Prellezos go to Asia

Sunday, March 7, 2010

MONDAY MARCH 8, 2010

Had room service again while I twisted Steve’s arm so we’d go to Chinatown. It was awesome, like the Disneyworld of Chinatowns. Ana Rasco would never leave here. There was even a Chinese dollar store—everything 2 yan! We’re going back now to have lunch, the famous dumplings everyone talks about, then on to the airport and back to the other hemisphere.

On the way took a picture of a Chinese construction worker. They work here 24/7 and in three days we have seen stores sprout up, and sidewalks changed. It’s amazing. Anyway, the guy was multitasking: laying cement, smoking, and talking on his cell. He caught us taking the picture and he smiled.

One thing I sadly did not find here in China was the Cuban monument to EL CHINO QUE SE CAYO EN UN POZO. Poor guy fell into a well and his tripas se hicieron agua Thus the song: Arre, pote-pote-pote; arre, pote-pote-pan.

Friday, March 5, 2010

MARCH 3-5 HONG KONG (for about 36 hours)

Arrival in Hong Kong was on time, but we (I) was delayed at Passport control. “Just a random check,” they kept repeating, as they had me waiting while people with other-colored passports went right on in to the country. Steve waited for me beyond security. I wanted to run out and yell, “VIVA CUBA LIBRE!” and get some free publicity for my upcoming book, Seagull One: The Amazing True Story of Brothers to the Rescue, available September 2010 by the University Press of Florida, but I thought better of it. We had safely passed the first inspection when arriving in Hong Kong: the thermometer check. Right after you descend the steps of the transport bus from the plane to the terminal, airport personnel wearing hospital masks look at you menacingly while holding a thermometer in their hand. If you even look as if you’ve sneezed in the past month, they will detain you and stick the thermometer in your ear. They did it to all the suspicious children that were on board with us. Here, they only want your hard currency, not your germs.

We took the Airport Express train from the airport into the city, exactly 24 minutes (it would have been almost an hour by taxi) in a spotless high-speed train. It dropped us off at Central Station which is on Hong Kong island, and we took a taxi to the LKF Hotel. I still don’t remember what LKF stands for, except it’s the neighborhood we are in (although it sounds like a disease), which is like South Beach. It was crawling with people, literally spilling out of every restaurant and bar. If this was how it was on Wednesday night, I couldn’t imagine what the weekend would be like.

Our hotel is a boutique hotel (which stands for “really cool”) and the hotel staff wanted us to know just how cool they were. The décor was all sleek and brown and minimalist. Our room was huge, much bigger than our master bedroom at home, with a huge flat screen TV, espresso machine in the room, and “Look, we use Molten Brown products.” I’ve never had a hotel employee point out to me what kind of bath products they use. What they didn’t have was a proper converter for my American rollers and hair iron, so you can just imagine the bad hair day and a half I had in Hong Kong. It was 90 degrees and 90% humidity, and I actually had to wear a ponytail the second night.

We started hopping around the bars and finally settled on Italian food, which was delicious. It was fascinating to people watch, the different nationalities of people, most of them in their 30s, just out for fun, food, and drinks on a Wednesday evening. Every place was packed!

Getting around Hong Kong is not as easy as following the streets on your map, not that I can follow a map anyway, but here, when a map reads that two streets intersect, it isn’t exactly that way. The place is full of tall, skinny high rises to accommodate the dense population. In order not to have all these millions of people on the streets at the same time mixing with tourists like me trying to read a map, it’s as if between these tightly compacted long skinny buildings you had spider webs. Keep in mind that Hong Kong is all full of hills, so you have these high rises at all different levels. Imagine these spider webs being a series of stairs and escalators—yes, escalators, going up maybe seven storeys (that’s how they spell it here) between the buildings. These you navigate between the streets, and you may enter a restaurant perhaps on the fourth level, because restaurants as well as stores have different levels. Then there are huge walkways over the busier avenues and bridges. That way you have people walking at all levels, at all times. This place is crowded! But it works, traffic flows, it’s amazing. So as we walked up and down stairs and escalators, flowing with a progressively louder and more animated bunch of young professionals (Steve and I looked old-er), we ran into a Salsa Bar! OMG, Lily B., it looked like a class at Salsa Lovers down on Bird Road. I mean, these Chinos were moving and twirling and doing “la hermana por el brazo” moves. The music was blaring, people were crowded on the dance floor grinding out to salsa music, knowing how to do it. On stage were: the only black guy in Hong Kong, who looked like a Miami Dolphins right defensive tackle, wearing shades, and the only Latin-looking guy (Steve definitely doesn’t count) in Hong Kong, wearing a hat and beating a bongo. I was taken away to a tropical island (must have been the sweat dripping down my back) and thought of Celia Cruz:

Ese Chinito
Tiene tumbao
Y me lo dice
Con su mirada vi-rao

Tiene tumbao, tiene tumbao
Ese Chinito con los ojos virao

Anyway, I’ll further refrain from writing dance lyrics and being politically incorrect. Their moves were awesome, but they definitely needed more hip action.

“SAME-SAME”

The first time on this trip someone said to us, “same-same” we were being ripped off for a cab ride to Art’s neighborhood in Bangkok. When he charged us ten times more for the cab fare than he should, I said, “but that’s how much it costs to get to the airport.”
“Same-same.”
Sure buddy, it’s the same-same to you, but to me it’s moving the decimal point over.

Well, the previous night I, being penny-wise and dollar-foolish, decided to buy an Octopus card. That’s what they call the MRT here, the rapid transit system, and the card said, and the airport attendant (I think) said, that it could be used for three days on all public transportation, and unlimited, and I would get HKD$50 back at the end. Great! Well, we go to get on the Star Ferry Thursday morning (after a very cool breakfast in our cool dining area on the coolest 27th floor of the LKF building) and the Octopus doesn’t work. Thinking this is a Communist plot against Cubans in particular, I start discussing this with the Star Ferry female employee, who was so nice and told me I had to cross over to the other side and speak with someone at the tourist information desk. “But it’s supposed to be for all public transportation,” I said. “But they told me at the airport, but it’s NOT FAIR!”
“Same-same.”

I was wrong, the card was only for MRT transportation and not everything else. We walked around Kowloon, which is on the other side of Hong Kong Island, and where all the heavy-duty shopping is. Actually, there’s heavy duty shopping everywhere. Down in the underground passageways of the MRT there is Gucci and Lowve. Amazing. Went to the Hong Kong Historical Museum and the display halls were fascinating. They recreated streets and buildings. Thank God the Museum of Art was closed on Thursdays, because I really needed a foot massage. We went into this random place, lured by the neon flashing foot sign. That’s how my feet felt. I got a foot massage and a manicure (Chinitas do nails in China!) and Steve got a full-body massage. They had deals here, and packages, and you could combine services, and they were offering discounts. We both insisted on only 50 minute treatments (it went in 50, 75, and 100 minute treatments). The words to describe this foot massage can only be used in Harlequin romances, it was so good. It only started off a little weird, when they had me soak my feet in a bucket with what smelled like Pinesol. I guess I did need disinfecting. But after that, it was pure bliss. During one particular moment of ecstacy, the owner came in and said, “You husband extend 25 minutes, you want extend 25 minutes?” And I said no, thank you. Well, husband must have been in a huge state of ecstacy when they gave him the bill, cos we later realized they had charged us both DOUBLE. They had charged us both for 100 minute treatments.

“Same-same.”

Now that I had happy feet, we went to The Peninsula for high tea. Beautiful hotel, beautiful lobby, and beautiful sconces. Steve had the best Club sandwich of his life. We enjoyed this repast while listening to a quartet.

We were so tired after the massage and the tea that we had to go rest at the hotel. Drinks before dinner then off to eat in the neighborhood, and once again, the bars and restaurants and clubs were packed.

There must be good food in Hong Kong, but we didn’t eat it (The Peninsula tea didn’t count). We walked into the Yung Kee Restaurant, where the ambiance was hopping, and it was full of locals. This must be good. We waited a few minutes for a table, then were taken to the third level of the restaurant and put in a room—by ourselves. There were warning bells going off somewhere. First, it smelled like rancid oil. But we put that aside as we watched all these huge groups enjoying a variety of dishes on the lazy susans they put in the center of the table. Our table didn’t have one. We kept peeking out of the door to see what other people were eating. We ordered the specialties: roasted pork and roasted goose. It was delivered too soon, and cold.
“I’m sorry, could you please heat this up?” They took it away. It came back smothered in some brown sauce. Cold.
“I’m sorry, perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” I insisted, while Steve said, “Just let it go, let it go.”
The waiter called in a reinforcement.
“That’s how we serve here, not hot,” she said. “Same-same.”

We actually walked away from the meal. From now on The Yung Kee restaurant would forever be the Yuck-Kee restaurant.

FRIDAY, MARCH 5, 2010

After another super cool breakfast in our swanky boutique hotel, we took the Peak Tram up to The Peak, and the views are everything they say they are. The tram ride up, in a wooden tram is great, and you go back down the same way in the same tram, so you’re like falling backward. People live up there, mostly ex-pats it seemed, and they were all doing the circular walk Steve and I were doing, walking their dogs and children in strollers. The circular one-hour walk is full of signs along the way explaining the trail and all the trees. Steve read every single sign.

After the wonderful morning at the Peak, we checked out and took the Airport Express train back to the airport. The wonderful part was being able to check our bags on this side of the bay so we didn’t have to lug them on the train with us. The services here are so efficient and timely; they make everything so much easier. Had lunch at a great restaurant in the airport, so we did finally have a great Chinese meal in Hong Kong.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Singapore cont'd

I wanted to buy the girls sarongs off the street on Serangoon Street because Art told me to, but Steve was too hot, so we went to the hotel for an a/c break. It seems this March 2 was the hottest on record in Singapore history – 40C which is about 101 or 102, because if a Cuban baby has “cuarenta de fiebre” it’s time to call in the grandmothers.

Good thing we came back to the hotel because it was time for a manicure, particularly since the nails on my right hand were now curry-colored. I couldn’t justify the $45 manicure at the hotel, so I had to do them myself. And this was supposed to be vacation!

Dinner at Iggy’s at The Four Seasons Hotel in Singapore was out of this world. Ten courses, and as each plate got bigger and funkier, the serving size got smaller and smaller. Their thing at Iggy’s is to break down the food almost to its chemical components, then they work with it and turn it into a work of art. So back in the kitchen, which was open and we could see the chefs in there, plating the food and occasionally taking a bite, they must have both chemists and artists, because it is the most complicated and beautiful food I’ve ever eaten. “Please enjoy,” our server said to us every time. He didn’t say it when he bought us the bill, though. It would not have been so bad if we were stuffed into a comatose state, but we were merely “satisfied.” Back in Miami, we would have gone home after that dinner and had café con leche y tostadas. Actually, it was amazing food, so beautiful, so delicate, so the OPPOSITE of lunch. We didn’t have to use our hands once! We were in the private dining room of Iggy’s, an l-shaped wood table where there were two other couples, but at discreet enough a distance that we wouldn’t talk across the table and say: “what was that I just ate? It sure was purty.”

The Four Seasons in Singapore must have been a Marriott or something, cos girlies and Fernandez family, it looked exactly like the hotel in Atlanta we stayed in for Pablo’s wedding. Except it was fashionably decorated and we would not have gotten away with having a cooler full of snacks in the lobby.

Steve was too tired to go to the Botanic gardens so we turned in early, and a little hungry.

WEDNESDAY MARCH 3, 2010; Singapore

I could really use a bottle of Febreeze right about now.

Forgot to mention that the first night we did the tourist thing (as if everything else we’ve done has not been “the tourist thing”) and had a Singapore Sling at the Long Bar at Raffles Hotel. I almost slipped at the bar, and it wasn’t because of the drink. Here it’s like at Outback or the other place where you throw the peanut shells on the floor. I guess it’s the only place in the city where you’re allowed to toss stuff on the floor, and boy, do people may a go of it!

In the morning, went to the Cathedral of the Good Shepherd right down from our hotel to pray for a bit, and yes, Jesus was in the tabernacle but the church was so ugly didn’t even take a picture of it. Thank God the prayers still count.

From there we visited the Sultan Temple in Kampung Glam, which is next to Little India. There was a field trip of little girls, all about 7-9 years old, that wonderful, perfect age when little girls know they are on top of the world and can do anything. They each and every one had a digital camera and were snapping away during their visit. In the mosque, we were not allowed in the prayer area or even to touch the carpeting.

Went around the shops and bought some silk scarves. The pashminas here are only about $10, just like in Miami, except they say they are 80% pashmina wool (or so they say). I would have bought tons but it is SO DANG HOT! I didn’t even want to touch them. Plus, I found this really cool little box that when you open the top, a snake comes out and bites you. I thought Ryan would really like that one and could share it with those cootie-infested girls at preschool.

The tour at the Museum of Asian Civilization was wonderful, basically covering the religions of Singapore. The museum used to be the registration house for the city, and our German tour guide emphasized the importance of Stamford Raffles who basically developed the city into what it is now. It was interesting how the winds had everything to do with people of different cultures and religions sailing into Singapore for trading opportunities. The winds didn’t change for six months, so they had to stay, and that’s how people laid down roots here, and why Chinese Buddhists, Indian Hindis and the Muslims. Christianity was not mentioned at all, even though Raffles, who developed the town, was a Christian. The reason, she said, is because Christians are only 3% of the population here. I guess it would take someone to donate several million to the museum before a section on the Christian influence would become part of the tour. When she mentioned that Hinduism was the oldest religion in the world, I begged to differ. “What about Judaism? Hasn’t Judaism been around for almost six thousand?” She answered that she thought it was Hinduism. So, in my new role as Defender of the Faiths, I looked it all up. As usual, I was exaggerating by about 1,000 years. Seems she was kind of right, since the Hindu text, the Vedas, was put together in 1500 BCE. However, Abraham was born in 1800 BCE, so officially, God spoke to him first. However, Moses didn’t put the Torah together until 1400 BCE, and that point is considered the beginning of Judaism. That should teach you to write everything down the first time you hear it!

So later during the tour, she took me aside and told me where the nearest synagogue was.

Random observations:

The hotel staff in Asia are always so elegantly dressed. It had been ages since I’ve seen women wearing pantyhose. And it’s just as hot here, or even hotter, than in Miami so that’s no excuse. The uniforms at all these hotels are just lovely, and the Asian women really know how to do makeup. It’s always perfect and they are experts at mascara. Also, on all these trips, there has not been one single male flight attendant.

On the way to the airport we noticed so many American fast-food restaurants: Carl’s Jr., Swensen’s, 7-11’s everywhere, Friday’s, etc. Oh, and did I forget to mention, girls: a seven-storey (yes, they spell it that way here) Forever 21! The shopping here can only be described as orgasmic for those who love it. It’s as if you took Bal Harbour, Rodeo Drive, Aventura Mall, and Worth Avenue and exponentially replicated them, piled them on top of each other, and placed them in a square mile. It’s like a Las Vegas of mega-upscale malls. We lasted about 40 minutes there. I blamed it on my allergies. Lots of people wear masks here and they look at you askew if you’re sneezing.

Another observation is that the moving sidewalks here are called travellators, and they speak to you, telling you when to get off, to take hold of the handrail, and to be aware of when you are approaching the end. Travellators treat everyone as if they were stupid and blind. I thought this as I tripped over the end of the travellator. On to Hong Kong!

Monday, March 1, 2010

Tuesday, March 1, 2010 AM Singapore

TUESDAY March 2, 2010

Breakfast on our floor then taxi to Chinatown. Visited the Buddha Tooth Relic Temple, and lit an incense for Noi. Yes, the relic here is housed in a huge glass encased room with a stupa encasing the Buddha’s tooth. Just outside that big room is another room where there were some monks eating and studying and chanting. Later, they came and blessed people. Around that are spaces for meditation. They have a great Buddhist Culture Museum. The temple is only a few years old and it’s beautiful. The top floor has a rooftop garden and pagoda with 10,000 buddhas and the largest prayer wheel in the world.

Visited the Sri Mariamman Temple, a Hindu temple dedicated to the Mother Goddess (like a church for Mary, almost), but it was being renovated so there was not much to see. Visited the Fuk Tak Chi Museam which used to be the oldest temple in Singapore, when this area was right on the water!

We went through the cleanest Chinatown ever! I kept wanting to buy stuff and Steve kept holding me back, not giving me the required Singapore dollars I needed.
“But we’re in Chinatown!” I protested.
“We’re going to CHINA!” he retorted.
“Yeah, but, they probably don’t have Chinatowns there!” I yelled back.
“It’s ALL Chinatown,” he said. And all this just because I wanted to buy a swirly drum thing for Ryan. I needed Ana Rasco, I needed to call in a friend, a lifeline, but Steve wouldn’t lend me his phone.

I went into a Chinese herb shop because I was having an allergy attack and I bought some pills to ward off sinus problems and evil airs. I stopped sneezing but I couldn’t get rid of Steve.

Then we walked through Singapore City and all the areas we had walked the night before and kind of remembered them.

Took a taxi to Little India and had the best meal. The Four Seasons had printed a little book with suggestions for restaurants. This one was called Gandhi Restaurant (how can you lose with a name like that?) Steve just wanted air conditioning. To call this a restaurant was a stretch. It opened out onto the street, the kitchen right there in your face with a queue of people waiting for take-away. This part was not air conditioned. One of the workers motioned for us to go into the “restaurant” part. It was an unadorned square room with formica tables, packed to the last seat, of Indian men. Just men. I felt so female and pale, and unclean again. We were unclean, we were sweating like pigs. But there was air conditioning somewhere in the room. You waited until someone got up, or actually, until you were told where to sit, which was at a table with other Indian men. Unfortunately for the poor guy who was minding his own business eating off his banana leaf with his hands, we were told to sit with him. And I mean, this is not like at a food court where you might share a table but you share your own space off that table. No. Here, I sat directly across from this man, our knees almost touching. He ate with his right hand (you NEVER eat with your left hand) and played with his I-phone with his left hand.

There are no menus here, no utensils, no napkins, no specials of the day, no wine list. You are told where to sit and then given a banana leaf. This is your placemat and dish. A guy comes by with a huge platter of rice and just dumps it on your leaf. Another guy comes with these steels buckets of curry, coconut milk, vegetables, and ladles them out of the bucket and dumps these in piles on your banana leaf. You eat with your right hand, and of course, since you know YOU CAN NOT EAT WITH YOUR LEFT HAND, you keep it securely fastened between your knees. But of course, my nose itched, it started running from the Chinese herbs and the allergies and I had to use my left hand because my right hand was full of rice and curry and spinach. It was one of the most delicious meals I have ever had, and it cleared my sinuses, too. After the meal, you go to a sink that’s in one corner and queue up with all the very dark Indian men, and wash your hands in a sink, and then dry them on your pants because there are no paper towels. It was THE BEST!

I wanted to buy the girls sarongs off the street on Serangoon Street because Art told me to, but Steve was too hot, so we went to the hotel for an a/c break.

Sunday afternoon Feb 28 to Monday May 1 (Singapore)

Sunday afternoon (cont’d)

Every afternoon at the Oriental they bring you a meriendita to the room. One day it was a fresh squeezed juice, with orchids on the side and the other day it was a little raspberry mouse with mango on top, and orchids on the side.

From our floor to ceiling window in the room, the colors from the sunset, hitting the river and the other buildings was spectacular from our room. Sunday night went to the Sala Rim Nam Restaurant of the Oriental, across the river, and had a seventeen course Thai dinner with dancing. I wish I would have been dancing because I was so stuffed I almost couldn’t dig myself out of the pit under the table (it only looked like we were sitting on the floor). Had a hard time putting in my contacts the next morning after spending the night trying to bend back my fingers like the dancers did.

Bangkok is beautiful at night on the river, and there seems to be just as much activity, but with lights everywhere. And under that full moon you forget how dirty the water really is. Saw a huge party boat which I’m sure was full of Americans and Germans dancing bad disco, making a lot of noise, but they seemed to be having a lot of fun.

MONDAY MARCH 1, 2010

Today at midday we leave to Singapore, and I will miss Thailand, still so much to see, such wonderful people.

Did yoga again, with a Chinese instructor, and she was wonderful. Then went shopping/fighting with Steve. I hate shopping as much as he does but somebody has to do it. I HAD to find a Thai princess doll for my goddaughter because I bring her back a doll from every country. We found a great huge shop right around the corner from the hotel that had authentic Thai products. They even wrapped the Thai princess in a bamboo box.

Going back to the airport we took photos of the billboards, which are, I swear, as long as a football field. The airport continues to amaze me, the long steel and glass caterpillar terminals extending from the center—it’s fantastic. The airport terminals have more stores and shopping areas than gates. It’s amazing the high end stuff they have, the variety of items and the QUANTITIES.

Finally ate sticky rice and mango, from a store in the airport, and it was DELICIOUS. Noi, I need a good sticky rice recipe because apparently you have to buy a special kind of rice. Now I get what Pan, our guide on our trekking adventure, meant by having a “Buddha-belly” cos eating a lot of this sweet sticky rice and mango will definitely give you a gut. An enlightened gut.

The other day we even ate sushi at the airport; the quality of food is superb.

This is not your mother’s Asia. The only thing I miss is not missing America. Everything here is so modern, so efficient, so properly marked, so cutting-edge. I have yet to say: oh, well, back home we have this and that, or do it this way or that. It is so easy. I’ve been to European airports and airports in Greece and the Caribbean. They are no where NEAR as efficient, beautiful, or modern as in Asia. Everyone speaks English (that may change when we get to Shanghai) and it’s so easy to get around. It’s as if nothing is foreign even though everything is. Everything is convenient.

From the air before landing in Singapore you could see hundreds and hundreds of container ships in the harbor. I also noticed that the tops of buildings were clean. I thought the cleanliness thing was an exaggeration, but it’s not. We landed at 5pm and before 6pm we were already in our hotel room. We just flew through passport control, baggage pick up, taxi service, drive to the hotel, and check-in. No prayer-hand bows, though, and of course, the people look different: Indian, Malaysian, Chinese, a mixture of these, and others.

Girls, the taxi smelled exactly like popcorn rice.

Leaving the airport reminded me of the entrance to Key Biscayne, but with water only on one side: rimmed with lush palm trees and other tropical trees.

The Fairmont Hotel is very nice, very ultra-modern, and no flowers on arrival. We’re on the 23rd floor where there’s our own little fitness club (which we use to go steal water bottles from) and a lounge area where they serve amazing breakfast and have another spread in the late afternoon for happy hour (free drinks!). Our room has a small terrace and we have a great view of the city. We’re right across from The Raffles Hotel and we can see the overweight tourists swimming in the poor at The Raffles. It’s very hot here, in the 90s, but the air is cleaner and it’s less noisy so it doesn’t bother us as much.

The irons on this side of the world are the best. Big and heavy and you don’t have to press down on clothes, like the ones back home where Tanya has to press down on my clothes. I would take one home but then I’d have to rewire my house to 220 or 230 or whatever it is here.

After having drinks on our floor lounge we took a taxi to Indochine Restaurant on the water. Had the best steamed sea bass and asparagus. Then we had a lemongrass crème brullee (sp), and too much wine. We staggered back to the hotel,rounding the quay, crossing bridges, walking in front of the Parliament building, the Padang, the Cricket Club, etc., but not really remembering.

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Wed thru 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.