Wednesday to Sunday, Feb 24-28

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Today is the 14th anniversary of the shoot down, and there are many events taking place in Miami to commemorate this event. You can read about it in September 2010 in Seagull One: The Amazing True Story of Brothers to the Rescue

Woke up at 6:15, coffee on the terrace at 6:30, yoga in the yoga shack at 7am. We saw the sunrise as we stretched our bodies into submission, gentle yoga outside in the shack, the frogs croaking and birds singing and the cool breeze swaying the beautiful flowers all around us. Then we had breakfast at the restaurant, to get ready for a day of relaxation.

Spent most of the day on our terrace, just reading and relaxing, the temperature is perfect. We ordered lunch on our terrace and enjoyed it as we watched the employees of the Four Seasons in their blue pants, blue tunics, and pointed straw hats take care of the rice paddies and the grounds of the resort. From our terrace we can see other guests walking on the paths, swimming in the two infinity pools; we can see Mr. Yong and his stepbrother being taken to their shack to eat grass. These are the two water buffaloes on premises that guests can ride if they wish. One is pink and the other grey and they are so clean you wonder if they, too, go to the spa. In fact, they are bathed twice daily. I heard two little girls laughing with one of the staff down by the buffalo shack (they had ridden Mr. Yong and his stepbrother earlier), enjoying the day as part of the Kids Club program they have here. The girls and her parents took a year off to travel the world, homeschool their girls, and appreciate that life is not “about what kind of earings you wear; look at me, now I don’t wear any!” Oh, to go back in time…

Prayer warriors, I did my rosary but not in a Catholic Church as I had intended (I would have had to go into town and search—we’re in the city of 700 temples) but I sent up my petitions from the Church of God, the great outdoors, the universal temple. I figured you can’t get any closer to heaven than the Four Seasons at Chiang Mai.

We had lunch served on our terrace, and I mean, served. They didn’t just drop a tray, they set it up for us, pulled out our chairs, and sat us down. Again, I was reminded of the wonderful lunches we were brought on our jungle terrace in Londolozi, South Africa, back when Merrill Lynch used to pay for these kinds of trips. Amps, I’m trying not to itemize but when I get back home and Quicken this baby, I’m going to need an IV.

After lunch we continued to read and relax and I went to the pool to finish Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, crying my way through the last twenty pages. If the movie does any justice to the book, it will be a hit. The story is so powerful!

Steve stayed in and took a long bath and broke a ceramic bottle with bath gel and I got back and stepped on a piece and bled all over the beautiful marble floor. It wasn’t that dramatic but when the turn-down staff came in, they asked was I OK because they saw all the blood. Here the shampoo, gels, and creams are not in the little plastic bottles that one takes home and then forgets to use and then takes them on trips to other hotels where you steal some more and take them home. Here the liquids are in beautiful ceramic bottles that you want to take home, but don’t.

Had a drink on the hotel terrace—I’ve discovered Thai wine and it’s delicious! We took the hotel shuttle into town and were dropped into the middle of the Night Market. Yes, Ana Rasco, another market, at night! I bought Ryan a little frog that you rub a stick on its back and it makes the sound of the frogs here, like Thai-style Puertorriquen coquis. Except here, they eat the frogs and we would learn all about that at the market the next day.

We took a tuk-tuk (a three-wheeled converted mini old school mail truck, open air, motored, adorable thing that goes tuk-tuk) to The House Restaurant, which was a pretty funky place, full of little nooks and rooms to eat in and the food was OK. Still haven’t had “the best of Thailand” dish.

Took the shuttle back to the hotel.



THURSDAY February 25, 2010

Woke up at 6am because we were going to the market at 7 to buy the food for our cooking class. The market just down the road from the hotel would have been closing by 9 because it opens at 3am, when local Thais go to buy what they will make their families for breakfast. It’s not just pop a waffle into the microwave; it’s make congee, the rice dish they have instead of bread, and vegetables and other things. Our companions were this lovely young married couple, she from Ireland and he from India. Their new home would be Dubai. There’s this whole other side of the world which is everyone’s normal, much like North and South America, the Caribbean, and Europe are to us; their normal is the other side of the globe. People talk of places like Hong Kong and Singapore and Dubai and the sixteen countries in India and all the other ---aysia’s like we talk about California and Washington and the Bahamas. It’s fascinating.

The Thai love pork above all other meats, they use every single part of the port, in fact, the dish we would eat later that afternoon was made of pork neck. I had never thought of pigs having necks, just another column of muscle fat from their shoulders (I’ve eaten pork shoulders) to their noses, yet, Miss Piggy did always wear pearls. So we started with all the vegetables and I forget their names, but when you smell them you know now what is the unique scent in most Thai food. One root, galangal, is the most important. The market was immense, with sections for each type of animal, and then a little stand with the frogs, live, trying to hop out of their fish next basket. They looked just like the ones in my yard, except these would be someone’s dinner. Again, they use ALL of the frog, not just the very chi-chi French frog legs. They use the heads, the necks (again with the necks) the legs, etc. We saw the soups of frog parts, soups with innards of every kind of animal. They smelled good, but well, just taste, don’t ask. We got to try the famous Chiang Mai sausage (again, don’t ask) and it was delicious. We had sticky rice with sausage for breakfast, then we went to other stalls and tasted Thai Dunkin Donuts, and other fried yumminesses. Coconut is big, of course, there’s cononut milk in so many dishes, and we bought the coconut milk, just pressed, that we would be using for our dishes.

Cooking at the Four Seasons begins with a prayer in front of the spirit house of the school. Inside are grandparents, the spirits they want to appease. They ask for good cooking, no cuts, no bleeding, good food. After the prayer by one of the sous-chefs, we were given incense sticks to place in front of the spirit house so that our prayers would rise up to them. Our guide at the market had brought an offering for the spirit house, something with chicken blood, which apparently is used more often than we would have ever thought of (nor want to again) in the coloring and flavoring of many Thai dishes..

The cooking school at the Four Seasons rivals anything you’ve seen on Iron Chef or the like. Open air, no walls, and part of the beauty are the immense extractors. Each station has its own set of woks and knives and utensils, as well as four gas burners. We cooked what I had eaten for dinner the night before, a delicious chicken curry with noodles, as well as three other dishes. Then we had a vegetable carving station, so whenever anyone needs red pepper flowers, I can do it. We were given certificates, aprons, and a set of place settings each, which I’ll use when I return home and cook my Thai meal. The only drawback with cooking all this food is that we got to eat it. We ate the first meal with gusto, not realizing that we would cook and eat four more dishes, which of course, we couldn’t even begin to put a dent in. I was so full I almost had to cancel my facial at the spa.

AT 6pm we were invited to the Chef’s table cocktail, where we got to drink more Thai wine and eat again! There was a fourteen course dinner that evening, but we just couldn’t do it, so we went to the hotel restaurant for a light meal and a show at 7:30pm, which was pretty tame—only two female dancers. I wanted the whole “Run, Eliza, Run!” from the King and I.

The new fruit I’ve discovered and love is dragonfruit. It’s a pink fruit a little smaller than a cantaloupe with a crazy flower on top that makes it look like a dragon’s head. Inside it’s white with black polka-dots, the consistency of watermelon. Delicious. The mango here is superb, but not quite as good as the one in my back yard.



FRIDAY FEBRUARY 26, 2010

Very hard to leave this morning. ACTIVE THAILAND guide Pan (“like Peter Pan,” he said) and his driver picked us up at 8am, and off we went to trek in the forest. But first we were in for a long, long, drive up the mountain. Our two days were spent in the Doi Inthanon National Park. Doi means summit or peak or something. The Doi Inthanon is the highest point in all of Thailand and we were there. The view is supposed to be spectacular—you can see the whole country. But not that day because it was a little hazy. It’s very dry and the trekking was difficult because it was so dry, slippery, and full of fallen dried leaves.

On our long trip to Doi Inthanon, we noticed many 7-11’s (the Starbucks of Thailand, even thought there are plenty of Starbuck’s, too.) There is nothing you can’t find here, except a nice toilet at a rest stop, but even though they are usually ceramic holes in the ground with a place for each foot (then you have to squat—don’t try it from a half-knee bend position), they tend to be cleaner than bathrooms in US gas stations. So that’s saying a lot. Next to the ceramic things there is a small tile-lined basin with water, and a big plastic ladle. After you do your business (and it’s really hard for some people to do the second kind of business in such a compromising position) you ladle the water and flush it down. Holes in the ground save money on plumbing, I’m sure. You also don’t have to waste time lining the toilet with layers of paper that keep falling off. It’s just squat and flush.

There are Costco’s here, too, my friends in Miami. And I’m sure in a few years there will be Walmarts. Here Costco is Carrefour and other names, but they’re here.

The Royal Project is one of the King’s special projects to try to get the tribal people to stop growing opium. So now they are organic farmers and it has really cut down the opium trade in the mountains.

Our first stop on the trekking tour was the one-hour elephant ride. Five minutes is all you need. There was a cute baby elephant who reminded me of Ryan. He came up to me and wrapped his trunk around my leg (confusing it for his mother’s) and left baby elephant snot all over it.

Went to the Holy Relics Pagoda inside the National Park, containing relics (called a stupa) of the last King of Chiang Mai, King Inthawichayanon. Then visited the twin pagodas of King Bhumibol Adulyadei and Quyeen Sirkit (I got this off google cos I had already forgotten). The pagodas enshrine Buddha’s ashes and Buddha images and the scenery is spectacular, especially the gardens.

Then we started trekking, real hiking, crossing small rocky rivers on bamboo bridges (I have pictures). We passed Karen women (this is the tribe of people we would stay with) in the fields with their water buffalo, Karen tribes people preparing flowers for the market (again, part of the Royal Project, even though the Karen people were the only tribe to never grow opium).

Arriving at the village we were greeted with the screams, the chilling, horrific screams of a pig about to be slaughtered. There was a wedding in town. Pigs know those screams, and when it isn’t you, you kind of relax into your tether and eat some more slop cos it ain’t your day. All the pigs we passed, and each Karen home has a pig on the ground floor (the ground floor being the actual ground, since all houses are on stilts), gave us a snort of acknowledgement: Welcome. And just in case you’re wondering, I’m not dinner—at least not tonight

The homes in this village are “very simple” as Pan pointed out. Wooden shacks with bamboo walls, outhouses, a pig on the ground floor, a motorcycle in the “car port” and cable TV. Well, I don’t know about cable, but they did have satellite dishes. The village got electricity a few years ago and the kids really wanted TV. There is an unbroken white cord that goes through every house and building in the village that keeps the people connected. This particular village was Buddhist but half the Karen people are Christian. We saw a small church in on of the villages. The married women wear these colorful hand woven sarongs and un-matching colorful v-neck big tops. Underneath they wear sweatpants, of the “cuff at the ankle” variety, and under the big tops polo shirts. Then the outfit is put together with a windbreaker. They were all dressed the same. The unmarried women wear white; the men and children wear whatever they want.

As we walked through the village I wondered where we were sleeping. Pan was never very explicit in what we were doing, what we were eating, or where we were going. We were OK with that. I spotted a nice wooden house down the dirt road and inside I said, “I hope that’s where we’re staying.” Well, it was! It was all wood and the prettiest house on the hill. Our hostess, Yapoh I believe her name was, seemed to me like the head woman of the village. She was probably in her 20s but she was “una electrica.” She had a 7-11 at her home, too. It was actually a little wooden store with things like eggs, and canned goods, and a refrigerator. Her children attended boarding school in town. It may sound very high class, but she cooks in the middle of her one room shack. You might think these people are poor, but they’re not. All the men work, either growing flowers, or farming, or whatever, and they have a middle-man that buys their products. The women stay home with the kids and work all day because there is no plumbing so water for everything has to be hauled up the steps. So, they may have no possessions, but they are not poor.

Less than an hour after our arrival, another mother, maybe 18 years old, came carrying her three year-old daughter whose lip was bleeding. I approached her and asked if she needed a bandaid (of course, using Pan to translate) but when I looked at the little girl, who was not crying but had an unforgettable look of anguish on her face, I noticed that she wasn’t just bleeding a little on the outside of her lip, just a little line of red between her lower lip and chin: she had bitten through her entire lip. I saw the inside and cringed. The little girl, who was carried by her mother, looked and me, took a careful deep breath and then slowly lowered her check on her mother’s shoulder, with such deliberate care so as not to touch any part of the lower half of her face. She was not crying, could not cry, because she was in so much pain. The accident had probably happened an hour earlier because mouth wounds usually bleed terribly. Her wound was clean and there was only a hug swollen lip and all in the insides of the inside of her lip coming out. On the outside was just a small stripe of not blood, but the mark where her entire bottom half of teeth had gone through.

I went into Imperialist-Aggressive-American-Interventionist mode. I had to save this child and I wanted the Marines called in. I wanted to throw opinions and money at the situation and get this little darling the best medical care in the world. I would call the Pentagon, arrange for a helicopter transport, and then take her to Disneyworld. The mother, of course, went to look for husband and then take her child to a clinic where they had government-sponsored medical care. I went and had a good cry.

If I would have gone into Cuban mode, I would have said, “Dame esa niña, mijita, que tu no sabes lo que estás haciendo,” then taken the child and the van and gone off…somewhere.

“Lily, this happens all the time in the village,” said Pan. And I told him I knew that, and it happens in America all the time, too, but he didn’t understand that I thought I knew what was better for that girl than her own mother. He didn’t know how metida and controlling I am. Pan didn’t understand that I had just experienced a defining moment where I recognized how I thought, momentarily and in the heat of the moment, that I was somehow superior because I had more education and money. All mothers know what’s best, no matter their circumstances.

The next morning the little girl came back to our hostesses’ house, with a swollen lip but doing just fine.

After that, I thought I should continue to try to put myself to good use. I wanted to help Yapoh make up our room: sleeping bags, comforters, and a mosquito net on the wood floor, but she wouldn’t let me. I wanted to haul up some water and help her cook; she motioned big with her hands and I thought it meant, come on up, but I think she really meant, I’ll do the cooking around here. Actually, Pan and the driver made our gourmet Thai meal. What was weird about this adventure was that Steve and I always ate alone, whether at the roadside restaurant, or on the floor of our “bed and breakfast.” Pan said they never ate with the guests and I didn’t know how to take that. Were we “unclean”? Well, we were certainly dirty and dusty, but was it more?

For dinner, we had fried pork (maybe the one that greeted us) sliced in what looked like shoestring French fries, but they were pork, and vegetables and rice and chicken curry. Yapoh came up the stairs while we were eating and we gestured how much we loved the meal and she gestured back and we nodded and said thank you. She brought up more rice.

The village had a “headman,” an elected person, and he had access to a PA system that sounded throughout the village. He liked to make announcements.

There was no sobremesa, being that there was no mesa, so we read and then went to sleep early.

Buddhism vs. Animism vs. Shamanism. We (I) continued with the Buddhism topic with Pan. It’s not amazing the similarities with Catholicism on certain things. In some temples, depending on the holiday, they change Buddha’s outfit; in Catholic churches they do this with Mary’s statues. Incense and candles and holy water, praying before images, honoring certain monks/honoring certain saints. The elaborate temples; the elaborate churches.

The story of Buddha is that his mother was impregnated when a white elephant (this their reverence for elephants, particularly white ones) with a lotus flower came in through her side. She gave birth while holding on to a tree (forget which kind) and then Buddha (Sidharttha) came out and took seven steps. And Catholics have a problem with the virgin birth?!

Some Buddhists mix their beliefs with animism. This village had a Shaman, and the villagers practiced different rites than the Buddhists we had seen in Bangkok proper. I meanwhile, was trying to get a handle on what was PURE Buddhism. So Steve made this very wise comment: in order to understand Buddhism is, you have to understand the teachings; look at the teacher, not the followers. Aha!

Imagine what it’s like for Buddhists when they see Christianity: 12,000 Protestant denominations and then the Catholics! Who is confusing whom? Even though in our faith they’re supposed to “know we are Christians by our love, by our love,” it doesn’t usually make us that appealing. War is not such a great expression of love. What I have noticed in Thailand, whether it be because of Buddha or not, is the gentle nature of the people. And no, it’s not just at the five star resorts, because I have yet to see an angry cab driver, or a villager with attitude. The people of Thailand are peaceful, kind, mild-mannered, well-mannered, friendly, and genuine. Maybe it has something to do with never having been colonized.



SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 2010

“They eat everything here [Thailand] but they don’t eat dog,” Pan told us. Thank goodness cos there was a really strange breed of dog at our hostess’ house.

The roosters started crowing before dawn, but we actually slept pretty well on the floor. It went down to 60 at night so the weather was perfect. At dawn, another pig went screaming to his death, also for the wedding.

We visited two waterfalls: Wachirathan—huge--and Mae Klang Water Fall, smaller yet still beautiful. Wachirathan waterfall, as well as most tourist spots in Thailand are just like in the US: gift shops and coffee shops and entrance fees. The difference in Thailand are the gardens and flowers surrounding all the tourist spots.

As we left the Karen village we noticed a small little town, developed for the eco-tourists, with little bungalows to sleep in, a little shop and small cafes. Amazing, out in the middle of nowhere, but Thailand is ready for tourists. Went to a small shop and bought a Karen village married woman outfit.

Chiang Mai has over 700 temples and we didn’t get to see not a one, because we were consumed by the sensual paganism of the Four Seasons. We did, however, visit Wat Phra That Doi Suthep, one of the four royal wats in the north, built in the 14th century. The chedi (a temple without a monk onboard) is all gold and glistens in the sun. Once a year they put the Buddha’s relics in a covered bowl and let water flow over it and everyone can come and collect this “holy water.” There was a monk sitting on a dais there, in his saffron robes, speaking with and blessing the youth with holy water. Seems at this temple they have “monk chats” some days, where you can just hang with them and ask questions. Monks can come in and out of the monkhood, not like priests who are in it for life. They have to beg for their food every day, and whatever they get, they bring back and someone cooks for them. That’s why they can’t be vegetarians because they have to eat whatever is given to them.

Buddhists usually cremate their dead, but the process usually doesn’t involve burning the bones down to ashes. “I have my niece’s bones at home,” said Pan.

We arrived at the Four Seasons with enough time to shower and change and make it on an earlier flight back to Bangkok.

Back at the Mandarin Oriental we were greeted with more flowers, then more orchids in the room and a note that Sunday and Monday were Makha Bucha Day, a holy day observed on the full moon day of the third lunar month, commemorating the spontaneous gathering of the first 1,250 of Lord Buddha’s disciples, and the sermon he gave that day. Can you imagine arriving at the Waldorf Astoria and having a note say something like: today and tomorrow businesses are shut down to honor the birth of Mohammad or the Resurrection of Jesus Christ? Wow.


We had some snacks and drinks at the Bamboo Bar in the hotel and went to bed early.



SUNDAY February 28, 2010

Went to the BEST YOGA CLASS I’ve ever been to while traveling, probably a lot better than most of the yoga in Miami. It ended with shavasana that included laughing! What a great way to start the day.

After breakfast we went to Mass at the Assumption Church right across from the hotel. It was packed! And it was packed with young people. Usually when we go to mass in cities around the world the only congregants are old ladies with rosaries and veils. The kiss of peace was a prayer-hand bow, which is a more germ-free method of peace-giving. It was the priest’s 80th birthday and they sang “Happy Birthday” after the service. What surprised me about the service was that more than half of the people stayed to pray afterwards.

I fear I’m headed for a Mercy Herold situation, where I buy all my gifts at the overpriced airport shops. It’s Sunday afternoon and I still haven’t bought any souvenirs, except for the plastic frog for Ryan.

After mass we went to Wat Arun, the Temple of Dawn, and lit a candle for Noi and her health. We weren’t allowed inside the actual temple because of the holy day. The place was crowded with dignitaries, schools, groups, etc.

Then we went to Art’s neighborhood and walked everywhere he told us to walk, cursing the heat. It is SO hot!!!! We’ve been so spoiled by a cool winter in Miami and here it’s like a Miami August. Came back to the hotel early and just relaxed.