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.

Recycle Men

They are everywhere, all the time. It's the only way anything gets recycled, and it probably works better than any mandatory municipal program.


I find these guys fascinating. Their bikes and motorcycles are clever examples of make-do engineering. And, if you think New Englanders are frugal, you should hang out with some Thai people. Given that almost nothing gets thrown away to begin with, it's amazing that these guys find anything worth putting back in circulation.

It's Hot!

A perfect day for red and green Fanta popsicles. What? You've never HAD red and green Fanta popsicles! I don't believe (as my husband would say).

Lucky Day

It's turns out that Friday the 13th is a lucky day, after all. My grandfather, Jimmy (after whom we named Little) used to think it was a very unlucky day. When he was young, he broke his arm hand-cranking a car on Friday the 13th. The engine took and kicked the hand crank, giving him a good whack. But, today three generations later, little Jimmy K. learned to crawl.


In the end, it was just a matter of getting the rear end in gear.


If Grampa were here, he'd be tickled (and he'd be on the floor giving Jimmy big elephant kisses on his wee belly and filling our little Thai house with hilarious giggles).

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!)

Home(s)

When you leave a place, especially a place that has been home, you leave a lot behind. Of course, I don't mean things. Things don't amount to much. What you leave behind are people. I've been spending the past couple of years trying not to dwell on that. As the Cowboy Junkies say, "It don't pay to think too much 'bout all the things you leave behind."

For the last couple of weeks, knowing that I'll be back home soon, I've been letting my mind go to all the places I haven't been able to for a long time. Of course, my sleeping mind has been taking me there all along. Dream, after dream, after dream I've been in some version of Tivoli on Mikee's little bakery porch. Before I moved to Thailand, I spent a lot of time sitting on that porch (in all weather) drinking coffee and talking to friends, some close friends and some porch-friends that I rarely saw otherwise.

I have a couple of porch-friends here too, but it's different. I don't speak enough Thai to really get anything going, but I get friendly nods from a half-dozen shopkeepers, neighbors, and of course, the prison guards every time I go out. (I never told you about the prison? I'll have to some day.)

Just today, something switched in my head. I started to see around me what I'll pine for when we leave here. (Humans, they're always wantin' somethin' that's just outta reach.)


We've been joking for a long time with Nok (sister-in-law extraordinaire) that she's small enough to put into a suitcase and carry back to the U.S. We will be leaving her behind in Chiang Mai for now, and I'm frankly not sure how she and Jimmy will handle the separation. I will miss her (largely) silent companionship and her willingness to try just about anything I can come up with (even wearing a bathing suit, heaven forbid!).


She has been my voice, when I just can't figure out what to say, or when I say it (in Thai) and no one gets it. (And, yes, the fruit guy DOES have a radio with speakers strung up under the handles of his hand truck - fruit AND free entertainment!)


Before I get myself back onto Mikee's porch, we have a few stops to make. First in Thailand. We're going back to Amnat's village, where my life in Thailand began a couple of years ago. The little house in the fruit orchard was transformed into a wedding party then. This time, we are going for an ordination ceremony. Amnat's cousin Jack will ordain as a monk. The little village will be buzzing, as it did for us and our wedding, and the good people of Khlong Lodt will be the last faces I see before flying home.



And, oh boy, I can't wait to see the faces of the people I've left behind. Some day soon, I'll be there trying not to think too much about what we're leaving here.

Sunday Morning

For the past year or so, Sunday morning around our little house has meant a roll in the stroller over to the Irish Pub. Not very Thai, but then again, neither am I.


We love the fresh baked bread, and the baker has really taken a shine to Little. He often gets a hot slice of fresh-from-the-oven. (Luckily, it's bigger than his whole head, and Mum gets to eat most of it!)


We'll miss the Irish Pub and things like fresh, young coconut when we head to the USA, but can you say, "fresh raspberries," "tree-ripened peaches," and "crisp Paula Red apples"??? (We can't wait.)

Bye-Bye, Indeed

I've been very quiet about it, but something big has been brewing for the wee family for some months now; and it's FINALLY here! Yes, three one-way tickets to the USA. The visa came through! Wave bye-bye, indeed!


We won't be going by tuk-tuk or by samlor. This will be that big ol' jet plane to L.A..

Just as Little has mastered the art of the Royal Wave (you know, the back of the hand extended to his public), we're going to be asking him to do it a lot. We're saying a big Bye-Bye to Chiang Mai, the city where we've lived for over two years and heading to the other side of the planet. My husband likes to joke that I'm coming home with two very nice Thai souvenirs from this particular trip (a new husband AND a new baby, if you've not been reading closely).

With only two more weeks in the city and a week in the village where we were married, I'm thinking about all the pictures untaken and stories unwritten (but there is a backlog of about 7,000 photos, so don't panic). More soon, surely.

Bye-Bye

Lest this little accomplishment go unnoticed, I should add that "wave bye-bye" is our newest addition to the list of makes-us-giggle.


My friend Jennifer-Pheonix-Aroha smartly noticed recently that this little blog is an odd kind of baby book. Exactly. I just have to figure out how to keep it forever. Suggestions?

Slitherin' Fool

For the last three weeks or so, our house has been on red alert. Why, you ask? Because Little has gone mobile! He's a slitherin' fool. Not what you'd really call it crawling. More like slitherin' with great purpose in the direction of anything really interesting (to a 9-month-old). Dirty slippers, electrical wires, fans. Stuff you really don't want to see him get to.


For weeks we watched as he tried to move forward, but those damn legs (and cute little feet) just wouldn't get outta the way.


Then, one leg broke free, leaving one lonely little foot pinned under the weight of his little round belly.


Finally, the legs synchronized, which left the belly in full contact with the floor. And, this is where it has stayed.

But, it hasn't kept him from making headway. I should say it's not really slitherin'. It's more like... well, it's exactly like this. Imagine you're caught in a burning building. You drop to the floor to crawl out. As you point your nose to the exit, you realize (oh, shit!) your left leg is broken. With great effort, you throw both elbows forward and drag yourself to the exit, pushing with the toes of your one good leg and dragging the other like dead wood. Oh, and you're drooling profusely (must be the heat of the fire, or something). The spit-polished trail you're leaving on the floor will surely help the fireman track you, if you can't haul yourself out. That's it. That's it exactly.

It's the cutest thing we've ever seen (if a bit humbling at the weekly Tumble Tots program).

Me Now

Last month, Hannah and Eric made their way to Chiang Mai from California, and as they are friends of my good pal Jennifra, they added us to their travel plans. We hosted a few visits this winter from our extended group of friends. We always enjoy showing people around our little city (and having someone to talk really, really fast with, with lots of slang, innuendo, and idioms).


As my last self-portrait-with-infant didn't really satisfy the request for a shot of me, I offer you this lovely picture taken by Eric at our most favorite coffee shop. Hope this satisfies.

PS. I think I'd title this, "Milky Coma." Or maybe, "Vertical Sleeper."

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?

Silliness is Hereditary

Thought you might enjoy this shot from the irreverent family photo archives.


My (wise) friend Nina's one bit of advice when I was expecting, "Keep your sense of humor." It was the smartest thing anyone told me (in a language I actually understand, anyway).

We're doing our best.

Pointy Finger

Zippers, buttons, bows, tags, loose threads, lint (camera lenses). It's all so interesting, especially when your little pointy finger can just about reach it, roll over it, and (if it's at all loose) pick it up!

Spot the Potential Lawsuit 7

Oh, a blog is a hungry beast. It snarls and hisses at you in the most nasty way if you do not feed it, and feed it often. Before this little guy leaps off the screen and bites the hand that feeds it, I offer you this.

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.

Hardware Meltdown

oi... the screen went blank a few days ago, but we're back from the little Mac shop and in working order. Nothing lost, except a precious means of communicating (for a few days only, I admit). The black-out blasted a big hole in Project 365. Have some catching up to do... more shortly.

Marketing Genius

Now, here's a clever promotion. Buy one, and... well... get one!


Somebody laid awake at night thinking this one up, sure. (Sorry, the English major in me just can't walk on by.)

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.