Out of Dodge

Last week’s lottery draw came and went, and we are no richer. At least not cash-richer. But Jip and I have taken a fine outing to the countryside, to a town where she used to work, and where our friend Therese has a little house.

We absorbed the kind of quiet that seems to exist only on farms and along vacant stretches of road. Mango trees rustled. Swallows dipped. Chao, who came along for the daytrip, snapped some photos.

Therese and a few other familiar faces spent much of the afternoon in hammocks. Folks who work the nearby rice fields dropped by. We didn’t really DO anything, but somehow the time passed quickly. That’s often how it is in Thailand, I find.

On the way home, Jip cracked jokes about things that on a different day could just as easily have come out as complaints. Watching her giggle as she reclined in the van, I felt very well-to-do.

My Lucky Day

A bird pooped on me as I walked under an electric wire. My teacher remarked on it (no hiding the green blot on my white shirt) at my early morning language lesson. He said for Thai people, being bombed in that way counts as good luck. He urged me to take advantage of the omen by playing the lottery.

The secretary at work agreed wholeheartedly, and immediately wanted to know the species. When I told her “pigeon,” she looked it up on a website that assigns numbers to every kind of animal or dream you can imagine. Pigeons turn out to be associated with “66.” She told me to choose a ticket ending with those two digits.

When I didn’t head out the door right away, she sent somebody after me: “I heard about your happy accident this morning, and I’m going out anyway in a few minutes—would you like me to buy that ticket for you?” I think they were both afraid that I wouldn’t really do it, or that I’d wait a day, meaning that some of the luck would have worn off.

So I’m now the proud holder of ticket xxxxxxxxxx66. Not only that, lots of colleagues have told me that they heard about my good fortune, and they plan to piggyback on it by picking the same number. If it gets pulled out of the hat next week on the day of the drawing, you can bet the Thai Audubon Society is going to end up with a big donation!

Five-star Service

Jip spent a couple nights in the hospital thanks to low sodium, an old nemesis. This was discouraging to me, because she’d been doing so well physically here, and because I thought we had seen the last of that problem. It didn’t seem to bother her, though. And the care we got at a private hospital in Bangkok was amazing.

It was like an elegant hotel: picture windows looking out on a gorgeous courtyard, body gel and fancy shampoo in the bathroom, delicious food available anytime from an ala carte menu. For patients’ relatives there was a sink in the room for washing dishes, and high speed internet access in the lobby. Nearly everyone spoke English.

The nurses didn’t wake us up four times per night to take blood pressure. They also hit the vein on the first try, and they seemed to already know what we had told their colleagues on the previous shift. We saw firsthand why “medical tourists” are coming to Thailand for health care.

It turns out that one of our caregivers has worked in several Thai hospitals. So when she showed up to help us check out, she knew a few tricks that helped make things even smoother. Jip now appears to be back to normal. When we got home she was all smiles, ready to start in again on her routine.

Back to the Opera

Before we moved here, I did some Googling to discover which of my American addictions I would be able to indulge in Bangkok. While “Bangkok + baseball” yielded nothing promising, “Bangkok + soccer” overwhelmed me with options. The big surprise, though, was “Bangkok + opera.”

I found out that not only does Thailand have a fine opera company, but that it had plans to put on the first opera in Wagner’s Ring cycle, “Das Rheingold.” Recently those plans became reality, and I had a front row balcony seat.

Wagner would have approved. Bangkok Opera is the real deal. The director’s local touches reminded me of the way Seattle Opera’s director made this timeless tale seem like a homegrown product.

The story kicked off with Valkyrie ballerinas dressed in classical Thai gowns. Wotan lived in a Thai-style house. Loge showed up wearing Bermuda shorts and flip flops. Erda had several arms, like a Hindu deity. And when the gods marched up the rainbow bridge at the end, Valhalla looked remarkably like the Bangkok skyline.

The hall was far from sold out (thought the princess showed up again), so it may be tough to convince the board that Bangkok Opera should mount the rest of the cycle. But I can dream. This company has the right stuff.

Sport Day

How about this for a fine day on the job: The office is locked. Email is on hold. Everyone meets on the basketball court that is part of the Ministry of Public Health’s sports complex, dressed in one of four different colors. The randomly assigned teams have been meeting at lunch over the previous few days, working out their cheerleading routines.

In between the final rounds of the basketball, chairball, and “futsol” (6-a-side soccer) competitions—badminton, pingpong, and petanque were settled earlier—various party games are quickly pulled together. And we’re not just talking about tug-of-war and egg-in-a-spoon races.

There’s also the contest to see who can assemble a group whose collective weight comes closest to 550kg. Nobody seems to mind stepping on a scale in public and having their weight broadcast to the crowd. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised--people here freely ask about age and salary. They seem surprised when I tell them that Americans routinely lie about all three of these subjects.

Lunch for 200 is catered. The IT department screens a highlight video it has put together from the preliminary rounds. At 4pm, when the dust from the final game has settled, and the last song has been sung, the director presents trophies to each of the teams, thus putting to rest all of the boasting that has preceded this day. Not bad for government work!


(P.S. If you look closely at the photo, you’ll see that my earlier request, for a goal scorer to be sent this way, was answered! Let’s hope I can get a few more for my regular weekend team.)

Updates

Here is the rest of the story about a few things mentioned here recently:

• My favorite tree species, which blooms in Seattle for about a month, hasn’t stopped blooming here at our apartment since we arrived over six months ago. It’s been joined by several purple orchids, which hang down from a trellis outside the entrance. We are lucky to live in such a nice building.

• Back in September, after seeing her at the opera, I wrote that I wouldn’t be surprised to run into the princess again. It didn’t take long. She showed up at a conference I attended last month about digital libraries. The Thai Library Association is under royal patronage, and she is the designated royal. Lots of pomp and cameras … very fun to watch.

• The same two women still take care of Jip. I had thought when we arrived that turnover might be high, because they would never really get to know her, at least not in the way her Seattle caregivers did. But perhaps enough of the wit and sparkle still shines through, despite the increased communication difficulties.

• At mid season the BC Casuals are 2-10, good for 12th place in our 14-team soccer league. If you know any goal scorers, please send them our way.

The Rest of the Story

I don’t know whether this has ever happened to you: something triggers an interest in those old stories that a favorite aunt has been telling you all your life… but then when you get around to asking her for more details, you discover that the opportunity has passed, because she isn’t quite up to it any more?

That’s kind of how it is with Jip these days. When people bring up a subject she knows lots about—either to make conversation, or because they really are curious to know more—she usually doesn’t feel like sustaining it. She still knows all the details, but she’d rather talk about what’s for dinner or when we are going to do something about the dust in the apartment. Her focus has narrowed to the here and now.

In Chiang Mai, my former teacher toured me around a cool temple and monastery known as Wat Umong. Its forest setting made me think Jip would like it there. I then met a guy for dinner who remembered Jip showing him that temple several years back, when he had been new in town. He even said it was affiliated with a school of meditation teaching that I knew she was once interested in.

I couldn’t wait to ask Jip more about the place when I got back to Bangkok. It had all the ingredients for a fun chat—distant past, happy affiliations, high significance and appeal. But she dropped it like a stone. No longer on her radar screen.

The effect of this disease on her speech is an even bigger obstacle to communicating with Jip. Often her words all run together, or her voice rises and falls like the sound of a car that won’t start. At this point I get about ten percent of what she says … and I do as well as anyone.

So I rely on facial expression for much of my understanding. (Her great smile means so much more to me nowadays than ever before.) That’s why when I pray for miracles, I no longer pray for Jip’s eyes or legs to work again. I would just love to be able to hear the rest of the story.

Chiang Mai Revisited

I took another trip north, to continue scouting around, in case we move there some day. The small town connections in Chiang Mai surfaced again. This time I called on a former Thai language teacher of mine, who has returned there recently.

As we were sitting on her porch, peeling oranges and generally passing a lazy afternoon, I happened to mention the cat guy. My teacher’s husband said, "Oh, Ed! I haven't seen him for years! Let's all go out to dinner with him tonight." Ed suggested, as we worked our way through plates of delicious shrimp and Thai vegetables, that the guy I should really hook up with is his friend Christopher. He takes care of a handicapped brother somewhere on the outskirts of the city.

The next morning Ed drove me to Christopher's house, which turned out to be a healing center, presided over by Christopher's wife Homprang. She teaches about massage, herbs, and various other traditional Thai treatments. Christopher’s brother requires round-the-clock care, which Christopher hires from a nearby rehab hospital.

Even without knowing much about her disease, Christopher and Homprang had good ideas about what might help Jip. They also knew, without my having to explain, what it’s like to be Jip’s husband at this stage.

Afterward I walked around the hospital grounds, which were full of the biggest trees I've seen in Thailand. Lovely people smiled from every bend in the road that circles the little island on which the hospital is built. I’d been up north less than 24 hours, and already it was starting to feel like home.

Merry and Happy

Our holidays were low key—the real festival was a couple weeks before, when we traveled down to Jip’s village. Over Christmas, we had few visitors or calls, but somehow it felt just right. The days around January 1st are the ones people in Bangkok look forward to. It seemed as if half the city headed back to their home province, or to the beach, or something.

My friend Davin, who lives in Beijing, came through on a vacation with his family. They’re used to traveling in Asia, so this town isn’t exotic for them. We took my favorite bike ride and went out for a couple of fun meals. I especially liked being around the kids, listening to them switch seamlessly between English and Mandarin.

One of Jip’s nursing school classmates dropped by. As a physical therapist, he wanted to see how she moves. They giggled their way through a few new exercise routines that I hope will help her become even stronger.

In general Jip has maintained her physical abilities since we arrived here. There’s still no sign of heat affecting her negatively, as many Seattle docs worried that it would. (We were also told that the Thai health care system wouldn’t know what to do with her, which has proved wrong. How easy it is to underestimate a system that one has no experience with!)

Thai Language Update

My spoken Thai is back to about where it was the last time we lived here. Navigating activities of daily living is easy. Thais in stores and restaurants often ask, “How many years have you been studying?”

But they’re just being polite. My vocabulary is smaller than most kindergarteners. And the words I need now are the ones I won’t use every day. So I still don’t do too well on the phone, or when conversations veer suddenly. Unfortunately, I can’t count on Jip to translate. When I talk to the caregivers, I usually want to talk about Jip, so using her as a go-between isn’t appropriate.

The good news is that unlike eighteen years ago, I’ve figured out the alphabet, so now I can pick up new words without having to hear them first. But being able to read doesn’t help when I have some complex, important idea that I really want to get across, and nobody around speaks any English.

To supplement my flashcards and audiotapes, I signed up for a tutor, to begin next week. With a little work, 2006 (or 2549, according to the Thai calendar) will be the year of speaking beautifully. Happy New Year!

Over the River and through the Woods

Rarely have I made New Year’s resolutions, and even more rarely have I remembered them. But in 2005 I’ve been dreaming for a long time about making a trip to Jip’s home village and her 95-year-old grandmother. Last weekend we managed it.

I hadn’t been confident that we would really pull off the five-hour drive, so I didn’t say anything about it to most people. Even as our rented van pulled onto the highway, I still was half expecting Jip to insist that we turn around. She didn’t do that, but she did kind of whimper much of the way. Not surprising--she was nervous about what we would find, about the interruption in her routine.

What we found was a full moon, a sky full of stars, and no trace of the two-foot-high floods that had made a mess of the house just a month before. Jip grew up just a mile or so from the Gulf of Thailand, in the skinniest part of the country, where many of the 400 plus villagers depend on the sea for their livelihood. There’s nice air there. A strong breeze was blowing through the coconut trees as we rattled the front gate to wake up Jip’s mom.

Grandma got up too. To see the sparkle in her eyes as she came into the kitchen, you’d have never known she was sleeping a few minutes before. Jip’s eyes couldn’t see her, and Grandma’s ears couldn’t hear Jip, but despite the senses they’ve lost, they both knew the other was in the room, and their grins lit up the place. Lovely to watch.

In the morning it was as if we’d been there for years. No special changes in the routine on our account. Jip’s oldest brother, who hadn’t been roused by our late night arrival, waved on his way to the market, but otherwise was very low key about greeting the sister he hadn’t seen for about four years.

Meanwhile, I was thinking of all the ways the village reminds me of the place on Lake Michigan where I used to spend time with my grandmother. The sound of that breeze, the smell of the closets, the way it gathers the family. In fact Jip and I had weddings in both spots.

Now and then grandma would make her way over to where Jip was sitting. Jip told me later that grandma had said, “It’s good you came. I might never get to see you again.” Very casual. Buddha grandma. No fear of what comes after this life.

A week later, Jip says she doesn’t remember much of the trip, but if you’d have seen her face on the way back you’d have known it was worth making. She was as serene as I’ve seen her in months. Buddha Jip.

Nostalgia Travel

The caregivers say they’d rather have the money than the time off, so I’ve been free on these extended weekends to explore a bit. Two weeks ago I took a trip down memory lane by going to the Thai-Cambodian border, where Jip and I first met nineteen years ago. My specific destination was a series of Khmer-style temples that were built around the turn of the last millennium.

Some of them look a little bit like Angkor Wat in miniature. Within a 150-mile radius dozens of them still stand, many of them apparently intended originally by their
builders as dwelling places for the gods. I was most interested in seeing Prasat Phnom Rung, where I recall many of us going for picnics in the late 1980s.

At that time the temple was missing a large carving, known as the Narai lintel, which was traced to the Art Institute of Chicago. The Thai newspapers back then were full of editorials demanding its return. So it was fun to have our friend Marjorie take my picture beneath it, and to remember the friends from the refugee camp days who used to enjoy outings there.

Month of Holidays

A bonus of working for a two-country collaboration: we celebrate both governments’ days off. That has meant several long weekends for me, beginning with Veterans’ Day, followed by Thanksgiving (but not the day after), last Monday’s national birthday party for the king, and finally the Thai Constitution Day on December 12. Nice duty!

World AIDS Day was a work day, naturally. Despite the breaks, I’ve been busier at the office lately than I was during the first month. Most people know me now and know why I’m there. My steep learning curve has begun to flatten out—initially I had lots to learn about the disease, public health procedures, and spending the taxpayers’ money—so now I actually put my experience into practice.

The annual report and a renewal of the collaboration’s first five-year agreement will both keep me scribbling away over the next few weeks. My business card says “writer/editor,” but mostly what I do is look around for what others have already written, synthesize it, and then spread the word. So it’s part librarian, part grammarian, part knowledge manager, and part public relations guy.

Things never seem to get too heavy—hey, this is Thailand—even when deadlines come around or big meetings are on the schedule. Last Friday everyone called it quits early and went outside for the first installment of the six-week-long interoffice sports competition. With a schedule like this, who needs Christmas?

Seen in a Bangkok Supermarket

For wet agriculture you apparently have to go direct to the rice paddy.