More on Chiang Mai's Charms

Nice to live in a place where

Sunflowers stand tall in the middle of town

Library entrance evokes botanic gardens

Rice fields flourish on the edge of town

Weird "Buddha's Hand" fruit grows alongside the hiking trail

Classic Celebration in the South

Once upon a time there lived seven half-bird, half-woman creatures known as kinnaree. Because they were gorgeous, and excelled at cheery singing and dancing, they became tempting targets for hunters. These hunters prowled the forests in search of wives suitable for handsome princes. Ordinarily the harmonized movements of the kinnaree kept them safe from capture, but Pran Boon, the most famous hunter of all, was able to lasso one of the kinnaree with a magic noose he borrowed from the Naga of Chompoo Chit.

So begins the story behind a traditional southern Thai classical dance known as the Manora. People sponsoring events in the South sometimes hire a troupe of young flexible dancers to bend, leap, and twist their way through a performance. This morning in Thung Song district, Nakhon Si Thammarat province, a merit-making ceremony in memory of two parents provided the excuse to put on the Manora. The parents in question were the father- and mother-in-law of Jip’s older brother. I went along to the ceremony—as is so often the case here—honored to be invited but without many clues about what would happen.

My first surprise was the size of the gathering. I knew that many neighbors would be going to the temple in the morning anyway, because the family had decided to hold this rite on the same day as a Buddhist holiday. What I didn’t expect was a standing-room-only crowd, including several local politicians, at 7 in the morning. It seems that the parents had been well known, having had some success with the two major local products, rubber and fruit.

The performance was also a big draw. People had arrived early to get a good seat. I was told that the dancers came from quite a distance away. Their reputation for discipline and professionalism preceded them. Carrying their impressive costumes from a pickup truck to a makeshift dressing room behind the temple, they looked casual and a little detached, in the way that teenagers will when they know they are good at something.

A trio of musicians began warming up. The steady backbeat of conversation among the spectators faded to nearly nothing, replaced by the sound of cymbal and drum. Suddenly, a solo spurted from an oboe-like instrument, silencing the crowd completely. Out of a small door at the back of the open-air wat, seven kinnaree swooped into the room. We all stared first at their wings, which appeared to be weighty enough to pull them over backward.

As if anticipating our fears, the creatures arched into rainbows, gymnastically pointing their bellies at the ceiling while both their tails and the tips of their pointed headdresses rested lightly on the floor of the temple. They held these poses for several moments. Then they somehow straightened up again without using their hands, which were tipped with curved fingernails several centimeters long.

Manora, the captured kinnaree, married Prince Suthon. Her wings were taken from her. The couple lived happily until the day the prince was called into battle. Jealous court advisers told the prince’s father that to ensure victory, it would be necessary to sacrifice his daughter-in-law to the gods. Manora agreed to the idea, requesting only that she be allowed to perform a final dance for her husband’s parents, wearing her full costume. She performed gracefully for a few minutes, but then took a few running steps, unfolded her wings, and flew back to the land of her sisters.

We all applauded. I thought the show was over. But soon the hunter reappeared on stage, flanked by two other men in sparkly attire, each holding a microphone. This ensemble, accompanied brilliantly by the oboe, set about teasing the VIPs in the front row. I quickly understood that the only way for a targeted politician to stop the good-natured ridicule was to stand, smile, and slip a large bill into a pocket of the hunter’s outfit. The audience, knowing the drill well, hooted each time.

Food, photo opportunities, and more laughter concluded the morning. An elderly aunt represented the parents’ generation with suitable seriousness. Everything ended happily, just as in the story of Manora, who was reunited with her loyal prince after his long quest to find the land of the bird people… a dance for another day.

Road Trip

Aung San Suu Kyi just wrapped up her first trip outside Myanmar in 24 years. For most of that time she was under house arrest; when she wasn’t, she worried that she wouldn’t be let back in if she left. For her latest look at the outside world she traveled next door to Thailand. The bulk of her six-day journey was spent visiting Burmese refugees and migrant workers here. Most estimates suggest that the number of paperless people from Burma living in Thailand is over two million.

At a Bangkok forum on the economics of the region, she stole the show with a frank assessment of the investment prospects in Myanmar. She was wise and graceful, generating lots of goodwill, even as she bluntly told investors that for now her pariah country needs education and institutions lots more than it needs business.

Reform in Myanmar remains quite delicate, as democratization is bound to be anywhere people are used to solving disputes by pulling rank. Add in a ton of ethnic diversity, and a tidal wave of new outside experts who are suddenly swamping the country with their advice, and you get a spicy stew. As The Lady noted, “I sometimes feel that people are too optimistic about the scene in Burma. You have to remember that the democratization process in Burma is not irreversible.”

ASSK travels again on June 13. Among other places in Europe, she heads to Oslo, where she’ll formally accept the Nobel Peace Prize she was awarded in 1991.

Hiking on the Edge of Town

About the only thing better than having nature on the doorstep here in Chiang Mai is having a hiking club to enjoy it with. So far I’ve taken four outings with a revolving group of nice folks who enjoy perspiring up the many steep trails on the edge of town.

The people who come out early in the morning for half-day treks on Wednesdays and Sundays generally were born outside Thailand, or at least in other parts of the country. A few qualify as Chiang Mai veterans—twenty years or more.

They bring interesting stories with them. “I’m here to train Muay Thai” [Thai kick boxing] said both an Indian-American from New Jersey and an Irish dude, on separate occasions. “I fly helicopters for Shell Oil out of Borneo,” explained another guy. “I work six weeks on, six weeks off. Chiang Mai is the closest nice place to build myself a house.”

We saunter past colors and critters that are new to most of us—mushrooms, millipedes, berries, anthills, and orchids. Now and then somebody takes a stab at identification, but mostly we just enjoy the open forests and the occasional views back toward the city. Along one section of trail the route is marked by cloth that might once have been orange monks’ robes. Are we being told that the path leads to a temple? That we’re passing through a meditation zone? Nobody is sure.

Sometimes several tree trunks end up growing together into goofy shapes that would be equally at home in an amusement park. We half expect to hear Jack coming down the beanstalk. In that spirit, we notice monstrous snails everywhere. Somebody said they’re native to Africa—in Thailand thanks to yet another pest-control scheme gone badly wrong.

We arrive back at the parking lot before lunch, giving us plenty of time to fritter away the afternoon on the Internet.

Seeing Anew

Someone who knows what she’s talking about happened to cross my path, and together we visited a gorgeous old wooden temple near my place on the outskirts of Chiang Mai. It was empty. Yellow petals had fallen from a large flowering tree and covered the parking lot like snow.

My friend pointed out the unusual layout of the wat, and indeed once she said it, the arrangement of the various buildings did strike me as a little different. I might not have noticed otherwise. It struck me that I had a chance to move beyond my usual seen-one-seen-’em-all approach to temple touring.

I determined to be extra observant, in hopes that just maybe I would learn to tell my viharn from my ubosot. We started inside the main structure, pausing to admire carving meant to mimic the shape of the Buddha’s eyebrows (who knew?). I stared at the sloping ceilings as if I’d never been inside a wat before. Do the multiple tiers always telescope that way? I wasn’t sure.

There was still nobody else around. My friend seemed to be x-raying the eaves and gables, concentrating on how well the 20-year-old restoration was holding up. I tried to soften my eyes and pretend I was looking at a song or tasting a massage. Slowly the red lacquered columns holding up the roof began to glow brighter than I thought the limited interior light would allow.

Back outside, we circled a handsome open-sided preaching hall laid out in the shape of a cross. She explained that a sala is normally rectangular. Somehow I knew that before she said it. Perhaps adopting a new worldview isn’t so hard after all.

Every Day a New Insight

Here’s the Chiang Mai routine: Run, think, eat, write, think, read, eat, think, study, think, write, think, eat, sleep. The best parts of the day are the stare-off-into-space moments.

I’m talking about those little instances between activities when I get to see what my brain was doing while I wasn’t paying attention. Usually they only last two or three minutes.

While skyping with a friend in the States recently, I mentioned this luxury of daydreaming about nothing in particular. He replied, “that’s what most people here do when they’re driving.”

But I think he and I are really talking about two different things. These days I don’t space out in the same way as people who have a regular job, or people who take care of kids and parents.

Those folks’ minds are likely to wander toward to-do lists. Not only are they aware that they’re spacing out, but they end up jolted back to the here-and-now by some have-to.

My life in Chiang Mai is remarkably free of have-to’s. As a result I get gifted with insights that wouldn’t have come my way if I was working full-time.

Take yesterday for example. After I finished breakfast I just stayed at the table for a while, looking out the window at the neighbor’s tree. Or at least that’s what an observer would have said I was doing. In fact I was contemplating a new idea for a chapter in Jip’s book—a problem that had vexed me the day before.

Maybe the most valuable by-products of this sabbatical will be these big-picture ideas after breakfast. You all have my permission to slap me around if you sense that I’m taking them for granted.

Songkran in the South

Rumor had it that Chiang Mai’s way of celebrating Thai New Year would get pretty wet. So I fled to the South for a traditional Songkran with Jip’s mom. In her village the three-day holiday revolves more around monks, blessings, and family than around throwing water. You can get as wet as you want to, but if you say you don’t want to play, people respect that and let you pass without a splash.

Life there is lived in the open air. Most jobs in Ban Krud take place outdoors, most transportation happens by cycle, and the beach exerts a strong pull on locals and visitors alike. Even though it’s the hottest time of the year (temperatures have been around 40C/100F), we spent our days sitting out front of the house to see who was passing by, or cooking in the outdoor kitchen—you can’t have a ceremony in the village without a feast afterwards.

Downsize

Chiang Mai’s population is between 5-10% as large as Bangkok’s, depending if you count the whole metropolitan area. The tallest buildings are under 20 stories high, and those are rare. The skyline resembles Rapid City’s.

Not everything here is on a scale smaller than the capital’s. The city sits in a valley between mountains. These peaks are high enough to have much lower temperatures at the top than at the bottom. Looking down at Chiang Mai from Doi Suthep, the tallest one, you see many, many more temples than malls. They’re so plentiful that yesterday with a friend I toured nine wats in a single afternoon. All of them were within three city blocks of each other.

It’s lovely to have nature and relative serenity so close by. I can be at the trailhead for many of Doi Suthep’s hikes in just a few minutes by taxi (actually a roaming, shared pickup truck—private taxis are uncommon). Recently I went out for a run in the foothills and within 20 minutes of leaving my place had seen a dozen deer.

This northern sabbatical will be a nice chapter.

How Was I Supposed to Know That Closing Time Was 8pm?

Or maybe the masseuse had a fight with her boyfriend this morning and was still mad?

Whatever the cause, the shortened, brutal quality of tonight’s massage caught me off guard. I mean, I know I’m basically a wimp, and I know that Thai massage is supposed to hurt now and then. But it’s not supposed to leave bruises. Or maybe that’s just how they do things up here in Chiang Mai?

This week I find myself asking often “Is it me or them?” Such moments were common in 2005 when we first returned to Thailand. But in this case I didn't expect to feel confused. In Bangkok I averaged a couple of massages a month.

At the shop tonight they could have told me up front that we’d have to stop early. She could have eased up when she saw me grimacing. A few more signals could have been flashed to let me know that we were through (it’s the only time I can ever remember when the session didn’t wrap up with a light clap-clap-clapping of the hands together on the spine).

But as I say, maybe they do things differently up here in Chiang Mai. Lots to learn.

Up North

Being newly arrived (two days ago) in Chiang Mai brings to mind that great long sentence from Stuart Little, which describes a drive in the countryside where “the back yards were bushy and worth finding out about, where the streets sloped down to the stream and the stream flowed quietly under the bridge, where the lawns ended in orchards and the orchards ended in fields and the fields ended in pastures and the pastures climbed the hill and disappeared over the top toward the wonderful wide sky.”

Cows are wandering around in what might as well be my back yard—fields just a few hundred meters down the road. People are speaking a dialect I can’t catch—until I ask a question, when they answer in central Thai. Even though it’s the hottest month of the year, I don’t feel as sweaty as I usually do down by sea level.

But this season the weather in the north has a downside. Dust in the air blows in from areas nearby that practice slash-and-burn farming. I don’t notice any breathing problems, but going barefoot inside the house tells the story—even though I sweep the floors every day, the bottoms of my feet are black in just a few hours of walking around.

Traffic rarely crawls in Chiang Mai, and sometimes moves quite fast. Trying to cross a road at one point, I spotted a gap in the cars coming from my right, as they always do in Thailand. As I began quickly making my way to the other side, I surprised a family on a motorcycle that was putt-putting along in the wrong direction. They honked, just in time. I felt the breeze their passing made as we missed colliding by millimeters. Lots to get used to here.

Perhaps I should ask the chickens how and why they cross the road?

What Do You Call What’s Happening in Myanmar?

Some kind of something has been moving forward with increasing momentum during the past several months in Myanmar, but it’s hard to know exactly what to call it.

Some would say it was “progress” when both Thein Sein, who has been country’s president for about a year, and Aung San Suu Kyi, who last month was elected to Parliament, met with Hilary Clinton on December 1st. Others use the word “transformation” to describe the recent steps toward democratic rule, even though when Suu Kyi was asked a few days ago to rate Myanmar’s democracy on a scale of one to ten, she said, “On the way to one.”

The Economist quoted one of the “reform”-minded ministers as saying, “There are 60 decision-makers in this country: 20 have seen the light, 20 are asleep, and 20 are waiting to see which way to jump.”

An especially big hurdle in the way of “real change” is a constitution that makes sure the military dominates Parliament. Maybe the most realistic moniker for what’s going on is “new era”—a time when lots of work will need doing so that the elections of last month aren’t just a tactic to convince Western nations to lift the years of economic sanctions.

Call it “movement”? Call it “makeover”? Whatever you call it, everything new over the past year could disappear in a heartbeat.

Northbound

Ever since returning to Thailand to live in 2005, I’ve had Chiang Mai on my mind. Thailand’s second city has called to me for its manageable size and its mountains. At least once a year I’ve made forays there to stay in touch with old friends and to keep my ears open for ways relocating could work.

Next week that vision becomes real. My last day at CDC is this Friday. I decided not to extend the contract for another year. Even though I’ve enjoyed the work more than ever during the past few months, it’s a good time to move on. The combination I now enjoy—good health, financial security, and a total lack of responsibilities—is too rare to ignore.

So I’ll take a sabbatical in Chiang Mai. At least for the rest of this year, I don’t plan to work for money. Instead the plan is to finish the book that Jip began. I’ll also make time to volunteer, read, hike, and who knows what else.

Between now and 2013, I’ll figure out what kind of work to do next. Most people don’t allow themselves, or aren't lucky enough, to take plenty of reflection time between jobs.

Faster Higher Hotter

Mid-February often gets too warm for roadracing here, but I signed up anyway for my third half marathon in six months, figuring “how bad can a little heat be?” I knew I had a couple of advantages going for me.

First was a rabbit. My friend Kip, who generally runs about 20% faster than I do, sacrificed his own finish time in order to goad me into lowering mine. We agreed he would be the only one wearing a watch. At the halfway point, he said we were on track for me to set a personal best (later I wondered if he had really been telling the truth). A few kilometers later he said, "We're still on the pace… when we get to 16 we'll have 5 to go... let's just keep up the same splits and we'll make it."

I started to fade. People began to pass us. Kip said, "Just keep up with that guy wearing the blue shirt." My redoubled effort only lasted a short while. Realizing it was time for a new mind game, he said, "OK, only eight minutes before we hit our target time. How about we give it what we've got for eight minutes? If we make it, we make it. C'mon..."

My second advantage was a week of running in thin air and chilly sunrise temperatures. Earlier this month, I took a work trip to East Africa. I got winded there after just a few minutes—Nairobi sits more than a mile above sea level, and Addis Ababa is Africa’s highest capital at 7800 feet—but it was inspiring to be among the world best long-distance runners. They charged up hills at me, moving about three times faster than I could run downhill.

I knew that many of those same runners have been sweeping the top places at Bangkok events for the past few years. What I didn’t realize is that some of them weren’t really ready for February. Because it turns out that a little heat can be pretty bad.

An acquaintance of mine who usually treats half marathons like a warmup jog told me that he has been feeling wiped out ever since last Sunday's race. Another guy I know collapsed at the finish line. When IV fluids at the med tent didn’t revive him fast enough, he was taken to a nearby hospital for further observation. He found that four or five other runners had been sent there ahead of him. Amazingly, they were all Africans!

In the end, I crossed the tape in almost exactly the same time I had run in December. I felt lucky to have done that well. There’s no telling where I would have ended up without my secret weapons.

Can Valentine’s Day Get Any Weirder?

On V-Day this year in Bangkok, the government established a one-day-only 10pm curfew for under-18s aimed at preserving their virginities. Teens all over town seemed less interested in the government’s decree than in how many little heart stickers they could attach to their school uniforms.

Reducing Thailand’s steadily rising teenage pregnancy and abortion rates has perplexed policymakers, who were embarrassed earlier this year when their recommended answer to a question on a nation-wide university entrance exam was made public. The multiple-choice test asked kids what they should do when they felt sexual urges. These were the options:

A: Call friends to go play soccer
B: Talk to your family
C: Try to sleep
D: Go out with a friend of the opposite sex
E: Invite a close friend to see a movie

People just shook their heads when the “correct” answer was revealed to be A—soccer. With the exam board showing that level of savvy, maybe it wasn’t surprising to see river taxi and skytrain stops swarming yesterday with public health people standing around with free condoms… and appearing too shy to actually approach anyone with their loot.

Meanwhile, a delayed World AIDS Day observance, also scheduled for Valentine’s Day (December 1st was postponed due to flooding), featured the theme “Love and Rhythm.” The U.S. Ambassador spoke at the event, despite the Thai government’s being upset with her for not consulting them before sending out a text message about possible terrorism a few weeks earlier.

Ironically, shortly after her speech, explosions in another part of town were blamed on three Iranians. One of them blew off his own legs in the process. At press time it was unclear what their motives may have been.

Presumably they weren’t feeling sexual urges.

Big Stage

A friend and I took in a Broadway-style musical here. Everything about it—script, set, singing, staging—was way better than it had to be. A world-class evening. And I don’t even like musicals.

I agreed to go because the story was based on a Thai epic, Four Reigns, that Jip and I read out loud in English some time ago. At least I’d be able to follow the plot when the show started to get overly artsy or amateurish, I figured.

Man, did this show ever explode my assumptions. The performers stunned me with their striking voices and movements. The scriptwriters faithfully adapted the most important episodes from the book, and cleverly stitched them together at a swift pace that engrossed me for nearly three hours. Even the scene changes, all done flawlessly on a spinning lazy-susan section of the stage, gripped me every time.

I’m really glad I saw this really good show. Yet a part of me also feels a bit ashamed that I hadn’t expected it to be so great. Its excellence exposed a prejudice that surfaces from time to time about Thailand’s abilities. Somewhere inside me hides the expectation that “Made in Thailand” means second-rate when it comes to the theater and other goings-on that I grew up viewing in a certain way. The whole home-grown evening has me wondering what else I’m shortchanging around here.