Thailand

Thailand: Embrace the Chaos (Bangkok)

2 February 2005 by Nathalie Abejero Leave a Comment

I was standing at a busy intersection waiting amid a large crowd of pedestrians to cross the street, when someone pinched my butt. I glared heavenwards at the asinine behavior before turning slowly around. And looked up. And up. There was a tree behind me. And it honked. Right in the middle of the Bangkok congestion, in rush hour, an elephant is standing behind me waiting to cross the street. Where else would you see this!! Alright, ok, it’s still a novel appeal to me. I walked next to the massive creature for a few blocks, touching his trunk, his leg, a stupid smile on my face.

Thailand is the only SE Asian country to have escaped the good fortune of Western colonization, a subject of much debate as to why (that was sarcasm). Farming villages, especially those outside guidebook-assisted traffic, manage to preserve an authentic traditional culture. It is one of the last three countries in Asia (Cambodia and Korea are the others) to retain the unifying symbolism of its royal family. Like the typical middle-developing capital city assaulted by a rush of progress faster than its infrastructure can keep pace, Bangkok is dynamic, evolving, exhausting. It is extravagance and exotic refinement, hosted by a culture of reverence and hospitality, amid pollution, congestion, chaos. Streets are rapidly and irreverently stripped of local flavor in favor of sterile megamalls and concrete warrens of Starbucks, GAPs, multi-cineplexes. Professionals favor western garbs over finer traditional silks and prints. There is a concerning eagerness to emulate the standards of westernization ie Singapore.

Despite the clash of modernization with cultural identity, Bangkok offers the friendliest hospitality to newbie globetrotters and jaded planeteers alike. The population is highly literate; many people speak some english; western currency gets good mileage. Legions of tuk-tuks (tricycles), motorbikes, and taxis roar down the left side of wide boulevards that can be pedestrian-unfriendly. My jaywalking days were put to a screeching halt quite literally when I stepped off the curb looking for traffic in the wrong direction and was instantly plowed into, thankfully by only a tuk-tuk. A collective of older ladies peeled me off the street and helped me cross the street, holding my hands like I was a child. It was very cute.

Sensory speaking, I lived an impoverished age. From the moment I stepped off the plane my senses have been assaulted by the extremes of sight, sound, smell. Resplendent temple rooftops mark the signature skyline with their vibrant gold. Streets are lined with market stalls selling orchids, traditional handicrafts, knockoff-brand merchandise (of surprisingly good quality, I found), fine silks and textiles—it is a bargain hunter’s disneyland and a premier destination for vendors in the country. Pushcart kitchens and bars are everywhere. A special Thai moonshine that I swear is straight rubbing alcohol is found only on these street bars.

Seekers of Siam Exotica are not disappointed. I passed a snake blood stand and watched the vendor hang an unlucky reptile, slit it open with a razor, and drain its blood for a fresh warm shot. It supposedly is restorative for many systemic ills; only the poisonous ones will do. For dire situations, king cobra venom mixed with a bit of whiskey is the ticket. Dried gall bladders, fried hearts, pickled genitals are all readily available as well for the uncompromising palate. Flash strips and the skin trade hawking Oriental decadence waken every evening next to swanky shopping centers. Drugs of all kinds are available with the right eye contact. The basest desires transcend linguistic barriers.

And the FOOD!!! Thai food from the best restaurants can’t compare to the vibrant succulence that attack your palate and olfactory glands here. I found and devoured the remotest familiar fruit, drink, and concoction that I remembered from childhood in the tropics plus more (my palate thankfully had the good sense to stop at durian). Meals are so cheap that many apartments aren’t equipped with kitchens. Portions are small for western standards (Keith will need to purchase the kitchen’s reserves!). D and I are about a size 2 in the US; older ladies here grab our arms in good-natured ribbing and laugh at how “fat” we are (in the Philippines it was a compliment).

No standard system exists for transliterating Thai script into Roman so quick lateral adjustments are necessary. Ayutthaya on a map is easily Ayudhia on the street sign; ditto Chatuchak/Jatujak, Ratsada/Raitchada, etc. The tonal language subverts what linguistic logic I possess. Bound for Khao San, mecca for the backpackers, I kept accenting incorrectly. How many different ways one can intonate “Khao San” is beyond me, but I somehow accomplished it. I was dropped off clear across town from intended destination on the first try, and stayed to explore since I was already there. The next day I obliged the fates again after I insisted to no avail with the driver who took me to yet another part of town. Wondering if it’s possible to run out of ways to corrupt this name, three days later I was finally brought to the right place. I haven’t a drop of clue why.

There is a propensity towards kindness in the Thai personality. They’re an inherently good-natured, friendly, and peace-loving sort. To illustrate, unlike in neighboring countries that share their faith of Theravada Buddhism, deities here are benevolent beings, epics and legends like the Ramayana end happily ever after. Merit seeking acts of kindness to insure karmic goals are a life-long endeavor. Of course, the occasional miscreant exists and they have nothing to lose but a propitious rebirth higher up the reincarnation ladder (I wish my pickpocketer an eight-legged existence). This accompanies a natural reverence towards fellow creatures and Mother Earth, which sadly is quickly being replaced by materialism.

Women–a curious subject in whatever city I find myself. This influence on the hearts and minds of the generations is a fascinating watch, before eyes dismiss, look politely down, or smile in courteous greeting. It’s tough to miss the sheer will barely veiled in the eyes of Middle Eastern, Eastern European, Indian women, for instance, despite seeming constraint of culture. That spirit seems rule, not exception. But in the Land of Smiles gusto is mistaken for exception. Across this continent exists a vastly different modus operandi than what has served D and I well in the West, buttressed by a philosophy that honey catches more flies than vinegar. D struggles through this challenge, and I see the same frustration awaiting me.

Thailand: After the Tsunami (Phuket)

30 January 2005 by Nathalie Abejero Leave a Comment

White beaches. Emerald bays. Tranquility on a gentle breeze and the soft lap of water at your toes. The brilliant backdrop of a setting sun. Troubles reduce to inconsequence when Mother Earth bows kindly down, harnessing all of creation’s beauty, and places gently at your feet such romance. It is betrayal of the highest order to feel less than awed.

Phi Phi Island welcomed guests back for the first time last Tuesday since it was tragically robbed of its patrons a month ago. The tropical paradise, two hours off the coast of Phuket by boat, is alloted but a kindly dot on the map of Thailand to acknowledge its presence. But since the filming of Leonardo di Caprio’s “The Beach” on location, an atmosphere of mass tourism emerged. Thousands of foreigners descend on her shores each day, even in the off-season, ranking Koh Phi Phi one of the most popular vacation destinations in Asia. Ten meter waves, one after another, hundreds of miles per second, left only structural skeletons behind. I’d never seen devastation like this.

In the midst of taking in the destruction was an irreverent bit of wonder at things I’m not normally exposed to. Elephants, enlisted to clear heavy debris, were dispersed across the destroyed landscape. You may have seen a photo on the internet or news, of a navy frigate, catapulted over a kilometer inland and into a building, leaving a wake of skid marks through houses and streets. In one of the camps set up by the Mirror Foundation-Bangkok I got an unpleasant surprise. While seeking out the person in charge a juvenile simian plunked down, wrapped its legs around my neck, and proceeded to examine my scalp. A Thai boy walked by. “Uh–” I started, jabbing at the air in the monkey’s direction. He smiled, waved back, and continued on. (A stupid idiot who I have the misfortune of sharing a genetic makeup with once taught a pet monkey to light matches when I was in the northern boonies of Luzon, Philippines. Naturally it decided one day that setting me on fire was its goal in life. These creatures are an unpredictable bundle of mischief, vicious and vengeful when slighted, and I do not like them. NEVER cross a monkey.)

In Phang Nga, the hardest hit province, north of Phuket, English was hard to come by, and the best stunted Thai I could muster kept getting me dropped off miles before my destinations. So I spent a lot of time hitchhiking from one camp to the next, knowing only “zunami” in Thai, and pointing at a map. It was an atmosphere of mutual assistance throughout the affected areas. We were all in the same boat and everyone pitched in whatever small help they could contribute.

Everything was destroyed, with small pockets of areas just meters wide that were left physically unaffected. No one will eat anything from the sea. Thousands of people are still missing, and the count does not factor illegal migrants who’ve come through from Burma or other border countries to make a living off the tourism this area attracted. Species of sharks never before seen in the Andaman Sea have been found in record numbers. It is the creepiest I have ever felt in my life, especially at night, despite the most beautiful sunsets I’ve seen in a long time. Many private recovery teams were sent here by relatives of foreigners, clinging to the smallest thread of hope, unsanctioned by the UN and national governments. When army trucks came down the road these teams and their dogs took to discretion. I hooked up with other foreigners come through to help and we rented a jeep. Between the five of us we could communicate in 14 languages and surprisingly every single one came in handy through the days we were together, at the camps, forensic facilities, the embassies, the Phuket town hall which coordinated all efforts.

There was a particular team of two Dutch women that accosted us in the most bizarre encounter. We still to this day have no clue what to make of it. They were dressed in fatigues and sweating in the mid-day heat. When one of them approached the vehicle we asked if there was anything we can do to help. One of the girls, Ester, said they were here for recovery work. I’d heard at UNICEF earlier in the week that, under pressure from both foreign governments and Thai families, the recovery effort had been revived. By her dress, the behavior and actions of her partner and their dog, nothing seemed amiss. The partner called or whistled special commands and off went the dog in a strategic fashion, first around the small body of water next to the road, then into the water. There was a purpose to its actions, not at all random. Not long after it dove into the water the dog came up and began barking, swimming circles around one spot, not leaving it. Ester and her partner didn’t even glance at each other, and it barked more insistently. The other girl tossed a tennis ball, and suddenly the dog was at play. Game over. I have never seen a recovery operation. I didn’t know what this meant. Did the dog signal finding someone?

When Ester looked back at us she suddenly made no sense whatsoever. She needed people to help unearth the remains once she found them. Can we help? Suddenly it wasn’t a normal conversation anymore, though no one said anything. We asked for her partner’s name, the name of their hotel, their telephone number, if they were with an organization. She repeated, several times, all of this information, but we couldn’t understand a thing she was saying anymore. There were five of us in the vehicle, and all the woman said previously communicated clearly without a problem, but now we could not decipher her response to these questions. Her eyes were wild, she was agitated, almost desperate, and she kept repeating her request. It was like someone who is in shock. She kept asking for help and of course we assured her we would assist in any way we could. But this is a forensic procedure, there is a specific methodology involved, it is to be treated like a crime scene. At this point in time following the disaster it was no longer a crisis period. Experts were now on the ground and available–they needed to be enlisted, and certainly none of us had the slightest training in either the location or recovery aspect. She, given what evidence we saw of her team’s expertise, should recognize this. It was a marked change in her professional demeanor.

She wrote an overseas cellular number on a piece of paper for us. We barely drove half a kilometer to the army station we passed on the main thruway when we decided to turn around and hash the logistics of what the women needed so perhaps we can pick up supplies. This was a long side road down to the shore. There was nothing here, it was completely level without place to hide, no trees buildings or elevations, and they had no vehicle. Visibility to see a vehicle or person, even a dog, was very good for a long distance. But they were gone. Perhaps they moved on to a new location, so we drove further down, and in concentric circles around where we last saw them. Nothing. The stench of decay that was so strong when we earlier stopped was gone. The phone number they gave us didn’t work.

Later in the evening we came back to that location. An army truck was there, digging up remains from the water where the dog was. One of our group spoke Thai and he asked the men if they had seen a pair of Dutch women and a dog. They asked why we were asking, surprised. They’ve been trying to locate these women for many weeks but could not. They said that people kept “sighting” these women and the dog, who kept barking out locations of remains. But that was all our Thai speaker could get out of them and they said no more.

There is a perfectly logical explanation to all this I am sure. The five of us had a long week, and we think there was error in the translations or nuances of language that we didn’t pick up, from Ester, from the army men. Nevertheless, all week, we’ve felt and heard stories of profound restlessness. This event affected us the most. Buddhist monks were omnipresent, performing ceremonies throughout the shore towns, because a disgruntled spirit is believed to be a dangerous spirit, and the sight of them lent a transcendent melancholy to the air.

Resilience of the human spirit is nothing short of remarkable isn’t it. It is all terrible, and placed in such situation people must and will endure. A friend’s contact with miles about to expire flew me to Phuket, 860km south of Bangkok on the Andaman Sea. When I arrived here I felt an overwhelming homesickness, to be with or talk to the people I loved and missed, to hug them. Instead I was cut off from everything, and all the joy and rightness in life sapped right off. And this was before I even saw anything. It was a productive but awful trip. A friend in Banda Aceh has had nonstop involvement in his country’s efforts since day one. If I needed a break in my measly exposure of one week I cannot imagine the ghosts haunting his waking moments. Prayers and thoughts to you my friend.

Thailand: One Night in Bangkok

19 January 2005 by Nathalie Abejero 4 Comments

How good it feels to be alive tonight
The moon is shining in the sky
Reminding me of so many other nights
But they’re not like tonight –s.w.

It is lovely here, though in the first hours outside it did not take long for me to lose voice from pollution assaulting my vocal tracts. Happily my body is well on its way acclimating to undesirable environmental contaminations and I no longer manifest short term effects…

I don’t normally do massages cuz I’m ticklish, but after the 28hour trip my entire left side was stuck in a knot from being curled up in a ball on those horrible small seats. So I went for a Thai massage. Do you know, they BEAT you vigorously with their fists, feet, elbows, and knees, it is not relaxing at all. In fact I think I forgot completely about the knot, drawn entirely to the pain the small lady caused me on that mat. When she was done I was left for dead, face-down on the mat. A small girl accosted me with a smile and a pleasant, “would you like some tea?” “Does that come with an ambulance?” I wanted to bark back.

Common sense—don’t leave home without it. My friend DX and I had different schedules when I arrived in Bangkok so I was on my own for my first days here. On my second night I was alone and wide-awake from lingering jet lag so at 10pm I headed to Patpong to check out the nightlife. I’d heard from some of you that this was worth seeing (ha ha you snort).

Like most international cities Bangkok doesn’t sleep, even on a Tuesday night. And what I thought was an entertainment district aka dance clubs turned out to be the “entertainment” district aka the infamous red light strip. Hmm. I was wondering where that was. Well I wasn’t about to high-tail it back home so I befriended some Australians and had drinks with them at an establishment where some very interesting skills were being performed onstage (who knew women could do that down there). All was good until I started home and found that the only transportation in which local language skills were not prerequisite to navigate was the skytrain (yey for pictures) and that shut down at 1am. My Thai is quite poor—nonexistent really if you count the fact that my tonal range is off. On top of that I was earlier in the evening pickpocketed and I only then realized my contact card for D was gone. I could not recall her number or address. I was positive her street was Pay Tai (it was not), and since my pronunciation was off by tones and missing a syllable I could not coerce the cab drivers into comprehending me: “No Pad Thai street Pad Thai food”, they smiled humoringly, probably thinking, “stupid farang” (foreigner).

It is a downright sinking feeling to be lost in the middle of an unfamiliar city at the wee hours of morning, in one of the most hardcore red light districts no less, with little money, relieved of credit and calling card, and no idea where ‘home’ is. Luckily I had that day hopped onto one of the local buses for a round trip sight-see to check out a part of town, and the landmarks in the skyline I was able to recall from that trip guided me in the right direction. D was in full panic, contacting friends, the US Embassy, and the local police. The very next day she made me repeat her number fifty times, and marched me to a cellular provider to open an account. So now y’all can call me, +661.910.8214. She also tattoed her address and telephone number on my ankle with a permanent marker like I was a piece of luggage.

Ya, it’s been interesting so far in Bangkok.