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
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
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
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
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
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