14 December 2002

  ... not Partridges in Pear Trees!

   It wasn’t temple bells but roosters that woke us in Na Lau.  The cool of the north had given way to steamy humidity as we arrived in on the first morning train – Chiang Mai to Bangkok.  An hour and a half later we were stepping from the minivan to the dirt streets of the village that had fed us and sheltered us through the trying heat of last year’s summer. 

    Without the pressure of training from 8-5 or 6 or whatever time we managed to finish, we were seeing our village again for the first time…this time unhurried, thoughtfully, and, I think, with more appreciation for what we had missed last year.

    Aon greeted us first, walking from inside the dark shop where Grandma sat on her wooden table chewing betel.  Then came Boon Jing and her younger sister Dep.  Smiles, hugs, saying hello all over again!  “Gin kau, mai ka?“ Boon Jing asked if we wanted to eat.   “Gin leau,” we answered, “already ate.”

    The afternoon and evening bustled with talk, sharing photos of our house in Colorado and of our new temporary home in Chiang Mai , Aon’s proud presentation of her first college grade report: 7 A’s, 2 B’s, and one C+ in English usage, family and neighbors came and went.  Finally nighttime and sleep.

    Pigs grunt and snort in their pen below our window.  A noxious scent wafts through the room and I punch Norbert, accusing him of its creation.  How nice it is to sleep on the second floor and with the windows wide open to catch the cooling night breeze!  How safe and secure to be back on familiar ground. 

    At 2 a.m., something heavy lands on my back from the open window above. I jump, startled, reach through the mosquito net to see if it had been real or only a dream.  Warm fur meets my fingertips, and nudges me at the touch. Crunching sounds follow, Aon’s cat, I reassured myself.  Hope it isn’t chewing on a rat. 

    We wake to morning light reflecting off the metal roof to our west. It must be nearly 6 a.m.  Boon Jing was up at 4 and off to the market in U-Thong to get food to cook and sell in her shop.  Aon sleeps in.  She is, after all, a college student like all college students.

    She had come home for the weekend, as she does every weekend, to do the family wash and ironing, to clean the house, to help her mother with cooking for the shop.  It’s hard, she says, not the work but Harry Potter.  It’s difficult to understand.  Yes, she saw the movie, but the words are difficult to read.  She must write the theme of chapter two and answer a dozen questions before returning to class. 

    We dress and eat the chicken and rice brought for us from the market . Warm soymilk fills our two glasses. The walk to the school is familiar. Norbert wants to get a better recording of the morning song and prayers.  We stop at the stand across from the school for gaffae yen, coffee, cold and terribly sweet.  Students arrive in twos and threes, on bicycles or carried along by their parents on motorcycles.  Early ones have already opened the classroom windows and swept upstairs floors and hallways.  Others are picking up trash and sweeping sticks and leaves off the gravel road in front of the building. Some play.  Some stand behind the tree and whisper to friends.  All, even teachers, wear bright pink shirts that tell us today will be a special athletic events day.

    We visit teachers gathered in the school office.  Where are you living? They ask, and what are you doing now?  I n a while, students line up in their predictable rows, facing west, and the school and the flagpole.  The national anthem plays on a speaker and students sing along, some belting out the tune.  Hands with palms together, they repeat the morning prayers.  There are more smiles and laughter.  The ceremony ends.

    Rain comes in the afternoon, heavy, pouring, pounding on the metal rooftops. A neighbor runs out and opens the cover of her 5-foot tall maw that collects rain for the long summer dry season.  The sky is dark.  Lightening flashes.  I love the rain, Aon says. Me, too.

    Evening comes with a cool north breeze dries the leaves of the papaya tree next to the house. It's time for a walk around the village.  Women sit pushing dry corn kernels off cobs for planting.  Children and old women wrap coconut candy for a shop order in Bangkok.  Farmers spread out their newly harvested rice to dry.  Children play house steps.  Meat dries in the air. Dogs bark.  Chickens cackle. Music blares from a window. Men throw water out the windows after washing up from a day in the rice paddies. Motorcycles whiz. Banana leaves rustle. The scent of hot curry fills the air. It’s nice to be back.  

    On Tuesday, Aon walks with Norbert & I to the bus stop a mile away. In U -Thong, we look for a feathery broom for the house in Chiangmai…one like my grandfather brought back from his service as a governor in the Philippines.  Maybe we’ll get two, Norbert says.  Two?  Why would you need two? Asks Aon.  One to sweep the floors and one to hang on the wall, he answers.  Aon gives us a look we are used to.  It says: You Americans have such strange ideas!

    The afternoon is still cool and a delight for us.  Boon Jing’s brother arrives in a truck to take us to the farm.  This time, I promise NO ACCIDENTS!  The chicken house over the pond stands empty.  That’s where I ruined my leg last year.  Aon’s uncle is building a new house.  Rice patties are green, the bamboo star at the edge of one field celebrating the first sign of “rice babies”  (plants going to seed).  A door maker works in his workshop.  A quilt maker separates out pieces of felt.  Aon shows us her banana trees.  A young boy with no pants on hides his head in a box and a girl picks up her pet chicken.

   Birds hang in 6 or 8 cages around a yard and the owner, another relative, asks if we would like to have one.  A large snake is dragged from a mango tree and has his head pounded.  We climb through a water filled ditch that feeds the rice patties and discover a pussy willow looking plant that will make you itch terribly if you touch it.  What a wonderful day!

    Night comes again.  This time we are tired.  Norbert wolfs down scoops of spicy fish dip on spoons of lettuce.  I fill my plate with sweet – sour vegetables with pork and pineapple. Sleep is welcome.

    We wake again our last morning to the screams and squeals of pigs. The owner is loading up the big one for market.  It’s 8 a.m. Today we head back to Bangkok, for a brief tour of  Khao San Road and the night train back home. 

 It was a good visit,…despite the pigs.

 Current News . . . December 2002

 Headline in the “Chiangmai Mail” newspaper from Dec. 6, 2002 reads: Chiang Mai officials study effects of changing time zone. Will the sun get up an hour earlier?

In a poll on changing the time zone, the majority agreed to making the change, however some respondents worried that their children would have to get up an hour earlier.  Others claimed that the “extra” hour of sunshine would fade their curtains.

 Comment: This planned change would bring Thailand in line with her neighbors who all are one hour ahead.

 Other Chiang Mai news: The city introduced a new electric bus service for university students. Instead of having to pay money for using the bus, students must bring either 2 empty glass bottles, or three empty cans for recycling. 

 How’s that for “green-awareness?”