Thai Kitchen

The Little Man's grandmother has just moved in to a new Thai shop house. A shop house is a very simple and highly functional building. It looks a bit like a concrete garage, complete with roll down metal door. It's about as comfortable as a concrete garage, but it serves as business and home. In the case of Little's Gran, it's actually two businesses and a home. She sells the most excellent Thai food on the sidewalk, and her husband does Thai massage on the second floor. It's simple. Efficient. And, they are quite happy.

Though there's not a comfortable chair in the place, no chair, in fact, and the motorbike is likely as not parked right in the middle of the living room (it often serves as a chair), I love to visit. Because, Little's Gran can really cook.


Her kitchen is nothing to look at, but from this tangle of rubber hoses and jumble of plastic bags, she feeds her family and her neighbors some of the loveliest dishes you could ever hope to eat.


(And, she's shared with me a few of her best recipes. More on that very soon.)

Thai Herbal Steam Sauna

Though I do go on about the food (a girl has to eat), I first came to the Kingdom to study Traditional Thai Medicine. As the Buddha's devoted followers made their way here more than 2500 years ago, they brought with them the Buddha's teachings, the Pali language, and their traditional healing practices. From these origins, Thai medicine took root. It is comprised of three branches; massage, herbal medicine, and spirit healing (a dense and fascinating topic... for another day).

I practice Thai massage, which is now to me not so exotic, but each time I return to Thailand I luxuriate in Thai herbal therapies. Knowledgable use of Thai herbs is deeply engrained in the Thai diet, in the preparation of traditional body products, and in the practice of massage and medicine.

When I was pregnant here it was common for women and men to stop my then-husband on the street and offer dietary advice for me and my big belly. And, when I was just home from the hospital, my dear friend Jomsi came on her motorbike for three days in a row with some of the weirdest dishes I'd ever eaten, all to support lactation. I ate fishy banana blossom curries quite happily, while my sister-in-law prepared warm buckets of herbal tea for me to pour over myself in the shower. And, I drank a cleansing hot tea that had me sweating from the pores on the back of my hands. It went on for three weeks, and I hated to see it all come to an end. I've never been so taken care of in my life.


One of the most accessible and loveliest experiences of Thai herbs can be had for the equivalent of about $4.00 U.S. It's an herbal steam sauna.


Because it is Thai, it is generally not posh (though you can find that if you need to spend top dollar). And, given the lack of building codes and safety standards, if you want a sauna, you just go ahead and build it. This is the one I've been frequenting. Its simple, but it's hot and deeply fragrant.

Thai people do not sauna like Europeans. You will never find a cold plunge here. Thai people are allergic to cold. Even my very Western pharmacist advised me recently against any cold liquids while fighting off a head cold. While the American in me would rather roll my eyes, I always submit to advice about food and temperature here. It got me through a pregnancy and natural birth with ease.


A Thai sauna begins with a shower (again, not posh), then you wrap yourself up in a bathing sarong (heavens, you thought you'd be naked! no way). Off in your rubber flip-flops to your little, private sauna room.


After a few minutes when your pores have opened, you gently massage the herbal scrub into your skin. The exfoliation supports absorption of the herbal essence in the steam. After fifteen minutes of herb infused steam and a good sweat, you go for a warm rinse and a glass of hot tea. When you have cooled a bit, in you go for your second round. Thai people refrain from showering off the lovely herbal scent which penetrates your skin and hair. Again, no cold drinks and no bathing for two hours to allow the herbs to do their work.

If you ask me, one Thai massage, one Thai foot reflexology, and one herbal steam sauna every couple of weeks, and we'd all live to be 110.

Pick Up Sticks

In Thai Buddhist temples, you will find many small opportunities to make merit, to improve your luck, and to learn about your future. Astrologers practice Thai astrology on the temple steps and palmistry. I've even known monks to take a look at your palm. And, there's this little game. Pick up the bamboo vase and give it a shake (a bunch of shakes, really) until one little spear of bamboo asserts itself.


Read the number on your stick and choose your fortune from the numbered drawers.


Usually addressing issues of money, love, and money. Pretty much in that order.

Signage Carnage

Now here's a guest house sure to prosper in the current depressed tourism market.

Brilliant, really. Stay home. It's cheaper than even your $5-a-night guest house.

Keep a Cool Heart

Thai people find us confusing. (It's mutual.) On my first long trip to Thailand, I spent a number of evenings chatting in English with a small group of Buddhist monks at Wat Phra Singh, one of Chiang Mai's most important temples. After many hours of polite inquiries on both sides about daily life, one of the monks finally shared with me why they found me so interesting. He said, "We love to watching you talk." Watch me talk, hmmm.... He added, "You move your face a lot. We think it funny." Indeed.

After a few more visits to Thailand and a few years living here, I now understand fully what he was getting at. Thai people do not emote. Not entirely true. They emote in a limited range. Happy is good. Anything else, pretty much bad. So, in Thai language there seems to be no word for "sad." Just "not happy."

Having been married for five years to a Thai man and lived with some of his family for long stretches, I can tell you the gap in emotional expression is Grand Canyon-esque. So, when you are frustrated, it translates, "not happy." Disappointed, "not happy." In mourning, "not happy." A little blue, "not happy." I beat the dead horse.


The positive side of this emotional state is that traveling in Thailand is unlike any other place you are likely to go. You meet smiles everywhere you go (note the Little Man's smiling grandparents above). No one will try to fleece you (except the occasional Bangkok taxi driver, but hell, that's Bangkok). Haggling at the market is all done in good humor. And, complete strangers will want to talk with you at length about where you are going and what you are doing. (Oh, yes... the notion of privacy is also a foreign one here.)

Be advised. Don't lose your cool. There are tons of expressions in Thai language for keeping cool. "Jai yen" (cold heart - actually a good thing). "Ar lom dee" (relax). "Mai kitmak" (don't stress). And, the ubiquitous "mai pen rai" (no big deal, or you're welcome, or no problem, or nevermind).

I once witnessed a Western guy dressing down a bank teller for some ridiculous banking error, and the entire staff just turned to placid, indifferent statues. I left. It was turning my stomach, actually. He likely went on and on. They likely waited him out.

What a country! You couldn't pick a fight here, if you wanted to. And, why would you want to? "Mai pen rai!"

Barbecue Bucket

What Thai people love, more than anything, is being outdoors. Well, maybe not more than eating. Eating outdoors, now that's a grand slam.

So, when my Thai family gathered for New Year, there was barbecue. Shrimp as big as your index finger, pork ribs, and what you'd probably call "pig skin with subcutaneous fat" - not my most favorite, I must say.

What I love most about a Thai barbecue is the bucket. Think galvanized pail lined with a thick layer of clay. Three feet for resting a wok on and a vent low on the side.

If it didn't weigh about 10 kilos, I'd have brought one home many years ago. Some things you just have to enjoy where you find them, and walk away contented.

Spot the Potential Lawsuit 8

Loyal reader, you will of course remember the "Spot the Potential Lawsuit" game. In Thailand, it's just too freakin' easy. Open eyes. Look left. Spot two or three. Look right. Repeat. Since I never tire of this game, I offer you three quick shots in the category "cauldrons of boiling oil (or water)."


On Sunday evening, I and every other ambulatory human in Chiang Mai went to "Thanon Khun Dtern," literally "Street People Walk." The Walking Street is the best reason to live in Chiang Mai. Each Sunday beginning at 5pm, 2.5 km of city streets are closed to vehicular traffic and vendors and food purveyors line the sidewalks. This means Sunday dinner is always eaten on bamboo sticks and from banana leaf dishes (more on that soon).


It also means gallons and gallons of boiling palm oil and water sit just inches from the finger tips and skirt hems of passers-by. And, the Little Man doesn't get it. Thai kids grow up with these open hazards and mostly steer clear. My Little Man is not so savvy, so he rides safely in his little stroller a good meter or more from this potential lawsuit, happily jabbing his bamboo stick into gobs and gobs of sticky, sweet "khanom Thai" (Thai dessert).

Almost Like Home

If you know us at all, you know that the Little Man is fascinated by mixers. We have spent many mornings hanging at the edge of the mixing bowl in our local bakery. Chiang Mai, happily, has a reasonable substitute, and last Sunday we confused this dear Thai baker by staring into his big mixer.


Chiang Mai's U.N. Irish Pub bakes the best bread in the city. Full stop. And that means that the spirits of the shop (and, as you know, all places have their resident spirits) get daily offerings of freshly baked bread. Most Thai spirits must satisfy themselves with rice, whiskey, and cigarettes. I'm thinking that the spirits of the Irish Pub may be a little thick around the middle, if you know what I mean.


What's missing, of course, is the real reason we bundle up in coats, hats, and mittens to get to our local bakery every morning. It's who we find when we get there. Oh, the feeling of walking in and seeing someone (actually quite a few someones) genuinely glad you came in out of the cold.

Pi Mai (That's New Year to You and Me)

In Thailand, New Year comes but three times a year. You get January 1st. You get Chinese New Year. And, you get Songkhran in mid-April. Each one is a little different, but with Thai people involved there is always lots of temple visiting and lots of whiskey (contradictory, I know, but there you have it).

Last night all over Chiang Mai there were not-so-minor explosives of the fireworks variety, whiskey and Thai barbecue on the sidewalks in front of shop houses, and thousands of paper lantern balloons streaming into the full moon sky carrying away our bad luck from 2552 (Buddha year).

I spent the evening at Wat Phra Singh were there was a temple fair with great street food and live traditional music. Cars with Bangkok plates streamed through the main gate depositing the wealthy children of local Chiang Mai families. They had come to make merit, donations small and large to the temple to assure good luck in 2553.

The little boy lit his first khom, a paper hot air balloon twice his size, and followed it until it disappeared in a small stream of glowing dots.

In the morning before 6 am, my Thai neighbors began rattling around in their little apartments preparing to feed the monks on their first alms round of the New Year. Monks (and helpers to carry bags of food and small necessities) walked the street barefoot and blessed the good men and women of Chiang Mai for their perpetual care of the sangha.

Those who rose a little later made their way to the city's scores of temples to make merit with incense, candles, and more gifts for the monks. The temples are beautifully decorated with flags, festoons, flower garlands, and these lucky zodiac flags. A long line of people waited at the main chedi of Wat Phra Singh to respect the Buddha and hang their lucky flags. (The novice monks made their way around the chedi every once in awhile to collect and redistribute the flags to the parade of new arrivals.)

The little boy had quite a day. He met and prayed with many kindly monks. He lit his first tambon candle, and he continued his fascination with Buddha images, large and small. Something that he has expressed since before he could express much of anything.

It was a lovely beginning to what is sure to be an exceptional year. Vast love to our loyal readers and Sawadee Pi Mai to you too!

What We Love About This Place

The first few days in Thailand are always a bit of a shock to the system. Yes, the weather is warm and sunny in winter. Yes, the food is amazing. Yes, you can buy dinner for the equivalent of $2 U.S. (and a fancy dinner, at that).

But, it's gritty, smokey, and the sewer gasses could drop a grown man to his knees (regardless of this, tourists insist on sitting in bamboo chairs set right over the sewer channel at the edge of the street). You can smoke anywhere, and you might as well, given the air you're breathing anyway.

After you've been back a few hours, you remember why you came. It's the people. Thai people are gentle, kind, giving and happy. Yes, happy. Where I live most of the year, about half of the population seems to be on antidepressants. I think they just need a little loving kindness, the kind that Thai people give you each day, all day.


My little man (because I left my big man at home) has been loved up one side and down the other by every man, woman, and wandering teenager that he's met. He's confused. Americans just don't stop children on the street (that's total strangers) and caress their cheek, ask their name, and tell them they are handsome. He's already like family at the noodle shop where we eat breakfast every morning. For Thai people, if there is an opportunity for joy, no matter how small, it doesn't go by.

Americans could learn a thing or two from Thai people. And, this is why we have come back, after a long, long spell in the U.S..

Culture. Shock.

After a week in Khlong Lodt village, Trat Province Thailand, the wee family flew to L.A. Yes, from my husband's dusty, little Thai village right smack dab into one of the biggest cities in the USA. (What was I thinking?) Culture. shock.


While my feeble brain continues to chip away at the "where have we landed?" question, I thought I could appease you with this little photo essay. An essay on plumbing, or should I say water. My mother-in-law's and my brother's, as we have now crossed the country for a rest in Florida, the land of hot-AND-cold-RUNNING (and window screens, mattresses, sheets, flush toilets, air conditioning, dish washers, garbage disposals, dish tv, wireless internet, alarm systems, ice makers, microwaves... oh, you get the point).


I'll miss dipping water out of the clay pots, but boy, that hot shower feels nice!

Thanks All Around

Okay, I know what I said about this good-luck-and-protection game. But, I do believe in the power of thank-you.


With great humility for our very good fortune these past few years in Chiang Mai, the Wee Family today offered its thanks in the traditional Thai way. We carefully arranged our nine types of fruits (a lucky number) and offered them up to Dr. Shivaka, the Father of Thai massage, with sincere thanks for a very successful run at teaching massage and spreading the good work (through nearly 300 students) to 38 countries in the world.


And, we gave nine more beautiful fruits to the spirits who dwell in the little spirit house just inside the front gate. Without their kind protection, our luck in family and business might have been quite different (and given that the lights here sometimes switch on and off without our intervention, thanks are a very good idea).


Of course, we could not leave this ancient city which is the heart of the original Lanna Kingdom without offering our sincere thanks to the Three Kings, who in their lifetimes unified a group of city-states into the Kingdom that we know today. As you may recall, the Three Kings have listened closely to Amnat's prayers for good luck on a couple of important days (like the day before Little was born and the day before the big visa interview). He wanted to be sure to show his gratitude. How, you ask? We made them lunch!


Sure, nine fruits, but also a chicken and some Mirinda (freakishly bright fizzy stuff the likes of which the Kings surely never experienced in corporeal form). We placed our thank-you picnic at the feet of the Kings in the local square then waited a decent interval (while they ate) before leaving our flower garlands behind and taking the little lunch back down the street. We gave the (lucky) chicken to our friend Jomsi, who chopped it up nicely, and we've been snacking on fruit all afternoon (oh, and the prison guards got some too).


So, having made the rounds with gratitude and thanks, tomorrow we head to the airport for a week in Khlong Lodt village and a monk's ordination ceremony (more on that later, for sure) before we take the big flight off to L.A.

Good-bye, Thailand. Hello, USA!

Green Mango

(Okay, you know the packing for the big move is finished, when I have time for THREE posts in one night.)


It's green mango season, and we are flush. This year, for the first time in a long time, all the mango trees in our neighborhood are fruiting. Why? Those lovely bees who swarmed and landed in our garden a few months ago. They've been busy, and we are reaping the reward.

You're right. Why would you eat them green, when they are nectar-of-the-gods ripe? Critters. Every living thing will get to them ahead of you, so we happily buy our ripened (and surely heavily sprayed) ones at the market, and pucker up on the crunchy "organic" ones from home.

(Amnat keeps giving them to our students and saying "no chemical," something he's learned from me; but last week, one of them said, 'except the ones that fall with the rain.' Where did all that smog go, anyway?) We do our best.

Buddhist Bling

Thai people like amulets. They like them a lot. They wear them for (I know you know already) good-luck-and-protection. Men wear them. Women wear them. School children wear them. Even babies wear them (as well as bells on their ankles, but that's another story). My husband wears one. I even have one. I don't wear mine much. It means a lot to me, because it was given to me by Pichest, my massage teacher; but (shhhh... don't tell anyone) I don't believe that it actually protects me. This is where my Thai friends and I part company.


Lately I've noticed a new trend in the wearing of amulets, which I would characterize as Buddhist bling. Usually, a serviceable amulet is about the size of a good ole American quarter. Ladies often have more delicate dime-sized ones. And, Pichest advised me to keep my amulet inside my shirt. It's not fashion, after all, it's protection, damn it. But, Buddhist bling is big. Really big. And, it's always outside the shirt. And this is why....

The King has one. We didn't know this until recently, but apparently (and how we know this I cannot imagine) his amulet is very powerful. You see, he was in a hospital and a nurse tried to administer an injection. The needle would not enter his skin. (Serious protection.) She asked him to remove his amulet (affording her a view of it), and was then able to finish her work.

Word got out. It's a good one. It comes from a particular temple, made by the monks there and prayed over to imbue it with special power. Everyone wants one just like it. Thai people are running, not walking, to the amulet vendors in such numbers that several elderly people have died in the crush and the price of these amulets has jumped from 10 baht to 2,000.

So, today my friend Jo comes to visit, and he's all aflutter because HE'S GOT ONE. And, he bought it from a monk, no less. A monk who (bought low) and verifies that additional prayer has fortified it's power.


Imagine this encased in glass in a stainless steel locket and hanging around your neck on an amulet chain. It's about the size of your stomach (the organ, that is) before lunch. And, when one of these comes walking at you up the street, you just can't miss it. AND, you know the guy (usually) who's wearing it survived the stampede to lay down his 2,000 baht (significantly more than half of my mother-in-law's monthly wage). Bling.

How do I know all this, you ask? Why, Jo told me. Jo who speaks about as much English as I speak Thai, but we muddle through. I missed some of the finer points, but I get the message. Buy one of these and you get RICH. Jo's friend has one, and he found 5,000 baht laying on the street at the local market. Since Jo has had his, his little massage shop has generated revenue every day.

Curious. A Buddhist amulet made by monks at a very important temple in the Kingdom, and it brings you... money? Not enlightenment. Not freedom from suffering. Not good health. Not even love. It brings cold, hard cash. And, who are those people stampeding to get one? The hopeful poor.

Rain, Merciful Rain

As you may recall (or may have heard in the news), we in Chiang Mai have been living under a smog blanket for quite some time. For the past few months, I've been feeling it thicken, and thicken, and thicken while we've waited for the rains that inevitably begin to fall in April. Mind you, it hadn't rained a single drop since mid-November. Oh sure, last week during the Songkran Festival (some day I'll tell you about it), a few pitying drops fell. Just enough to whet our appetites.

And, then Wednesday it happened. Rain. Great gusts of wind and drenching sheets of stormy rain.


We rushed around pushing the windows shut and feeling the over-spray on our faces and arms. Our neighbor's kitchen gutter finally filled the dish pan out back. And, when it was all over about twenty minutes later, we could see clearly, for the first time in months, the outline of Doi Suthep, the mountain behind the house. There have been many days recently when the mountain wasn't even there. And, this morning, as Little and I walked back from the coffee shop, I could see not only the outline of the mountain, but individual trees and the red roof and shining gold pagoda of the temple near the peak. Ah, fresh air.

Progress

As you know, Little and I are in the habit of perambulating within the walls of our fair moated city on a daily basis. The little stroller has gone from portable bed (for a sleepy newborn) to barcolounger on wheels from which he can survey his kingdom and his people. And, survey he does, spinning his little head left and right and craning his neck around to catch all the details. The kingdom is so damned interesting that you've just got to lean forward and hold onto the rail to urge the rolling barcolounger (and the servant who's pushing it) on.


As you also know, the coffee shop is a favorite destination for the little prince and me. From the shop, we can see the passing push carts, tuk-tuks, truck taxis, motorbikes, and cars and the mish-mash of tourists and Thais taking good care of them.


On a recent visit, just about the time that Little was beginning to comprehend the meaning of wave-bye-bye, something happened which again highlighted the contrasts and odd juxtapositions of this place. He peered across the street and lifted a hand to silently wave-bye-bye to the little boy and his mum who live across the street.


I've been wanting to tell you about this little boy for some time, because his name is Gress. Well, that's actually his nickname. His full name is Progress, and he is the little brother of Gram. Oh, you're way ahead of me. Yes, short for Program. And, what to do parents do? They run a dusty, dark internet shop opposite our little latte heaven. And, Gram spends his days (long twelve-hour working days) in the arms of his mother on the sidewalk or in the shop. The names, while incomprehensible to me, represent their parents' wish to bring good luck to these little boys. The irony of this is not lost on me. Gram and Gress are growing up in a poorly lit, unventilated shop at the edge of a busy, sooty street where backpackers need to check their e-mail.

We've tried to strike up an interaction with Gress a few times, but nothing comes of it. He's the same age as Little, but a bit bleary, often recovering from a chest cold (no kidding). As he is carried most of the day, he is a bit passive (try carrying Little for more than fifteen minutes and you've got a bucking bronco in your arms). The pathos of Gress is palpable.

On the day that Little tried to engage Gress from across a busy street (I still can't believe he did it), Gress's mom saw Little waving and looked a bit stunned.

Comparisons between babies are inevitable, but comparisons between lifestyles and the opportunities they afford can be harsh. Not that I know what I'm doing raising this little boy. My biggest fear is that we're somehow hindering his natural (and fascinating) ability to learn. And, while he is as much Thai as he is American, we have decided to raise him largely in the West where he'll have much more opportunity... to progress.

Fruit Stand

So, I'm thinkin' that shopping at the local IGA in Red Hook isn't going to look much like this...


and, I can't remember the last time they had a special on dragon fruit...


and, there won't be any banana trees growing in the yard,


(but there will be red wine, chocolate, and raspberries!)

Vows

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?

A Nice Place to Visit...

As with all places in the world, there are things I love about Chiang Mai, and things I ... well, don't.


I love that I can go out at 10 pm and walk in any direction, guaranteed to find a noodle cart selling bowls of soup for the equivalent of 40 cents. I love that there's a woman selling hot, sweet, hand-made soy milk (yes, hand-pounded soy beans fresh every day) also on the street each night. And, I love that every morning I wake up to three sounds, roosters, the 5:30 ringing of the temple bell, and my landlady pouring rice grains into her rice cooker to feed the monks on their morning alms rounds. These are just a few of the things I love about this place.

The trouble is, the things I don't like about this place are pretty damn fundamental. Take, for example, the air that we breathe.


I've been laboring for some weeks to take a photo that will show you the hazy swill we are living in, and last Sunday I hit it just right. Chiang Mai is an ancient city in a mountain valley, and we are deep into the middle of dry season, both critical factors in our struggle to breathe free. Our little mountain valley is a hot dusty bowl of foul air with no outlet, and it hasn't rained a cleansing drop since November (and it won't until mid-April, at best). As the temperature rises from January to April, so do pollution levels. At present, the air is so thick you can see it, and I don't just mean when you gaze out from some viewpoint. You can see it as you gaze across the street. At night, motorbikes and cars have cones of light around their headlights. Street lamps have haloes. And, in the day belching machines of innumerable description and the witless burning of trash and leaves just keep adding to this soup we call air.

Before my recent chest cold (sure, hit me when I'm down), I had already developed a heaviness in my chest too low to reach with a cough. This year is the worst I've seen in the last five (wow, five winters in Chiang Mai!). But the real kicker is that this year our little baby is breathing the same stuff. Enough to send you to the airport for a ticket to anywhere else.

So, while we wait for the cleansing rains that will surely bring relief (and for my husband's U.S. visa to be approved), we are keeping indoors, walking in the alleys with fewer cars, avoiding rush hour, and dreaming of the fresh crisp air in upstate New York.

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.