Face Mask

A few weeks back, one of the caregivers slept on our extra bed instead of going home after her shift. She didn’t ask first, and she seemed to be avoiding me.

I left before she got up the next morning, and the next evening the same thing happened. When I asked the others if everything was OK, they smirked a little, and muttered that she had a headache. No further details.

So I hadn’t seen her face for nearly two days when we finally crossed paths in the kitchen on the second morning. Initially she wouldn’t meet my gaze. When she finally looked up, I saw why. Two of the biggest, darkest black eyes I’d ever seen. Oh, my, I thought. Domestic abuse. She’s afraid to go home. This is going to be tricky.

My first thought was to wonder how this episode was affecting Jip. Surely the caregiver had lots more on her mind than caregiving. But she didn’t seem upset or agitated, and Jip hadn’t said anything about feeling neglected.

I asked how she was doing. She said, “it’s healing fine.” I’m sure it is, I said, but how are things at home? Then it was her turn to be confused. Home? What does home have to do with getting cosmetic surgery done on my nose?

The dark bruises are now completely gone. To be honest I don’t see much difference in her appearance. But she’s very happy with the results, and I’m sure would be glad to pass along the name of her doctor in case you’re interested.

As Good As It Gets

Three perfect days in Cambodia confirmed the reaction I had to Angkor Wat last November—that I could return there every year for the rest of my life. Vinnie, his wife Tina, and I poked around the ruins, ate great, then ran a road race at almost the pace we’d planned beforehand. The cool weather was the icing on the cake.

The temples I’d seen before seemed just as inspiring as the first time. The ones that were new to me quickly became my favorites. We hired a tuk-tuk driver and followed a route that mostly kept us ahead of the crowds, while still leaving plenty of spots unseen for future trips.

Our guest house worked out wonderfully too. The owner got intrigued by the half marathon. He hadn’t had guests run it before, and he enjoys photography. So he offered to drive us out to the race with his camera. Now we’re famous! Check out our pictures online, and check in with Dave next time you pass through Siem Reap:

http://www.peaceofasia.com/Angkormararathon.htm

Thanksgiving with Jip

Jip and I had a memorable Thanksgiving. She started the day by asking for yams with rosemary. They’re not usually on her list, and so hunting them down in the market took a while. When I got back, the caregiver told me that she and Jip had been discussing where Jip and I should go for a walk after the feast.

I couldn’t believe my ears. Jip never goes for a walk. She has left this apartment fewer than ten times this year. But they had decided that Jip and I would be leaving for Railroad Park at around 4 in the afternoon.

It was cool for Bangkok (70s, breezy, think Hawaii weather), and the park wasn’t crowded because nobody else besides a few Americans had the day off. Now and then an old man would shuffle past us, jogging just a little faster than Jip’s wheelchair was rolling.

At first Jip asked me about certain sounds, but eventually she got quiet and I realized she was in that mode so familiar on Thanksgiving: eyes closed, half asleep, digesting. Lots to be thankful for here.

Thanksgiving with CDC

At work we held a “taste of Thanksgiving” on the day before. Lots of Thais said they’d been with CDC for several years, but had never understood the holiday. The main idea of our mini celebration was to share the traditions. We sat in a circle while a handful of Americans told what remembered from growing up with Thanksgiving.

The common themes were the three F’s: family, food, and football. Some people said it was their favorite American holiday because it wasn’t tied to presents or religion. At the end, everybody had a chance to mention something they were grateful for.

We didn’t do a potluck. The traditional foods are tricky to find in Bangkok, so we decided not to pressure anyone into bringing something that wasn’t just right. Instead, experienced volunteers showed up with just enough turkey and stuffing, cranberries, and pumpkin pie for first-timers to get a sense.

It was a nice cross-cultural event. Nobody had to travel through busy airports to get there, and nobody fell asleep on the couch after what was really just a mid-afternoon snack.

International Friendly

What started as small soccer contests after work grew into an invitation to play in Laos. A few dozen of us had competed against each other locally in a round robin tournament among parts of the U.S. embassy community. Last weekend we combined forces to challenge our counterparts in Vientiane. I was one of three to make the trip from CDC.

The gung-ho hosts at the embassy in Laos had thought of everything. We were met on the Thai side of the bridge by a caravan of vehicles with bulletproof windows. Though the vans had just come from the Lao side minutes before, a crew sprayed the hubcaps with disinfectant as we came into the country. (No telling what strains of bird flu and other pandemics-to-be might be lurking in Thailand.)

Soon we were lunching with the ambassador, a pleasant and athletic 50-something. He revealed no secrets about his team’s strategy for the match that afternoon. Later, we wished we’d had better intelligence. Though badly outnumbered on the bench, they forced a tie after 90 minutes of regulation.

The senior diplomats from each side conferred. A growing crowd roared for more: cheerleaders, family members, and people who had heard there would be a party afterwards. The decision was made to play another 15 minutes. When that overtime period ended with the score still 2-2, another one was added.

Each team wangled one more goal. Having played for two hours, a draw seemed more appropriate than it had seemed thirty minutes earlier. Besides, the buffaloes were done roasting. Handshakes were exchanged. All agreed that the cause of international relations had been advanced.

(A bit more detail about this junket appears at hipbelt, a sister blog where travel tales get told.)

Benja Ped

Sobs from Jip’s night-time caregiver woke me in the wee hours. She’d just received a call telling her that her brother had been in a motorcycle accident. I agreed that she should go to the hospital to be of help, while I took over her shift.

The next time we saw her, she had a bump on her forehead. She explained that she had unintentionally collided with a farming tool that her father had been carrying. Later we heard that her mother had been slow to recover from an illness.

I expressed my sympathy for all the bad luck that had seemed to pile up in her life. “Oh, it’s because I’m 25,” she said casually, as if that clarified everything. Jip filled me in. It appears that many Thais believe in what’s known as “benja ped,” an old tradition that suggests one’s 25^th year will be a rough one.

It’s a coming-of-age idea. Historically, adult responsibilities kicked in around then. Today, people sometimes choose to be extra careful, or to make extra merit, during this time of transition. I took an informal poll at the office. Roughly half of those I asked had a memory to share from when they were benja ped (the words mean “25” in Pali, an ancient language from which Thai borrows heavily). The others dismissed it as an outdated folk custom.

Stand-alone Sleeves

In Chicago when I was growing up, we stashed seasonal clothes at the back of the coat closet. That’s where we’d look for mittens, scarves, ski masks, and a circle of wool known as a head band that was mainly designed to keep our ears warm on snowy days.

This month Thai people begin rummaging around for their equivalent of winter garments to handle temperatures that get down as low as 70° F. on the chilliest days. I haven’t seen any mittens or head bands, but several pairs of stand-alone sleeves have appeared. These are designed to supplement a short-sleeved shirt. Slipped on over the wrist, forearm, and elbow, they’re apparently a compromise between wearing a jacket and shivering in the cool season.

No Trace

We’ve all gone back to visit a place years later and said, “Whoa! I can’t believe how much they’ve built this up since the last time I was here … and nobody asked my permission.” Much rarer are the visits when we’ve said, “Whoa! Where did everything go?”

Some friends and I had that kind of experience last weekend, returning to the site of the refugee camp where Jip and I used to work back in the ’80s. I wasn’t expecting to find much—somebody had told me that the formerly huge Cambodian city (at that time it was the second-largest concentration of Khmer on the planet, after Phnom Penh) had become mostly rice fields. But even being prepared to find nothing familiar, we were shocked at the emptiness.

Back then the land held nearly a quarter million people. Today there’s a just a small settlement under the patronage of the king’s youngest daughter—sort of a planned community, with roads, electricity, and water all subsidized. Buffaloes there probably outnumber villagers.

About 95% of the land that I remember as being packed shoulder to shoulder with refugees is now filled with rice, taro, or papaya. No trace of foundations for hospitals, or pieces of leftover blue plastic, or signs that a rice distribution took place, or anything that would let a first-time visitor know how much life had once been lived there.

Reverse Birthday

Jip says she doesn’t care about her birthday and doesn’t like anybody eating cake on her behalf. Instead of receiving presents, she wanted to give a gift this year. She chose a donation to the Home for Disabled Children.

Retreat Month

Courtesy of the U.S. taxpayer I stayed at two fancy resort hotels in the past four weeks. We got lots of work done, but we also had time to play and explore the grounds.

At the first spot, the architecture and the food were Thai, but scratch the surface a little bit and it might have been located anyplace in the world where Westerners enjoy beaches. English was the lingua franca. The behavior code was American. A high-intensity water slide towered above the pool.

The second resort was also by the Gulf of Thailand, but nobody seemed to be going into it. In fact it was hard for me to figure out what the guests were into, because they were mostly speaking Russian, German, or Korean. They hung out, nearly nude, in the lobby.

At the buffet, besides rice and curries, we found goulash and sauerkraut. In the rooms, the cable channels included Deutscher Bundestag and Al Jazeera, as well as broadcasts from Moscow and Malaysia. Signs were sometimes in Russian, sometimes in Thai, but rarely both.

Down the beach was another curiosity: a huge wooden temple known as the Sanctuary of Truth, which I gather was built around 30 years ago by an eccentric Thai billionaire to celebrate the religions of the world. Seems like he chose the right neighborhood for it.

(Not to Mention That It’s a Pretty Good Meditation Technique)

Last night I ran the annual midnight run. The UN Day 10K is coming up in a couple weeks. I know both courses from having raced them a year ago. They’re motivating me keep up my routine and join the half marathon at Angkor Wat in early December. As if I needed more reasons to return to the Cambodian ruins, my childhood buddy Vinnie plans to fly in from Eugene for the event. This schedule could be habit forming.

Groundhog Day

I read recently that American soldiers use the phrase “Groundhog Day” to describe their time in Iraq, in reference to the Bill Murray movie about cyclical and disagreeable circumstances.

Chicago Cubs fans (Bill Murray included) also have a legitimate claim to the phrase. Yesterday marks the 99^th season in a row to end without a baseball crown.

Nobody is shocked, we’ve come to expect it. A friend of mine wrote to say that “it’s all part of the master plan.” Yet I still found myself wanting to tune in to the playoff games, just in case.

In this time zone the games take place at the beginning of the day, while I’m at work. My plan, to stay reasonably productive, was to check a website periodically for score updates. But I soon succumbed to the live radio broadcast over the Internet. My rationalization was that I was less distracted by a continuous feed than by the wondering.

Alas, I needn’t have wondered. Maybe next year? An even 100 years?

There’s never a wish better than this.

Burma Blues

Burma, Thailand’s neighbor to the west, had a mixed week last week. Details about the “saffron revolution” are widely available. Look over this respected local source of Burma news, as well as coverage by the BBC, and The Economist.

The story is worth following and responding to. This century, unlike the last one, isn’t America’s. New superpowers are rising, and it’s instructive to watch how those countries will handle bullies like the ones currently in charge of Burma.

It doesn’t hurt to offer a few suggestions to the regional powers. Check out this petition, among many others making the rounds.

Thailand’s response to this past week’s events is also important. Historically, the leadership here has been reluctant to criticize a major business partner (nearly half of Burma’s exports end up in Thailand). But goods aren’t the only things that find their way across the border. Untreated diseases, drugs, and hundreds of thousands of migrants and refugees give the Thai government countless reasons to get more involved in its neighbor’s business than it has in the past.

Boe Grows Up Down Under

Jip’s niece Boe, whom I’ve known since she was hardly half my height, graduated from college last year. Since then she’s been stuck in a job as a clerk at a Bangkok shipping company.

A few weeks ago she got herself a special visa to New Zealand, known as the working holiday visa. It’s designed for twenty-somethings, to help them enter a country they might not normally be able to visit easily, with the idea that they’ll spend a year doing two or three short working stints, interspersed with travel. I think it’s perfect for her.

Her parents and grandma probably feel a little more hesitant than I do, seeing as she is an only child and an only grandchild. She’s left Thailand only once before, a quick trip to Korea.

The first few email messages from her sound upbeat. After two weeks with the Kiwis, she seems to be enjoying the adjustment. She misses Thai food, but otherwise she’s not homesick. If anyone knows somebody there Boe could share housing with some day—empty nesters with a spare room, or a young single—drop me a line.