The Blithe Traveler

Home Is Where The Context Is

We were sitting in a restaurant on Koh Samui and someone stopped by the table to chat. They turned to wee Hope and asked her where she was from. She got that studied look of concentration small children get on their faces, she thought, and thought, and finally said in an oh so earnest voice, “I’m not sure,” and turned to me asking, “Mommy, where do we live?”

While that could be a sadly poignant tale under different circumstance, in this case, it’s not at all. She simply didn’t understand if the person was asking where on Koh Samui we were staying, or did we live in Thailand, versus China, versus the US. Who knew such a simple question could be so complex??

Tom is "The Farmer" In The Farmer In The Dell: rather homelike, I would say

But the complexity is all around us. If we are standing in Our Fair City when someone asks, “Where are you from?” one must do a quick assessment of the askee in order to answer it. First, you need to decide if they are asking you where in Our Fair City you live, or if they are asking you from what country you hail. By the way, we don’t have a problem with people assuming we aren’t from around here. We aren’t and it’s fairly obvious.

Assuming that the askee is in fact asking about the country of your birth, then you move on to Situation Assessment Phase 2:  if they are a non-native English speaker, saying “the U.S.” generally results in confusion, while  “the States” is more likely to generate a positive response. But for totally clarity, I have found 95% of all people understand “America.” Say that out loud for a minute – doesn’t it feel kind of awkward? While it’s something we would rarely say back in the good ol’ US of A, it’s what the people we’re meeting around here seem to understand most clearly. And it took me quite a few cocktail parties to get this straight, let me tell you.

When the question gets turned around, it can get even more awkward. I mean, it’s a fairly natural conversation starter around here: “So, where are you from?” The cheat sheet I would give someone new to this area would be, “Whatever you do, NEVER ASSUME.” Never. Most of the American citizens I have met here were not born in America. So they have accents from their native country. India, Pakistan, Egypt, China. But they are American and that is where they say they are from. And for many, it is the home to which they will be returning when they leave wherever it is in China they are currently calling home.

Then, every once in a while, I meet someone who has an accent my feeble brain mistakenly snap judges:  “American!”  And, lo! They are from Canada!! Now that would be a huge honking faux pas, wouldn’t it?? If you accidentally asked one of our Northern Brethren what state they came from??  No worries, I haven’t been so foolish, but I blush just thinking of how many times I have mentally checked off “US,” only to realize a-boot a minute later I need to listen more closely, eh?  Ah, well, it will come with time. My ear is getting better, although I met a gentleman this morning that has me a gobsmacked. Maybe Irish?

And an interesting note, to end this post. Do you know what the Chinese call America? Mei Guo. Which  means “Beautiful Country.” Isn’t that gorgeous? They, as you may know, refer to “China” as Zhong Guo, or Middle Country [Middle Kingdom], referring to the ancient belief that Zhong Guo was the center of the civilized world.  It is also a beautiful place, in many, many ways, but I do look forward to the day when we return to the land of our births and once again call the Beautiful Country “home.”

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Side note for the knitters out there - I finished my first project! It's a queer little thing: almost like a blanket with buttons. But it is absolutely perfect for the slightly chilly interiors we find during the winter here. And will be very nice for going out on chilly evenings in the spring.

Meet Jackie!

See the red car? That’s mine. Well, not mine, per se. Technically, Jackie, the driver owns the car. But he’s our driver, and thusly, when I see that red car come strutting down the road, I know my wheels are here. Part of me is a little embarrassed. How can anyone say the words “my driver” with a straight face?? Although, I have finally learned to say it without cackling.
The reality is that it is way too dangerous out there for the likes of any westerner who does not have a terrific grasp of Mandarin to drive anywhere in China. Really, the rules of the road are arbitrary, and the stakes are high. If you get into an accident while you are driving, well, good luck. If Jackie gets into an accident while Jackie is driving, well, I get out and hail a cab. Sounds harsh, but I have to say, Darwin could have landed here as well as the Galapagos and reached about the same conclusions.

Conceptually, it makes sense to have a car and driver. Most companies who send people here don’t allow them to drive and provide said car and driver for getting Mr. Expat to the office. Generally, Mr. Expat works close enough that once he’s at the office, Mrs. Expat gets use of the car for the rest of the day. That means she can do her grocery shopping, produce shopping, other assorted shopping, ladies lunch, ladies tea, ladies China Chats, ladies book club, ladies knit-in, or whatever else it is that occupies her not inconsiderable Ex-Pat Wife Time. (1)

Since we are here on our own dime, it’s a little stickier. If we want a car and driver, we have to pay for one. At the end of the day, we decided to try the gig on for size. No guarantees that Jackie will be with us for the long haul, but for now, I got wheels.

So, let’s start with the red car. Do you think most ex-pat Mum’s get to tool around in a ride quite this hot? Let me assure you, no. Most ex-pat Mum’s get a mini-van. Which, I have to say as much as I really don’t like mini-vans are pretty durned practical. The Red Car, however, is very sexy. And people comment on it. All the time. While the other Mum’s are tottering around in their gray or white wheels, with the long line of cars and drivers blending in with the crowd, stand alone. I never have trouble finding Jackie in a parking lot, I can always see where my car is in the lineup, and frankly, there is something kind of cool about climbing into the hottest wheels on the block.

And then there’s Jackie. Most Mum’s get a guy named Mr. Lu. Or Mr. Song. Or Mr. Something. They are older, level headed fellows who get paid to drive a car that generally does not belong to them. The car, generally, is leased by the company that is paying for Mr. Ex-pat’s time. Since we were not in the mood to deal with the paperwork and wacky finances involved in buying or leasing a car in China, we needed to find a guy who owned a car who would accept money to drive us (and only us) around. Interestingly enough, just a few years back, such a thing was unheard of in Our Fair City. But the world is changing. And capitalism is roaring along on all eight cylinders.

So, rather than Mr. Lu, I have a man who fancies himself after a movie star: Jackie Chan. I am not so sure that his marketing skills are the strongest, as I am quite sure that fancying yourself after a man who is considered the world’s greatest action star (by himself, at least according to his web-site) is not comforting to the mother of the small children the Jackie Chan Wannabe will be driving around. Although, I suppose it is better than "Richard Petty," or "Evil Knievel." As usual, it's a matter of perspective.

But, I can get over all of this. He does try rather hard. Although, and I say this in my most wistful of wistful voices, gosh, it would help if Jackie had any sense of direction. I know, I know, whining is just not becoming. But when I say the man has no sense of direction, the depth, scope and breathe of the problem are in no way shape or form revealed. He has less sense of direction than a kumquat. Oh, no wait, a kumquat is at least governed by the laws of gravity.

The problem was immediately evident. The very first day we drove to school, he got lost. He had spent a few days prior to our arrival acclimating himself to the area, but still managed to have to turn around three times. The good news was that by the afternoon, I was all over giving him directions. I mean, I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt the first time, but after that, I started barking rights and lefts pretty dang quick. With my well known right/left dyslexia, this is hard, but I am getting better! Who knew?? But when faced with spending an hour trying to back out of a hole we have gotten ourselves into, the rights and the lefts just seem to correct themselves.

And as for finding the “fastest route??” Oh my, there is some cultural thing going on that I can only guess at. As a life long driver, as I am sure is true for everyone reading this, if you are driving the same way every day, day after day, you work out the fastest route. And you learn what to do when there is bad weather: like, alternate routes. Jackie will knowingly drive into a hour’s worth of traffic rather than try an alternate route. Or use a map. I have also introduced a map into the equation, and he is learning to use it, although I have to say, it is slow going. 

But, whining aside, it is working rather well. I take the children to school every day, and so get to spend some great quality time with them. Jackie takes me home, and then drops Jeff off at the office—if I need to go uptown, I ride with them, or catch the subway. And if I need a ride from somewhere, I can whip out my mobile and text Jackie. Life in the fast lane—most days it’s rather nice.
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(1)    Stop me if you’ve heard this one. Generally, men who are exported to foreign soil for the purpose of working, so little else but work. Seriously, if you are here to work, most people I know work, six, or seven days a week. And while the single guys party when they are not working, the married ones have to deal with a wife (and usually) children who rarely see them. So the joke goes, the expat is heading to the Pearly Gates and St. Peter stops and says, “My man, you lived a good and righteous life. While you thought re-incarnation was only for the Buddhists, you thought wrong. Tell me where you want to go, and I will send you there.” The man thinks about it seriously and then says, “Great St. Peter, I worked so hard in my life, I’d like to take a break. Can I have the easiest life you can think of?” And St. Peter made him an ex-pat wife. Ba-dum bum. 

Year of the Rat

Okay, it is called the Year of the Rat, mostly. But some, and maybe even many, are calling it the Year of the Mouse. And the images of “rats” are suspiciously cutesy. The rumor is that the Chinese symbol translates most directly as "rodent," which certainly could be mouse, or gerbil, or guinea pig, or even prairie dog, I suppose.  Whatever, it does seems that the"Year Of” marketing folks are a bit more savvy than the Processed Meat marketers. The thing yesterday was a chicken, by the way. A basically intact, processed chicken. Neat, the stuff you can get around here.
Anyway, we have left the Year of the Pig, and are officially in the the Year Of the Small, Cute, Furry Thing. The question that is now naturally raised is, and in which year were you born?? Inquiring minds want to know! Here’s how you can find out. Given that the Chinese and Gregorian calendars don’t line up, you do need to check your exact birthdate. “Year’s of” generally run from sometime in February to the Spring Festival in the following year:  Find Your Chinese Astrological Sign Here   

I looked this up in genuine curiosity the other day and discovered that I am a Dragon Child: “to the Chinese, the Dragon is born in the most desirable year, blessed by the gods and goddesses in heaven. Possessing magical powers, the versatile Dragon is capable of soaring to the highest heavenly heights or diving to the depths of the sea. On one hand shrewd, healthy and full of vitality, the Dragon also possesses a mystical side, intuitive, artistic and strangely lucky. However, Dragons can plunge pretty low, becoming irritable, stubborn and impetuous."

Jeff just rolled his eyes when I told him how lucky he was to be married to me. He wandered off muttering something about, “irritable, stubborn, hoo, boy, don’t they know it!”

Jeff, as it turns out, was born in the Year of the Monkey, as was Hope. Like I needed an astrological chart to tell me I have two Naughty Monkeys in this house! People born under this influence have an innately low boredom threshold. Inquisitive in the extreme and forever believing that the grass is greener elsewhere, they need to find continual stimulation to keep themselves interested and amused. Which might explain why we are living in a backwater city in China.

And Tom was born in the Year of the Horse – which makes him likable, lovely and just a joy to be around. Which is totally true, of course.

The looms - it was just incredible watching the brocade being made. The silk threads are practically microscopic and the designs are quite intricate. Amazing, really, to think that it was done 700 years ago, and even more amazing, I suppose, that it is a process that humans have figured out how to totally mechanize.

As part of our Chinese New Year time off, Jeff and I went to the Silk Brocade Museum in Our Fair City. Turns out, this area was a hot bed for silk creativity seven hundred years ago. Yeah, that's 700 years ago.  The photo above is of  the looms - exactly the same machines types that were working 700 years ago making brocade silk. We're going to get some samples before we leave, of course.

One possibility is that we might get a "family horoscope" portrait done. The Brocade Dragons are just outrageously beautiful, as are the Horses. The Monkeys, well, maybe not so much. At the end of the day, though, the Monkeys are still better than the Rats, or the Mice, or whatever they are.

The Chinese New Year

I was wrong on a couple of points, a few posts back. One being that the snow was going to be “gone” from Our Fair City when we got back. It’s not. It’s still colder than usual and the snow remains in piles and puddles all over the place. Not such a big deal, really, it is winter and all. But the other thing I was wrong about was that the smoke from Chinese New Year fireworks would be cleared. Definitely not. And I have to say, we’re having a whole lot more fun with the fireworks than with the snow.

Some background (mostly swiped from Wiki using my nifty, albeit finicky VPN connection): The Chinese New Year, also known as Spring Festival or Lunar New Year starts on the first day of the first Lunar month (in the Chinese calendar) and ends 15 days later. (1) This year, the day of the “New Year” was February 7th.

Two of the key traditions associated with Spring Festival are the exploding of fireworks and the wearing of (and decorating your house in) the color red. According to legend, the Nián was a man eating beast that came out once a year to eat people. The Nián was believed to be sensitive to loud noise and afraid of the color red. These customs lead to the earliest celebrations of the Chinese New Year: Guò Nián—simply, the passing over of the Nián.

The New Year as a public holiday, which is where things get really tricky. 15 days is a long time, and yet, if you are a factory worker who has been stationed in Shenzhen and your wife and child live out near Chengdu, a five or six day bus journey, 15 days isn’t very much time at all. So when you ask people how much time they have off for the holiday, it depends. Jeff’s office officially (and when I say “officially” I mean, the government sent him a memo telling him how it would work) worked Saturday, Feb 2nd and Sunday Feb 3rd, then, Monday and Tuesday of that week. Then they had three days of government mandated holiday, the weekend free, and then they had the following Monday and Tuesday off as “compensation” for working the prior weekend. Schools have as much as a month off, as do factory workers who have long journeys home. Like I said, tricky.

And then, despite the fact that the “official” holiday ended, is also important to understand that informal celebrations, which may span a period of several weeks before and after the official holidays, are the time when many businesses operate in 'holiday mode', and generally aren't the time for making decisions or business negotiations.

The 15 days of the holiday are marked by lots of family visits. There are relatively “prescribed” times for certain visits (like married daughters to see their parents), but the biggest deal is a meal that is somewhat comparable to Christmas dinner in the West. After the dinner, some families go to local temples hours before the New Year begins to pray for a prosperous new year; however in modern practice, many households hold parties and even hold a countdown to the new lunar year. And to blow a year’s salary on fireworks.

The fireworks start well before midnight—the explanation we were given was that the very first “BOOM” in the New Year is considered extra special lucky, so people start hedging their bets long before midnight approaches. And the fireworks continue, continuously basically all night. People who were here for it don’t even have words to describe what it was like. Incredibly loud, beautiful and very, very long. And the fireworks, as we have discovered, go on pretty much for the entire 15 days, although never quite as dense and long lasting as on the first night. I do think that if we are still in China next year that we’ll take the opportunity to hang around for it—perhaps it is only a once in a life time experience (assuming you don’t lose your hearing all together), but it sounds like one I’d like to see/hear.

Fireworks vendor pop on every street corner, as do sellers of New Year “gifts.” These gifts tend to be food. Jeff’s office gave away boxes of preserved meats. (2)

Marketing is not necessarily the strong suite yet of the Preserved Meat Packaging People

Another very common gift is a box of oranges. The Chinese word for orange sounds very similar to “wealth,” so the gift (and the presence of small orange shrubs covered with tangerines, clementines, or maybe mini oranges—I’m not exactly sure) is meant to be a pun offering good wishes for the recipient to receive wealth over the coming year. Another common gift is the “red envelop,” which contains cold hard cash. In even denominations only, as an odd denominations are associated with funeral red packets.

The fifteenth day of the New Year is also known as Lantern Festival. This day is celebrated as families walk the streets with lighted lanterns. I really have no idea why, and unfortunately I’ve timed out on Wiki, so maybe someone out there who has easier access to the www.com can give us a little insight.

Rube would be proud

So, while I expected the fireworks to be about over when we got back from Thailand, I was wrong. While they are great diminished, the displays in the evening are just outrageous. Given how beautiful the city is now, I can’t even imagine what it must have been like on the actual evening of. The other interesting note for us is that we are far enough off the beaten path that we can see a lot, but it’s nowhere near as noisy as it is in the real hot residential spots of the city. So, beautiful, and not too noisy.

Until last night, when Jeff decided it was time for us to join in the fun. I will say, I love fireworks, but I am not personally a fan of setting them off. We have done it as family on the beach in South Carolina. It’s legal to purchase fireworks and to set them off on the beach, so the only thing getting in our way was the fact that I was pretty terrified of losing an eye or a hand or even a small child. But Jeff persevered, we set them off on the beach and it was great! The children really loved it, and secretly, despite being paralyzed with fear, I kind of enjoyed it too.

So, when Jeff and I walked past a firework vendor the other day, he could not resist the urge. We faced the usual language, bargaining-blind issues, but we did end up with some cool stuff at what seemed like a pretty low cost. We would have spent well over a hundred (US) bucks to buy what we got for less than ten dollars here. On the street. And then we hailed a cab to haul our powderkeg home.

It was really amazing - you light one little fuse and then watch it all blow!

And you might wonder how people who live in a Fancy Schmancy apartment building would set off fireworks? Why, off the deck, of course! Jeff rigged up a Rube Goldberg contraption that made me close my eyes tightly and grip a chair as though the earth were going to spin out from under me. But we invited a couple of friends over for dinner, had a couple of bottles of wine and then, in the spirit of the holiday, or maybe with the holiday spirits in us?? Jeff set them off. Holy Moly, what a NOISE! I am practically deaf today. To say it was outrageous would be an understatement – behold the photo of the box, the Rube Goldberg set up and the blasting off! This shot is one of the near to the end blasts. At this point, I finally turned tail and ran around the edge of the deck, as the noise was getting to be unbearable. The children, I should say, were secured inside during the blasting event. They got to see it, but not at quite the decibel level as the grownups (who were also freezing, if you want to know the truth).

So, all in all a great time was had by all. Management has not kicked us out yet, so, shhhhhh, as a surprise for Valentine’s Day, I went out and bought Jeff and even BIGGER box of dyna … I mean, fireworks. I think this time we might blow them off at ground level. Perhaps a little less deafening that way.

Happy New Year to All! *** BOOM!!!!!!! ***
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(1) Like everything in China, this is subject to interpretation, change, etc given the mood of the government.
(2) I think this is one of those “when in Rome” deals. While preserved meat might not be your cup of tea, clearly it is someones.

Tidbits From Thailand

Okay, a few more stories and photos before we put Thailand to bed.

As we were schmearing our last round of sunscreen on for a final dip in the ocean, Jeff turned to me and said, “Well, this has been really great, but I do think we should consider doing some more cultural trips while we are in this part of the world.”

You can only imagine my response. “Cultural!?? You want more cultural than Thailand??!!” And I proceeded to tick off at least three things cultural that I had learned on our trip. Which I will now share with you in what might be perceived as a desperate attempt to shore up my “But it was cultural!” argument.

 

Yes, we did a go elephant trekking while we were there. The elephants seemed reasonably well cared for - I know it can be a touchy topic, but we really did enjoy it. 

1.    The Thai language might rank up there as one of the hardest in the world to learn. No kidding. We normally try to go to any country in which we don’t speak the language (and that would be every single one for which English is not the native tongue) with “yes,” “no,” “please,” “thank you” and “WC.” You can go far with those. In Thai, we got exactly none of them. Mostly because Thai, like Mandarin is a tonal language. Which is to say that the meaning of a word is contingent on the tone you use when you say it. Mandarin has four tones: you say MA in a high level tone, you mean “mother.” You say MA on a falling/rising tone and you are asking about a horse. And MA can also mean "hemp" or "scold," if you use a rising or a falling tone. Really. It’s very complex. Except that Thai is more complex: FIVE tones. You can say one “word” – or collection of syllables, however you define a word, five different ways and it can have five different meanings (or it can be complete gibberish if you have the right “word” but the wrong tone). So, we didn’t say much while we were there. Sometimes, it’s just easier that way.

2.    Thai people are funny about feet. The feet are the lowest part of the body, and so are considered dirty. This translates in every day life to whatever you do, don’t point your feet at a Thai person. So, no crossing your legs, no feet on chairs, and if you are sunning yourself on a deck chair and one of the Thai staff walks by, quickly leap to your feet and stick them in the pool, so as to ensure no offense was given. That last bit wasn’t in the guide books, but it was what I ended up doing pretty regularly. I am someone who sits cross legged in chairs in what is probably perceived to be a somewhat less than civilized manner in the US. I can only imagine what someone who perceives feet as being unclean and rude would think of me. Probably the worst.

There’s an interesting cultural analogy in all of this, too.  It is fairly typical for westerners to complain peevishly about the Chinese habits of (a) nose picking and (b) hawking and spitting. The Chinese have no more need for privacy for either of these actions than American’s do for swilling down a Slurpee.  While I don’t personally indulge in either public nose picking or spitting, and my cultural training does make the hair on the back of my neck stand up every time I see someone searching around inside their nose with their little pinky, the cultural reality is that for the Chinese, nose picking isn’t  gross. For American’s pointing their feet at someone isn’t gross. But for Thai’s, it is. See where I’m going with this? Perspective, it’s all about your perspective.

3.    Ko Phangan is an island about the same size as Samui, and about a half hour ferry ride away. And the center of one of the more interesting social type events I have ever heard of. First, a bit of background.

You know about "Burning Man", right? If you don’t, here’s the skinny:  every year something 10,000 people gather for a week of artistic self expression (re: "party") in the Black Rock City desert in Nevada. It started something like twenty years ago and has gone on to become one of those seminal events that has a life (complete with web-site, because what is a seminal cultural event without a web-site?) of its own. Sheer craziness on an increasingly large and more sophisticated level, the event grows every year as more and more people learn of it and want a part of the action.

So, that’s Burning Man. Have you ever heard of going to Foxy’s for New Year’s Eve?? I know at least one of you out there has been, but for others who have not heard of it, here goes: Jost Van Dyke is a tiny, tiny island in the British Virgin Islands that has not a lot going for it. There’s no airport, and no hope for one, so traffic in is by boat and there are a few ferries that run regular service from the larger islands in the US and BVI’s.  But Jost Van Dyke has one very, very cool thing going for it: Foxy’s. Foxy is a largish fellow who started the dive bar to end all dive bars a couple of decades back. And yet, this skanky little dive bar has evolved into the Place To Be Seen in a Yacht on New Year's Eve. Thousands of yachts from around the world converge in the harbor just off-shore of Foxy’s and party the New Year in. No kidding. This stuff really happens.

Why am I recounting these weird stories of odd parties run amuck, you ask?? Well, deep in my heart, I am a sociologist, and I find these sorts of social phenomena just fascinating. I mean, why on earth would people travel from all over the world to celebrate New Year’s Eve at a tatty little pub on a scrubby little island that barely has running water?? (1) It happens because people love to be part of quirky, queer little social phenomena, that grow to be big, grown up Social Phenomena when they reach attendance of 10,000 people or more. And get their own web-sites.

I suspect there are thousands of events like Burning Man and Foxy’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve all over the world—and, drumroll please!! We found one on Koh Phangan. Brace yourself, because this is a doozy!

Koh Phangan is the locale of what is called the “Full Moon Party.” Which means that once a month, during the Full Moon a beach party happens on the beach. A beach party the likes of which you cannot imagine. Something like 10,000 people show up every month (one presumes that while there is some overlap, that we are mostly talking about 10,000 different people every month) and begin partying at about sunset. They drink, they take drugs (mostly illegal drugs), and they hook up. All night long. And in the morning, those who remain standing go out for breakfast. Hey, it’s a destination. Complete with web-site. Full Moon Party . The island is fairly quiet for the rest of the month, and has some lovely, deserted type beaches (we took the ferry over one day). 

I am sure I could dredge up a few more cultural bits, but these were the things that stood out. We have a few more “vacation” slots coming up this spring, so I will be digging through my travel guides to find some of the must sees here in China. Of course, we’ll head to the Great Wall at some point, and Tienanmen Square and the Forbidden City (all in Beijing). And the Terra Cotta Warriors in Xian. And probably Disneyland in Hong Kong. For the kids, of course. And I have heard a rumor of Panda Hugging in Chengdu on the western side of China – now that sounds cultural!

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(1)    By the way, I have been to Foxy’s and I have met the dear gent himself, although not on New Year’s Eve. When I say “tatty little bar on a scrubby little island,” I know of what I speak. Foxy met Tom when the young man was still a tiny baby, and even recited a poem to us. It was a seminal event in my life, confirming that I will probably never actually spend a New Year’s Eve with the guy. The poem, alas, is not rated PG-13 and cannot be recounted here. 

One Night In Bangkok: Tuk-Tuk Anyone?

We’re fairly friendly, social people, Jeff and I. And we love to travel. And as much fun as we all have when we travel as a family, we’ve always thought it would be even more fun if we could get friends and family to travel with us. Sadly, we have had little success in wrangling anyone, at any point in time, to go anywhere with us. Ever. Really! (1) Isn’t that strange?!? I mean, we go to fun places, and we have a great time, and we’ve always come back in pretty much the same shape we left (sometimes, as in this case, in better shape). So what’s the deal???

And then, I think to myself, “Hey! It’s not like we’re talking about a week at Nag’s Head, or an annual pilgrimage to Orlando from Newark!” So, maybe there are reasons we can’t get people to embrace our somewhat un-conventional travel notions and hang out with us.

For example, even I have to admit that our trip back from Koh Samui through Bangkok takes me out of the running for “Mother-of-the-Year.” Yes, I know, I have many good qualities, but by the end of this post, I can pretty much assure anyone who hadn’t already crumpled up their M-O-Y entry after seeing the images of the Infinity Pool(s), that you  will be tearing up your entry form into little bits and wondering if maybe there isn’t some kind of Child Welfare Service in China that you shouldn’t be contacting.

First, here’s a Tuk-Tuk, for anyone who’s curious:

The things are fairly infamous—“Tuk-Tuk” comes from the sound of the tiny, tortured engine, as it dashes and prances through the frantic, traffic laden streets of Bangkok. These things are considered a “novelty” and “tourist-y” which is a death knell in my book, so, although, of course we made note of them, and pointed and giggled as we took a real taxi from the airport to our hotel, it never crossed my mind that I would end up in one. I mean, really! I have small children and these things are bloody dangerous! If you want to get right down to it, the real taxis are bloody dangerous, so exposing my children to the exhaust fumes one breaths in while tooling around in a motor powered rickshaw, plus the potential physical harm an actual accident would result in should the motorized rickshaw overturn, or impact some other moving object or, heavens, implode, or whatever else an overactive imagination might conjure up, is ludicrous! I mean, I really like my children—a lot—so their physical welfare, Infinity Pools aside, is pretty important to me. Just because I have up and moved them to Pollution and Potential Poisoned Food Central does not mean that I do not have their absolute best interests at heart.

Anyway, let me back up a bit. Leaving Bangkok for Koh Samui earlier in the week, as I have alluded to, was a bit hectic. Jeff was really flying solo on the deal, as I was in a weakened state from whatever dumpling had done me wrong, so getting from our hotel in Bangkok at the very wee hours of the morning, to the airport for our flight to Koh Samui was all kinds of quietly problematic. Not problematic in a frantic, we’re late!!! kind of way, which is our usual modus operandi, but more problematic, in an, “Oh, dear, I would really feel better if I could remember which airline, and thusly, which actual airport we were flying out of” kind of way. You might imagine that our cab that morning to the airport was just teeming with anxiety, in an un-healthy, thickly menacing kind of way. But not at all. We are much more casual in our potential disasters than that. Jeff mentioned—casually—that it was possible that we were heading to the wrong airport. And then mentioned a little bit later—casually—that he wasn’t even sure which airline we were traveling on, and I said something like, “Oh, well, it will all work itself out, won’t it??” Which, of course, it did.

So, there wasn’t any actual anxiety, or angst, or any of that other nonsense around what could have been a rather eventful beginning to a long anticipated warm weather vacation. Which as it turned out, was exactly as it should have been, since we arrived at the airport, checked in, got on a plane and left for sunny, sandy climes.

But, there was learning to be had from our early morning Bangkok near disaster. Jeff, who is generally quite on the ball about travel stuff, decided that on the way back, given how the apparent laxity about some key details resulted in near disaster, decided to up the level of play. Me, who generally just follows around quite a bit like a sheep, never really deviated from my usual sheep-like behavior, so no harm, no foul, in any direction, so far as I was concerned. But, the point is that Jeff, perhaps slightly scarred by our early morning potential flight crisis, was all over the “getting back.” He took great care to write down our hotel name, address, and phone number, and a few other pertinent details, and be just about as ready as a guy could be on the getting to the hotel and then getting to the airport on time sort of details.

So here’s what actually happened: Jeff gave the slip of paper with the name, address, phone number and longitude/latitude location of our hotel to the taxi driver and negotiated an appropriate fare (remember, this is Thailand, the first thing you do before you get in the taxi is that you negotiate your fare – and if you are getting in a “Metered Taxi,” negotiate twice as hard). And we set off. It was about a half hour drive, so Hope fell asleep in my lap. We arrived at the location, and despite the fact that I thought our end destination was kind of a fancy schmancy hotel, we ended up being dumped on the sidewalk in a pretty busy, not what I would call an up-market,  thoroughfare. Since fancy schmancy hotel web-sites lie all the time about their actual real, versus relative fancy schmancy-ness, I shrugged off the seedy location to really good photography.

Since we had about six hundred bags with us and Hope was sleeping in my arms, I suggested that Jeff take Tom and a few bags and go check in. He could leave me with enough bags to make a comfy couch on the street, and return with a bell hop, or two, to move us into our Bangkok Bungalow for the night. So, I settled down onto a few bags, clutching the sleeping, gently snoring Hope, while Jeff and Tom struck off to check in.

Time passed. Hope snored on.

Where I was perched was a pretty busy locale. There were quite a few very nice local people who kept asking very nicely if I required any help, but, really, we were cozy. If it had been cold or hungry, perhaps, or if the smell of garbage had been a bit worse, maybe I would have been unhappy, but it was a (not surprisingly) rather warm night, I was looking forward to checking in to a nice hotel and maybe going out for dinner.

Time passed. Hope snored on.

The nice people asked a few more times, very nicely, if I was in need of assistance. I kept reassuring them that all was well. It takes a long time for optimism to flee, so long as I am not cold or terribly hungry.

Time passed. Hope snored on.

And finally Jeff returned, with Tom. And all of our bags. No bell hop. I peered behind him, squinting, wondering, “Hmmmm, funny hotel that makes you truck your bags around by yourself.” Like I said, it takes a long time for Optimism to up and head out. Maybe too long.

The net of the story is that despite all of Jeff’s prep work, as sometimes happens, Fate intervenes. We had in fact been dropped off at the wrong locale. The hotel we were heading to was the “Pantip.” We had been dropped off at Pantip Shopping Mall. The Pantip signage mislead us into thinking that we were in fact in the right location when we were not. He had finally corned someone at the shopping mall who explained the mix-up. Jeff (wisely) asked this person what a reasonable taxi rate to pay to get to the Real Pantip would be and headed off to round me up me and Sleeping Beauty.

Upon his return, and explaining that we now had to grab a cab and negotiate a fare to the Real Pantip, the nice people leapt into action and helped us out. They flagged down a Tuk-Tuk buddy who knew exactly where the hotel was. Jeff negotiated a reasonable rate given his knowledge base, and into the Tuk-Tuk we hopped! Tom was pretty excited, Barry apparently (through Tom’s translation) couldn’t believe his good luck, and I tried not to faint from sheer fright. We think Hope was probably dreaming NASCAR dreams through the entire ride, as it was a bit like that. Quite a bit, actually.

Barry and Larry Go To Bangkok and Ride the Tuk-Tuk

Our Tuk-Tuk driver was a bit of a card, and, fortunately knew exactly where we needed to go. And he got us there right quick. The apparent benefit of the Tuk-Tuk is its mobility in traffic. Basically, the drivers go where a car dare not dream to go. Like into tiny spaces between cars, around cars, and they really don’t pay much mind to silly things like which direction the majority of traffic is moving. Heart attack city, especially for a mom clutching one sleeping child to her bosom, while hanging on to the shirt of the other with her teeth.

We arrived at the Pantip after about twenty minutes dodging and darting in and out of traffic, with our driver chortling to himself the whole time. As turned into the hotel driveway and the security guard tried to swat the Tuk-Tuk driver away, I suddenly understood what was so funny. The Pantip really was a fancy shcmancy place. I am betting they don’t see many Tuk-Tuk’s come in and out of their driveway.

The view of one of Bangkok's Night Markets from our hotel. Jeff headed out for a few hours of late night shopping when we arrived. Bangkok really does deserve more time than we gave it, and I do hope we can get back at some point and spend a few days roaming.

And so we arrived. Leaving Bangkok was actually quite seamless in comparison. As we headed out in the morning, running at least half an hour ahead of schedule, Jeff turned to me and asked, “Ok, so flat tire or traffic jam, which do you think?” Meaning, of course, that since we were actually on schedule that there was clearly some disaster waiting ahead to trip us up. But there wasn’t. We arrived on time, got on the plane, and managed to get all the way back to Nanjing. Darn shame our luggage ended up in Shanghai.

So, is there anyone out there who would like to do some traveling with us?? You just need to bring your sense of humor and be flexible. I’m not sure which is more important, but, please, just bring both along!

Demonstrating good Survival Skills, Hope carries her bag on her back. Smart girl! I will say that we did plan well going to Samui. We brought everything on the plane with us, ensuring that we would have our summer gear for our vacation. Losing it on the way back is not such a big deal. The snow remains in Our Fair City, so shorts and t-shirts will have to wait a bit.

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(1) Ooops! Turns out I forgot that Walter went on that Grand Tour of the Countries Preciously Behind the Iron Curtain with us. Sorry Walter! You would think that since I mentioned that very trip a week ago, it might have maintained some foothold in my clearly not very full cranium. No such luck.

You Put The Lime In The Coconut And Stir it All Up

The whole blogging thing gets a little bit tricky when we're on vacation. Let's face it, nobody really enjoys sitting through someone else's vaca slide show. And yet, I started this blog for my mom, who really does like to see photos of the children. So, every once in a while, you're going to have to sit through the random cute children photos, 'cause they're really for my mom.

We're leaving for Bangkok tonight for one night, then Sunday evening we fly back to Nanjing. The snow has melted, Chinese New Year came blasting in while we were gone, and the air is once again clear of firework residue, so back on track in a few days!

Conversations in Thailand

Thailand is one of the places on this Fair Planet where people drive on the left side of the road. Jeff has had a bit of experience driving on the “other” side while I sit back and take in the sites—the Virgin Islands are left drivers as are those happy folks Down Under. And while there might be some passenger side riders in this world who function as tour guides, navigators, and engage in other assorted useful jobs, I would not be among them. No, I am useless. Totally, completely and happily useless. See, I get car sick. So I can’t read a map, or a tour guide while the car is in motion. And even if I could, I still have a great deal of difficulty with the left/right thing. As in, “No, not that left, the other left, I meant the other left!” Which when your beleaguered spouse is trying to turn right and remember to stay left, is not a particularly helpful thing to shout. "Useless" might actually be too kind.

Random Cute Kid And Palm Tree On the Beach Photo

Anyway, Jeff has adjusted to this sorry kind of life where he is required to not only function at extraordinary high levels by driving on the wrong side of the road and also navigating. I, in my Useless Function, provide Color Commentary on all of the stuff that he can’t see because he is trying hard not to pick off scooter drivers, pedestrians and stray dogs. For example:

Me: “Hey, LOOK, there’s a MONKEY riding in the back of that truck! Did you see it??”
Jeff: “A monkey?? Really?? “
Me: “Yeah! A monkey! In the back of the truck! It was really neat.”
Jeff: Sighs deeply and keeps driving

Shortly thereafter followed by:

Me: “Hey, did you see that monk?! There was a monk back there!”
Jeff: Takes a quick look back, as we were driving slowly down a dirt pathway to the beach “I see a dog. Are you sure that isn’t what you saw?”
Me: “A dog?? You think I mistook a dog for a monk?”
Jeff: “Well, they both have tails, right?”
Me: “??????”
Jeff: “What do you mean, ?????? A monkey and a dog both have tails, it’s easy to confuse them.”
Me: “A monk! A monk! Like wears a saffron robe and lives in a temple! Not a monkey, with a tail. Sheesh.”
Jeff: Sighs deeply and keeps driving

Overall, our vacation has settled into a very fun time for all. Lots of ocean and pool time, some driving around the island and seeing things. There are interesting things to chat about, but right now, sun and fun are calling!

What's Wrong With This Picture?

What you can’t see in the photo was what we could hear. As spectacularly perfect as the house was (note use of the past tense), right next door, an excavator had just begun jack hammering out a flat spot in the mountain. We pulled in the driveway to the ear splitting sounds above, and a pervasive smell of diesel. Nice.

So, we didn’t even upack, less the bathing suits and swim vests as seen in the photos from yesterday. Interestingly enough, something similar had happened to us in St. John a few years back. Hope was just the wee-est of wee babies (about three months old and just starting to sleep through the night) when we packed it up for a week on what had been Jeff’s and my favorite island. St. John has three really key things going for it (a) it’s inaccessible to cruise ships (no deep ports) (b) inaccessible to planes (no airport), and it is something like 75% National Park (thanks to one of the Rockefeller’s who fell in love with it fifty years ago, bought it up and deeded it back to the U.S. as a National Park). When Jeff and I first ventured there in 2000, it was still quite quiet.  Over the intervening years, it has gotten more built up, and we would make a note with each trip as the quiet serenity we loved eroded a little bit further. The advent of Kenny Chesney and his entourage (nothing against the guy, really, but famous people are anathema to quiet spots, don’t you think?) was not a plus in our book. Anyway, we had been quite a few times, and took Hope for her maiden voyage.

We rented the absolute perfect house. The layout was spectacular, the views were fabulous, it was beautifully quiet and we were so delighted. Until we tried to run the water. The house had been newly renovated and we were the very first people to grace its presence. However, when “they,” whoever “they” were who did the renovation, finished the stone patio outside, they somehow managed to close off the egress point for gray water. There was no drainage from the kitchen sink or dishwasher. None. Imagine having a two year old human, a three month old human and no way to wash dishes. And all the stuff in the kitchen backed up. I washed dishes in the bathtub for a bit there, just to tide us over. Not the best way to kick off a peaceful, quiet vacation. 

So, we packed it up and moved to the only other empty house on the island deemed “child friendly.” It was also a nice house. Which turned out to be right next to a major construction project where an excavator with a jackhammer worked from the wee hours of the morning until dark. We finally gave up, packed it up and headed back to the cold winter weather, grateful at least to have reasonably working plumbing and quiet once again. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it, that we ever go anywhere?

Anyway, so when we pulled into the driveway at our perfect house on Koi Samui and heard the jackhammer at 8:30 on Saturday morning, we told the children not to get too comfortable, dropped them in the pool and got on the phone. It took a few hours, but shortly after lunch, we were on our way to House #2, henceforth to be known as The Hollywood House. For reasons that I shall grandly elucidate.

Vacation House, Take 2: Welcome to Hollywood!

Now, when I describe the house as “Hollywood,” I am talking about Hollywood, circa 1998. Like, Ben Affleck and Matt Damon before they got hitched and had cute kids (oh, wait, did they get hitched first, or have the kids first?? Who can keep track??). I’m talking the George Clooney, Brat Pack, Hollywood ick. No, wait, I meant ilk—really, I mean ilk.  I’ll cut to the chase: the house came with r-lling p-pers(1).

The house is unbelievably magnificent, but designed as though humans sprang forth at LDA(2) ready to party. Not as though they lived through a stage where they might be a little unsteady on their pins and slip four stories through small opens. Or even large, architecturally beautiful, but potentially tragic from a human loss of life openings. I know, you’re wondering why I didn’t just buy ear protection for the lot of us and head back to House # 1.

Mostly, because House #1 was really, really noisy. Tom and Hope are pretty good at following directions, so while the house was frankly undesirable from a child good-health and maintenance standpoint, it was seemed to be the lesser of two evils.  And it was our only other option.  

Stairs leading up to the bedrooms. No kidding.

To describe the Hollywood House: the pool is at the lowest level. At least, I think it is. It is possible there is a lower level where the staff lives. Oh, yes, of course, it comes with a staff. Please! This is the sort of house that cries out for a staff! At pool level there is a bathroom, a complete staff kitchen, dining area for a dozen and, of course, the pool. It’s a nice infinity pool that overlooks the airport. And most of the island. The views are pretty spectacular, even from way, way down there.

The pool from above. I can seriously imagine Renee Zellweger hanging out here. Me, not so much.

The next level up is the main living area, with the day kitchen, dining area, and in a separate building, there is a single bedroom. Please note, no bathroom. Like I said, nobody was thinking “three year old human requires potty break, stairs, particularly steep ones with no handrails, are a bad idea” when they built this place. The next level up as the main bedrooms –there are three of them and each has their own bathroom. Jeff and I took one and we set the children up in another, leaving two more empty. Palatial. Like I said, George and all of his pals could spend a week here and never see each other.

So, while it is sub-optimal in many ways, and super-opulent in ways that aren’t all that relevant for us, we’re settling in. The island is really pretty special, with some seemingly beautiful beaches and really lovely tropical areas. Details at some other point: I’ll try and post tomorrow, but writing really does cut into family time, so I’ll do what I can, but not promises on “daily” while we’re here. I do have some neat photos, so maybe I do a quick montage without too much verbiage.

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(1) There are some things one just does not want "Google-able" from one's blog.
(2)    Legal Drinking Age: one assumes you know this, but I hate to let a joke go over anyone’s head, and I personally think this one is pretty funny. Sorry if it’s a blinding glimpse of the obvious.

Barfing Through Bangkok

Good news! We made it! Our objective in Thailand was the island of Koi Samui. It’s a relatively recently discovered little jewel in the Gulf of Thailand. The island is in the throws of development, but right now retains a ton of pre-major resort/development charm. And we are here. It was an interesting trip.

As planned, we spent the night in the $30 US hotel at the airport. It was about what you would expect for a $30 US hotel. The last time I spent the night in a place quite like it was on a trip Jeff and I made pre-children to Little Rock, Arkansas. (1). But, it was a case of being better safe than sorry. There were millions (and still are millions) of people all over China who are not able to get to their New Year’s destinations (for many, that means “home,” as in seeing wife and child for the first time in a year), and we were fairly determined not to be among them.

As it turned out, this was an incredibly prescient plan. I woke up at about 2:00 (24-hour clock!!), feeling odd. Which is never good.  And I spent the rest of the night barfing. Not that unusual around here, of course. If you never get a stomach bug in China, you are probably on IV-nutrients. But it was not the best timing. The good news, though, about spending the night in the $30 US hotel (barfing!) was that I didn’t actually have to shower and leave until 9:00 (24-hour clock!), so I could lie still quietly, mustering all of my seriously compromised reserves to face the day (and a half) of travel that faced us to get to our island paradise. All the while anxiously checking the pulse of my family in hopes that wishful thinking could prevent the spread of whatever it was that was trying to do me in.  

Looking not so bad, all things considered

As part of our pre-plan, we had packed basically only carry on, with the assumption being that we would stave off the possibility of South China Air (2) losing our bags and ruining our vacation. However, as you all know, you can no longer carry on to a plane most liquids. So, we packed one tiny backpack to check that included saline, lotions, toothpaste, that sort of thing. This plan seemed most clever when I was strong enough to walk, but now that I was mostly crawling (and barfing, which is kind of a neat trick, try it some time), it was definitely harder to manage the luggage. Jeff did great riding herd on the children, while I staggered along quietly in the rear, trying to keep up.

And, really, other than the barfing part, the trip was pretty uneventful. The children really are great travelers, sleeping when they are tired, eating what appears when food appears (mostly) and generally remaining pretty agreeable in the face of lengthy stays in confined spaces. I mostly tried not to moan. And not shout at the flight attendants when they tried to shoo me out of the First Class Lavatory. Really. There comes a time when proximity is all that matters.

Because we booked our trip a bit later than we should, the trip was quite a bit lengthier than it needed to be. The easiest way to get to Ko Samui is to fly to Hong Kong, then take a direct flight on Bangkok Air (3) to the island. But given the greatness of our lateness, we ended up flying to Guangzhou, then to Bangkok, spending the night in Bangkok, and then catching a 6:30 (24-hour clock!) flight the following morning to the island. Which all seemed quite reasonable when I was in good health, but a little less reasonable give my weakened condition. We got to Bangkok, negotiated a good rate for a cab to the hotel, and I collapsed, weakly begging Jeff to please find me some Ibuprofen.  Which he did. And he brought back a t-shirt that said “We Came All The Way to Bangkok and All My Husband Got Me Was Some lousy Ibuprofen.” Ha! Kidding. But it is kind of funny.

So, the next morning, not unexpectedly with stomach bugs, I was back to normal, hungry and ready to go. Which was a really a good thing, because the alarm didn’t go off, we got up late, and barely made our plane. I would describe our pre-dawn Bangkok scramble, but I’m guessing most of you have been there, right? Early morning, in a city that never sleeps, negotiating a fair cab fare in a cab that smells like vomit (but not your own! Halleluiah!!!), no food, only a few common words, heading late, late, late to one of two airports in the city, not even sure what airline you’re supposed to be on (Bangkok, or Thailand?? Bangkok or Thailand??), so not even sure if you get to the airport in time for your flight that it will even be the right airport, well, like I said, you’ve been there, so you understand, right?

But it was the right airport. And we made the flight. And they served breakfast. With coffee. And we were on our way to paradise, so no harm, no foul. And a lesson learned. Somewhere. Maybe. Or, in our case, maybe not.

The airport at Ko Samui is adorable. There is no other word for it. It’s brand new, and the harbinger of things to come. Clearly, the island is destined for Major Resort Status. We disembarked on the tarmac, pretty standard for Island Paradise type places, and were met by the most darling little trams! The children really got a kick out of this, and we rode all of the hundred yards to the cunning little Thai style outdoor airport. And then we got into our rental jeep and headed off to our little Home in Paradise for the next  week.

It was perfect, perfect, perfect. For a family with children, I find the layout of kitchen, leading to living space, leading to pool just perfect. Of course you have to keep an eagle eye on the little ones around the pool , but that just goes with the territory.

So, perfect. But,wait, what's that?? Perfect, did I say perfect? Or did I really mean, almost?

Tomorrow: What’s Wrong With This Picture. And no, there’s no way you can guess, because you can’t actually see what’s wrong.
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1)You might wonder what on earth would compel someone to go spend a night in Little Rock, but we were on a mission to finish up my State List. At that point in our lives, still pre-children, Jeff had been to all 50 states, and I was just a few short, Arkansas being one of them. So, off we went, checking off the list, so to speak, and spending the night in the $29.99 Masters Inn, right across from the Waffle House. Did you know that in the Waffle House across from the Masters Inn in Little Rock you can get waffles, but not actual made-from-milk butter or made from a tree maple syrup??? Enough said about that trip.
(2) Real airline! Yes, we flew South China Air!
(3) Real airline! Yes, we flew Bangkok Air!