Two years ago yesterday, Amnat and I exchanged vows (well, there were barely any to exchange, but that's a story for another day). Though it was thin on vows, our wedding was rich in blessings. Purifying waters were poured from shells onto our hands, blessed string was placed on our heads and joined together, a symbol of our union, and every soul (who was ambulatory) in Khlong Lodt village came to tie a little bit of white string around our wrists and offer their good wishes.
And, though I swore I would not wear a sarong, I would not wear silk, and nothing would be pink... the pink silk sarong was lovely.
So, for our wedding anniversary last night we had a big night out. Yes, you guessed it ... Sizzler and a movie. I know. I know. But, it's all we've got. Amnat has come to think of Sizzler as fine dining. And, it is, given where we are. Yes, we could have ponied up for posh Italian or posher French, but it would only make my husband self-conscious and the western-style clothes I moved here with are now all threadbare. For us, Sizzler did just fine, thank you.
Over our salad bar choices, Amnat asked if we could eat at Sizzler in the U.S., when we get there. To which I replied (firmly), "No way." Then he asked, "Is this good American food?" More firmly, "No way." I was reminded of the last fabulous meal I had before moving here. Tim, my dear friend and a man of fine taste, took me to celebrate my pending nuptuals at that posh joint in Hudson called Swoon (and we did). It was extraordinary as a gesture and a dining experience. But, you go and marry a guy from a dusty village in Thailand, and you get Sizzler.
Oh, and a movie. "Mr. Bean's Holiday." It was cute. Shown on the biggest screen in Northern Thailand in our (kind of) up-scale mall. The power in the mall went out mid-flick. (Being Thai) we all quietly waited for the generator to kick in and the (twelve year old) projectionists to get their act together, and we saw Mr. Bean through his quest for a beach break.
At the close of the movie (an early 9:30 for the lactating set), we headed for the exits with about 150 other multi-plex patrons. The mall was closed. All (FOURTH FLOOR) exits were barred. Only two average-sized elevators to get out by. No stairs. One elevator broken. Thai people mashing themselves (quietly) into the elevator. One other option. A corridor to the (FOURTH FLOOR) of the parking garage. So, we walk into the parking garage. No elevator. No stairs. Just people with cars going home. We arrived in the back of a pick-up truck taxi, so we're totally stranded. We eventually mash ourselves into the elevator to get to the ground, at least, and assess options. At the ground we find ourselves in a vast parking lot a half-kilometer from the front of this collosus with no truck taxis in sight. No sidewalks. No one who knows which way to go to GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE. So we walk single-file down the motorbike lane and find ourselves on the edge of the divided highway headed OUT OF TOWN.
No problem. There's a red pick-up truck taxi hanging out. We leap across the divided highway and get home. BUT, who the HELL designed this nightmare? At dinner with Thai friends tonight, they laughed and said, "Sure, Pam. Thai style."
So, our wedding anniversary was a test of our mettle, but as a couple we sailed through unscathed. I think we're ready for a cross-American adventure, don't you?
Yes, another Spot the Potential Lawsuit. This one, the cauldron-of-boiling-oil variety seen daily on every block in the city. Oh, Thai people do love a good dose of anything deep-fried in palm oil. Yes, palm oil. A completely un-dietarily-reconstructed culinary culture, for sure. And, the deep frying (as with all cooking) is done outdoors, usually right on the curb inches away from passing pedestrians and baby strollers. But, we cheerfully take the risk because the reward is sweet.
Deep fried "sugar banana" and taro (totally skippable, if you ask me). Oh, those bananas. But, not often. Really. They'll kill yah, even if the cauldron of boiling oil doesn't tip over on you.
