Lunchtime Entertainment

We’re lucky where I work to be able to choose between several outdoor cafeterias within walking distance, all serving pretty decent grub for about fifty cents a plate. Each of the various departments at the Ministry of Public Health has its own variation on the theme, meaning I could eat at a different spot every day of the week and never leave the campus.

But now and then the April heat, or the need for a change of scene, drives us to seek enclosed dining options. Last week some of us jumped in a car for a trip to a nearby noodle house. On the way we discovered several mosquitoes were sharing the ride with us.

The American reaction would have been to start slapping. Here in Buddhist Thailand, following several wisecracks about the driver’s “pets,” my seatmates in the back began herding the little insects toward the windows. When one would get close enough, the window was quickly cracked open, and the passenger allowed to escape.

So are we models of compassion? Or just easily amused? Either way, we passed a very enjoyable lunch hour.

Cruelest Month

At least there’s a breeze.

Temperatures here have been at their sultriest. The papers claim it’s been in the high nineties, but they also publish a “feels like” number, which is even more depressing.

And people get colds! Sometimes they’ll describe their sniffling as “sun fever,” which is one of those “had to be there” terms that don’t make sense unless they’ve happened to you.

That description is as good as any to explain why I’ve been hacking and spluttering this past week. Although my symptoms could just as easily have come from switching back and forth between the humid air outdoors and the refrigerated air indoors.

Begging the question: should we turn on the air conditioner at bedtime? Rely on a fan alone? Or perhaps count on the breeze to last all night?

I know, I know. Lots of people on this planet would love to have choices as complicated as ours.

Seen on Bangkok T-Shirts

We all know the little smile that creeps across our lips when we spot a clever t-shirt slogan. Over here that pleasure is doubled by the idea that the t-shirt wearers may not know how clever they are.

Does the woman sporting “You must be over 21 to enjoy this ride” really get it? Or how about the guy whose chest says, “I’m not pasteurized?”

Because knowledge of English brings along some status, t-shirt slogans in Thailand are almost never written in Thai language. The only exception is one that was popular around the king’s birthday, proclaiming Rao Rak Nay Luang (“We love our King”)!

The English phrases sported by Thais range from silly to sexy to raunchy. My favorites to date: “Talk to young people—they know cool stuff that you don’t,” and “On a cellular level, I really am quite busy.”

Occasionally some local flavor gets mixed into the messages. I grinned when I walked by “Just do nothing,” which featured a meditation image instead of a Nike swoosh. Then yesterday a drawing of a large St. Bernard approached me. As it got closer I read this weird caption: “Welcome bird flu. I am not scared of you. I am a dog.”

Routine Change

I figure your job is either about making money, or about spending it. Personally I’ve always belonged to the latter camp: teaching, trail clearing, lobbying, librarianing. I’ve rarely been asked to sell a product or to do anything much in the way of for-profit activity.

But this week at CDC we’re going after some really big money, flirting with a major foundation (OK, it's THE major foundation—I don’t think I have to spell it out for you) to see if we can interest them in partnering with us on some dream-big global health initiatives in SE Asia.

The pitch involves selling of a kind, and for me it is great fun to help put together an overture that could potentially end up doubling the annual budget for CDC/Thailand. So while the routine at home has hit a few speed bumps lately, life at work has rarely been more interesting and satisfying.

And hilarious. In the midst of some fairly busy days, we had a goodbye dinner for a well-loved colleague. Jokes and wine flowed equally fast as we sat at a long table from sundown until the moon was high in the sky. We all kept hoping that our stomachs wouldn’t figure out that they were already full. At one point the situation seemed to call for a blues number. Luckily I never travel without a harmonica.

Turnover: the Saga Continues

Tonight the newest caregiver phoned to say she couldn’t get her old boss to let her out of her contract, so she won’t be coming anymore. This news is discouraging, and not just because we’re back to two. It’s a reminder that most of the time I have very little idea what’s really going on.

In Thailand it seems I look at the world through several panes of glass at once. I can see, but the view is distorted by language, culture, and lots of little non-verbal clues that I’m not experienced enough to interpret.

Maybe if I’d grown up here, I’d understand better why it is that we’re having such trouble getting people to stay with this job. (I do know enough about Thai culture to be fairly sure that the reasons given are rarely the real reasons.) Do funky spirits live in our apartment? Is my Thai pronunciation so bad that I am mistakenly insulting the candidates? Are the two veterans intimidating them?

Or maybe I’m just so used to Jip’s eccentricity and her rare-among-Thais disease that I don’t appreciate how odd she must appear to people here who normally do this kind of work. Cross-cultural misunderstanding cuts both ways.

Turnover, continued

One of the caregivers with a sick kid called this morning. She said her son is much better and that she’ll be back tomorrow. Hooray!

Also, a woman we liked when she interviewed yesterday says she can start full-time on Tuesday.

I’m relieved to once again have a team of three. No fewer than seven candidates came through our door last week. Jip kept getting their names mixed up. I spent lots of time not going to my day job, so that I could help with training.

Turnover

I suppose we all expect people to think like we do… much more often than it really happens, anyway. Maybe the two caregivers who suddenly left this week expected me to think like they were thinking. Both of them had sick children upcountry they had to take care of, so they said.

They probably figured I’d be as accepting of the disruption in our routine as they would have been in my shoes. It’s common in Thailand for misfortune to be met with giggles, in a sort of “might as well laugh as cry” spirit.

But I have to say it was rough to get a call from the bus station, essentially saying, “I’m not sure if I’ll be back, and no, I won’t be coming over to say goodbye in person.” Living here has relaxed me, but not enough to receive that kind of news calmly, twice in the same week. It’s hard to be accepting of the sudden new demands on me and the remaining caregiver. Not to mention the change for Jip, who has to put up with a lowered standard of care when it’s my shift each night.

Helping her take care of her daily activities is tough enough, but on top of that, I also have to once again look for and orient thick-skinned, experienced folks with strong backs who can see past Jip’s ornery exterior and discover the truly wonderful person inside. Since October four new caregivers have worked at least a month, and then moved on, taking with them the hard-earned understanding of our little idiosyncrasies.

Maybe we were spoiled by the two women who came from an agency back in July ’05 when we first arrived. They effectively worked non-stop for sixteen months, each taking less than five days off during that time, except for Sundays, when it was my turn.

One of them is still with us, working extra hard this week. It’s hard for me to believe there aren’t more like her out there, but since that very first experience, our luck with agencies has been pretty lousy. They typically send us seven or eight people for every one that sticks around. Sometimes the candidates decide that the work isn’t for them, sometimes we decide that they’re not for us.

I can understand why a potential caregiver might get scared off. Jip’s mood is good about 60% of the time, average about 30%, and pretty foul the remaining 10%. Watching her swing quickly through those states can be frustrating, especially when you’re also trying to attend to the near-constant stream of difficult-to-decipher talk that comes from Jip during waking hours these days.

As for the folks who left this week, what could I really say to them? It’s an unfair fact of Thai village life that young mothers can’t make enough money to support their families. They take off for the big city to earn wages that they then send back to grandma or whoever is raising their kids. When I try to think like they must be thinking, I know they’re making the right choice to return home. I just wish we’d gotten a little more notice.

RBSC 7’s Football Tournament, brought to you by ThaiBev

February has been an eventful month for soccer, kicked off with another of the well-organized tourneys designed for us mature players. The 30th annual Royal Bangkok Sports Club 7’s was held at what must be the finest football pitch in Thailand. This photo doesn’t do justice to the groomed expanse, which is ringed by a two fine running tracks (one for humans, one for horses).

From the picture you at least get a sense of how the Polo Club Field, as it’s known, fits into its otherwise high rise neighborhood. This is some prime real estate—a colonial leftover, in a country that prides itself on never having been colonized.

Our small but proud team fared OK on the first day, but were soon dispatched on Sunday by a much fitter and better-acquainted side from Australia. Two of our lads had flown in especially to play with us, one from Macao and the other from England (extending a week’s business trip he had just finished in Singapore).

Had we been club members (the waiting period is said to be ten years), we could have brushed aside our loss with a bit of lawn bowling afterward, or perhaps some badminton/basketball/billiards/bridge/chess/cricket/golf/hockey/tae kwan do/squash/swimming or tennis. As it was, we simply walked off into the sunset (watching out for passing horses, of course).


At work, Team Orange won a thriller over Team Blue to take home the trophy in the second annual Sport Day. We played on the grass next to the parking lot.

Looking in the Mirror

A couple weeks ago I offered to talk to other spouses when I met up with the neurologist here who specializes in Jip’s disease. One husband and I got together last Saturday evening. He and his wife have only recently begun struggling with this diagnosis. For him it may be even weirder than it was for me, because it’s such a rare problem among Thais. He had lots of questions that I could answer from experience. It was also nice for me to chat with someone who instantly understands something about what my life is like.

Before long, he had to leave the coffee shop to take over from the daytime caregiver he has hired. He does the night shifts, just like I used to do in Seattle. Those shifts are clearly taking a toll—he’s got circles under his eyes. I wasn’t sure if the lines on his forehead were new or natural (he’s about twenty-five years older than I am), but I wouldn’t be surprised if they were caused by worry. I thought to myself, Did I used to look like that? Do I still look like that?

I also realized again how fortunate Jip and I have been throughout our long journey with poor health. In the States, insurance paid for lots of gear that makes our lives much easier. For instance, we have a tall device called a Hoyer lifter that makes it possible for Jip to get from the bed to the wheelchair several times a day, with only one person’s help. This guy’s wife must wait until two strong backs can move her, and so she spends much of her time horizontal.

He and I will probably get together again. Here where there’s no national association that promotes support groups in every community, we can create our own.

Fast Food

The pace of life in Thailand fits the droopy weather. People here saunter. They nap. Dinner at a restaurant can sometimes go on for hours—Thais love to nibble, share dishes, and order in stages. A few days ago, some colleagues and I spent a hilarious ninety minutes lunching at a hotpot restaurant. (Traditional wisdom in these parts holds that something isn’t worth doing unless it’s fun.)

So I was a little put off the other night when I happened upon an outdoor eatery in a narrow alley. Teenage waiters were literally sprinting up back and forth, delivering food and drink to the two or three dozen tables that had been set up.

An older man in the middle of the alley directed new arrivals to empty seats and took orders. He saved a few seconds by simply looking at me with an expression that said “What’ll it be?” After I named a common Thai favorite, he repeated my words into a wireless microphone, turned, and was seating another newcomer when a kid scampered up with the dish I had requested.

Start to finish, I was probably at the place for less than fifteen minutes. Where’s the fun in that?

Tarmac Troubles

The runways at the country’s newly-opened showcase airport may be cracked. Depends who you ask. I went to a discussion at the Foreign Correspondents’ Club (motto: “You don’t have to be foreign and you don’t have to be a correspondent”) to listen to some local authorities.

I knew I wouldn’t hear “the truth.” Already the country has lost face. The blame and spin phase still has a long way to go before it peaks. But I was interested in the Thai way of dealing with the press.

Somebody asked how far back the alleged problems could be traced. (Planning for this project began forty years ago.) Referring to the possibility that corruption had led to corner cutting when the runway’s foundation layers were laid, the answer was, “I don’t have to tell you which administration was in power then. Everybody knows that.”

That kind of indirect response struck me as different from the American style of throwing mud. But when a German questioner wondered why not bring in international experts to fix whatever is wrong, the same speaker leveled his gaze, changed his tone, and made it crystal clear that he thought the credentials of Thai engineers were second to none.

What will happen next? To minimize the chance that faults at the new airport will cause an accident, most likely the former one will reopen. Some flights will land there while parts of the new airstrip are repaired. Unfortunately, it’s too late to mend the damage done to the national pride.

No Secrets

In some countries I’ve visited, people have stared and pointed at me because I look different. Here in Thailand, it’s generally no big deal when a farang (foreigner) passes by. Sometimes I hear Thais talk about me, when they think I don’t understand, but mostly I get lulled into thinking I’m blending in.

An exception is with merchants. I’ve been asked if I want what I had last time—at shops where my only previous visit was months beforehand. Or consider the dozens of motorcycle taxi drivers at one end of our street. They take several passengers a day to various government buildings in the neighborhood. But I’ve only ridden home with them a few times since we’ve lived in this neighborhood. Usually I’d rather walk.

One night last week I was tired and it was late. I caught the eye of one of the drivers, a guy I’m sure I had never seen before. But he must have seen me. As I got on the back of his motorcycle, he called out the name of our apartment. So much for invisibility.

Change Just One Letter

Jip’s physical abilities had been stable for a long time. Then recently she began having trouble gripping with one of her hands. She could still eat on her own, but she struggled when brushing her hair.

It spurred me to call upon a doctor whose name I had come across while doing some Internet searching a while ago. This woman appears to be the neurologist most interested in studying Jip’s disease as it appears in Asians. She has published several articles suggesting that a uniquely Asian version may exist.

I showed up at her clinic without an appointment and without Jip, but she generously agreed to see me. We talked for half an hour. She was very easy to know, and seemed interested in Jip’s case. I ended up offering to chat with any spouses of her patients who might be confused or angry or wondering about what might come next. A guy from across town has already called me, and we’ve agreed to meet for lunch some day.

As I got ready to go, I asked the doctor if there was anything she would advise us to try that we hadn’t already. I didn’t have any expectations that she would have a miracle cure, but I thought she might suggest a treatment or diet. Instead she said, “in your wife’s case I recommend meditation.”

Which of course Jip already does. But the point is that no doctor has ever mentioned it to us before. Medication, yes. But never Meditation. I appreciated her avoiding what must be a temptation in her profession to tinker with small symptoms, or to talk about experimental therapies that in our case have always turned out be false hopes. It was very refreshing. Yet another reason why I’m glad we came to this country.

We’ll Get There When We Get There

I prefer public transportation over driving because I can get some reading or some language study done instead of getting stuck behind the wheel in traffic. Bangkok offers lots of options for getting around, some of which are world class, definitely much better than what Seattle had to offer when we lived there.

My favorite of these options is the bus. It’s not the fastest or the cleanest or the quietest, but it does have a few advantages that the Skytrain, river taxi, subway, shared van, and canal boat cannot claim.

For one thing, it’s dirt cheap. Going pretty much anywhere in this town on the bus costs less than fifty cents. I’m talking here about the high end, air conditioned, most-everybody-gets-a-seat brand of bus. You can pay less and breathe fumes.

Fares are collected by so-called bus hostesses, who seem to me remarkably cheerful considering the repetitiveness of their jobs. Perhaps they enjoy the conversations with the drivers, or the music that is sometimes playing on elaborately wired speakers throughout the bus. The polyester uniforms worn by these bus hostesses often have a strange sheen that comes from having been ironed too aggressively.

If you were the stereotyping type, you could even say these women are representative of Thailand—they’re easy going, they’re cute, and they’re dressed as smartly as their budgets will allow (one won my heart the other day with her Chicago Cubs ankle socks). Their first priority doesn’t seem to be climbing the career ladder. The adventure offered by a life on the road, with its interminable backups, followed by quick bursts forward and sudden swerves, satisfies for now. Tomorrow will take care of itself.