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.

Hospice at Home

Jip’s Grandma has lived nearly a century. Yet when we visit the family home, she always comes across as the healthiest of the three generations of Thai women in the room. Mom needs help to do certain tasks because of her arthritis (though it’s hardly noticeable because her spirit is so strong). Jip of course has lost lots of abilities.

Grandma’s main limitations, other than poor hearing, have mostly seemed self imposed. She would say that she has earned the right to take it easy and be waited on. To her, the idea that older people should hang on to their independence as long as possible is ridiculous. She used to gently complain to Jip that a “younger” (early 80s) woman across the road got more frequent “service” from her family than Grandma did.

This month Grandma is finally getting her wish, although she may not have much awareness of it. Over the last several weeks, age has finally caught up with her. She appears not to really be able to tell the difference between night and day, sleep and being awake. Mom has hired a neighbor to help with some of the basic needs.

When Chao, Jip, Murph, and I drove down last weekend, life was happening all around Grandma. She lay on a small mattress near the center of the living room, but she wasn’t always the center of attention. She was still surrounded by all of the things she has always felt a responsibility to look after—various heirlooms, a little white dog named Diamond, maybe some gold stashed away somewhere—but now they were other people’s problems.

She can’t walk or feed herself anymore, but those changes don’t especially concern anyone, except possibly Diamond, who spends much of his day curled up nearby her. Everyone simply accepts that her time is coming soon. Now and then a neighbor drops by “just to see the old person.” (Grandma may be the longest living resident of Ban Krud.)

During our first visit there after returning to live in Thailand, Grandma told Jip that the two of them might never see each other again. Looking at her sparkling eyes back then, the prediction seemed hard to believe. This time, Grandma is no longer able to say it, but she doesn’t have to. We’re all ready.

Born on Christmas Day

My sister Murph is in Bangkok for two weeks, so Jip and I were able to celebrate Christmas with family for the first time in a while. Putting up a tree in the living room seemed in order. Murph and I inspected the plastic imitation-spruces at the department store but couldn’t bring ourselves to go that route. Instead we opted for long strings of fairy lights, which we strung on two tallish tropical plants that we brought inside from the balcony. With a few ornaments on the branches and a few presents underneath, the trees almost looked like they came from a single stem.

The caregivers by this point are like part of the family, and none of them had really ever had a proper Christmas morning. The one working the night shift happily agreed to stay a little late, and the one working the afternoon came a little early, bearing a fine assortment of Thai treats. By 10:30, all three were definitely proclaiming tidings of comfort and joy.

We let nothing us dismay as we gathered in the kitchen for a good feed, featuring coconut milk something-or-others, sparkling cider, guavas, and a few other things that have never appeared together on any holiday menu that I’ve ever seen. Jip didn’t partake, but she enjoyed listening to the squeals coming from the groaning table. More shrieking followed as we opened a few presents.

By noon things were back to normal. Jip’s daily routine was well underway; the three bottles of perfume that the caregivers had specially requested from America were stashed away where Jip didn’t have to smell them. Murph and I headed off to a quirky attraction that attempts to offer a one-stop tour of the entire country’s most important architecture. The Ancient City’s scale models are placed roughly where they belong on a big piece of Thailand-shaped land our near the airport. Our full afternoon of bike riding past palaces, stupas, and temples was another Christmas first.

Setbacks

In the past couple of months Jip has had a couple of flare-ups caused by her disease—the first backsliding we’ve seen in more than three years. Luckily, she seems to be back to normal now. But these episodes sadden me after such a long period of stability. The caregivers and I have talked together about the possibility that their jobs could get harder in the future.

One unusual sign was Jip’s number-than-usual mouth, which made eating and speaking more difficult. She didn’t seem bothered, but the women all mentioned their concern. That lasted about three weeks. Later, Jip had another low sodium episode. It was easy to fix, but before we turned it around, for about half a day she looked pretty woozy and unresponsive, which was new to this group of caregivers. One in particular seemed quite spooked by the whole thing.

I’d like to think these setbacks will be temporary and rare. They’re also a reminder us to treasure each day. I know it’s a cliché, but happiness is a choice. Jip has always been the greatest teacher of that lesson. It’s best for us to be thankful for all the stuff that is working well.

Getting Exercised in Indochina

Back to Angkor Wat for another chance to run among the temples. Several mates joined up this year, multiplying the fun. In fact the race came at the end of an athletic week. Vinnie, my pal since fifth grade, and his wife Tina met up with me in Vietnam to do some biking through the Mekong Delta. We then speedboated up the river to Phnom Penh, and then went on to Siem Reap by car.

Two years ago, the three of us arrived at Angkor Wat together from the Thailand side. Vinnie and Tina, whose home is in the U.S., enjoyed that trip enough to come back for a rerun. No telling what kind of sporty Southeast Asian adventure we’ll dream up for 2011.

Thanksgiving Delicacy

Yesterday we had the day off work because our office follows the American holiday schedule. I prepared lots of Thanksgiving food for Jip and myself, expecting we would probably have a quiet, early meal around 2 or 3 in the afternoon. Jip doesn’t like to eat much in the evening.

But she surprised me by saying that she already had a lunch plan and that my food would have to wait until after her exercises, maybe around 7pm. OK, I said, but I better go out and get something to eat now before I faint (I’ve learned not to argue about the small stuff).

I ended up at a place near our apartment that has always caught my eye but I’d never gone in before. It seemed like they could whip up something quick. Then I realized that it was mostly a Chinese menu, specializing in dim sum.

Dim sum is fine if you know what you’re doing, or if they bring around the cart and you can point, but neither case was true, so I decided to keep it simple and ask if they had any Thai salad.

He replied that yes, they had salad, but I didn’t catch what kind. The word he used didn’t sound familiar, but I figured I can always learn something new. Then the plate arrived and it didn’t look familiar either: kind of opaque and a little bit noodle-like, but not exactly.

The taste wasn’t familiar. If you want the truth, it was a little like chewing on shredded plastic. I was faced with that decision you sometimes arrive at with celery: spit it out or swallow the undigested fibers.

After a few swallows I thought maybe I didn’t really need to finish this meal. Food at most places in Thailand has the advantage of being cheap enough that you can always give up and start over if it’s not working for you. So I paid up and walked off, thinking about where I would go for my second lunch.

On my way out I happened to spot the name of my dish on a hand-written chalkboard menu. I recognized the word for salad, but the words “maaeng ga phroon” meant nothing to me. I figured I’d ask a Thai friend at work to translate. In case it was something really weird, I didn’t want Jip to know what I’d eaten.

My friend raised his eyebrows a little bit. “What kind of place was this?” he asked. I told him it was Chinese. He nodded and said, “Yeah, they always care more about texture than taste.” He didn’t want to tell me at first, but I pressed him and so he coughed up what I’d had for Thanksgiving: jellyfish!

Grand Opening

Last Saturday Jip and I made the trek to Prachinburi, a province about two hours east of Bangkok, to check out the restaurant that Chao and his wife have just opened. They did a fantastic job building the open-air, lunch-and-dinner place. It sits next door to a rice field, where diners feel like they’re picnicking.

This grand opening is a milestone for Chao and Lek, who were married more than three years ago but have had a commuter marriage for most of that time. Chao recently resigned his job at Thailand’s biggest newspaper in order to live with his wife, who takes care of her father and runs the family bookshop. It wouldn’t surprise me if together they ended up starting a new family next year, in addition to this new business.

But it’s also a milestone for the connection between Jip and her younger brother. Throughout the time we have lived in Bangkok, Chao has been a frequent visitor, sometimes just to say hello, sometimes to use the pool at our apartment. We’ve even seen a fair amount of him during the construction and outfitting of the restaurant, because he has had to buy supplies in the big city, and has often spent the night at our place.

Restauranteuring is consuming work. Now that the place has officially opened, I doubt he’ll take many days off. If we want to see him, we’ll likely need to take a drive to the country, as we did last weekend.

Vets World Cup

Bangkok’s soccer league for old men tried out the idea of everyone playing for their home country. After countless matches as the lone Yank among Brits, it was strange but fun to play on a team of (North) Americans.

Not that it was easy to fill the roster. Three of us from the States had to combine forces with three Canadians and a naturalized U.S. citizen who was born in Turkey, just to be able to reach the minimum number of players. Japan, by contrast, fielded three of the 18 teams. England and France had two apiece, and many other European countries were out in force.

But for those countries it’s not unusual for the teams to break down by nationality. During the regular vets’ league season most people end up sticking with their own kind. For whatever reason, us Americanos—maybe because we’re in short supply to begin with—have ended up shared around. Not that I mind playing for the British Club. I get to hear some different accents and to keep up with who’s on top of the English Premier League table.

Yesterday's team, unlike many of the British Club squads I’ve been part of, made a respectable showing in the final standings. A dynasty in the making?

Going Native

Four years and counting, yet I still don’t know how to sleep in Southeast Asia. Air conditioner? Fan? Open window? Each has its advantages.

Our place often gets nice breezes at night, so what has worked best recently is to set up a little tent made of gauzy fabric and place it on the bed. The idea is the same as mosquito nets that hang from bedposts. But because we don’t have bedposts or a low ceiling, I bought a free-standing pop-up device that assumes its shape when you pull on a cord at the top. During the day we stash it in a closet, where it looks like a tall folded umbrella.

Does that make me a native? Or a slow learner? Before you decide, you should know that I now finally am consistent about looking to the right before crossing the street in this drive-on-the-left country. It’s only taken me this long to figure out which lane is going to hit me first.

Loner Krathong

Last night was Loy Krathong, the annual chance to go down to the river with your beloved and launch a little banana leaf boat with a candle in it. Originally it was meant as a day to express gratitude for all the good things nature has done for you over the year. During the twenty-plus years that I’ve been aware of this holiday, it seems to have morphed into more of a Valentine’s Day than a Thanksgiving.

Jip has never been a big fan of Loy Krathong (“what part of polluting the river says ‘thank you?’” she asks, quite reasonably). For the past couple years I’ve been able to sweet-talk her into at least acknowledging the romantic part of the day. But after I finished making our krathongs this year, she declined at the last minute to participate. I went downstairs to the little fountain at the gate to our apartment, thinking that at least I wouldn’t waste the banana leaves.

I invited the security guard to join me. He now thinks I’m even loonier than he maybe already did, but I also think he was secretly pleased to have a chance to thank the water gods.

Jip's Fourth Cycle

Jip has now gone around four times on the Chinese zodiac calendar. For her 48th birthday a few days ago, she let me throw her a party, the first time since she turned 36.

So much has changed in the meantime. Back then, her dad was still alive to send her a lovely note, telling her how happy she made him. Jip was still working, and her colleagues—Cambodian, Chinese, Ethiopian, Jewish, Mennonite—each celebrated her in unique ways. Our wide Seattle care community had yet to band together as the invaluable support network and safety net that it eventually became, but those seeds were being planted, and many people from that large group turned up to wish Jip a happy day.

Yet in spite of the many changes over twelve years, Jip has hardly aged at all. She still has the skin of a twenty-four-year-old, and the laugh of a little kid. Her white hairs probably outnumber the black ones by now, but she cuts them short enough that people who meet her for the first time have a hard time guessing how old she is. She lives such a healthy lifestyle and eats such a healthy diet that she is among the fittest people I know, in spite of her disease.

On the actual day (which happens to be a national holiday here—very handy), we hosted a steady stream of friends and phone callers. Her mom phoned in the morning to say that she had been to the temple. (Jip didn’t want gifts, but it was OK that people made merit in her honor.) We stretched out the occasion a bit longer with a trip two days later to an interesting Buddhist retreat center that Jip had wanted to visit for some time.

I suspect Jip has yet to reach midlife. She’ll probably follow in her grandmother’s footsteps, as she does in many other ways, by orbiting through at least four more cycles.

Pigeon Redux

A few years back, a bird pooped on my shirt as I walked under its perch. Thais I met that morning became quite excited—jealous, even—about what they considered my good fortune. Long story short, I was encouraged to buy a lottery ticket. The ticket’s final two digits were “66,” which were chosen with the help of a Thai website to match the type of bird we presumed had hit me. (I hadn’t been sure, but we all guessed that it was probably a pigeon, the most common urban species.)

That ticket didn’t win. I thought to myself, “bad luck.” But the folks who had advised me thought, “wrong species.”

Fast forward to last week. Some workmates and I were at lunch, sitting at a covered outdoor cafeteria. Three pigeons were perched on a light fixture above our table. This time the victim (favored one?) was my friend Somboon. When I saw the poop on his shirt, I knew he couldn’t lose. After all, we had a positive species identification.

We saw a lottery ticket seller on the walk back to the office. Somboon decided to go out on a limb and bet on the final three digits (the more you match, the more you win). He went for “366,” on the thinking that there were three pigeons. Word spread quickly, and before the day was out, another ticket sporting the same number was in the hands of Tay, the housekeeper on our floor. I gather that she takes her lottery science quite seriously. The day of my mis(?)hap, she too had put down 80 baht on “66.”

Back then, of course, she and I were both denied. This time, it seemed a sure thing. Somboon is engaged to be married in a few weeks—how bad can his karma be? Plus he had experience going for him, and witnesses, and the fact that the poop landed on his shirt and not in his meal.

The winning numbers are drawn twice a month, on the 1st and the 16th, during the afternoon. Because the 16th was a Friday, I didn’t hear confirmation of the victory we were all sure was coming until around noon on Monday. How was I informed? By the housekeeper presenting me with a free lunch, out of gratitude for my role in her big payoff. How much did she and Somboon each win? 4000 baht ($120)!

Somboon’s jackpot won’t make too big a dent in the cost of his coming wedding. But for Tay the payout was nearly half a month’s salary. Not a bad return on investment in these tough economic times.

Lesson Learned

Lots of good running this month, as the annual Angkor Wat half marathon gets closer. A few nights ago was the annual midnight run. It’s kinda gimmicky, but when else are you going to have a good excuse to wander the streets at that hour on a Saturday night with three or four thousand other people? That afternoon, I mentioned that I was going to run it to a teenager I know. She recommended a certain energy drink as my secret weapon.

I ignored her advice until about 90 minutes before race time, when I was tempted to bail because of serious yawning. But then I thought of my soccer mates who would be waiting for me at the start line by pre-arrangement, so I sucked it up, stopped in at the Seven-Eleven around 11:30, pounded said drink, and…

…surprise!... proceeded to run one of my best times ever. The next day I was still flying high. Briefly I was fooled into thinking that I was invincible and could do whatever I wanted to my body without consequences.

But I am not invincible. Sunday afternoon, I donated blood at the Thai Red Cross in honor of Jip’s upcoming 48th birthday (Thais donate blood to make merit). As I walked out of the center, I wondered if I had been wise to choose that day to give. I was already sleep deprived from the race. Then I was going to have to get up several times in the middle of the night as part of my weekly turn to take care of Jip.

And so what did I do to offset any possible ill effects of not having enough blood in my system? Back to the energy drink.

This turned out to be a bad plan, as you could have foreseen, because even though I sailed through the evening with Jip showing no signs of fatigue (the stuff really works), there was a sort of hangover effect on Monday, which luckily was a day off for us government workers (Columbus), but unluckily fooled me yet again.

This time the foolishness was figuring that as long as I was sleepy, I could go for an afternoon massage. Thai massage is great if you have no toxins stored up in your tissues. Or if you have a normal amount of blood to flush those toxins. But I had two strikes against me, having pounded two energy drinks in two days. By Monday night I was hurtin’ for certain and by Wednesday things were bad enough that the wisest course of action seemed to be staying home all day and basically vegging, which in these parts is known as what goes around comes around.

Lesson learned: ignore teenagers’ advice at all costs.

Bowling Night

Two workmates organized a charity event that attracted nearly everyone from our floor to all ten lanes of a local alley on a Thursday night. We raised more than 24,000 baht (over $700) for a nearby orphanage. The evening was a reminder of why working at the same place is still fun and satisfying, just over four years since I started there.

My responsibilities have changed enough during that time, along with disease priorities in Thailand, that most days still feel new and challenging. Recently the emphasis has moved from providing domestic assistance to exporting some of Thailand’s public health successes to neighboring countries.

The work remains important, yet it isn’t intense enough that I’m consumed by it or forced to choose between spending time on it and spending time with Jip. Last month, at a planning retreat with most of my colleagues, I looked around and felt really lucky to get to work and play with so many good people. On bowling night, I re-realized that landing this job was a big score.