Ode to Phad Phak Bung Fai Dang

Oh phad phak bung fai dang...
The shear memory of your flavor and my taste buds sang.

I just couldn't get enough of your garlic and fish sauce soaken leaves.
Never was I to imagine such pleasure, such joy, from a common jungle weed.

But now as I live in the land of peanut sauce and satay,
The memory of your availability and affordability seem so far away.

And while for not every mouth did your sinewy stems behoove,
for you would wedge yourself between molars which no toothpick could remove.

I shall never overlook your common place on every menu,
And order you at any meal, anytime of day, and any venue.

So don't be put off by those who request tom yam or bamee hang,
Feel confident and fry proud cause you are so phad phak bung fai dang!

To my neighbors

You gave me strange looks when I first made the move,
most likely for all the times you've seen me baking in the nude.

But despite unintentional culturally insensitive behavior,
you continue to be kind, supportive, and entertaining neighbors.

There are times you bring me fruits from your abundant farms
and welcome me home with your sawadika charms.

You scouted out vets when my cat was ill
and helped me break into my house climbing over my windowsill.

You wake me in the early dawn with your lovely thai folk tunes
and provide endless entertainment when you drink too much on sunday afternoons.

And even though I was outraged when you cut down every last single tree,

I realized it was to prevent those evil little jins from descending upon me.

You make sure the entire village is kept abreast of my whereabouts
so that when I need anyone, or anything, all I need do is shout.

You let me practice my Thai and show no lack of patience
especially when I exclaim "my cat house orange!", making absolutely no sense

You invite me to whiskeys at 9am and karaoke at midnight,
You've even shown up at Thanksgiving with a dish that, well, I can't describe.

And at times you burn trash, smoking me out of house and home,
But it's no big deal, cause we all know I do that on my own.

But alas it's time to vacate my tree house in Hua Fai
And head for a high-rise apartment in that polluted Jakarta sky.

And with all your loud speakers and shouting to remind me I'm never...ever alone.
I'll never forget how for three and a half years, you made that house a home.

The art of death, dying, and euthanizing

I guess it was to be expected. A little bit of Buddhism was bound to rub off on me no matter how much I resist adhering to any religious philosophy. But more lethal than religion is the combination of religion, culture and veterinarians.

It all started with Ceiba. Named after the enormous, notoriously strong, tropical tree I learned of while in Latin America. My cat had absolutely no resemblance to his name. He was constantly whining when left alone, while his sister Sofia (pictured above) hunted rats, and cowering under her when threatened by the neighbor's psychotic cat. Well, long story short, Ceiba died on my local Thai vet's table after he (the vet) had floundered hopelessly with every gadget he could find in his little, ill-equipped, clinic (obviously no bitterness here) and attempted to poke, prod, and even pound my kitten with these various tools. And go figure, with his sound approach to diagnosis and treatment, Ceiba seized and died right there on the table. Now, as I was keeled over, crying (admittedly a little melodramatically), the vet proceeded to run behind a partition and hide. I called for him, asking what the hell to do with my deceased cat's body, but no response. He just stood there, behind the thin curtain that separated us (but in no way hid him), until I gave up and left his office with my rigamortis-prone feline. Angry, I thought what an incompetent excuse for an animal doctor and vowed never to return.

Well, I broke that vow and immediately returned upon discovering Sofia (Ceiba's much stronger, independent, sister) extremely ill and panting heavily. As I dismounted my motorbike in front of his office, I noticed him sitting at his desk and thought "thank Whoever Up There he is here!." However, by the time I took off my shoes and entered his clinic, he had abandoned his desk and was no where to be found. Naturally, I called for him, until a small Burmese boy came out and managed (with great difficulty) to get out the message "mai mee mai mee" (not here not here). I eloquently retorted "ti ni ti ni" (here, here) and pointed to his now empty desk where he was just seen sitting like 40 seconds before. The boy insisted with a an unsure repetition of his learned Thai phrase and I thought, how could this sweet looking boy just lie to my face. But lie he did, and as a pretty damn good liar myself, I have to give him credit for sticking to his story. I contemplated sweeping back the curtain and revealing Dr. Oz, but resisted. After all, how many other 11 year old Burmese bodyguards might he keep back there. So, I left and continued my search for a vet who could save my Sofia. Well, five vets later (including a large animal clinic with an billboard advertisement of raw beef cuts out front...dark humor if you ask me), I finally found a lovely pair of female vets to care for my helpless pet.

Now this pair deserves a short introduction. Pi Oom is the vet with actual medical knowledge. Her assistant, however, seems to have no medical knowledge whatsoever. But for what she lacks in training, she makes up for in bed side manner. She is a stout, but rather "round" woman who is all giggles and absolutely adores anything with fur. I know this because upon bringing a dying Sofia into her clinic, Pi Oom proceeded with the anticipated diagnostic questions, while her assistant produced a high pitch squeal as she wildly rubbed her face on Sofia's belly. Sofia had been in great pain for days. FIV -- Feline Immunodeficiency Virus. After a series of sleepless nights, where I repeatedly threw myself on her (not my entire weight mind you...I wasn't trying to kill her myself), and asking to the sky "Whyyyyyy???? Whyyyyy?", I had decided to let her go. After visiting every vet in Mae Sot (yet again) and repeatedly being told there was nothing to be done, I asked Pi Oom, if she would kindly put her to sleep. Well, it never crossed my mind that this being a Buddhist country and all, Pi Oom refused to kill another living thing....and so did Pi Chit...and so did Pi Sukit...and so on and so on. Funny how this seems to apply to painfully dying animals, but there seems to be no issues in chopping down every goddamn tree in my neighborhood, or beating your wife. But it's these little cultural dichotomies that keep one guessing, I guess.

Anyway, after concluding that not a single qualified vet in Mae Sot would kill my cat, I asked the only unqualified person that would. My neighbor. My neighbor is a what one would call a "handy man". He has fixed everything for me from replacing a fake tooth of mine on the wooden bench of my porch to burying my other deceased cat in his back yard. He's the guy you call in a pinch of any sort, and just, well, gets the job done. So, when I approached him about euthanizing my Sofia, he asked no questions and appeared on my doorstep with some combination of strong anesthetics (for her) and a bottle of vodka (for me). After a painful 5 hours, she lulled off into an infinite sleep and my neighbor carried her body home to be buried next to her brother in his back yard. Thank you neighbor...

So, least to say this had been a learning experience in a multitude of ways.

1. Don't get a cat in Thailand. Just don't. The survival rate of cats in this country is basically long enough to form attachments but not long enough for them to have a satisfying life or die with dignity.

2. Be nice to your neighbors. If you should ever need some cheap dental work, or an immediate home euthanizing, who else you gonna turn to?

3. If you should decide not to take my first piece of advice (which I didn't), get every single fricking vaccination on the planet injected into your little furry friend.

So, that is just what I have done. I adopted a friend's cat who needed a home, (I know...I'm a sucker), and immediately upon doing so, took her straight to my two lady friend vets to be shot up with every drug in the book. I kept pointing to my new pet saying in the sort of English one would only speak to a special needs, deaf person "heealllthy.....heealthyyyyyy" to ensure that they were sure what I meant. Well, turns out they thought that was the name of the cat and retorted with a large smile "Oh...Sukapatdi ("healthy" in Thai)!" So that is her name, and after two years, "Sukapatdi" she is and going strong...

...for now.

Can you heal me now?

So, after two and half years in Thailand, I've finally managed to clearly introduce myself to the local people. Yes, one would suspect this mastery after reading Lonely Planet's Thai Language Dictionary or even within my first two Thai lessons, but no, that one is wrong. My Thai friends and neighbor's know me as Blooke. Yes, that beautiful combination of phonemes represent me! Blooke.

Now as a language teacher...or maybe just as a person with hearing capabilities, one immediately realizes that Thai's have difficulty pronouncing l's and r's. Actually, it's not that they have difficulty pronouncing them, they just switch them. So I become Blooke, and my co-worker Blake becomes Brake. Now, call me a little slow, but it wasn't until recently that I decided to conduct a little linguistic experiment (the full paper will be published somewhere by some unknown publishing company at an unknown future date).

Hypothesis: If Thai's can say Blooke and Brake clearly, then they should be able to say Brooke and Blake clearly.

Methodology: In a taxi in Bangkok with my friend's Kristi and Allison, I engage in an introductory conversation with our driver. I've included the transcript below.

DIRVER: What your name?

ME: Blooke.

DRIVER: What?

ME: BLooke.

DRIVER: Nice meet you Brooke!

ME: And these are my friends Klisti and Arrison.

DRIVER: What?

ME: KListi and ARRison.

DRVIER: Sawadee kap Kristi and Allison.

Analysis: It appears pronunciation is not the problem at all, but healing...I mean hearing. You could also check out others' analysis, although I question the scientific validity behind their approach:
http://hlt.nectec.or.th/hlt/administrator/components/com_jresearch/files/publications/ntj.pdf

Implication: So if your name is Lacy Rick Blain, when visiting Thailand, be sure to introduce yourself as Racy Lick Brain.

Good ruck!

The 80 Baht Challenge

I was going to blog about my bowel movements during this little experiment of going culinarily local, but then thought I might lose my only reader. So mom, because I appreciate my fan, I'll just blog about all the great deals I find on cheap food in Mae Sot and my mood swings as a result of being cheese, coffee, and pastry deprived.

*For detailed pictures of various dishes referenced below, see my challenge comrades blog http://writingoutloud.tumblr.com/

DAY 1 - 78 Baht ($2.59)
Breakfast: 18 Baht (59 cents) - Flatbread, bean curry, chick peas, and tea
Lunch: 30 Baht ($1) - Pad See Ew...And ewww is right! This is the last time I spend almost half my daily allowance on a noodle dish the size of my palm. I left starving and angry.
Dinner: 30 Baht ($1) - Bamii noodle soup...worth every Baht.

DAY 2 - 75 Baht ($2.42)
Breakfast: 10 Baht (32 cents) - Hua Fai Mohingha ....might make this a morning ritual. What ever will I do with a whole 70 Baht left for the day!
Lunch: 25 Baht (81 cents) - Kao Mung Gai "tamada"...couldn't splurge for the pi set
Snack: 10 Baht (32 cents) - A bunch of bananas...these should ease the hunger pangs for the rest of the week
Dinner: 25 Baht (32 cents) - Kao Soi
Dessert: 5 Baht (16 cents) - Coconut Macaroon Muffin

DAY 3 - 73 Baht ($2.36)
Breakfast: 13 Baht (42 cents) - flatbread and Burmese tea
Lunch: 15 Baht (49 cents) - pumpkin and eggplant curry, rice, flatbread
Snack: 15 Baht (29 cents) - Burmese tea, potato samosas
Dinner: 20 Baht (65 cents) - Pad Kpoa with sticky rice...if you shovel this in your mouth right before playing an hour long soccer game, you feel so sick that you feel full!
Dessert: 10 Baht (32 cents) - Banana and coconut sticky rice cake...what the hell do you call those things?

DAY 4 - 80 Baht ($2.60)
Breakfast: 17 Baht (55 cents) - Chickpea wrapped ni flat bread...I like to call it a Burmese breakfast burrito.
Lunch: 23 Baht (75 cents) - Fake meat curry wrapped in flat bread with a side of fried ginger rice ball.
Dinner: 40 Baht ($1.30) - Mataba and cucumber over saffron and clove rice...you may wonder why so expensive? But you get serenaded with the call to prayer from the mosque across the street twice in one meal!

The Pressure of Sponsorship

I’m starting to wonder why most of my cultural experiences stem from my yoga studio. But I guess that’s what happens when you become somewhat of a “project” for them….them trying to get you to shower….them praising your Thai 12-year-old-school-girl haircut…and them willing to sponsor you in the annual “Mae Sot Marathon” (just so long as you wear the Luckana Fitness T-shirt and win 1st place).

Now, not being to accustomed to sponsorship for my “athletic abilities”, I couldn’t turn this opportunity down. And might I clarify, that “marathon” is a term applied rather loosely here, and actually means 10km. So considering, I couldn’t say no.

With that, it was the night before the race, over a few too many glasses of wine, that I received a call from my sponsor.

Sponsor: Sawadee ka Brooke!

Me: Uh…hi? Who is this?

Sponsor: Luckana! From Luckana Fitness! We just want to make sure you’re ready to win the race tomorrow!

Me: (gulp gulp gulping wine)…Uh yeah! Totally ready! Been training in my head all night long!

Sponsor: Good to hear. All we need is your full name and birthday to register you for the race.

Me: Brooke Mackenzie. January 6, 1981.

Sponsor: Great! See you at 5:30 tomorrow morning, near the bridge, for the warm-up aerobics session.

Me: Warm-up aerobics session?

Sponsor: Yeah. You, along with Kathy (the other lucky sponsored foreigner) will lead the runners in aerobics for a few minutes before the race.

Me: Oh…yeah…riiiigght. Ok then. Five thirty it is!

Now, back to my wine, I start to wonder if I should put a cork in it and hit the sack. After all, what good would a night of drinking do for my peppiness during the 5am aerobics session? As I ponder the causal relationship between pinot and pep, the phone rings….my sponsor again.

Sponsor: Uh…Pi Brooke? Are you sure your birth date is 1981?

Me: Yeah…that’s one thing I’m pretty certain about.

Sponsor: Well, that would make you 29 years old.

Me: And the winner for the Captain Obvious Award goes to….okay didn’t really say that.

Me (really): Yup…that would. I don’t turn 30 for another couple of weeks.

Sponsor: So that means you’ll be running in the 18 – 29 age group rather than the 30 – 39.

Me: Yes…yes it does.

Sponsor: Well in that case…don’t worry about winning. You just have fun out there okay?

Me (thinking): Ooooohhhh! I get it. This 29 yr old can’t beat an 18 yr old. All your hopes and dreams of putting Luckana Fitness on the Mae Sot map for marathon champion 2010 swirling down the drain!

Me (really): Uh…okay…”fun” at 5:30 it is! Does this mean I don’t have to lead the aerobics session?

So in the battle between wine and winning, wine wins! And I keep drinking.

The wee hours of the next morning were kind of a blur (if you remember wine won the war last night)….

5:15 – Alarm goes off shockingly loud

5:30 – I am greeted by my cheery sponsor, swept to a “VIP” room off the side of the aerobics stage and presented with a pink and black XXXL (meaning XXXS) Luckana Fitness shirt.

5:45 – On stage, in front of hundreds of “marathoners” gyrating to techno-fied Thai pop music…otherwise known as “aerobics”

6:00 – Standing erect at the start line as the national anthem blares over loud speakers

6:15 – running

6:30 – running

6:45 – still running and starting to regret drinking the night before

7:00 - Definitely in a state of regret and still running

7:04 – Crossing the finish line, greeted by my sponsor and a local camera crew with huge smiles and two-thumbs up.

7:05 – With Kathy, being interviewed by Mae Sot local news station for winning the race. Sponsor and gang still thumbs-upping behind camera man.

7:15 – On podium accepting silver medal, alongside Kathy accepting gold, and receiving our trophies.

7:17 – “And first place go to Kathy from…” –sponsor grabbing microphone and screaming “LUCKANA FINTESS!!!!!”

7:19 – “And second place go to Blok (Thai pronunciation of Brooke) from….” –sponsor milking it for all it’s worth yet again and screaming “LUCKANA FITNESS!!!!”

7:25 – passed out in my bed, medal around my neck, wondering what the hell just happened, and getting a glimpse of what it must feel like to be an Olympic athlete...or at least a Mae Sot Marathoner.

DeuteRATomy 7:1-2

"Well, human beings are remarkably adaptable species."

I casually explain as my parents' concerned expressions turn perplexed while clicking through photos of my "home" in Thailand (it only makes sense to them if I use finger-qoutes with each reference). So, I don't have a western toilet, nor any kitchen or bathroom sink to speak of. So, there are cracks letting light seep in from the outside between every plank of wood that make up my walls and I don't have a ceiling or windows with any screens or glass separating me from the outside world. So, so, so... I've learned to live in this environment. And not to say it was easy at first. Believe me, I would nervously tip toe across my house, outside to my bathroom at night, trying to minmalize the possiblity of crushing a giant snail under my bare feet. Or cringe with anxiety every time I felt around a corner for the light switch, half expecting to rudely awaken mating geckos in a post-coitel embrace with my finger tips. But my nerves eased and so did my step as I walked through my new home and learned to live with these tropical creatures...or rather, they learned to let me co-habitate with them.

When I first moved in, I decided that I would scrub every corner of my stilted log cabin, as to clearly indicate to the rest of the jungle that this was human territory. I assumed that ants wouldn't enjoy the taste of floor cleaner and that the spiders would migrate as soon as they found their little intricate web palaces destroyed. But it had never occurred to me that the jungle would be territorial. So each day, as I forcibly scooted large Tokeys (pictured above) out from behind my dish cabinet with a broom, I was shocked to see them right back where they started the very following afternoon. Then an "old timer" expat explained that those lizards are extremely territorial and if they were there first, well then, you best be getting their permission to squat. So, I learned to live with the Tokeys and various other creatures for that matter, including a chameleon-like frog and her lover in my shower, a giant poison-pissing toad in my hiking boot on my porch, and a prehistoric looking spider the size of my hand, occupying the space between my squat toilet and the cement wall. Yes, WE lived peacefully and happily for over a year together until THEY came.

THEY = pellet pooping, scratching and scampering rodents shredding everything in their path....the rat.

At first it was no big thing. I would hear them above my sleeping head at night and occasionally spotted one traversing the beams in my living room, but they did no harm. And by this point I was in a rather Buddhist mindset of living harmoniously with the living around me. I even came face to face with one frantically scurrying about my kitchen in search for safety and found the little creature quite cute--mouse-like with a rat tail. But upon coming home from being away in the US for about a month, I threw Buddhism out the door and took on a more biblical approach.

When the Lord your God brings you into the land you are entering to possess and drives out before you many nations -- the Hittites, Girgashites, Amorites, Canaanites, Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites, seven nations larger and stronger than you -- 2 and when the Lord your God has delivered them over to you and you have defeated them, then you must destroy them totally. Make no treaty with them, and show them no mercy.

-Deuteronomy 7:1-2

Now by "seven nations larger and stronger than you" I believe the author here is referring to the kingdom of rats that had overtaken my entire home. The teak beams supporting my house had become a rodent super highway with the little bastards furiously criss-crossing over each other to get to another side of the house where they would proceed to defecate and fornicate in dark corners. The spare bedroom where I was storing a friend's wardrobe and household goods, had been turned into a birthing clinic with homemade rats nests created from toilet paper and (ironically) tear-proof, weather resistant nylon straps from a new backpack I bought the year before.

I carefully surveyed the damage of their invasion and began plotting my revenge while twiddling my thumbs and emitting thought bubbles chanting "I must destroy them totally...I must destroy them totally." So, I hopped on my motorbike and zipped on down to the TESCO Lotus in town, where I purchased two circular disks covered in a sticky black tar-like substance, one bottle of rat poison to be mixed with rice, small white chalk-like balls that apparently emit an odor far too pleasant for rats to enjoy, and a packet of pink pellets that when eaten make rats extremely thirsty and force them out of your house in search of water...where they eventually die of thirst. Yes, I was making no treaty and showing no mercy.

I layed my weaponry out in strategic locations throughout my house and 15 minutes later, as I was skyping with my mother, I got a bite. The high-pitched screaming and thumping of a plastic disc against the wall caused my mother to ask, "What the HELL is going on over there?" I went into the spare room to examine my prisoner. To his credit (yes, I'm assuming it was a male based on the fact that he was stupid enough to get caught), he had managed to grab a bit of shredded pork from the center of the tar disk and turned around quick enough only getting his hind legs stuck in the goo. So, his front half was hanging off the disc and frantically clawing at the wood floor to rip himself off and scamper behind the bed. Obviously this wasn't working because the large plastic disc just follow him and wouldn't fit behind the bed. So, the little rascal decided it was time for Plan B. Now, he was furiously gnawing at the plastic, I assume trying to eat his way out. It was at this point that I knew he was a man.

So, the trap had done its part, now it was my turn. And that's when I turned to my mom, witnessing this whole ordeal on her computer screen. "Now what do I do?" If I tried to pick up the disk, I had a strong feeling that the little lad would arch back 180 degrees and chomp into my hand in an act of pure desperation. So, my mom suggested that I get a long stick and get one end stuck in the black tar, where I can then lift the entire thing and take it out to the trash can down the street. This seemed like a fine idea in theory. So, my mom, perched on my kitchen table, supported me as good moms do, as I walked an old broom with a squealing, convulsing rat at the end of it, through my house, out my front door, down the road, and to the trash bin on the corner. But as I approached the trash bin, I suddenly realized that I couldn't just let this thing to die all alone in the bottom of garbage bin. Or risk one of the street scavengers being attacked as he collects cans. I know...perfect time to have a stroke of humanity. So, with the quick thinking skills of McGyver, I continued past the trash can, straight towards the stagnant bog next to my house, where I proceeded to force the rat and sticky disc under water with the broom, until the tiny little air bubbles ceased to rise to the surface. Destroyed.

Or were they? I still had the Brady Bunch breeding in my friend's clothes, but luckily for me, baby rats are even more stupid than their parents. Five little tikes jumped head first into another gooey black pit, suffocating themselves in the sticky mess and leaving a much quicker and painless clean-up for me! Then, I got two cats. Destroyed. Totally.