The Queen Had a Dream

Don't ask me how we know it, but we do. The Queen had a dream. (Amnat surmises that the court astrologer got word out to his friends.)

In the dream her son (her only son) the Prince, first in line for the throne, came to some harm. The court astrologer advised her to boil nine eggs (or, in her case, have someone boil them for her) and give them to her neighbors. Why, you ask? (Silly you.) FOR GOOD LUCK AND PROTECTION. (You might wonder, "Does the Queen HAVE neighbors?" Don't get bogged down in details.)

The Queen's dreams represent the fate of the Thai people as well as her own kin. Having averted disaster with her egg boiling, all of us who have only one son are doing the same. Amnat's mother boiled hers and called Amnat to have him boil his. Thinking Amnat might not do it quickly enough (smart mother), she also called Nok and told her to do it for us.

So, one morning last week (before the camera was out of bed), Nok boiled nine eggs and gave one to our landlady and eight to the man who salvages salvagables on our street. (Feet visible here).


I can feel the Good Luck and Protection already.

Trouble

This blog is generally light-hearted and (on a good day) amusing, but we ran into some serious trouble yesterday, and stopping to take this (mediocre) photo may well have kept Jimmy and me from being right in the middle of it.


Saturdays we often head out for breakfast (who am I kidding, we eat out every meal). Yesterday Amnat came home from our favorite breakfast place on Ratvithi Road ahead of Jimmy and me. He had a massage to give, and we had a favorite coffee shop to visit. Over coffee, Jimmy grew a little anxious to get home and nap, so we poured my big latte into a to-go cup and headed for the sidewalk sooner than I might have hoped. The birdcage across the way caught my eye, so we headed for it. Coordinating camera, latte, and carriage, I got my shot. The whole process, about one minute.


In the next block, we were approaching the noodle shop, a place I've been meaning to tell you about (just waiting to get a better photo), and this is exactly what I saw.

Men yelling and confusion. A man ran out of the noodle shop in front of me. His left hand was wrapped in a tan jacket. He ran into the street and yelled at a passing red truck taxi to stop. He got the people out and jumped in. Another man ran up to the truck taxi, stopped it again, and jumped in. Then a lot of men on the sidewalk. Walkie-talkies and head sets. They moved up the street ahead of me. We walked ahead a bit. There was blood on the sidewalk. Not a lot. We stopped in front of the mango stand. I couldn't understand anything anyone was saying and didn't know what to do. I just wanted to get off the street, but there was no place to go.


From the mango stand, I could see men gathered around a point on the sidewalk ahead of us. The ambulance came (and believe me, you never want to find yourself in one of these). I saw the face of one of the (very young) ambulance drivers as he shifted weight into the back of it, and it sped off. By this point, you didn't need to speak Thai to know that someone had been shot. The mango seller's wife was standing next to me. I asked her in Thai, "What's happening." I didn't understand the answer, but she made the universal sign for shooting gun.

People were all around and seemed unaware that something was happening. Students were coming and going from the school across the street. Traffic kept moving. I even remember that people were still eating their noodles while the guy was jumping into the truck taxi.

I hurried to the opposite side and past the spot where the ambulance stopped. There was more than blood on the sidwalk, and I could see that these were cops in street clothes. Lots of them. Emotionless. I got about a half block between it and us and started to cry. I thought about that birdcage and where I and my seven-month-old baby would have been if I hadn't stopped for it.

We've been back down Ratvithi Road since yesterday and the mango seller told Amnat what he knew. Two men were walking to the noodle shop from the university at a nearby temple, where they were taking classes. A man came out of the construction site as they walked past, shot one of them in the back and twice in the head, then jumped into a waiting red car. The second man (a cop) was shot in the hand. He ran to the noodle shop for help then commandeered the truck taxi to chase the red car. The man who was shot died on the sidewalk in a place we walk (and take photos) every day. He died under this ridiculous sign.


This morning we were awakened at 7:15 by loudspeaker music coming from the parking lot of the city offices (and ambulance station) across the street. After a round of Thai pop music (which I cannot explain), monks began chanting. It was a merit making ceremony for the man who died. Feeling some connection to this person whom I never saw, I went over to the edge of the parking lot. I don't know why, but the ambulance guys have a big Chinese shrine, and it was the center of this ceremony. The ancestor papers had just been burned in the red bin and prayers were being offered. As I left, I noticed people coming up the sidewalk, each little family group carrying an envelope. One hundred baht (about $2.50) to be offered to the family to help pay for the lunch, the tent rental, and the loud speaker rental. All traditionally Thai.


Apart from the horror of what happened, something in the reactions of people to it troubles me immensely. The first person I saw when I got home was Nok. I told her what happened. I got teary and felt shakey. She laughed. The second person I told was Amnat. After listening to my laborious explanation, he said, "Did Jimmy have lunch yet?" I told our friend Jo that afternoon. He had heard about it already. When he heard how close we were to it, he laughed. When the mango seller told Amnat that he grabbed his wife and ducked behind the bins of fruit when he heard gunfire, he laughed. The two old guys who were gossiping about it with him laughed when Amnat told them Jimmy and I were there too. There weren't even any tears at the funeral ceremony. I have seen this before. Thai people, if they react (publicly) at all to something highly charged with emotion, laugh. They place tremendous value on keeping "jai yen" or a cool heart. Sometimes I wish they'd just show what they feel, instead of bottling it up until in explodes.

Minor Vice

You know you're a regular when you order your daily latte, and it comes to the table looking like this.

Water Room Protocol

In Thai, the word for "bathroom" is "hong naam" or "water room." If you've ever been in Asia (or any other plumbing-challenged area), you'll quickly see the meaning behind the words. It is, in fact, a water room. It's mostly wet most of the time, because you mostly throw water all around when you go in.


Our hong naam looks like this (exactly like this, in fact). Shower shoes keep your feet kind of dry and about a quarter inch above the wetness. The pot and dipper are perhaps self-explanatory. Throw water in the squat toilet and all over the room to flush and tidy up. Thai people often come out looking a little damp. Westerners often come out looking a little confused. Generally, in Thailand you'll find no toilet paper or hand towels either. I haven't yet met a Westerner who could get a straight answer out of their Thai friends on the actual water room protocol, so we'll just leave it as the great unanswered question.

Showering happens in here too, and after a shower its REALLY wet. We, being city people, have a wall-mounted shower hose and even a water heater for the upstairs hose (the only hot water in the house). Our country cousins just dip water out of the clay pot and pour it over their head. Actually, several of our neighbors still do this, because at night I can hear the splashing dippers around us. And, Amnat perfers a cold dipper rinse after his hot shower. You can take the boy out of the country...

So, when we Westerners meet with an actual sit-down, flush toilet, we are so happy. No wet feet. No teetering on the rim. But, if a Thai person has been there ahead of you, you may find footprints on the seat. Sigh.

My favorite coffee shop, Tiida Coffee, has a real flusher with the following explanatory sign.


Meaning, "Please press the flush until done," or something to that effect. And given the fragile sewer infrastructure here, one additional bit of direction is needed;


Or, "Don't put anything into the flush."

P.S. I felt the need to explain to Tiida why I was taking pictures in her bathroom, and I made her promise never to change the signs. Our coffee-drinking massage students have been getting a giggle out of it, and having a giggle is so very Thai.

Nap Shot

Apologies loyal reader(s). Did I ever mention that I do all this blogging at night after Little lays down and before I fall into bed myself? It's amazing I can run a sentence together. I've been learning from reading other's blogs, some of which are remarkable, and I've been slow to post.

Enjoy this recent "nap shot" while I mull over my next move.

National Head Cold Week

In Thailand, the week after New Year may as well be designated "National Head Cold Week." Effectively, every man, woman, child (and massage student) gets hit. We've all taken our turn, despite habitual hand washing and (hopelessly ineffective) attempts to keep perfect strangers and passersby from reaching for Little's hands.

My Thai family are convinced that dew falling on your head is the cause of all this trouble. I've tried to explain that there is no dew here, but I'm making no headway.

I was feeling quite robust having been skipped over by the National Head Cold, when I made a tactical error at dinner on Thursday. I ordered a squeeze of fresh lime for my soda water. It came to the table looking lovely, and then the cook turned away and sneezed into her hands. (Dew, my ass.)


So, while we spent last week wandering around feeling pretty much like this..., we did find an up side to the whole thing. An opportunity to increase our Thai vocabulary!

Did you know that in Thai "runny nose" is "naam mook" or "nose water"? And, what we might colloquially call "boogies" our Thai friends call "kee mook" or "nose poop." In this same vein, my mother's "sleep seeds" are "kee taa" or "eye poop," and ear wax is (you begin to see the pattern) "kee whoo" or "ear poop."

Well, having significantly elevated the level of conversation in our household of late, I'll leave you with one additional thought. In Thai, the word for "stinky" is "men." (no comment)

Cute Suit

Alright, already. Enough of the holidays. And to think, I used to come here every year to get away from it.


Just in case you didn't get your RDA of cute today, I offer you this sweet little morsel. As you might have guessed, this is the work of a grandmother. It's cool enough at night that he'll get a good three weeks out of this, before we fold it neatly and keep it forever (Mum is sentimental).

New Year's List

As another New Year has dawned (where I am anyway, you are still watching the countdown), it has me looking around and noticing things I'm particularly thankful for, big and small. So, in no particular order, here's my New Year's list;


1. (Well, this is locked in at a permanent #1) I am richly blessed that Amnat and I were able to bring Jimmy into the world, where he is a little ray of (drooly) sunshine.

2. I'm thankful that for two years I have lived in a place where I don't have a mobile phone, an answering machine, a date book, any use for credit cards, a car, a washer and dryer, a stove, a coffee maker... you get the idea.

3. I'm appreciative that living without all of these things has slowed my life down a bit (well, the stroller is a factor, too).

4. I'm deeply grateful to my sister-in-law Nok for taking such good care of our little family. Without her, all of this just wouldn't be possible.

5. I'm thankful that my father's ex-wife has dropped me from her Christmas cookie list, and I don't have to throw out three pounds of cat-hair-laced cookies at this festive time of year.

6. I'm grateful that I am surrounded by people who actually think I'm beautiful and tell me so often, just because I'm pale and have straight brown hair.

7. I'm thankful that my brother Pete, with the help of his remarkable wife Diana, has made it through another year with a grace and good humor that are truly humbling.

8. I'm downright giddy that having a baby turned out to be a wicked easy way to lose weight (who knew? 15 lbs less than when I moved here! sorry, bragging).

9. I'm eternally grateful to my dear friends Liz and Rick for helping Amnat get the visa (otherwise known as the "Get-Outta-Jail-Free Card") that will get us all back home this year.

10. And, last but not at all least, I am grateful to my husband Amnat for having the guts to marry me, not because he always understands what I'm saying, but because he understands my heart.