Outside it is war. There are multi-colored flashes and flares throbbing against the night sky. If I didn’t know better, I’d guess that the pot had finally boiled over in Thailand and the battle horns had been sounded. Down the street an explosive firework set off a nearby car alarm – three times. Semi-automatic crackling fills the air, accented by more dominant, extravagant bursts in literally every direction visible from our porch balcony.
It was there that Gaibi and I stood barefoot on the concrete, slimy from humidity and mildew, sharing a tall beer and watching what appeared to be southern Thailand going up in flames. It was now 2009 and Isaiah was screaming something ferocious in the next room. Cheers, my darling, a quick kiss and then Isaiah needs to go back to sleep for sweet God’s sake.
We went downtown this evening to witness how the biggest city in the south celebrates the New year. What we found in this particular town was, interestingly, what can be found in most celebratory environments: vendors. Another ‘must’ is music, played at a tremendous volume through high-powered, (though not necessarily high defintion,) speakers. As you meander, shoulder to shoulder with bustling strangers, down the endless aisles of little plastic trinkets, pushcart ice-cream, pirated movies and fashionable outfits, you can’t help but wonder what it might be that compels humans to acquire so many little things in their short lives. What is it that drives us to fill our houses with keychain animals and Spiderman alarm clocks and chopstick sleeves and sequin handbags? It would seem that nothing is further from happiness than the little piles of junk that crowd our lives and the tabletops of our homes, I think to myself.
Three minutes later I am crouched down at a booth, examining some nice crocheted light-switch covers. I’m trying to decide between the Thai flag and the one that looks like Bob Marley. Five for only two dollars US? ‘These will make great gifts,’ I think.
A funny thing about using foreign money is that when you spend this new, colorful, monopoly-esque stuff in your wallet, it still goes away. When I was young in video-game arcades we used to exchange our quarters for tokens, and because we weren’t used to spending tokens we would pump them thoughtlessly into the machines until all of our dollars-turned-quarters-turned-tokens had been exhausted. I would have been more scrupulous with my quarters, and I find myself at times on the same slippery slope in this country.
I heard an interesting theory about the culture of Thailand and its exceedingly laid-back, unhurried manner. Living on what amounts to a great big peninsula whose weather is essentially an oscillating mix of stifling heat and rain, abundant with native fruits and vegetables, the first settlers of this land were none-too pressured to sow the grain and reap the harvest for there was no harsh cold ahead. Work was done when the rain let up, and the meantime was filled with great stretches of indulgent inactivity and finding creative ways to enjoy this time. Unlike the American pioneers, constantly waging battle against the fierce and unruly elements in the New England region where it all began, the Thais merely sat back and waited for the rain to stop. If you’ve ever been to New York or Boston, you can feel the spirit of this struggle living on in its people: work, survival, urgency. In Thailand, sometimes I find myself wishing that they had at least a little winter in their climate.
We were set to go to Malaysia two weeks ago, where I would have to re-apply for a visa in lieu of changing job locations in Thailand, a beauracratic necessity that I have yet to understand. I was told by my boss that he would arrange a van to take us on the 5 hr. ride to Penang, and island off the west coast of the country. The afternoon before leaving I walk into the office where he casually asks me, ‘What time will you leave tomorrow morning?’
I remind him that he has offered to arrange this, to which he responds, “So do you know where the bus station is?”
I reiterate my previous answer, and this time he says, “yes, ok…” He then calls to reserve seats for us on the 9:30 mini-bus and, still very casual, informs me that my whole family needs to have passport photos taken and that I will need photo copies of my marriage license, Isaiah’s birth certificate and an armful of other paperwork that had somehow escaped mention in the many weeks since I had been informed of this trip. It is in moments such as these that I am thankful that the frigid snows of Massachusetts taught our settlers the value of a little forethought.
It was there that Gaibi and I stood barefoot on the concrete, slimy from humidity and mildew, sharing a tall beer and watching what appeared to be southern Thailand going up in flames. It was now 2009 and Isaiah was screaming something ferocious in the next room. Cheers, my darling, a quick kiss and then Isaiah needs to go back to sleep for sweet God’s sake.
We went downtown this evening to witness how the biggest city in the south celebrates the New year. What we found in this particular town was, interestingly, what can be found in most celebratory environments: vendors. Another ‘must’ is music, played at a tremendous volume through high-powered, (though not necessarily high defintion,) speakers. As you meander, shoulder to shoulder with bustling strangers, down the endless aisles of little plastic trinkets, pushcart ice-cream, pirated movies and fashionable outfits, you can’t help but wonder what it might be that compels humans to acquire so many little things in their short lives. What is it that drives us to fill our houses with keychain animals and Spiderman alarm clocks and chopstick sleeves and sequin handbags? It would seem that nothing is further from happiness than the little piles of junk that crowd our lives and the tabletops of our homes, I think to myself.
Three minutes later I am crouched down at a booth, examining some nice crocheted light-switch covers. I’m trying to decide between the Thai flag and the one that looks like Bob Marley. Five for only two dollars US? ‘These will make great gifts,’ I think.
A funny thing about using foreign money is that when you spend this new, colorful, monopoly-esque stuff in your wallet, it still goes away. When I was young in video-game arcades we used to exchange our quarters for tokens, and because we weren’t used to spending tokens we would pump them thoughtlessly into the machines until all of our dollars-turned-quarters-turned-tokens had been exhausted. I would have been more scrupulous with my quarters, and I find myself at times on the same slippery slope in this country.
I heard an interesting theory about the culture of Thailand and its exceedingly laid-back, unhurried manner. Living on what amounts to a great big peninsula whose weather is essentially an oscillating mix of stifling heat and rain, abundant with native fruits and vegetables, the first settlers of this land were none-too pressured to sow the grain and reap the harvest for there was no harsh cold ahead. Work was done when the rain let up, and the meantime was filled with great stretches of indulgent inactivity and finding creative ways to enjoy this time. Unlike the American pioneers, constantly waging battle against the fierce and unruly elements in the New England region where it all began, the Thais merely sat back and waited for the rain to stop. If you’ve ever been to New York or Boston, you can feel the spirit of this struggle living on in its people: work, survival, urgency. In Thailand, sometimes I find myself wishing that they had at least a little winter in their climate.
We were set to go to Malaysia two weeks ago, where I would have to re-apply for a visa in lieu of changing job locations in Thailand, a beauracratic necessity that I have yet to understand. I was told by my boss that he would arrange a van to take us on the 5 hr. ride to Penang, and island off the west coast of the country. The afternoon before leaving I walk into the office where he casually asks me, ‘What time will you leave tomorrow morning?’
I remind him that he has offered to arrange this, to which he responds, “So do you know where the bus station is?”
I reiterate my previous answer, and this time he says, “yes, ok…” He then calls to reserve seats for us on the 9:30 mini-bus and, still very casual, informs me that my whole family needs to have passport photos taken and that I will need photo copies of my marriage license, Isaiah’s birth certificate and an armful of other paperwork that had somehow escaped mention in the many weeks since I had been informed of this trip. It is in moments such as these that I am thankful that the frigid snows of Massachusetts taught our settlers the value of a little forethought.
I have learned that in when undertaking any kind of official duty in Thailand, it pays to relentlessly cross-examine the people involved, making every effort to insure that you can get a jump start on the extensive preparations. Thai culture has the strange tendency to tell you what you want to hear rather than the whole uncomfortable truth, and when it comes to preparing the documents that will insure my legal residence in a foreign country, I’m more the type who would like to hear all the gory details right up front.
Somehow, despite our earnest efforts, we end up on the wrong bus the next morning at 9:30 from the proscribed bus stop and we are spat from it onto the border of Thailand and Malaysia where we walk across, only to be swindled by motorbike taxis, short-changed by money changers and overcharged for a 4-hour cab ride through the Malaysian countryside to our destination, stopping here and there to drop off a clock radio at a friend’s restaurant and pick up the driver’s wife from the side of the road where she waited with amongst stray chickens and water buffalo. Malaysia will never get a second chance to make a first impression.
Penang however, was a very interesting little island. A one-time British colony and spice island now owned by Malaysia and populated predominantly by Malay, Chinese and Indian people, it was an incredible intersection of cultures, all living very peacefully side-by-side and within eachother. On one street you would see women in ornate saris on the sidewalk, Chinese rickshaw drivers in the street and crowds of Arab men gathered in tiny coffee stalls and shops, fervently discussing the matters of the day. Ornate mosques, elaborate Chinese and Hindu temples as well as Buddhist monasteries sat amidst the din of endless commerce. A major business center, its rich cultural heritage was still visible through the cracks of its modern veneer. We strolled its busy streets, ate dinner in ‘Little India’ and slept in a quaint guest house for about 16 bucks while waiting for my visa to process. Haggard backpackers ambled along the streets next to groups of Muslim women in ‘hijab’ headscarves, a Chinese noodle cart, and us with Isaiah feeling even further from all things remotely familiar.
It is an experience which is at once refreshing and disorienting. You gain your footing in life a little more when you are forced to temporarily lose it. Malaysia is just different enough from Thailand so as to feel weird. In a strange way, its easy to relax and be a little more yourself when you realize you have virtually no control over what is going on around you. In certain foreign situations, such as travel, you merely have to surrender your fate to whatever gods may be around in that particular country and trust that there is a system in place that will effectively transport you from A to B without any significant physical or fiscal injury. This plan, and a lot of walking, worked out just fine for us in Penang. Good news is, we escaped unscathed with a new visa for me and lots of new friends for Isaiah.
