Pink Season

There’s a very pink tree in bloom here at the moment. If memory serves, it’s right on time. Yet the air temperature isn’t as cold as it should be. Everyone has commented that Thailand’s cool season (never long enough—or cool enough—for my tastes) never showed up at all this year. As the scientists have been telling us for a while, weather is getting wackier and wackier. But this one tree species (Tabebuia rosea) doesn’t seem to have gotten the word. Perhaps we should consider basing seasons’ names on color instead of temperature?

Pride in Workmanship

If you want your scissors sharpened or your shoes repaired in the U.S. nowadays, odds are good you probably have to go to a mall, if you can find those services at all. Here in Thailand there are thousands of street vendors whose specialized skills can still be purchased at a pushcart… assuming that the customer arrives before the goods are rolled down the street toward the vendor’s home.

In our neighborhood sits a guy who does all things wristwatch. He changes batteries, replaces wristbands, solders loose wires. His prices are reasonable. Best of all is his slow, patient technique. I’ve been known to wait a whole week for him to be around, just so I can watch him work.

Last time I brought him a problem, he spent at least 15 minutes longer on it than I would have expected, just so he could get it right. Whenever he chose a tool, it was the perfect one for the task. Removing the watch’s crystal, he paused to dust off the face with a cool little bellows-like gizmo that seemed designed for only that one task and none other. Then he fished through drawer after hidden drawer in his cart, pulling out spare parts that presumably he had saved “just in case.” It wasn’t enough for him to find the odd-sized band or the custom clasp—he also had to hone and file and create a tight fit.

His focus, like his tools, is sharp. Not for him the side conversation or the wave to a passerby. Even when he’s finished and I try to slip him something extra, his directed gaze doesn’t change. “It’s all part of the service here,” he says, passing me back my attempted tip.

Back to Ban Rai

After visiting Jip’s family in the South, Murph and I had time for one more trip before she had to return to the U.S. We took a van up to a small town that I wrote about on hipbelt about 18 months ago. The attractive resort there and its friendly owner haven’t changed. We ate a delicious dinner at treehouse-style tables next to the lodge, and as before the owner refused to me pay for the meal. When we asked about massages, she replied that the town still didn’t have a shop of its own, but that the hospital where she worked during the day offered Thai herbal massage as part of its outpatient therapy. Soon we were on the table. I have no idea what our host listed on the hospital registration forms as our complaints, but the cure was lovely.

I thought Murph would enjoy seeing the monastery in Ban Rai that remains the most unusual religious building I’ve visited in Thailand. Wat Tham Khao Wang looks more like a palace than a temple. For one thing, it’s four stories high. For another, it appears to emerge from a mountainside. Its wooden rooms generally have one side open to the elements. We climbed a series of stairs to the top level, only to find a weird shrine constructed mostly from empty bottles of Red Bull. At the base are pictures of the king and queen, at the top is a Buddha image, and around the edges are various containers for burning incense. I knew some people put lots of faith in energy drinks, but I hadn’t been aware that they were worshiped in this way.