Sawadi Pii Mai from Bangkok

Make a Smilebox greeting

A New Traditional Christmas With Love From Bangkok

Dear Ones:

Every Christmas in Jamaica we had fruitcake. Friends gave us theirs and Mom made hers. Every baker made her fruitcake differently; some were spicy others sticky and fruity, some were like puddings while others were like moist dark cakes, but all were caressed by the smooth under-notes of brandy or rum.

Naturally, I baked a fruitcake at Christmastime too. I would start soaking the fruits in wine in early November. The finished product was baked in a bain marie. But Andy and the kids always pronounced the result "too sweet." Indignantly, I would say, that's how it's supposed to taste. The fruitcakes invariably ended up in the freezer and after ten months, in the trash. I finally ditched the fruitcake from my Christmas Table--there are some traditions that are dispensable. But there's room for some new ones too.

This year I am giving away home-made baked goods as gifts. On my to-give list: Whole Lotta Nuts Granola, Mexican Wedding Cakes, Cherry Garcia Cookies, Chocolate Loaf Cake, Banana Tea Bread, and Pound Cake Classic and Brown Sugar.

As I was baking, I was thinking of absent family and friends, people who live thousands of miles away but who are always near and dear to me. Taranee, Mom and Dad, and my sisters and brothers, all my nieces, nephews, and cousins, and all our friends in Canada and in the States. But we had our losses too, for in two weeks this spring, four lights were diminished: we miss you Titi, Aunt Veda, Mrs. Wong Ken, and Florence. I felt diminished too, and deeply aware of the preciousness of each and every one of us.

Once I guarded my recipes as if they were secrets, but I've learned that if you give away something you love, you get back so much more in return. So I'd like to share with you all a virtual gift, a recipe from my new Traditional Christmas: Whole Lotta Nuts Granola. I'm sharing it with you because a friend shared it with me. This recipe is the perfect virtual Christmas gift. So, make it, eat it, and share the recipe.

Whole Lotta Nuts Granola

A week ago Mimi gave me a bag of almonds in the shell. While I was wondering what to do with them, Thavida gave me this recipe for granola. She had kitchen-tested it herself, saying that it is as easy to make as it is delicious. It is. Absolutely! As it bakes, the granola has the most wonderful cinnamon-vanilla smell; it fills up my kitchen and permeates my heart with its honest goodness.

Ingredients

3 cups old fashioned rolled oats

1/2 cup slivered almonds [My note: I'm using a cup of whole almonds]

1/4 cup pumpkin seeds or sunflower seeds

1/4 cup chopped walnuts (or pecans or pine nuts)

1/2 cup unsweetened flaked coconuts [Thavida's note: I never include this.] [Me, too.]

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon salt

4 tablespoons unsalted butter

1/3 cup honey

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/2 cup raisins or chopped apricot or dates

1/2 cup dried cranberries or blueberries or cherries (or a combination)

Preparation

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F

In a large bowl stir together oats, almonds, (coconut), seeds, nuts, cinnamon and salt. In a small saucepan melt butter with honey over low heat, stirring. Add vanilla and pour butter over oat mixture and stir until combined well.

On a large baking sheet, spread the granola evenly in a thin layer. Bake, stirring every 5 minutes to keep from sticking or burning, until golden brown and crisp, about 20 minutes. (Do not overcook, the granola will crisp more when cooled.) Cool the granola in the pan on top of the stove and stir in dried fruit.

Granola can be kept in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 1 week.

Serve at room temperature in a bowl with milk or as a snack. [Sprinkle it on top of home-made Greek-style yogurt with a drizzle of honey. ]

So Andy, Taranee and AJ would like to join me in giving these our very best wishes to you all: may you always have a warm house, enjoy the hugs of your loving family, and share the gift of YOU with someone else.

Walk good,
Andy, Jo Anne, Taranee, and AJ

Letters from Thailand, Revisited: New Year in Bangkok

When I look back, I see what happened and what had been. In Thai politics today, the yellow shirts and the red shirts still have not resolved their differences. Rather closer to family, Titi has left us behind in this world and we still miss him terribly; and though Mama is brimming with good health it is no use to a mind ravaged by Alzheimer's. And there is still apprehension, perhaps inevitably, for the future. The year 2010 is uncertain for many of us who do not have jobs or who will soon be out of work. Let us have hope, then, that determination will keep us going forward, one step at a time, eyes ever on the far horizon.

This letter was written Monday, January 1, 2007.

Dear Ones,

For New Year's, Andy had planned a sumptuous Chinese banquet dinner at one of the best Chinese restaurants in one of the hotels in Bangkok. Andy, AJ, Taranee, and I were all dressed and ready to go at 6:30 p.m. when the neighbors from across the street, Koong and Khun Sanan, stopped us and said, you shouldn't go, haven't you heard about the bombings?

Right away, we checked the internet and the TV stations. CNN didn't interrupt their regular programming but the Thai stations were carrying live reports. According to the bangkokpost.com and the nationmultimedia.com, at sundown on New Year's Eve, 6 bombs were detonated around the city. As a result, two people died and at least a dozen were injured. One bomb went off at Seacon Square, the mall near us, and another went off at a police box at the freeway entrance nearest our house. Luckily, no one was hurt by those two explosions, but other people weren't so lucky at the Victory Monument and the Klong Toey Market. The Bangkok Governor cancelled the New Year's celebrations at the plaza at Central World. So, reluctantly, we decided to stay in and not go out. We didn't go hungry though, as I made us a light supper of turkey hash on toasted home-made whole wheat bread.

This morning when we woke up, we found out that other bombs had detonated after midnight. This time, some foreign tourists were injured. We're still at home and don't feel like going out, especially to any place crowded. We're scheduled to go over to Mama's house to have New Year's dinner with her and with Mimi, YJ, and Mikey. Titi, Lek, and Nicky went to Chiang Rai for the holiday.

The bourse is closed for New Year's and will not re-open until January 3rd. Andy is expecting the stock exchange to suffer huge losses as a result of the bombings. No one has claimed responsibility. Despite the four-year-old insurgency in the Muslim majority provinces in the south, there have been no bombings in Bangkok--until now. However, the newspapers have suggested that those responsible could be the supporters of the former prime minister. They have denied it. Needless to say, the mood in the city is uncertain. From feeling relatively safe, Bangkok residents are beginning to understand what life must be like for those people living in the southern provinces, where nearly 2,000 people have died in the insurgency.

And so 2007 begins on a somber note in Bangkok. The end of 2006 was not all a loss, as we counted our blessings. Taranee and AJ are here safe with us to spend the holidays. However, Andy's mother suffered a stroke in early December but has made a near-complete recovery. She had to spend Christmas in the hospital so the family rallied around her and celebrated Christmas at the hospital with her. We made her room feel like home with photographs of the family and a little Christmas tree that we decorated with glass balls and a gilded poinsettia for a star. Taranee, Nicky, and I made tiny origami cranes and boxes for its branches.

We decided not to have a Christmas party this year but I made roast turkey with all the fixins' anyway, and packed up dinners for Titi and his family, and Mimi and her family. I also packed a small dinner for Mama. On Christmas Eve we all met in her room laden with gifts for the gift exchange. Mikey put on his Christmas elf hat and handed out pink piglets on a toggle chain. His mother explained that they were favors from China for the Year of the Pig. Mimi saw them at a wedding and asked the bride where she got them. It took her a month to order them from China. Each precious piglet had a tiny silver button in its head so that when you press it, the little pig grunted, "ribbit!"

While the pig-frog amused everybody, Andy played Santy Claus and handed out gifts to everyone, even the nurses were included. We left Mama in good spirits to go to the Christmas Vigil mass at Holy Redeemer Church on Soi Ruamrudee. It was crowded, and the overflow had to park in the Bangkok Assurance building's parking lot. That night there was a guitarist and a cantor instead of the Lady Slide's wavering soprano. We all sang, we wish you a merry Christmas, and indeed, we all felt warm and hopeful. We didn't have the Christmas breeze as we had in Jamaica, but the weather had turned suitably cool--in the 70s and 80s.

After Christmas, Andy, the kids, and I went to Haad Jao Samran (Master of Relaxation Beach) for two days of sun. We got a two bedroom villa at Fisherman's Village, a boutique resort in a small town that is not yet a tourist trap. It is still a sleepy fishing village; no high rise hotels have been built yet. Though we had American breakfast in the morning, we preferred to eat dinner at Grandmother's Restaurant where the seafood was fresh and the service was friendly. Andy liked the waiter's ingenuity. When he complained that the dipping sauce wasn't to his liking, the boy brought another him one; you'll like this one, he promised. Andy was impressed; he should sell cars, he decided.

Mama came home just before the New Year's holiday began to continue her convalescence with a round-the-clock nurse and visits from the physical and occupational therapists. Somehow Titi and the driver Nate managed to carry her upstairs to her room. (I didn't ask, I didn't want to know.) The children went all out to make her homecoming as comfortable and as stress-free as possible. Mama, for her part, calmly accepted her limitations including the accoutrements that come with being an invalid: the hospital bed, the wheelchair, the hated walker, and the porta-potty chair. Mimi found her a hospital bed that has all kinds of bells and whistles including the miraculous ability of managing NOT to look (so much) like a hospital bed.

So New Year's celebrations are going to be low-key, like Christmas. But we are going to count our blessings again. We are all happy and healthy. This evening, we will go over to Mama's for dinner with Mimi and her family. For dessert, I have baked a cheesecake topped with glazed fresh mango and kiwi.

Maybe 2007 has begun with uncertainty, but we will not lose hope that there will be peace and harmony again in the Land of the Thai.

Walk good,

Jo Anne

Letters from Thailand, Revisited: A Tale of Two Night Markets

Andy's golf clubs had been stolen from inside our yard. We suspected it was one of the saleng-men, rag-pickers who drive these modified motorcycles with big carts attached in front. They scour the neighborhoods of Bangkok looking for trash and discarded items to sell. Sometimes there are unexpected treasures... and opportunities. The golf pro had suggested to Andy that a good place to look for his stolen clubs might be the Thieves Market. This was originally posted Sunday November 12, 2006.

Dear Ones,

They say you can buy anything in Bangkok-- if you know where to look. But finding exactly what you desire is the challenge. There are innumerable nooks and crannies in the city where bargains can be had; if you have the time and the perseverance you can unearth treasures. At least that is the hope. An experience that began as a search for stolen property did not unearth many bargains but revealed glimpses of another world that co-exists with the one I know as "my" Bangkok...

The Thieves' Market is located in the older part of Bangkok behind Central Hospital in the Yaowarat or Chinatown area, in a street known as Klong Tom or Filled-in Canal. In the old days the street was a canal that had since been filled in, hence the name. The pro advised us to beware of pickpockets and purse-snatchers and to bring mag-lites because the market is only open from dusk on Saturday to dawn on Sunday. We stuffed our pockets with some cash and went to Church for the Saturday evening mass. Now that the rains are over, it promised to be a pleasant outing. The humid air was even stirred by a breeze, the promise of the cool season to come.

After mass, Andy and I parked the car at Suan Lum Night Bazaar between Rama IV and Wireless Roads. Then we took a taxi to Klong Tom. It turned out to be a neighborhood of two storey shop houses that make one street look the same as another. It's a well-known area, apparently, for we saw lots of people down there including a few curious foreigners. It's not the typical market foreigners like to frequent with the usual souvenirs and such. The market is ill-defined, being a maze of streets and side-lanes, some lighted, some not well-lighted, hence the need for a good strong flashlight. If you didn't have one or forgot to bring it, you could buy a flashlight from the vendor on the street corner. For about Baht 100 or less than US$3.00 a small flashlight comes with batteries installed plus an extra set. Thus we were prepared for our foray into the Thieves' Market. They say that one man's junk is another man's treasure.

We saw things that literally fell off the back of a truck. Indeed, we saw a row of trucks, tailgates down and their contents emptied onto the sidewalk, parked outside Bangkok Bank. The bank was closed for the weekend and the sidewalk was torn up for renovation. Undaunted, the vendors lined the sandy sidewalk next to stacks of paving stones with tarps and tables. Some surprisingly heavy items were on the sidewalks: ceramic toilets and urinals looking like new. On a table, were electric water heaters still in the box. On another table or on the tarps spread on the ground were collectibles like rusty Coca cola trays, embossed English biscuit tins, old books and magazines, costume jewelry, hurricane lamps, and an exquisitely delicate glass sconce on a chain.

The main street of the market was busy with food sellers and vendors selling just about everything salvaged elsewhere including the kitchen sink I saw a man carrying with him. There were dynamos, shoes (Was that somebody's Birkenstocks?), piles of cell phone cases, cell phones wrapped in plastic, DVD players, TV sets including a new flatscreen, and just a few tables down, TV remotes without the TV, and a completely useless UBC cable remote that wouldn't work without a cable subscription. I swear we saw our old Sony radio-cassette player for sale; anything that could be bought can be sold. The market was buoyed by an optimism that there could be a buyer--sooner or later.

In the middle of the main market were refrigerators for sale; on the sidewalk there were boxes of masking tape and cello-tape, and screwdrivers small and large, and mag-lites big enough and heavy enough to comfort a nervous security guard afraid of the dark. There were novelty items to gross out your friends, like the plastic rat in a plastic water bottle . The market was hot and crowded, so if you wanted to cool down you could order a smoothie. A motorcyclist patiently waited for his order. The seller deftly dipped into an insulated cooler of ice and scooped out just the right amount without looking.The smoothie was neatly poured into a plastic cup with a dome lid. The finishing touch: add a straw and put it into one of those ubiquitous plastic bags with loops that are just the right size to slide on the handle bars. Sip on the go.

The golf pro had told us that the good stuff is often hidden from view. We saw some golf clubs poking out from under a tarp in a side-soi. Andy asked a man sitting nearby if they were for sale; the man said, the seller isn't here. I saw a necklace of enamelled beads with a silver clasp. It was definitely Thai. I asked how much and got the same short reply, the seller isn't here. Perhaps they were wary of us. In fact, Andy said later that the clubs on display in the open were old. The good stuff was nowhere--in plain view that is. Andy contented himself with a cheap pair of leather sandals and some golf tees.

I saw another insulated cooler like the smoothie seller's. A woman was sitting next to it and fanning whatever was inside it. I peered inside and was surprised to see there was a baby instead of ice. So this was its cradle. Briefly, I met the mother's eyes and she did not smile, her eyes as wide as a cat's in the dark. She seemed young and vulnerable and at the same time, she had an unabashed look of experience that was as difficult to comprehend as it was difficult to look her in the eye. We were both women and mothers, but so many things divide us; chiefly, social class, education, and language. Where was her husband? Why did she have to bring her baby to the market? Always interested in narratives, I wondered what her story was.

Andy and I were attracted by the smell of food cooking at a cookshop two blocks away from the bank. At the corner of the street across from the cookshop, we saw two sa-lengs pulled up to the curb and a pick-up parked nearby. It was unlikely one of them was the sa-leng driver in our soi. And even if he was, I don't think I could recognize him if I saw him again. One barely notices sa-lengs and their drivers. Something on the floor-bed of the pick-up truck was covered with a tarpaulin. We did not ask. Instead, we crossed the street where we found a table inside the cookshop. I thought I wasn't hungry but the good food smell woke up my appetite. I ordered fried rice with crab and Andy ordered two bowls of noodles. With two Cokes, the whole bill came up to Baht 160 a little less than US$5.00.

An old man came into the shop carrying a heavy tin bucket over his arm. He lifted the lid to show us tiny grass cakes and fried fish balls neatly arranged inside. In a smaller bucket on his other arm he carried the sauces. Andy spoke to him in Thai but the man raised his voice in Chinese. Andy switched to Teo Chiu and the man went away. I was curious about the old man. Andy said he probably lived all his life in Chinatown and never learned Thai. Like Papa and Mama who learned enough Thai to get by, the old man was from this older generation that never needed to be proficient or literate in Thai since they worked for Chinese-owned businesses. I thought, Just as I teach in an international school and never needed to learn Thai. Some things don't change.

An air of furtive mystery hung over the bustling market. It was a place stocked with humanity looking for a bargain and to make a baht under cover of night. There was none of the conviviality I'd come to expect at other markets like Narayana Phand or at Chatuchak. There, Andy could joke with the vendors and cajole them into lowering their prices. Here at Klong Tom, this was pure business, and you'd best look sharply, peering into the dark with the aid of a mag-lite spotlight on the goods. To me, the night market at Klong Tom was a door into an underworld culture of thieves, middle-men, desperate housewives, old men with spent dreams, and hucksters on the make.

We took another taxi back uptown to where the sights were more familiar: the Thai-Belgian Friendship Bridge, Lumpini Park, and the glass and steel towers clustered around Silom, Sathorn, and Sukhumvit that comprise the business district. It was late but tourists and locals still mingled at Suan Lum Night Bazaar. Built at the intersection of two busy roads, Suan Lum was once a training school for army cadets until it was sold to a businessman who turned it into a gaudy bazaar and entertainment complex.

Here the goods were for an upscale clietele also hunting for a bargain in the humid night. There were no salvaged dynamos or toilets or sinks. Nothing fell off a truck here. Hence, there was no need for dim lighting or mag-lites. There were rattan baskets and CD cases made out of palm thatch and clever lamps made out of wood, paper, and string. In the shops here there were elegantly packaged cotton-covered cushions, embroidered shirts, and toys for a pampered pet.

Suan Lum is a little bit of Chatuchak and Narayana Phand jumbled together with bars, restaurants, and a trendy internet coffee cafe. A bit of this, a bit of that, a bit of East and West. Pastiche and synergy. Still the same optimism of that other night market though, that a buyer will walk in and part happily with his/her money.

Earlier in the evening Mercedes Benz held a car show in the concert hall. Owning a Mercedes is a fantasy for most. At Klong Tom though there were no such fantasies. Fantasies are luxuries that don't feed the family. As we walked past the darkened hall to where we had parked our car, we detected a whiff of ganja in the humid air. It smelled like defiance to me...

Walk good,
Jo Anne

Cake Monday: Streusel Coffee Cake

If the people have no bread, let them eat cake! ~attributed to Marie Antoinette, Queen of France (1774-1793)

Every Monday, for a month, I've brought a cake to school. The first two Mondays, I consulted Martha Stewart's Baking Handbook and tried two recipes: Classic Crumb Cake and Brown Sugar Pound Cake. Though the crumb cake was recommended for beginners, I found it disappointing; the top tasted floury rather than crisp and sweet. However, the pound cake was a success. The week after that, I made a Caramel Apple Cake, and last Monday, a Toll House Chocolate Chip Bundt Cake. The last two are old favorites from our years living in Milwaukee.

This Monday's cake is a Streusel Coffee Cake. The topping has melted into the surface of the cake creating caramelized craters of brown sugar. The cinnamon smell is wonderful. While the cake was still warm, I sliced it into squares and tested a piece. It was moist and the texture light. The topping was crunchy. I realized that Streusel Coffee Cake is almost exactly like the Classic Crumb Cake I made the first Cake Monday. According to the dictionary, streusel means "crumb." I like this Streusel recipe better because that Crumb Cake recipe called for 4 cups of butter. No one needs that much butter! To the Streusel Cake recipe I've added instructions about how to cut and fold the batter and I do recommend rotating the pan halfway through baking. Try this recipe as I'm sure you'll love how easy it is to make.

Streusel Coffee Cake from southernfood.about.com

Topping:
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup sifted all-purpose flour (sift before measuring)
1/4 cup butter, room temperature
1 teaspoon cinnamon

Cake:
1 1/2 cups sifted all-purpose flour (sift before measuring)
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 egg, beaten
3/4 cup sugar
1/3 cup melted butter
1/2 cup milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

In a small mixing bowl, combine topping ingredients. Blend with a fork until crumbly. Set aside.

Sift 1 1/2 cups sifted flour with baking powder and salt into a bowl. In a large bowl, beat together beaten egg and 3/4 cup sugar and 1/3 cup melted butter. Add milk and vanilla.

Put half of flour mixture in a sifter and sift it over the batter. Cut and fold the batter. Use a spatula to cut the batter in the center of the bowl until you touch the bottom. Move the spatula towards you. At the edge of the bowl, lift and turn over the spatula. Turn the bowl one quarter turn and repeat. When there are tiny streaks of flour in the batter, sift in the other half of the flour mixture. Cut and fold. Stop when there are tiny streaks of flour in the batter and it loses its shiny appearance.

Pour batter into a greased and floured 8-inch square or 9-inch layer-cake pan. Sprinkle topping crumb mixture evenly over batter. Bake at 375° for 25 to 30 minutes, or until cake tests done. Rotate the cake halfway through the cooking time. It should turn a deep golden brown and the edges should begin to pull away from the sides of the pan. Partially cool in pan on wire rack. Cut coffee cake into squares while still warm.

Letters from Thailand, Revisited: The Doctor Sees

When one is at the crossroads of experience or between life changes, the Thai, Christian and Buddhist, go to a fortune teller. Well, it can't hurt to hedge your bets. As for my writer's block, I was able to get the stopper out. You take what comes when the Muse is ready.

Sunday, March 25, 2007

Dear Ones,

On a lark, Andy and I decided to take our house-guest, Jan, to a fortune teller. The sister of Andy's client, "Mr. Dealer" told him about this fortune teller she knows in Pahonyotin Road in northwest Bangkok. She said the Maw Duu (literally "Doctor See") is very good. Andy made an appointment to see her on Friday evening. Before I get on with this story, I have to tell you a back-story, and of course, it includes golf.

Jan (pronounced Yaan) lived in Thailand for 20 years before retiring back home to Holland two years ago. Jan, Andy, Kishore, and Dan golfed every Saturday morning for years. Once in a while they would include us wives and their families. As non-golfing partners, I believe our presence was meant to forestall any domestic crisis since the aim of a get-together was dictated by proximity to a golf course. In town, we would go out to dinner occasionally, and spend a weekend at Hua Hin, as you may remember from one of my letters from Thailand about Andy's night adventure. At the end of the year, Jan would invite us to his house for his annual New Year's Eve Crazy Whist parties with the Dutch expat community.

Jan is an imperturbable sort, a Dutch giant among short Thai people, with a calm good humor who meets all kinds and accepts them as part of the parade of humanity. Two years ago, he introduced the Dutch Consul to Dan and Andy at the end-of-year Netherlands Thailand Chamber of Commerce golf tournament (Where else should one meet the Consul?). Now, the Consul was newly posted to Thailand and had not met many Thais. Dan, however, is the atypical Thai in that he has blond hair and blue eyes and fits in quite well among the Dutch, physically. However, he is Thai and proud of it.

The Consul was puzzled by Dan's appearance and inquired, Are you Dutch? Dan, who can be waspish, couldn't resist the opening and quipped, I wouldn't be that stupid! Jan had a good chuckle about it in private so the following weekend at golf, he agreed to go along with Andy to play a joke on Dan. Just before teeing off at the first hole, Andy told Dan that because of what he said, Jan had to write a letter of apology to the Consul. Now, because these guys bet on their game, he and Jan watched in amusement as Dan's game got sloppy. It was only at the second hole that they showed any mercy at all and told him it was a joke. It's a wonder that Dan didn't kill the two of them or at least cuss them out. Not long after that, we all met again at Jan's for the last Crazy Whist party before his return to Holland. I was with Dan and some other people when Jan's wife Anne Marie introduced us to the Consul. A big man, though obviously dim when it comes to foreign relations, the Consul looked inquiringly at Dan, and asked again, quite innocently, "Are you Dutch?"

Dan's reply was the anti-climax. I thought he showed admirable restraint when he said merely, no. There were no fireworks, other than the New Year's celebrations. Both Jan and Anne Marie returned to Holland for an inconspicuous retirement. But retirements are never the end of the story, for as you know, life goes on. Since then, Jan and Anne Marie have become grandparents. They still entertain, Jan says, and Anne Marie likes to cook Thai food for their friends. Since then, Jan has been back to Thailand three times, the last time he came with Anne Marie to help out the Thai economy. For this trip Jan came with orders from Anne Marie to bring back some Thai curry paste.

As it is with back-stories, they show you how we live here. Not quite expat, not quite Thai, we walk in a narrow alley between two high walls, Thai culture on one side of the wall, and "western civilization" on the other. The connector is us. We bring our Selves with us to the one or the other side, and the meeting with the second culture is an invitation to the Self to accept the Other. In those terms, there is nothing quite so alien or as beguiling as the encounter with the Maw Duu.

Because the traffic can be very bad on Friday evening, we parked the car at the Onnut Station and took the skytrain to Ari. We walked about a block to the top of Pahonyotin Soi 7. Andy flagged down a tuk-tuk and negotiated with the driver. For Baht 30 (about 88 US cents) he agreed to take us in. I bent my head and clambered into the back. Jan got in next, folding his spare frame almost in half, then sat down with his knees up to his chest. Andy got in last and the tuk-tuk lurched into the soi. As we got deeper into the lane we noticed that it was a changing neighborhood. It seemed to be a conduit from one busy street to another busy street so the traffic here has altered the character of the neighborhood from a quiet street of houses behind high walls, to a pastiche of restaurants, shops, and home owners stubbornly clinging to a tranquility that no longer exists in the neighborhood. We got stuck in a mini-traffic jam outside a restaurant called The Lobby that Andy said got good reviews in the papers. The tuk-tuk driver switched off his engine to conserve gas and peered around the tops of the cars to see what the hold up was. Another tuk-tuk driver, less patient than ours, left the queue and drove on the opposite side of the road (luckily there was no oncoming traffic). Since I was seated on the far side, I could see a car turning out of some street or driveway up ahead. After that, we were on the move again.

Andy consulted his directions--we are going to the Romanian Embassy and from there to the Maw Duu's house. The tuk-tuk driver spotted the building before we knew it. He did a swift u-turn and dropped us off at the Embassy gates. Of course, it was already closed for the weekend. The embassy building was a two story house surrounded by a high white wall with rows of iron spikes across the top. The windows were tinted so it presented a bland enigmatic front to the street. Jan observed, if you wanted to get a visa to visit Romania it wouldn't be easy to find the Embassy. Most embassies in Bangkok are closer to the central part of the city, where the rents are higher and the real-estate pricey.

Andy spotted the sign next to the embassy, in Thai I can only imagine it must have said the equivalent of Fortunes Told, Tarot Card Reading. The Embassy was on the left overlooking a small driveway, a shop at the corner opposite. We walked down the driveway between the high walls of the Embassy and the shop towards a house with two cars parked in a gravel yard in front. There was no other place to go. Behind the shop there was a small house, a large dog house out front partially covered with wooden boards. Nevertheless, its unseen occupant barked at us. Andy said, another Mutt. I thought of Gigi and wondered how she was doing back home. How long does it take to know the future?

We came to the compound at the end of the driveway and there was another sign outside a low building with a door in it. There was a house to the right of it; the low building we saw from the street was actually an annex connected to the house. Four cars were parked in the compound; the two we saw from the street, and the two around the corner in front of the house. Andy opened the door to the annex and we went into what looked like a kitchen with an eating area. Off the eating area was the Maw Duu's office. Two women were just leaving. There was no one else there.

The Maw Duu was a woman, thirtysomething, with a kind face framed with short dark brown hair that touched her shoulders, and a brilliant toothy smile. She sat behind a desk with a computer on her right. There was a low orange daybed in front of the desk with a single gray-green cushion on it. I wondered, Do clients sit or lie down? We managed to sit three across on the sofa, with me between Andy and Jan. There was a fan on the floor next to the Maw Duu that stirred the still air. Over by the long narrow window was a sheathed knife and a paper strip with Chinese characters on it glued to the window frame. Behind her was a bookcase dominated by a gilt Bodhisattva about 2 feet high, a Buddha altar on the left and an altar for Hindu deities on the right. There was a photograph of a holy monk, and pebbles and quartz crystals on the altars, and of course, a crystal ball. I recognized the elephant headed god Ganesh and the eight armed goddess Durga or Kali. She reminded me of my guardian Goddess, the eight-armed Jao Mae Tuptim, the Ruby Goddess Mother, and wondered if she figured in my future, too.

The Maw Duu sat in front of us with a stack of square papers in front of her, and three felt tipped pens in red, black, and blue. On her left was a red book, its binding broken, with little scraps of paper tucked between the cover and the fly leaf. Jan and I were nervous, so we let Andy go first. First, she shuffled the tarot cards and laid them out in a fan-shape. Andy picked 12 cards with his non-dominant hand, his left hand. He gave her the 12 cards and she laid them out in front of her, 1 at the top and three in a row beneath them. He told the Maw Duu his real birthdate (For some reason, Papa hadn't registered Andy's birth until October 14) and the time of his birth. She consulted the red book and made an X and three tic-tac-toe squares in red on a sheet of paper. She wrote some numbers in black pen on the figures and some numbers in columns below that. After that, she spoke in such rapid Thai, interrupted by Andy's questions, that I lost all track of what she was saying. After awhile, she laid out all 12 cards in four rows. Then she concluded the reading by clicking on her computer screen. There was a whirr and she produced a CD-Rom from beneath the desk. With the blue pen, she dated it 23-03-50 (Buddhist Era 2550, by Thai reckoning) and drew a magical symbol above the PRINCO label. She had recorded her session so now Andy can play back his fortune at his leisure. Fortune telling has become high tech. I was impressed.

Later, Andy told me what she had said. He'd be married twice, but since she told me the same thing, the Maw Duu said as we're both together still we cancel each other out. We live in very separate worlds, Andy and I, so we get along. He should be cautious, as this is not his year, and not commit to any course of action. There may be family problems in which he'll be called on to mediate. However, things will get better by April next year, and he'll go on working until he's 66.

Then we agreed that Jan should go next. Andy translated, since the Maw Duu said she was not that fluent in English. The Maw Duu put the computer microphone in the middle of the table and laid the cards out. She told Jan that he would travel often, he'd work for a charity, and he'd work until he's 79. Jan said his father worked until he was 80 so 79 is good enough for him. She also told him that he would face a crisis after his birthday this July. She also said that he has a very strong moral sense and that he would do the right thing. Whatever he decides to do, she said, he has to resolve the coming crisis. It would be up to Jan to decide which way to go; she would not tell him what to do.

As she read my cards, the Maw Duu seemed to me an astute reader of human psychology. She said a lot of complimentary things, but I won't bore you with the details! Andy told her I am a teacher. She said I should teach and share that knowledge with others. My job is stable but I shouldn't make any drastic changes, because like Andy, this is also not my year. Unfortunately, the eight-armed goddess in the cards was Kali, the Hindu goddess of time, so I will have to be careful. Therefore, I should take care of myself and tamboon or make merit.

Andy paid her Baht 1500 (About US$44.00) for the session. We stepped back out into the soi, and saw that dusk had deepened into night. The air was humid and still. It seemed to me as if time had resumed. How long had we been inside with the Maw Duu? It's hard to measure time without a clock and harder still to guess the future before it happens. Outside in the real world, rationality returned. We tried to guess how she did it. Besides being a psychologist, she must be very good at reading body language and gauging our expressions and reactions to know whether or not she was on the right track. But there are things we'll never know how she knew. Later, over dinner, Jan told us that the Maw Duu wasn't completely off base.

So the mystery merely intensifies. Could the Maw Duu be right? I don't know. Between the desire to know the future is the knowledge that it might not happen the way she said it could. Between what is knowable and the unknown, there is truth, with a small "t" but not a grand Truth. It's better to deal with little truths, and it is far easier to see other people's truths than one's own.

Walk good,

Jo Anne

Letters from Thailand, Revisited

"Why don't you upload them to your blog?" Andy suggested. He was referring to my Letters from Thailand. Before I discovered blogging I e-mailed them. Perhaps it's folly to think they will be read into posterity but I have a dissertation to write and I'm experiencing writer's block, otherwise called avoidance or nerves... There's only so much chocolate one can consume. So I thought I would post a few, if only in the hope that the distraction would clear the block in my head. These two Letters from Thailand were written in 2006. The first one is an account of teaching English in Thailand and the second is about a visit to the Thieves' Market.

Teaching English (originally posted Saturday, November 4, 2006)

To set the context, I wrote this when I returned to my previous school after a year in the US getting my dissertation proposal approved. My mention of Foucault, six months later, is a residual from my year at Teachers College, a place as far removed from teaching in Thailand as the moon is from the earth. I think that is why I am still struggling with my writing--the conception of things like curriculum and identity are so very distant from the concrete everyday life of the school.

Dear Ones:

It's a misguided narcissism to think that other people are checking their e-mail in-boxes for that long awaited Letter from Thailand. If this will bore you, I forgive you for deleting this e-mail and getting on with your lives. After all, there is nothing more tedious than a letter-writer who assumes her audience is interested in the minutiae of experience. My heartfelt apologies to Mom and Dad; it's because of me that your anniversary gift is late.

I've been getting more and more involved in the professional development of teachers. In October, I piloted a month-long program for the professional development of Thai teachers of English. The first group has just completed the program which included 3 weeks of classroom study followed by a practicum.

These teachers challenged my assumptions about what teachers of English who are non-native English speakers know about English and how to teach it. Through it all, they were unfailingly polite, good-humored, and willing to do all the assignments, no matter how challenging. I felt it was important to honor what they know and that it was my task to show them the possibilities for other ways to teach English; namely, using an active learning approach that fosters reading, writing, speaking and listening in English. During the practicum this week I saw a variety of teaching styles that ranged from traditional to experimenting with new techniques. I don't feel the program was a failure for I know from research in teacher-learning that it takes years to change practice. The bottom line is, we teach the way we were taught.

When I visited their school this week, I came to appreciate how difficult it is to teach English in their context. Class sizes average 50-55 students. It is a daunting task that discourages speaking in English and encourages lecture and rote-memorization. Nevertheless, I saw lessons where teachers demonstrated it was possible to teach and learn English in such large classes.

Out of respect for me, they called me "Teacher" and showed me the Thai way of honoring one's teacher. At meal times when they came to my school for the classroom portion of the course, I ate with them. They would serve me, and bring me gifts of food. When I came to visit their school, one of them would show me around and make sure I had food to eat and water to drink.

They began to relax around me and began to tell me things, even admitting how hard it is for some of them to learn in English. They even told me how much they feared and respected their head of school, a nun they called Ma Soeur Valentine, who despite her name was a formidable person whose presence was felt throughout the school from her daily walkabouts to her draconian policies about what constitutes teachers' work. They said they will have to write a one-page summary and reflection about my course. She will read every single one of them, they said, for she keeps notes on all the teachers in a notebook she brings with her on her walkabouts. In such institutions, people know they are being controlled but they also control each other as well as themselves without needing Sister's presence to do so. It proves Foucault's observation that although the control may be from without, it is also from within. And that is why I think it will be very hard to change the way they teach English.

The last two weeks of October were very intense. I taught a workshop in Korat in northeastern Thailand and I taught another workshop in Bangkok. The first workshop was sadly farcical because more than half the participants were inexperienced English teachers who could barely communicate in English much less comprehend how to teach it. However, it was a good experience for I began to see that the problem with teaching English in Thailand is that most of the teachers here are non-native English speakers who lack the fluency and the preparation to teach English. Any professional development program for them must attend to two things: developing their English fluency while developing their English teaching skills.

The second professional development was a weekend workshop at a new small international school that included Americans, Brits, Jordanians, Indians, Thais, and Filipinos. It was an interesting school culture that included Muslims and Christians. The head of school and the school manager and his deputy attended both days of the workshop. I thought their presence demonstrated genuine commitment to their teachers. Of course, I knew I was being auditioned, too! I think I successfully passed the audition; now they want me to come back next semester to do another workshop.

Things have settled back down to some kind of normalcy. I have to make it up to my class of adult language learners who were unhappy that I could only be with them part-time for a month. Since two-thirds of the class are nuns and priests, the approach I take must necessarily take into consideration the politics of teaching the religious; it is two-parts persuasion and one-part appeasement. Sometimes, though, the formula for these parts switch places. The kind of unilateral control the Thai teachers of English talked about is pervasive at my school too, though the owners are priests, not nuns. I also feel the control that comes from without and recognize how much I have internalized it. Indeed, it is a sober calling to teach English to as well as for God's Chosen.

Now I'm looking forward to the holidays. AJ and Taranee will come home and Andy and I have plans to spend time with them and with the family. Mama is very frail now, and her memory isn't so good any more. She still recognizes and remembers the family. We are planning to go to Khao Lak in southern Thailand for some sun and sand for a few days before Christmas.

I love you all and hope you are keeping warm and well,

Walk good,
Jo Anne

*****

It seems sometimes that capitalism has run amuck in the streets of Bangkok, creating swaths of wealth and underlining the poverty next door. It is a city of contrasts, of great beauty and appalling ugliness. When Andy's golf clubs were stolen we knew visiting the Thieves Market to get them back was a long-shot. And while Andy can afford to replace the golf clubs, I can say with absolute certainty that the thief can never do as much for himself. I'm sure survival was his only aim, and opportunity the tool. The fundamental principle here is that stealing is definitely not a sound business strategy. Just ask Bernie Madoff.

A Tale of Two Night Markets (originally posted Sunday, November 12, 2006)

Dear Ones,

They say you can buy anything in Bangkok if you know where to look. But finding what you want is the challenge. There are innumerable nooks and crannies in the city where bargains can be had; if you have the time and the perseverance you can unearth treasures. At least that is the hope of every bargain hunter. An experience that began as bargain hunting did not unearth many bargains but revealed glimpses of another world that co-exists with the one I know as "my" Bangkok.

Last Saturday afternoon, Andy came home from golf and left the gate ajar when he went inside the house to shower. He was going out again so he didn't feel he needed to shut the gate. After all, we had lived here 14 years without any incident. I had gone to St. Joseph Convent School off Silom Road to meet a group of teachers and to have lunch with them. Afterwards, I was going to take the skytrain back to Onnut terminal where Andy would meet me at the station. It wasn't until Monday evening that Andy noticed that his entire golf bag that he had left on the porch of the twin townhouse next door was gone. Boong and Ginda said they did not see the clubs when they came to wash the cars on Sunday.

We think the rag-picker took the clubs. The rag-picker is a familiar sight in Bangkok sois. He drives a sa-leng, a three wheeled vehicle that is a motorcycle with a cart in front. He picks through people's garbage for recyclables like cardboard, newspapers, and bottles. Since we live deep inside our soi in the cul-de-sac, a sa-leng is the only way to get a golf bag out of the soi without attracting attention. He can put it in the cart then cover the bag with cardboard and newspaper and simply drive away. When Andy described the value of the clubs to me, I realized what the rag-picker must have felt: he had just won the lottery.

Andy talked to the neighbors. They hadn't seen or heard anything. Usually, Gigi, the next door neighbor's dog, barks whenever she sees strangers coming into the cul-de-sac. She always barks at the rag-picker. Either she was indoors at the time or she barked and Andy didn't notice it because Gigi's bark is familiar to all of us.

Koong, the neighbor across the street suggested Andy go to the Thieves' Market to find his clubs. The golf pro at Piyarom, our Sports Club, suggested the same thing. To go to the Thieves' Market sounded like a unique adventure so we decided to try it. We knew it would be a long shot that we would ever find his golf clubs. The idea of a Thieves' Market was so intriguing we wanted to see it.

The Thieves' Market is located in the older part of Bangkok behind Central Hospital in the Yaowarat or Chinatown area, in a street known as Klong Tom or Filled-in Canal. In the old days the street was a canal that had since been filled in, hence the name. The pro advised us to beware of pickpockets and purse-snatchers and to bring mag-lites because the market is only open from dusk on Saturday to dawn on Sunday. We stuffed our pockets with some cash and went to Church for the Saturday evening mass. Now that the rains are over, it promised to be a pleasant outing. The humid air was even stirred by a breeze, the promise of the cool season to come.

After mass, Andy and I parked the car at Suan Lum Night Bazaar between Rama IV and Wireless Roads. Then we took a taxi to Klong Tom. It turned out to be a neighborhood of two storey shop houses that make one street look the same as another. It's a well-known area, apparently, for we saw lots of people down there including a few curious foreigners. It's not the typical market foreigners like to frequent with the usual souvenirs and such. The market is ill-defined, being a maze of streets and side-lanes, some lighted, some not well-lighted, hence the need for a good strong flashlight. If you didn't have one or forgot to bring it, you could buy a flashlight from the vendor on the street corner. For about Baht 100 or less than US$3.00 a small flashlight comes with batteries installed plus an extra set. Thus we were prepared for our foray into the Thieves' Market. They say that one man's junk is another man's treasure.

We saw things that literally fell off the back of a truck. Indeed, we saw a row of trucks, tailgates down and their contents emptied onto the sidewalk, parked outside Bangkok Bank. The bank was closed for the weekend and the sidewalk was torn up for renovation. Undaunted, the vendors lined the sandy sidewalk next to stacks of paving stones with tarps and tables. Some surprisingly heavy items were on the sidewalks: ceramic toilets and urinals looking like new. On a table, were electric water heaters still in the box. On another table or on the tarps spread on the ground were collectibles like rusty Coca cola trays, embossed English biscuit tins, old books and magazines, costume jewelry, hurricane lamps, and an exquisitely delicate glass sconce on a chain.

The main street of the market was busy with food sellers and vendors selling just about everything salvaged elsewhere including the kitchen sink I saw a man carrying with him. There were dynamos, shoes (Was that somebody's Birkenstocks?), piles of cell phone cases, cell phones wrapped in plastic, DVD players, TV sets including a new flatscreen, and just a few tables down, TV remotes without the TV, and a completely useless UBC cable remote that wouldn't work without a cable subscription. I swear we saw our old Sony radio-cassette player for sale; anything that could be bought can be sold. The market was buoyed by an optimism that there could be a buyer--sooner or later.

In the middle of the main market were refrigerators for sale; on the sidewalk there were boxes of masking tape and cello-tape, and screwdrivers small and large, and mag-lites big enough and heavy enough to comfort a nervous security guard afraid of the dark. There were novelty items to gross out your friends, like the plastic rat in a plastic water bottle . The market was hot and crowded, so if you wanted to cool down you could order a smoothie. A motorcyclist patiently waited for his order. The seller deftly dipped into an insulated cooler of ice and scooped out just the right amount without looking.The smoothie was neatly poured into a plastic cup with a dome lid. The finishing touch: add a straw and put it into one of those ubiquitous plastic bags with loops that are just the right size to slide on the handle bars. Sip on the go.

The golf pro had told us that the good stuff is often hidden from view. We saw some golf clubs poking out from under a tarp in a side-soi. Andy asked a man sitting nearby if they were for sale; the man said, the seller isn't here. I saw a necklace of enamelled beads with a silver clasp. It was definitely Thai. I asked how much and got the same short reply, the seller isn't here. Perhaps they were wary of us. In fact, Andy said later that the clubs on display in the open were old. The good stuff was nowhere--in plain view that is. Andy contented himself with a cheap pair of leather sandals and some golf tees.

I saw another insulated cooler like the smoothie seller's. A woman was sitting next to it and fanning whatever was inside it. I peered inside and was surprised to see there was a baby instead of ice. So this was its cradle. Briefly, I met the mother's eyes and she did not smile, her eyes as wide as a cat's in the dark. She seemed young and vulnerable and at the same time, she had an unabashed look of experience that was as difficult to comprehend as it was difficult to look her in the eye. We were both women and mothers, but so many things divide us; chiefly, social class, education, and language. Where was her husband? Why did she have to bring her baby to the market? Always interested in narratives, I wondered what her story was.

Andy and I were attracted by the smell of food cooking at a cookshop two blocks away from the bank. At the corner of the street across from the cookshop, we saw two sa-lengs pulled up to the curb and a pick-up parked nearby. It was unlikely one of them was the sa-leng driver in our soi. And even if he was, I don't think I could recognize him if I saw him again. One barely notices sa-lengs and their drivers. Something on the floor-bed of the pick-up truck was covered with a tarpaulin. We did not ask. Instead, we crossed the street where we found a table inside the cookshop. I thought I wasn't hungry but the good food smell woke up my appetite. I ordered fried rice with crab and Andy ordered two bowls of noodles. With two Cokes, the whole bill came up to Baht 160 a little less than US$5.00.

An old man came into the shop carrying a heavy tin bucket over his arm. He lifted the lid to show us tiny grass cakes and fried fish balls neatly arranged inside. In a smaller bucket on his other arm he carried the sauces. Andy spoke to him in Thai but the man raised his voice in Chinese. Andy switched to Teo Chiu and the man went away. I was curious about the old man. Andy said he probably lived all his life in Chinatown and never learned Thai. Like Papa and Mama who learned enough Thai to get by, the old man was from this older generation that never needed to be proficient or literate in Thai since they worked for Chinese-owned businesses. I thought, Just as I teach in an international school and never needed to learn Thai. Some things don't change.

An air of furtive mystery hung over the bustling market. It was a place stocked full of humanity looking for a bargain and to make a baht under cover of night. There was none of the conviviality I'd come to expect at other markets like Narayana Phand or at Chatuchak. There, Andy could joke with the vendors and cajole them into lowering their prices. Here at Klong Tom, this was pure business, and you'd best look sharply, peering into the dark with the aid of a mag-lite spotlight on the goods. To me, the night market at Klong Tom was a door into an underworld culture of thieves, middle-men, desperate housewives, old men with spent dreams, and hucksters on the make.

We took another taxi back uptown to where the sights were more familiar: the Thai-Belgian Friendship Bridge, Lumpini Park, and the glass and steel towers clustered around Silom, Sathorn, and Sukhumvit that comprise the business district. It was late but tourists and locals still mingled at Suan Lum Night Bazaar. Built at the intersection of two busy roads, Suan Lum was once a training school for army cadets until it was sold to a businessman who turned it into a gaudy bazaar and entertainment complex.

Here the goods were for an upscale clietele also hunting for a bargain in the humid night. There were no salvaged dynamos or toilets or sinks. Nothing fell off a truck here. Hence, there was no need for dim lighting or mag-lites. There were rattan baskets and CD cases made out of palm thatch and clever lamps made out of wood, paper, and string. In the shops here there were elegantly packaged cotton-covered cushions, embroidered shirts, and toys for a pampered pet.

Suan Lum is a little bit of Chatuchak and Narayana Phand jumbled together with bars, restaurants, and a trendy internet coffee cafe. A bit of this, a bit of that, a bit of East and West. Pastiche and synergy. Still the same optimism of that other night market though, that a buyer will walk in and part happily with his/her money.

Earlier in the evening Mercedes Benz held a car show in the concert hall. Owning a Mercedes is a fantasy for most. At Klong Tom though there were no such fantasies. Fantasies are luxuries that don't feed the family. As we walked past the darkened hall to where we had parked our car, we detected a whiff of ganja in the humid air. It smelled like defiance to me. It was an appropriate capstone for the evening.

Walk good,
Jo Anne

Domestic Bliss and Other Torments

Dear Ones:

After a month away it's been a sweet homecoming. The humidity greeted us with a soft wet kiss when we emerged from the terminal building at Suvarnabhumi. Of course, we immediately cranked up the air conditioner and praised the powers that be (EGAT) for a steady supply of electricity. Coming home has also been fraught with (un)foreseen expenses. Since AJ is taking a year off from Hunter College, we signed him up for health insurance as well as got him a one-year membership at our health club. It was cheaper than paying by the day. Gigi was glad to see us. The Silly Mutt agreed that AJ was worth a second sniff. And with that, his acceptance in the household was cemented; she no longer barks at him. As we went about our errands picking up the threads of our former routines, emergencies always happen, especially when you have somewhere else to be.

Yesterday morning, AJ and I were going out to the doctor's so I wanted to prepare a light breakfast for him and clean up a few things in the kitchen. I touched the kitchen faucet lever. The whole apparatus came off in my hand!

Water gushed in a great arc out of the wall missing the sink and spewing onto the kitchen floor, flowing out into the dining room and through the living room right out the front door. I looked under the arc of water, under the sink, to find the shut off valve. There wasn't any. I panicked and rushed out to the soi to try and shut off the main. But there were too many valves. Finally, I did what I should have done at first. I phoned Andy. He said to shut off the pump. I rushed back inside to do as he said. The deluge immediately dried up. That done, he directed me to the shut off valve; it was next to the washing machine. In a previous Letter from Thailand, you may remember that this isn't the first time the faucet broke off from the wall. Lesson learned at the time: never trust Thai plumbing. I vaguely remembered Andy telling me then that he had installed a valve. I had always assumed it was under the kitchen sink. 'Nother lesson learned: Always get visual confirmation.

I put rugs around the breakfront and the piano to protect the two most valuable pieces of furniture from water damage. Then AJ and I left the house to keep that doctor's appointment. Clean up would have to come later. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the open gate. I had forgotten to shut it when I came back in. Where was Gigi? I called her. Much to my relief, she trotted inside when she heard her name. One thing I've never been able to do is to teach the Silly Mutt to stay inside even though the gate is wide open.

The happy postscript to this is that Andy found a plumber who installed a new faucet--wouldn't you know it, it's the same model. More Adventures in Thailand for sure. Andy called me at the doctor's to tell me it was all done and that he had even mopped up the floors. He's such a sweetheart!

But this is Thailand and the adventures continue. Today I went to renew my driver's license. It was the usual bureaucratic tangle lasting three and a half hours.

First I had to produce my passport and my work permit as well as copies of said documents. I was given a number and directed to... watch a video. It was all in Thai, which wasn't helpful at all. As I watched the video, it dawned on me that I had to take a test for color blindness, reaction time, peripheral vision, and depth perception. My number was called. I was given back my papers and directed to this little room where I joined a long line of applicants to take the tests. As we shuffled from station to station, a functionary would sign our papers. At the last station, the papers got the Official Stamp of Approval an impressive four times. I was told to go back to the first window.

Behind the counter of the window, I joined a group of Asians and farangs watching a video on the rules of the road. I could barely hear the soundtrack, but it was in English and so were the subtitles. I realized we must be the Non-Thai Group. I had missed the first six parts (there were sixteen parts altogether) but it didn't seem to matter. After about 30 minutes, we started getting bored. I wondered if the Thai had to endure a similar video torment. If anybody needed to watch this it's the Thai for they are among the worst drivers in the world. The video went on for another 20 minutes. Surely there was going to be a test! There wasn't. Unaccountably, the farangs were disappointed. Ridiculous, they muttered. What was that for? I thought, did you really want to take a test?

I was given back my papers. My attendance at the video was duly noted. I was assigned a new number, and told to go wait at another window where I eventually got my new license. Getting it was the anti-climax. Like Christmas, the anticipation is always better than the holiday. My number was 128. When I sat down the number counter read: 96. By the time the counter read 128 I felt sorry for the poor man in front of me. He was holding a ticket that said 197. Lesson learned: Bureaucracy will get to you eventually.

Walk good,
Jo Anne

Born Again in Bangkok

Dear Ones:

Elizabeth Barrett Browning famously asked, How do I love thee? She never enumerated the ways nor did she do anything so mundane as to give examples. Instead Browning describes the times when you might look at your partner, presumably at the appropriate romantic moment, and think, you are My Only. Most of the time, it is because a lifetime of shared experience, of joy, hope, and sorrow come rushing back to you, and you remember it all with gratitude and recognition. And so it was on a rainy Friday afternoon in Bangkok.

There's a change in plan, Andy said. He had called me on my cellphone at school. Eddie is going to be baptized at 5 o'clock this afternoon. He added, It's going to be a surprise for Phyllis. And by the way, I'm going to be his godfather!

When Andy told me the news I was taken by surprise. It couldn't have been a sudden decision; I was sure Eddie had been thinking about it a long time because he's that kind of person. He doesn't make decisions lightly.

I was about to leave school when Andy called again. Do me a favor, will you? He began. Go home and get me a change of clothes. I have a meeting too so I can't come pick you up. Take a taxi to the church. That's how it is after 30 some years of marriage; you dispense with all formalities.

It had started to rain as I left the school but by the time I got home, it was over. I took advantage of the lull to set off for the paak soi to hail a taxi. When I told the driver my destination in Thai, he said one word in English, highway? I agreed because it's faster. I thought: it never fails. When I want to practice speaking Thai, the Thai will want to practice his English.

We made it through the tollgate when the cab inexplicably slowed. I looked up at the driver. He turned around in his seat and wai-ed. He had forgotten to set the meter until now. When we got to the church in Soi Ruamrudee, I gave him an extra generous tip to cover the cost of the entire trip. By this time, the heavens had opened up again and it was raining hard.

Most of the players were at the church. Or its environs. I met Andy and handed over his change of clothes. I saw Joan Windsor, co-coordinator with her brother Dan of the North Point reunion and intrepid baptism organizer. She was in her decisive pose, right hand to her ear, talking into her cellphone. I learned that Phyllis did not suspect a thing. After visiting the dressmaker for a fitting, Phyllis was with Mimi at Neil's Tavern nearby. And having coffee and cake, I presumed. I was hungry, deliberately saving my appetite for the buffet at the JW Marriott that evening.

Dan arrived with Father Van, Eddie's former teacher at North Point. Now a hale 83, Father was going to perform the baptism. So, I realized, that's why it had to be now, after the North Point reunion, and before everyone scattered to the four winds. Everything had come full circle.

Inside the church, there was another family sitting in the front pew with a baby also waiting for it to be baptized. We didn't have much time. After he had changed his clothes, Andy called Mimi; it's time, he said. Mimi said later that Phyllis was about to drink a steaming cup of hot chocolate. After talking to Andy, she took away Phyllis's cup. Let's make it to go, she suggested. They got in Mimi's car and drove half a block to the church. Still, Father Van was on a tight time line. He started the baptism even though Phyllis hadn't arrived yet. Eddie and Andy huddled in front of Father Van on the altar steps. Behind Father the gilt statue of Christ the Redeemer raised its arms in supplication. Please, God... Listener of prayers and intercessions, witness to baptisms, weddings, and funerals. Titi's funeral was in this church almost two months to the day. Eddie looked over his shoulder, searching for Phyllis. This is for you, he must have been thinking. When are you going to come?

Five minutes later, Mimi and Phyllis walked up the aisle. Phyllis, carrying her cup of hot chocolate, looked puzzled. Eddie was wearing the white and gold coat of the baptism candidate and he was in a clinch with Father Van and Andy. Mimi said to her, I don't know how to tell you this...By the time she had finished, Phyllis was crying. She went to join Eddie at the altar steps in front of Father Van. Widening the huddle, she stood on his left, Andy on his right. And so it was that Eddie was baptized, received his first Holy Communion, and was confirmed all in one afternoon.

Reunions are often occasions for sentimental gestures. Sometimes, the spirit of togetherness is strong enough to compel us to act on a deeply held wish. Indeed, Eddie's decision to be baptized was a grand gesture of faith and love, and I would say, good fortune. How lucky that Father Van was here and the church was available. How privileged that we could be here to share this special moment. Life doesn't skip a beat; it goes on. It's up to us, after the euphoria fades, to carry on with the hard work of building faith and continuity. It's part of the commitment to God and each other.

Walk good,
Jo Anne

I Gotta Crow!

Dear Ones:

Here's some upbeat news! Taranee has just been awarded a fellowship. You can read about it at:

http://tinyurl.com/d9ppjw

If you're not confident that this is a legitimate URL (because I used tinyurl.com) you can preview it at:

http://preview.tinyurl.com/d9ppjw

Walk good,
Jo Anne

Just Seventeen

Dear Ones:

She was just seventeen.

Early this month, one of our high school students was murdered, along with her mother, father, and younger brother, a student in the RIS Middle School. Their deaths were not discovered until the school had closed for the Easter-Songkran holiday last week. All her teachers remember her for an irrepressible giddiness and her joy in life. Her friends, and even those who did not know her well, remember her loyalty, friendship, and her bubbly personality.

Since the funerals, the police have floated the theory that the father was a loan shark, implying that he was killed by a client who did not want to repay a large debt. According to law, such a debt is not cancelled by his death. His survivors, meaning his wife and children, would inherit the debt, and that is why they were also killed. That theory is beguiling for we would all like to think that there is always a motive for unspeakable crimes, that there is a logic operating in a killer's head.

In fact, we have no definitive answers and I doubt we will ever find out the truth about what happened. It's true that two taxi drivers have confessed to the crime. Nevertheless, there remain many unanswered questions; chiefly, why? In Thailand, truth is never absolute (not when witnesses are vulnerable to bribes and disappearances) nor can it be independently verified (evidence can be lost or tampered with). Justice and science have their limitations here. We can only mourn what we have lost.

Walk good,
Jo Anne

Vuttichai Wangsatorntanakun 1958-2009

"I must say--and I salute him--he is a fighter and a true gentleman."
Professor Shimon Slavin, Titi's doctor

Dear Ones:

How do you write a conclusion for an unfinished life?

We discovered Titi wrote one, or tried to write one, himself. He left behind a diary and a list he called "Contract for Life." I remember giving him a blank book at Christmas, in case he wanted to write things down. He shook his head; he would never use it. To him cancer was a temporary setback and once overcome, then he would simply resume his life. Now I see he had indeed changed his outlook.

Instead of a book, Titi recorded his diary in his iPhone Notes. At first, it was a way to remember his stem cell protocol in Tel Aviv. Gradually, it evolved into a diary. He writes fervently about each tentative triumph-- "Thanks to God", he exults-- and matter of factly about every setback, especially the parvovirus that destroyed his first transplant. The diary stops after February 14th and then on March 22nd, two days before he died, he tried to pick it up again. There are only two enigmatic words, one per line: "Re Set." Nothing more.

Nowhere in the diary does he show that he ever once considered death a possibility. His Contract for Life, written before Valentine's Day, was a cryptic 10 point list of things to do. The Contract was his way of saying if he got the chance, he would live life intensely and gratefully. The first point was, "Like brothers and sisters." I noted the awkward "like" rather than "love" for I assumed it was a verb. Or did he mean he would treat everyone like brothers and sisters? "Equality for all," he tapped on the keypad. "Family relationship." Two other points seemed to be personal reminders to be more patient, but mostly, he appeared to feel the need to live more spiritually. Then he added, "never break promises."

Up until the end he displayed a relentless optimism. A co-worker said that Friday before his condition deteriorated, he was making plans for coming back to work. However, the end came quickly. Maybe it came as a surprise. Lek said, I never got to say goodbye. He never got to do all the things he promised. His tenth point in the Contract was poignant, his true number one, "Forever the Two." Lek and Nicky would always be in his heart.

Walk good,
Jo Anne

Kanchanaburi Diary

Monday, February 23, 2009
Kanchanaburi, Thailand
Day 1 Week Without Walls

The morning was hot and still; summer had come early. It was the start of our Week Without Walls trip with the Middle School students. Six teachers were their chaperones. We packed them into two buses and headed off down the highway towards Kanchanaburi in western Thailand. It being the dry season it hasn’t rained since last October. All around us the fields and the hills are yellow and brown and thirsty.

Meandering through the province is the River Kwae [kway], mispronounced “kwai” in the movie The Bridge On the River Kwai. Kanchanaburi is best known to World War II history buffs as the site of the memorial for the Burma-Siam Railway, also known as the Death Railway. At the Hellfire Pass Museum we learned about the human cost. About 60,000 Prisoners of War, mostly from Britain and Australia were involved in building the Railway. Of that number 16,000 died, mostly of malnutrition and disease. Trying to grasp the inhumanity of war was difficult for my seventh grade ESL students. Here are excerpts from their Kanchanaburi Journals.

Tom:
They died because they did more work and they eat two times a day. They worked everyday [so] they finish in 20 months. Before they finish, many, many people died.

Pop:
Today at Hellfire Pass Museum I see many pictures of many thin men. They died because of sickness, not enough food, and they got tortured to death. They have to work 18 hours a day.

What is less well-known, probably because their stories haven’t yet been told, is that there were 200,000 Asian laborers here that the Japanese army conscripted to work on the railroad. Called Romusha, they were supposed to be paid for their work but few were paid at all. Some 90,000 Romusha died building the Railway. Robert's dad once told me his brother had come to work on the Railway. Afterwards, he never saw or heard from him again. In stark terms, a quarter of the Romusha and the soldiers died.

Nicky:
Many Asian [workers] and Allied [soldiers] died. I learn how the war started and what damage the Japanese did.

Boss:
That tells me to be better because if I don’t try to work hard I will be a person who have a lot of problems.

Blaming the Japanese is understandable. But many Buddhists here believe that when bad things happen to you it is because of your past actions, either in this life or another. So the victim is never entirely blameless. It is a concept alien to Westerners used to the idea of laying blame and accepting responsibility.

As we walked down to the rail bed in the hot afternoon sun, we stumbled over the uneven white stones and the stubborn remnants of railroad ties. Hellfire Pass is surrounded by parched hills, the trees as brittle as sun-bleached bones. Through the silence of the hills and the still air clinging to the cut rock, we can almost hear the faint chink of metal on rock, and the thin distant cries of the men that worked here in 1942-43. In the hazy daylight the place is hallowed, a sacred place of memory. Always sensitive to atmospheres, the students automatically lowered their voices. The keepers of memory had beaten back the jungle from the track, but in the middle of the rail bed grew a tall saprok tree, an Indian olive, its thin canopy in the dazzling sky, its roots high enough to form an arch. Nicha climbs in and poses for her picture. Did one of the Romusha or a POW ever find shelter beneath the roots of a saprok? Past and present seem to come together in this place.

That evening we watched The Bridge on the River Kwai in the Sai Yoke conference room. The kids, who are used to the fast pace and movement of music videos, think Kung Fu Panda is a cool movie. To them, this was a boring war movie with no action. They were restless, like a head of steam building with nowhere to go. Some fell asleep, others talked in low voices. Being language learners, much of the dialogue was incomprehensible, even with subtitles. As young as they are, the concept that war overturns principles and corrupts a person's moral judgment was beyond their understanding. At 9:30, we switched off the DVD and said it was bedtime. They cheered for their release, as any prisoner would.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Kanchanaburi, Thailand
Day 2 Week Without Walls

Middle School students have a lot of energy. They do not waste it, nor do they hoard it. Living in the moment, they embrace activity. The Ninja Camp, an obstacle course, is perfect for these tween-agers. There was a truly surreal moment when 12 kids in a tub paddled around the corner of the water course warbling Christmas Carols, the only English songs they knew. The most amazing thing was watching them being forced by each obstacle to work together--they had to, in order to succeed. If only I could build that into my lessons...

Boss:
It made me know that we have our team but [if] we don’t help each other, [then] somebody will fall down into the water. And if we don’t think what we gonna do [then] we will fall too.

In the afternoon, we took a ride on the track that had originally been laid by the prisoners and the laborers for the Burma-Siam Railway. It no longer goes from Bangkok to Rangoon but at Namtok we picked it up. The train rattled out of the steep green River Kwae valley and up into the hot dry Central Plains. The farmers grow tapioca there. They are funny looking skinny bowlegged stalks with a green hat of leaves on top. The drought had seared the landscape. Everyone felt thirsty just looking at it.

That afternoon, the train was filled with 48 middle school students and their teachers, plus a group of depressed red-faced farang tourists looking hot and disappointed. The train was a very basic affair, with no amenities. That is, no air conditioning. The heat poured in the windows. Walking up and down the aisles, vendors sold snacks and refreshments. The kids scooped up the water and the soda as soon as the bucket appeared filled with cold drinks.

The buses were waiting at Thakilen station for us. The kids streamed off the train and headed for the air-conditioned buses the way water runs downhill. Mars, our Supremissima (logistics is her specialty), made everyone—regardless of how hot, tired, and sweaty—get off the bus for a head count. She announced, We are NOT coming back for anyone! Satisfied that we had not misplaced a single precious person, she allowed the students to re-board the buses. There was a good deal of grumbling as we headed back to the hotel.

We had dinner on the patio that the sun had baked all day. The tiles radiated heat in the still evening air. The electric fans stirred the heavy stillness. Incredibly, we had scheduled a campfire on a boiling night to sing songs and play games for one hour. We slapped on insect repellent but no self-respecting mosquito would go near that blazing fire. It amazes me how cheerfully the Thai go on with life and fun when all around them, life is cranky because of the heat.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Kanchanaburi, Thailand
Day 3 Week Without Walls

Traditionally, the Week Without Walls includes a stint of community service. Today, the students planted trees. The hotel provided a truck that took us up the hill to a field. We were given trowels, watering cans, and treelings to plant. It was too simple. The kids had to do more than just dig, insert plant in hole, cover hole with dirt, then water. We teachers decided that they had to do more than that. To do community service, one must break a sweat. We decided the kids would pick up trash at the Erawan Falls today.

Boss:
If we don't have enough trees in our world everybody will be so hot.

The Erawan Falls are the source of the Kwae Yai [Big Kwae] which joins the Kwae Noi [Small Kwae] at the town of Kanchanaburi. The entire hike is about 1.7 km from the base of the falls to the top. The Falls have seven levels, each one more difficult to get to than the last, allowing for a crude track and stairs in various stages of disrepair. As it has been everyday since we got here, the air was breathless and heavy with the heat. We looked forward to refreshing dips in the cool blue water.

Nicky:
It was very fun to run with my friend. We race each other to climb to the next level.

To preserve the environment, we weren’t allowed to take any food with us past level two. We were allowed to take bottles of water, though, provided we left a Baht 10 deposit at the ranger’s station for each bottle we took up to the Falls. We quickly ate a picnic lunch at stage two, which we decided was our base camp, then hurried off to begin our hike. Our students, used to having maids and mothers pick up after them, left the remnants of their picnic where they ate, much to the annoyance of the teachers.

Tom:
Me and Boss went to [level] seven. It is the top one.

On the way back down, we had the kids pick up trash along the pathways. Despite the ban on food, there was still a good amount of trash to be collected; for example: drinking straws, candy wrappers, the cellophane seals of water bottles, and water bottle caps. Unfortunately, since the students hadn’t done a good job of cleaning up their picnic site; it was raided by a monkey troop. The monkeys brazenly ripped open the potato chips, ate the fried chicken with gusto, and treated themselves to fruit for dessert. They ignored the humans who tried to shoo them away and generally behaved like ill-mannered guests at a dinner party. It was absurdly human-like behavior and quite unnerving.

Boss:
When we go up [the Falls] if we don't help each other [then] somebody will get very hurt. And it made me know about how to help one another. Like when somebody can't go up on the high rock I help them.

After dinner that evening, the students entertained themselves and us with Thai karaoke songs. Most of the teachers didn’t understand a word but the students sang and waved and swayed with the music, all happy to be in the moment among friends. They were free to speak Thai, with no admonitions for once to "Speak English!" That left most teachers and the few Japanese and Korean students looking on quizzically. It was a glimpse into teen culture, exclusive and exclusionary, even for a teen.

Thursday, February 26, 2008
Kanchanaburi, Thailand
Day 4, Week Without Walls

Instead of boarding a bus today, we walked down to the edge of the Kwae Noi, the small green river that flows through the trees outside my window. There we boarded two pontoon rafts that were tied up to the pier. Two long-tailed boats towed us out into the channel where we chugged upriver to the Lawa Cave. The trip up-river was cool and refreshing. Even this close to the river, I noticed some bamboo were dead. Pinky, our hotel guide, said that it was the end of their life cycle. Every 60 years they flower and die. I saw a beautiful tree with pink flowers that leaned far over, as if drinking deeply from the river. It is called pak goom and it is a local delicacy. The leaves are first steeped in water to release their sour flavor. The sour water is mixed with pounded chilies to make a paste that is eaten with rice.

Nicky:
I have an accident in the cave. Somebody told me to walk fast so I fell down.

We docked at a rickety pontoon pier that reminded me of the "fatal rafts" at the Ninja Camp. I half-expected to be dumped into the river at any moment. We climbed a steep flight of steps to the landing stage where there was a shop to buy water, snacks, and souvenirs. The students milled around the counter getting their water. After a few minutes, we herded them up another steep flight of steps to the cave. It was dimly lighted inside, and the gravel floor was uneven and slippery. It smelled strongly of ammonia from bat excrement. Pinky bumped her head on a low-hanging stalactite. Nicky slipped and bruised his right arm, which he played for all the sympathy he could get. Curiously, it never bothered him during mealtimes but he groaned gustily when writing his daily reflection.

After lunch, we set off for Phu Tha Khien School on the grounds of a temple about 5 minutes from the hotel. Their head teacher told us that the children are also international students because they are not Thai. Phu Tha Khien is a pre-school for the local community of Mon and Burmese. Ironically, our kids call themselves international but most of them do speak Thai. We brought games to play with the children and afterwards, donated them to the school. The children sang for us.

Boss:
I like this week the most. I learn how to be a team. But when we play football we are not a team.


Then it was on to another school, Phu Toei, where most of the hotel staff children attend. We brought books and school supplies for them. The children here ranged in age from kindergarten to age 12. We broke up into small groups to play games with the children. Our middle school boys said their boys were really good at soccer. They received quite a drubbing; 4-0.


Talent show night. The kids entertained us with a northeastern folk dance, reader’s theater, an anti-fashion show, and dances from their favorite pop music videos. Even my boys were persuaded to dance. The best part was the eighth grade Thai class's performance of Romeo and Juliet using a script they wrote themselves. Of course, it was a chance for the eighth graders to play dress up. The girls wore heels and party frocks. The boys wore suits. The nice thing is that everyone knows the story of Romeo and Juliet. The star- crossed lovers have been at cross-purposes for centuries but I believe none have been at cross-cultural purposes until tonight. The eighth graders brought the Bard to Kanchanaburi.

In the introduction, the narrator modestly protested the play would not be exciting. It was not to be. When Juliet found out she was going to be married off to “Count Paris” she bawled and sniveled loudly. Her tears couldn’t move a crocodile much less her parents. So Juliet tried a new strategy. She told her mother she was in love with someone else. After expressing some concern about her daughter’s poor choice in men, Mom assured Juliet that she would speak to Dad. Whereupon Juliet said gratefully, “Thanks, Mom!” as if she had just received a big raise in her allowance. But, failing to get out of the arranged marriage, Juliet turned to another adult, a priest, for help. Feeling sorry for her, he gave her a vial of medicine that would mimic death. She said, “Do I eat it?” (In Thai the expression khin ya literally means “eat medicine.”). “No, drink it,” said the priest. It was a deft piece of code-switching. Juliet obediently took her medicine.

Thinking Juliet was dead, poor Romeo killed himself. Then Juliet of course, woke up. After expressing a little dismay at finding her lover dead, she looked around quickly, produced a knife out of thin air, and stabbed herself (pook!). For the finale, the polite narrator entered stage left to read her speech. She scanned the stage for an available remote microphone. Unfortunately, Romeo and Juliet’s corpses were lying on top of both microphones. Suddenly, they rose from the dead and gave up their mikes. To rebuke us for laughing so much, their teacher plaintively observed afterward that the play was meant to be serious. She thought it was a tragedy. I confess I thought it was comedy. It turned out the satire was entirely accidental.

For our contribution to the talent or lack thereof, we teachers did a dance to the Thai pop tune “Playgirl” that includes the silly chorus, “yay, yay, yay, YAY!” We’d only rehearsed for 15 minutes before the show. We were awful. But that was whole idea.

Friday, February 27, 2009
Between Kanchanaburi and Bangkok, Thailand
Day 5 Week Without Walls

Pop: It is so fun.

We were hoping to squeeze in a visit to the Prommit Film Studios for a tour of the set of the epic movie The Legend of King Naresuan. It was not possible. We had so much to do after breakfast--room inspection, check out, picture taking, packing up the buses, and the inevitable head count--that we got to the studio too late for the tour. We had to be back in Bangkok at 2:30 so that students could catch the school buses. It was a pity but time is not negotiable, as Mars likes to remind us. We ate a pack lunch on board so we wouldn’t have to stop. We arrived at RIST at exactly 2:30 p.m. The kids greeted their friends who were left behind at school, then wandered off to be claimed by their parents or to board the Also Inevitable Bus. Relieved and feeling anti-climactic as well, the teachers wandered away too. The Week Without Walls was over.