Dontcha put it in your mouth.......

Angels singing.....

                                      

Ring of fire. Seriously. My morning gaff of speaking too harshly with my new boss had resulted in me finishing my entire bowl of chili laced gruel as a form of apology. Now, 4 hours later, I was sitting in my heat box sauna of a bathroom alternately pooing fire water and being violated by the ass hose. It was an unpleasant way to start off my whole ‘try new things’ lifestyle.

( If new things result in fire poo, then new age folks can have them, pass the mayo and ketchup please.) 

As I sat on the toilet giving the ass hose the evil eye I realized that I would have to stay true to some of the old me. I was in this for the long haul (a YEAR at least!) and I must pace myself.  Staying strong and healthy was probably the best way to keep being able to try new things, so I decided to swear off spicy breakfast, and head to the 7-11 about a five minute walk away. My new boss had taken pity on me and told me that they had bread and banana muffins there, so I had decided to stock up.

It was hot. Not Canadian summer hot, where you are so grateful to wear a t-shirt that happiness seeps out of every pore, but Thailand hot where you are so scared to get caught in the sun, that you dash from shade spot to shade spot and sweat seeps out of every pore. The 7-11 was on the other side of the street (of course!) so I had to engage in the crossing the street warfare yet again. Luckily, I had been trained earlier that day. 

I waited for a gap in the traffic on my side of the road and bolted for the white divider line, and then I stood firmly as the cars whizzed by and I waited for another gap.  Once I had successfully reached the other side of the street I was filled with an enormous amount of pride because I had done it all alone. 

(When I was planning my trip overseas I had visions of myself mastering the Thai language, doing charity work, and generally taking Thailand by storm, but since ‘effective street crossing’ had been added to my list, I knew I would have to revise these goals.)

With the swoosh of an automatic door and a blast of air conditioning, I knew I had found heaven. The staff behind the counter greeted me with the standard, “Sawasdee Ka” and I floated toward the aisles. It seemed like a very normal 7-11. Sure, it was missing a few of the staples from back home, like nachos and good chocolate, and the chip flavors had been altered for the eastern palate, but it was like a climate controlled paradise. I grabbed a shopping basket and picked up the essentials like a new toothbrush and toilet paper, then I moved on to the fun stuff. Food shopping. 

My stomach had finally calmed down after my breakfast of spicy rice soup and I looked at the shelves of bread with a homesick longing. I carefully selected two non-offensive looking buns and placed them in my basket. I also grabbed a bottle of orange juice and some gum. I laughed again at the exotic chip flavors, ranging from Spicy Dried Squid to Nori Seaweed, and then headed for the cashier. It was such a relief to know that the prices were pre-set and I would not have to do any of the haggling that the east is so famous for.

The check out went fine. The price was clearly marked on the monitor and I merely had to hand over my money and receive my change. I managed to say thank you in Thai and received a beaming smile from the cashier.  This was the first task that I felt I had successfully conquered. I stepped back out onto the street so full of confidence and happiness that I didn’t even mind the sun. The glare suddenly seemed perfect because I felt so much brighter on the inside. 

I set off to meet my new boss at the language school, about a 10 minute walk away, and reached into my bag to pull out the glorious bun. I first took a few big chugs of orange juice and then I opened the bun from its plastic packaging and took a small, savory bite. It was a little on the sweet side, but it was heavenly bland.

 I took another big bite and felt something dry, stringy and furry in my mouth. Without caring about the other pedestrians watching the sweaty farang on her walk, I spit the furry bit out into my hand. It looked exactly as it had tasted; like dry, furry, thin, brown shoelaces. Damn it. I tossed the barely eaten bun back into my bag and heading toward the language school, no longer prancing in the sunshine, but instead darting again from shadow to shadow.

Dontcha put it in your mouth....
Dontcha stuff it in your face....
'Till you ask someone you love
If it's okay to taste.

                                    

Spicy Breakfast

Thai oatmeal

                                   

Entering the small restaurant I noticed a slowly rotating ceiling fan. I am sure it was originally a cream color but the dust and spider webs had collected and turned it a grainy shade of brown. It’s drooping head and slow motion reminded me of my own state of mind. The heat felt like a contagious fog that had permeated every pore. 

Breaking my intense bond with the slow motion ceiling fan, my boss cut in and asked,

 “This is a rice soup breakfast place would you like it with fish or with pork?” 

Startled, I realized that I had yet to mention that I was a 10 year vegetarian.  “Don’t eat the meat” I said and immediately regretted my casual response when I saw his face drop. 

“Ohh, ummm, okay. That makes things a little difficult. You eat eggs? “ 

“Yes, I do. I quite like them.” I hoped my over enthusiasm for eggs and egg products would make up for the obvious disappointment of my no death policy. 

“Good then. You can have rice soup and egg.” My boss waved over a waiter and ordered our soup in Thai. 

“So,” I awkwardly broke in, “will my vegetarianism be a problem in Thailand? I though the whole Buddist thing would make it easier.”

 My boss cleared his throat as he prepared to break my Buddha bubble, “There are a few options for you but basically Thai Buddists think of vegetarianism as something you do for a period of time, as a cleansing, then you go back to the meat. I fear you will have limited options, but there are plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables.”

 “I am sure I can figure it out!” I responded with a persistent cheerfulness that was even beginning to irritate me.

The waiter brought over our soup and placed it on the rickety plastic table. With instinctive Canadian courtesy I responded, “thank you” and I received one of those famed Thai smiles.  My boss put away the array of training papers he had lain out on the table and then from the center of the table he grabbed a tin and glass, four leaf clover shaped spice holder. He proceeded to put a small spoonful of dry red chili flakes into his soup and politely offer the spoon to me. I turned down the exotic looking spoonful while explaining,

 “I think I will take it very easy on the spice for my first little while. I grew up on salt, pepper, ketchup and mayonnaise. I can handle rice soup for breakfast, feels a little bit like porridge, but adding hot peppers? My bowels are already screaming just looking at that little spoon.” 

My boss managed a smile but I saw some dismay in his eyes and I realized that by talking about bowel movements at the breakfast table, I had potentially compromised the instinctive Canadian courtesy.

The soup did indeed remind me of the stand-by camp breakfast of porridge, but it was missing the option of whole cream, brown sugar or maple syrup. Instead, I had the option of dried red pepper flakes, green and orange sliced peppers in a clear sauce, some kind of plain black sauce as well as a black sauce complete with good-time floating peppers. 

None of the options appealed to me at 8:30 in the morning. In fact, the concept of eating spicy morning gruel when I already had a visible sweat line creeping down my spine seemed downright sado-masochistic. 

“Spicy breakfast is a first for me” I told my boss as I played the child’s game of ‘move your food around so it looks like you are eating it’ (doesn’t work so well with rice soup, can’t really rearrange it). 

“The food can throw many people at first but soon you will come to love the spice and you will find that food without the spice becomes quite boring.” 

“I suppose I might,” I replied as I noticed a few extra drops of sweat appear on his brow every time he took another spoonful. “but eating has never really been about pain for me. Spicy food is painful and it makes me sweat more, so logically I am not very interested in it.” 

My boss stopped eating and looked up at me with concern, “Victoria, take a moment to remember that you are in Thailand and things will not always be the same as where you are from, in fact, the way things are done here may seem to defy ‘logic’ as you put it, but it is always best to try new things.” 

I returned my boss's gaze, thought for a moment, and then reached for a spoonful of the dried red chilies, “I get the message.”

Now be a good girl and add some chillies
to your breakfast.
(A phrase Mum never used when I was growing up.)

                                     

How the farang crossed the street in Surat Thani.

Take a deep breath, close your eyes and run.
(maybe skip step 2)

                                 

Feeling grateful that I wasn’t about to die, I got dressed quickly and cheerfully started walking to the end of the alleyway, it was only 7:45 in the morning but the heat was already in full swing. I walked in the shadows of buildings as much as I could, only stepping into the sunshine to dodge the blue trash barrels where a cluster of chickens now hovered under a haze of sun-drunk flies. 

  Those trash barrels seemed to support a lot of life, flies and chickens during the day, rats and cockroaches at night and mangy dogs at all hours. I continued past the trash barrels passing two faded yellow, one story houses and an off white three story apartment complex that had many pieces of re-bar sticking out the side. I stepped even further into the shadows at the requests of a passing motorbike. The driver beeped his horn to warn me, then waved and shouted “Hey You!” as he passed.  I smiled back, unsure if I had just been reprimanded for uncouth walking etiquette or merely greeted with a Thai version of good morning. From the smile on the motorcyclists face I figured it was just a kind greeting, although it did sound quite aggressive.

The end of the alley way spilled out into the major street that my new boss and I had driven in on the day before. There was a lot of traffic, mostly motorbikes and huge pick-up trucks, which offered an interesting juxtaposition. It looked as if the pick-ups were hunting the little motorbikes, waiting for the right moment to attack and crush them.  Amongst the fast moving pick-ups and motorbikes there was also a lady in a wide straw hat, pushing a large cart filled with ice and fruit.  I recognized watermelon and pineapple but couldn’t identify anything else. The fruit lady smiled as she past me and said “Farang.” I had read about this word, used as a blanket term for most foreigners. I wasn’t sure how to respond but shouting “Thai!” back seemed a little uncouth so I just smiled at her and over her shoulder I noticed the boss's car pull over on the opposite side of the road. 

 To get to my boss's car meant I had to cross the busy street, which was even more confusing because the cars were driving on the left hand side of the road. I stepped toward the edge of the curb, shading my eyes from the sun and waiting for a break in the traffic.  There would be an opening coming from the right hand side but then the other side was always flowing steadily. A couple of times I saw a brief opening, figuring I could make it if I really ran, but in the second it took me to decide if I was going to go for it, a motorbike would shoot out from behind a slowly approaching car and force me back on to the sidewalk. 

After 5 minutes of unsuccessful attempts, which felt more like 20 because I knew my new boss was watching me from behind his tinted windows, a young man from the key making shop behind me stepped out onto the curb. He didn’t say a word, merely motioned for me to follow him as he stepped out into the street. We had an opening on our side of the street but the opposite side was still flowing with traffic. The man just walked to the middle of the road and then stopped. I stood next to him as cars, trucks and motorbikes flowed by on both sides. We stood together, in the middle of 60 km/hour traffic, my heart beating faster at every burst of wind from a passing vehicle. Then the traffic cleared on the opposite side of the road and the man motioned for me to cross.  When I had safely reached the sidewalk, I turned back to say thanks, but the man had already re-entered his key shop.

I approached what I thought was the passenger side door, only to see the tinted window roll down and my boss's smiling face. 

“You expecting to drive?” he laughed good naturedly. 

“Sorry, still getting used to all this.” I replied as I rushed to the other side. 

The air conditioner was on full blast and it felt like Freon heaven.  “You have a good sleep?” my boss politely asked.

 “Sure, the roosters were a little frustrating but I managed to catch a few hours.”  I replied. 

We drove toward the restaurant in a comfortable silence. I watched the town pass by, marveling at the amount of people that could fit on one motorbike and also at the apparent anarchy that seemed to rule the road. My new boss swore softly under his breath as a four door pick up truck cut directly in front of him, but we reached the restaurant safely and in less than 10 minutes.

 I opened the car door to a wall of heat and realized that Thailand won’t easily let you forget how far away from home you are.

                                

Heading to school.
My Dad used to drop me off in a cop car,
 pretty sure his ticket finger would constantly be twitchy in Thailand!