Fewer Blues

This week we didn’t have another Stormy Monday. Tuesday wasn’t just as bad, Wednesday wasn’t even worse, and Thursday wasn’t awful sad. Since the time last week when Jip threatened to take a vow of silence, we haven’t had to welcome and train a new caregiver. Maybe the fifth try was the charm.

It comes back to me now that when we first came to town, we also had a period of revolving door hiring. So I shouldn’t complain too much this time … except that I no longer can devote all day to finding and coaching people like I could then. And the candidates who bailed out a year ago did so after their first day. This round, they’ve gone through three or four days of tutoring before vanishing.

The newest member of our three-person team shows up 45 minutes early every day and seems eager to learn. Jip described her at first as “a good kid.” Time will tell if she or the other newcomer will ever be as good as the woman who decided, after a year of working with Jip, to go back to school. It takes a while to figure out all the tricks of the trade.

Last Saturday I went out to play. Maybe this Sunday I’ll kneel down and pray.

How Was Your Monday?

• Had a few false starts in our quest to expand staff and create seamless care for Jip, but by the weekend I figured the new group had come together nicely,
• got my hopes up during my usual 24-hour solo Sunday shift, thinking it was the last one I’d do for a while,
• then Jip was awake more than usual during the night,
• the new caregiver showed up half an hour late in the morning, sounding like the routine was still a little fuzzy in her mind,
• no problem, I said, because the other newcomer should be here any minute, you two can help each other fill in what you don’t recall,
• except that the other newcomer didn’t come, sounding a little sheepish on the phone when I reached her,
• perhaps because she remembered my telling her that if she saw any problems with the job that I wanted to know as soon as she knew so that I could plan,
• but in fact she had tried to let me know early, in the classic indirect way, by phoning experienced caregiver number one to say she was worried about back pain,
• unfortunately caregiver number one figured she’d wait until the morning to phone me, but then slept in, since she’s not working until Monday evening,
• so I got the message direct from the source,
• leaving me two choices,
• take the day off to help out around the edges,
• or come home to find her and Jip both raving,
• the boss was OK with my proposal to telecommute today
• which would have worked fine
• if only the construction noise hadn’t started on the floor below us
• or if only the monsoon hadn’t arrived the moment I hung out the laundry to dry
• or if only the agency hadn’t called to say they were sending over the fifth new person in ten days for training because the back pain was looking like a permanent concern,
• at which point Jip screamed that she didn’t want to talk to anyone except me from now on because she was sick of having to be nice to all these unfamiliar voices…

Life After the Revolutions

A few photos from recent events:

Double Revolution

The ouster of the prime minister is still the main topic of conversation, but already the excitement is dying down. One camp seems to see the coup as a pre-emptive strike that averted lots of trouble. In other words, the sense of normalcy we feel shouldn’t be surprising—indeed, it was the goal of the planners.

Another group is disappointed that a political impasse should be broken this way in a democracy. In other words, things may be quiet now, but the root causes of the prevailing low confidence in the country’s direction can’t be addressed by a military takeover—trouble has simply been swept under the rug, according to this view.

In addition to this week’s government turnover, Jip and I are experiencing a revolution of our own at home. The first caregiver we hired, over a year ago, has given notice. I managed to get a couple of replacement candidates to come over fairly quickly, and they’ve both been apprenticing the past few days.

One of them in particular has a great sense of humor and lots of confidence. I haven’t heard Jip giggle as much in one day as I did yesterday afternoon, as I sat in another room and listened to the banter between her, the new caregiver, and the one who’s decided to move on. All three of them played off each other, cracking jokes and keeping the mood very light.

Thais in general think of work as a social activity. I’m hoping to restructure the caregiving schedule so that we end up with three women instead of two, and that their shifts overlap more often than they have in the past. I would also like to retire from my 24-hour Sunday shift, and from grocery shopping responsibilities. If things work out the way I’m expecting, this week’s laughter will echo for a long time.

Around the Water Cooler

Lots to talk about at work yesterday, mostly of the “where were you when you first heard?” variety. The consensus reaction to the headlines, among the Thais in our office, seemed to be “What took them so long? This should have happened months ago.”

Of course my colleagues aren’t necessarily a representative slice of the population. Educated Bangkok people may not feel the same way as the farmers and fishermen, whose numbers far outweigh the city dwellers, but whose opinions may not count as much.

I passed a few other government ministries on the way to mine, and noticed soldiers outside the entrances to each. But the Ministry of Public Health was “guarded” only by the usual traffic cops. Nothing like a coup to let you know how you rate, I guess.

Coup Day Two

Yesterday was a great day to do errands. Everything felt normal except the small number of people out and about. At a restaurant I popped into for lunch, the staff appeared so glad to have a customer that their attentiveness began to get a bit oppressive. I nearly had to swat them away. The only soldier I saw all day was looking lonely as he sat outside a building that houses the company founded by the former prime minister.

This morning I tried to go for a run at a park where I’ve seen soldiers playing soccer in the past. At the entrance gate I was turned away, even though cars were allowed to drive through. The government ministries are all open again, so I’ll be going back to work.

Far be it from me to speculate about the subtleties of Thai politics, and how this regime change will play out. It may even be harder to get good information here than it is elsewhere, because the local news sources are likely not as complete as those outside the country.

I don’t feel the sense of discouragement that we used to have twenty years ago, working in the refugee camps, when we were told by officials that the camps were closed but given no details about the reasons. Sometimes we could hear the booming of shells in the distance, but otherwise we had very little idea about was really going on.

In Bangkok today and yesterday it was the absence of noise that was unusual. My gut tells me that in the long run, any disruptions caused by the birth of a new government will be felt much more by a small handful of VIPs than by common folk.

No Biggie

At our new apartment we can almost set our clock by the sound of a sala-pao seller, who plies his doughy buns in the street below our window at shortly past 6:30 every morning. Today was no exception, which let me know that things would be business as usual, in spite of the sudden change in government here about nine hours ago.

I first learned of events after returning home around 10 from my usual Tuesday night soccer game. Chao, who works evenings as an editor for the country’s biggest-circulation newspaper, texted me a two-word message, which sent me scurrying to the Internet for details. At that time there weren’t many, as the soon-to-be-former prime minister was still planning to speak before the U.N. General Assembly.

After midnight my boss called a couple of times, first to say that the U.S. embassy would be closed Wednesday (and thus a day off for us too), and then again to report that the ambassador had judged the takeover to be so peaceful that we wouldn’t be getting a holiday after all.

As it turns out, Thai government offices are shuttered, including the Ministry of Public Health, where my office is based, so I’ll be working from home today. Report from our balcony: SkyTrain running normally, highway traffic lighter than usual, no sign of tanks anywhere!

Jip's Night Out

You first have to know how ornery Jip can get these days over the small stuff, in order to appreciate my joy at seeing her guffaw last night at her brother’s wedding reception. We were surrounded by party noises and strange smells that normally would have caused her to complain, but at this event her radar was apparently turned off, or at least disabled by the nice welcome she received from family and friends.

Her uncle, a jolly fellow whom we haven’t seen for several years, sought Jip out amidst the crowd at the restaurant, and soon had her in stitches. On hearing his voice, she initially put her hands together at eye level in a traditional Thai wai, or greeting of respect. I hadn’t seen her do that for anyone else throughout the fifteen-plus months we’ve been in the country.

He waved away such formality by urging her to reach out and feel his belly, which has expanded a little during his retirement. The two of them then traded news of various cousins, leading Jip to bust up over private jokes that I couldn’t follow. Soon Lek’s father came around to say hello—Jip had never met him, but was pleased to be introduced, because I had brought back such a nice report about the welcome he gave us all at the wedding in the countryside last month.

Each time that I thought to myself that perhaps we had overstayed—as when a waitress dropped a tray, or when someone suggested that we move indoors and away from the river, to where we could hear the live band—Jip took things in stride and simply smiled, rather than wrinkling up her forehead in the expression that I’ve come to recognize as the precursor to a mood swing.

Right up until the time we left by taxi for the short ride to the party, I half expected Jip to say that she had changed her mind and wasn’t interested. But apparently her feelings for Chao and Lek carried the day, or at least overrode the concern she had expressed earlier in the day that “people will be drinking beer there!”

In the end we hung out for about twice as long as I had expected we would. Jip was fawned over by Lek’s sisters and by her niece. Nothing seemed to rattle her, not even when, on the way home, our taxi driver reached over to reline her seat and it zipped backward much faster than anyone expected. She just laughed again, and I remembered how sweet it is to hear that sound.

High-end Living

Now that we’ve been here a few days, it seems like a really good deal. Once again we’re living pretty large. I had missed some of the details initially, while I was focused on door widths, waling around with a tape measure. But now I see how well everything works in this place, how luxurious it is, and what a nice view it has.

It seems that the previous owner of this place had been a wealthy retired businessman. He apparently had some stiff limbs, which explains the multiple bathtubs; and a fondness for video, thus the windowless in-home theater room, complete with padded walls. But he also must have been a bit paranoid … would you believe there are hidden cameras and bulletproof glass?

So at best we’re well protected, and at worse we’re under constant surveillance. The main thing for me is that Jip hasn’t said anything negative. At our old place she had a few pet peeves that she couldn’t let go of; now, she either hasn’t had time to invent any complaints, or the air and the lack of construction noise at night truly are better.

Why not come see for yourself?

Apartment Hunting

The deal here is you have to live nearby where you work. Bangkok traffic is so unforgiving that any other arrangement is a recipe for stress.

Yet Jip and I have a few unusual housing requirements, which turned out to be hard to meet near the Ministry of Public Health. Our specs include wide doors and deep elevators. The standard measurements here are often too tight for a wheelchair, except in a few buildings that maybe were constructed with foreigners in mind.

We also wanted a three bedroom place, because it has worked well this past year to have a room for the caregivers to call their own, even if they don’t sleep there. But Thai families don’t usually get that much privacy and personal space, so apartments that roomy are rare where I was first looking.

The real estate agent who helped us a year ago said he didn’t know that end of town very well. My online searches didn’t generate many leads. So I switched game plans and started looking on my own in a neighborhood halfway between our old apartment and my work. I just walked around in larger and larger circles until I saw a sign announcing an apartment for rent.

At first glance the place didn’t seem too special or fancy, but the rooms were big enough and the street was quiet. I called the agent again to ask him to negotiate for me (with housing, as with vegetables, the first price is not the final price here). To my surprise, he agreed to coach me, but nothing more. He said he had a good feeling about the landlady, and that I might do better on my own than he could do.

I felt like a kid who gets told that he has to start doing some chores around the house. I was so nervous about blowing it that I wrote out a whole script before I called to bargain. Just as I’d been coached, I told her not to decide right away, but instead to take a day or two to think about my offer. Amazingly, she called me back and agreed to the 20% cut I’d proposed.

New Digs

We’ve been busy moving to a new part of town, setting up new routines and phone numbers and Internet access and so on. In a way it feels as though we’ve finally moved to Thailand.

Our old place was surrounded by lots of conveniences that made it a perfect place to land when we were fresh from the States. But those same amenities sometimes made me feel as if we could have been anywhere in the world: the international signage, the English-speaking pharmacists, the five-star hotels.

The new neighborhood has a bit more Thai soul. On our first day here I saw monks making their morning rounds, and I thought “Oh, yeah—I almost forgot they did that in this country.” Nearly everyone in our new apartment building is Thai.

Glittery coffee shops and fitness centers are still within walking distance, but along the way I now have the option of buying veggies and fruit from sidewalk vendors instead of supermarkets. And I never see those short-term couples anymore that were so common in our old neighborhood: older Western men and Thai women, separated by about forty years, holding hands but somehow not on the same planet.

Bummer

I went up to Chiang Mai for a few days of r&r, and came back to find Jip had her first-ever bedsore. This discovery was discouraging, although not completely shocking. The books all say that skin problems are common in people who spend long periods in the same position. So far we’d been fortunate, probably because Jip stays pretty active for somebody with her abilities.

The trouble with bedsores is that they take forever to heal, because by definition they are located where the body meets the bed. If you don’t fix them right the first time, they come back again and again.

Happily, Lek’s sister is a nursing professor (she and Jip trained together, way back when). She taught me and the caregivers a few treatment and prevention tips. I also called another of Jip’s nursing classmates, a woman who has come by to see us pretty regularly. Her specialty happens to be older people, who are more likely to encounter this problem. She knew all about some special water-filled mattress pads. The next day she sent us one through a mutual friend who happens to work where I work.

So we’re still well looked after. When we first contemplated moving to Thailand, my biggest hesitation was that we would be leaving behind the remarkable network of caring friends and family who helped us out in so many ways. I still don’t think we’ll ever duplicate that combination of wisdom and kindness. But perhaps slowly, in a way that works for this setting, a group with similar instincts is beginning to form.

Welcomed In

In addition to being my in-laws, Chao and Lek have become good friends this past year. So it was especially easy to feel comfortable at their wedding. Most everything took place above the bookshop that Lek and her father run in a medium-sized town a couple of hours east of Bangkok. When I first walked in, I expected the usual formalities: scurrying for extra chairs, offers of hot drinks along with the standard glass of water, maybe some fish snacks.

But I didn’t count on the warmth of the smile on Lek’s father’s face, as he came forward to greet me. I was reminded of our old friend from the refugee camp days, Papa Louis: the two hands outstretched in a sort of “handshake hug,” the sparkling eyes fed by classic creases, the gift of making everyone feel as though they are the only ones in the room. I will remember that welcome most of all.

The next morning, Chao’s side of the family all gathered down the street from the bookshop, for the groom parade. I really enjoy this custom, in which the groom acts as a kind of suitor, backed by his supporters, who traditionally would be arriving from a neighboring village. A good yodeler brings up the rear, leading cheers that announce to passersby that an appeal for marriage is being made.

(Jip chose to rely on my after-the-fact descriptions, rather than contend with all the unfamiliar voices and obstacles of a fast-paced event like a wedding. She says that if they ever throw a small party in the city, for others like her who couldn’t make it to a mid-week event in the provinces, she’ll make an appearance.)

Once the parade reaches the bride’s front door, traditionally a few pretend obstacles are put up to block the path. A groom must use his wits, and perhaps a few clever bribes, to get past the barriers. Once he succeeds, in essence he is married. No pronouncing by a priest, or smashing of wine glasses—just acceptance by the bride’s father that the visitor is worthy, and can stay.

Clued In

Recently I’ve been to two funerals, a graduation, and a wedding. After the latest of these milestone occasions, the knot-tying of Jip’s younger brother Chao and his wife Lek, it struck me that I had mostly known beforehand how to behave, even though the traditions differ slightly from those in the States.

Not only does being confident about Thai ways feel good, it’s also nice to be included, treated as Jip’s representative, or just as part of the family. Over time I must have picked up enough of the protocol by osmosis that I don’t have to ask too many questions about what to wear and how to sit and when to wai. I’m not saying I’ve gone native, just that I feel less and less like an outsider.

The funerals were for people I hadn’t known, parents of colleagues at work. Most everyone at the office put in an appearance at least once during these traditionally multi-evening affairs. In one case the event took place at a huge temple where many other funerals were going on simultaneously. As we entered, we had to consult a blackboard for a list of which family was using which room.

Jip’s niece Boe graduated from college. I joined her parents, whom Jip and I have seen only once since our arrival back in Thailand, and a few relatives from her mother’s side, for photos in the morning and a dinner at an outdoor restaurant after the ceremony. Boe basked in the attention, especially when a large group of undergraduates surrounded her, linked shoulders, and shouted out a traditional good luck cheer.