping at gongs. Yet the overall mood seemed to be one of silent reflection.My friend pointed out that people in Bangkok don’t take time to celebrate Visakha Bucha. Perhaps they get stuck in traffic.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
Respect for Caregivers
It’s been exactly a year since I last took a turn on the exhausting daytime caregiving shift. I’m still in awe of these women’s energy. I’m talking not only about the three women who continue to show up day after day and cheerfully meet Jip’s needs, but also about Jip herself, who goes nonstop from dawn to way past dusk.
Yesterday was Thailand’s (and most of the world’s) Labor Day. It’s not a national holiday, but everyone in this class-conscious society understands who should get the day off and who shouldn’t. At our household the understanding is that I’ll take care of Jip on May 1st unless somebody really wants the overtime. Last year that meant a 24-hour shift; this year I was relieved at 8pm.
And I needed relief. Jip kept me hopping with explanations of new techniques that the caregivers have perfected. I thought I had kept up with these breakthroughs simply by being around during the day on weekends, but of course it’s one thing to watch and another thing to do. We fell behind schedule and stayed there as Jip busily brushed, flossed, lathered, and dried her way through the morning and deep into the afternoon.
We skipped the resting time that normally follows lunch, mostly because lunch didn’t happen until nearly 4pm. When the night caregiver showed up to find that we still hadn’t completed Jip’s exercises, she just smiled and got ready to take over. Jip praised my efforts and said she was renewing my contract. I was just glad I had the weekend to recover.
Yesterday was Thailand’s (and most of the world’s) Labor Day. It’s not a national holiday, but everyone in this class-conscious society understands who should get the day off and who shouldn’t. At our household the understanding is that I’ll take care of Jip on May 1st unless somebody really wants the overtime. Last year that meant a 24-hour shift; this year I was relieved at 8pm.
And I needed relief. Jip kept me hopping with explanations of new techniques that the caregivers have perfected. I thought I had kept up with these breakthroughs simply by being around during the day on weekends, but of course it’s one thing to watch and another thing to do. We fell behind schedule and stayed there as Jip busily brushed, flossed, lathered, and dried her way through the morning and deep into the afternoon.
We skipped the resting time that normally follows lunch, mostly because lunch didn’t happen until nearly 4pm. When the night caregiver showed up to find that we still hadn’t completed Jip’s exercises, she just smiled and got ready to take over. Jip praised my efforts and said she was renewing my contract. I was just glad I had the weekend to recover.
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