NONE SHALL PASS

If I were a sadist, chalking my house would hours of fun. It STOPS ant in their tracks and apparently roaches too, according to the picture. This is the chalk:


I heard about the chalk from my American friend Cindy. Chalk you say? I had to see this to believe it. Trying it out tonight, I'm a believer. I followed a trail that led from my bathroom door and drew a curved line around it, cutting the ants off.


I don't know if you can see this, but there's my finger. My chipped nail polish (Hot hot Chocolate). Beside my finger is a small black dot. That's an ant. Beside the ant is a faint white line. That's the chalk. This ant cannot get past the line. IT WORKS!!! I'm going to have to cut this post short and run downstairs. The roaches don't know it, but there's a new sheriff in town. She's wielding heavy duty weaponry.

Weekend in photos

Before I leave in the morning. . . my huuurr looks cute.

This is plan, on a notecard!

Dave in Jim Thompson's Garden

I'm at Jim's

That's an order!

Museum garden

Museum bridge

Lumpini Park

Erawan Shrine

Dave and I at the restaurant

On Thai Fashion

My mother always said, "Just because they make it in your size, doesn't mean you should buy it." That's why it is imperative that you try on clothes first! These pants are kind of the rage with young Thai women. While they look quirky and cool on them, they look kind of ridiculous on me.

That's one thing I must get used to, getting out-dressed by almost all of the women here. Their fashion sense is light years ahead of mine and some parts of Europe! I don't know where Bangkok got it from, maybe it's a mix of British, Japanese, and Korean style with a dash of American 80's flair. But I do know that the women around here don't play.

Let's further illustrate the ridiculousness of these pants.

Getting Cupped in Bangkok

Disclaimer: Before all of my former Coffeehounders start hounding me about my association with Starbucks, know that I only frequent the mass market coffee peddler because I'm desperately seeking solace in real coffee and I take it where ever I can get it. You may not realize it, but Thailand runs strictly on Nescafe. And that is not going to do the trick for me. M'kay?

So I'm getting pretty friendly with the kids of Starbucks. We've gotten to the familiar point where they've started calling me by my nickname, "Gra-tai," as soon as I hit the entrance. They know my order pretty well too: Heated almond cream croissant and medium black coffee. They're such lovely people!

This evening, while nursed my coffee and croissant, a worker with a name tag that read: "Hi my name is Ray!" promptly sat down at my table. With him, he brought a French press and two small espresso cups.

"Hello! I give you coffee tasting demonstration right now."

I was frightened by his stealth. As I lowered my mug from my lips, I supressed my confused utterances and just watched as Ray opened his package of Kenya brew. Okay. . . This young man, without preamble, was about to do a cupping demo at my table without my go ahead.

"You're doing a cupping?"

He looked delightfully surprised that I knew what was going on, as if hijacking my time would be his special secret only. "Yes! cup-Ping!" When the Thai say certain two syllable words, there's usually an rising emphasis on the last syllable. Ex: shop-Ping! pret-Ty! no-Ah!
"I will show you how to taste cof-Fee!"

I couldn't help but grin. "I worked at a coffee shop in America, you know?"

He nodded. "Okay, okay." But he tried to one-up me with: "But I teach you Thai too. I teach you how to say coffee things in Thai, okay?"

A cupping and a Thai lesson? The latter sounded more interesting, but traveling beggars can't be traveling choosers. "Okay."

"First we pour cof-Fee in press," he spooned the grounds in. "Hot water, next." He said something in Celsius, but I'm American, I don't need to know the metric system. He pressed the clip-on timer. "Now we wait four minutes."

"Okay."

"I teach you Thai, now."

"Okay."

Ray pointed to my already full coffee mug. "Cof-Fee in Thai is 'gafe.' Repeat."
"Gafe."
"Cup in Thai is 'kow.'
"Kow. Wait a second, isn't that the word for rice?"
"That's kow," Ray corrected in a mildly different tone that my ears couldn't pick up on.
"Kow?"
"Kow."
"Kow?"
"Kow."
"Okay. . ."
"Hot water in Thai is, nam row." It could have easily been nam low, with the Thai pronouncing "l" as "r", I can never be too sure.
"Nam row."
"Cold water in Thai is, nam yen."
"Nam yen."
"Very good! You speak good Thai!" Ray was thoroughly impressed with my repetition. "Where are you from?"
"America."
"Ahhh, where in America?"
I find that I can't very well say Illinois to the people here. No one knows about Illinois, hell, people in New York don't know about Illinois. I have to say Chicago. And sometimes that doesn't even do it. I could see the confusion in Ray's face. "It's where Obama is from," I clarified.
"Ahhhh, yes. Oba-Ma!" He looked down at his timer. "Okay, now we are ready."

Let the cupping begin! Ray slowly pushed down the press and poured two servings of Kenya Blend for the both of us. "Don't drink!" Ray said as I picked up my coffee. "You smell first."

I smiled. I knew my way around a cupping, but I went ahead and humored him by smelling intensely. We both smelled and nodded appreciatively. "Smells good?" Ray asked.

"Mm-hmm."

He went on to describe the fruitiness that I should be smelling. "Now you watch me taste, okay?" Ray took a long noisy sip and smacked his lips together. He stared out into space with a wistful expression. For a moment, I was by myself at the table. Then he shook himself from his reverie. "Okay, now you try."

I slurped too, just like I was taught at home by Steve and Anna, my Coffeehound bosses. I couldn't believe I was doing off-duty, out of town, out of country cupping for no reason. The location might be embarrassing, but I know they are proud of the knowledge that I took abroad.

"Taste good?"

"Yes, it's slightly acidic and maybe a little full bodied, but it's got an interesting fruit finish."

Ray nodded. "Yes," he said gravely. "I agree."

Ray stood abruptly and began clearing his things. "You may go back to reading," he told me. "Thank you for tasting cof-Fee, Gra-tai. Please drink the rest of this," he said gesturing to the nearly full French Press. I didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I was already jacked up on a caffeine high.

"Thank you, Ray."

"You will learn Thai very fast," he said thoughtfully. "Keep practicing."

"Okay, Ray."

And just as fast as he blew in, Ray disappeared, leaving me with an ample amount of coffee.

A Close Shave

Chili Aroma Hot Balm--- a greasy balm that smells a lot like Bengay and Tiger Balm, it's warning label says "Caution: Extremely hot! Use small amount in test area." It also said that it was a heating balm for soothing sore muscles and joints. Score!

When I bought this balm at the organic Thai products store in the mall, I thought for sure I was getting a great deal. No more would I come home from school with aching muscles nor would have to limp to and from the bathroom in pain. Standing around in high heels might be cute as hell, but it's certainly hell on my ankles and knees.

When I took it home and tried a "small test area" on my ankle. I felt nothing. Dammit, what a scam! Extremely hot? I've never encountered such an indifferent balm in my life! But interestingly enough, I accidentally wiped some on a mosquito bite and felt instant cooling relief. Okay, not so indifferent, but cooling. The balm was not a total loss.
That was a couple weeks ago.

Today, I'm struggling with about eight mosquito bites on both arms. The itching is driving me mad and I'm doing all I can not to scratch, scratch, scratch. So as soon as I got home, I jumped in the shower and loofahed vigorously. Hey, it's better than fingernails, right? While I was at it, I did a quick underarm shave too. A little too much information? Ha! You've come this far with me, stick around a little while longer.

After I'd wash the day's dirt and grime off, I applied the "not-hot-chili" balm on my arms liberally. Ahh, cooling.

The point where this story takes a wrong turn is during my motorbike ride to the mall later in the day. In the heat and the humidity the chili oils from the balm started to run. The burning that the label warned me about was stinging my freshly shaved armpits like a hornet attack. And all of this took place while I was speeding through alley ways on the back of a motorbike.

I tried to bite my tongue and hold back a howl, it came out in a sharp hiss. "ahhhh!" I whispered as quietly as I could.

"A lai-nah?" What? asked the motorbike driver.

"Nothing, nothing," I told him. How do you say burning armpits in Thai? On the verge of tears, I attempted to raise my arms above my head and let the wind air them out. Oh god, please don't let me fall off the motorbike and in the middle of traffic because of "not-hot-but-yeah-kinda-chili" balm. Don't let me go out like that.

Without looking too noticeable, I pretended to scratch my head, then I pretended to stretch both arms. But my timing was poor and I hit a hanging tree branch. "Shit!" I shouted and the motorbike skidded to a stop.

My driver turned to me and said something with a concerned tone. I shook my hand and smiled. I wasn't hurt, just thoroughly embarrassed. "Kor toht, ka," I apologized. "I'm fine, I'm fine." I motioned for him to continue driving.

When I got to the mall I ran straight for the restroom and washed my arms of the balm and received some curious looks. No matter, though, I was just glad to rid myself of the burning. What spells relief? Definitely not Chili Aroma Hot Balm. That's what I get for abusing a product with bad syntax. From now on, I will stick with the "small test area."

Boom De Ya Da

I love it whenever it starts raining. The rain in Bangkok not only cools things off, but it's the most comforting sound in my neighborhood. I was scrolling around Youtube looking for something to watch when I found this, brought to us by the Discovery channel. I think it perfectly describes how I feel at the moment.




It might sound corny or a little kitschy, but this makes me stop and remember that the world is awesome. At a time when I really miss everyone, it also makes me remember how small the world really is.

Surprised that was only 40 baht. . .

It was Saturday afternoon when I walked down my gravelly street and hailed a motorbike. What I've learned while living out here, is that you don't hail vehicles (motorbikes, tuk tuks, cabs) like a New Yorker. When I hailed my first cab in Bangkok, I stood in full view of everyone on the street, and tossed my hand up in the air. It works just the same as anything else would, but it lacks the grace that the Thai have. The motion is almost coy. You hold your hand out as if you're trying to take the hand of a small child who is lagging behind you while walking down the street.

When my motorbike man came, I got my map out. I smiled and greeted him. "Pin klao Pier," I said and pointed to the map. We both looked at my finger.

"Pin klao."
"Chai" Yes. "Pin klao."
"Central?"
That's the shopping center that's located near my neighborhood. It's not where I needed to be.
"Mai Chai." No. "Pier. Pin klao Pier. I want a boat to take me," I made a snaking motion with my arm, "down river."
"Okay, okay," said the motorbike man with an air of impatience.

I climbed on and we took off. As we rode past my school, I put my earbuds in and turned on my music.
Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am; stuck in the middle with you. . .
And then we pulled over.
Just before the busy streets and highways of Bangkok, there's a 7-11 that I frequent, it's also a place for the motorbike taxis to wait for patrons. Why are we stopping?

So my driver could converse with a group of other drivers. He jerked a thumb back at me said something to the men. I knew that was my signal to pull out the map and explain myself again. I used buzzwords like: boat, pier, river, Pin klao. I made the same snaking motion, I pretend to paddle as if I were in a canoe--- It was a game of foreign language charades.

One of the drivers understood and made it clear to the others in Thai, "This feckless young woman in search of a boat, to take her downriver. You should take her to the Pin klao Pier." I'm guessing that's what he said.

And we're back on the road!

Only for a few more yards though. Traffic was absolutely awful for two in the evening. Very quickly, my driver grew impatient with sitting. As we wove around cars and buses, getting stopped every 5 seconds, I listened to the Beastie Boys and tried not to mind the fact that my driver was insistent on driving a little recklessly. I tried not to count the near misses we had with buses. I even fought the urge to tighten my helmet. Just be cool and listen to the white rappers from Queens. They are "guaranteed to my your body rock."

Fair enough.

There was a clear opening in the traffic and my driver took it, and just as it seemed like we were rising above the fray, we were stuck yet again. This time, indefinitely. We were immediately boxed in by the median, a bus and two cars, in the front and the back. My driver's shoulders sagged.

I couldn't help but think that my trip to the pier was ruining his life. What started out with the assumption that he'd take a farang girl to the mall, was probably going to turn into him charging this same farang girl sixty more baht for fare.

Finally, the light changed. Traffic lights here in Bangkok have timers on them that can be seen by drivers and pedestrians alike. It's not unusual to watch a red light count down from two minutes and forty seconds. You try not to look at them after awhile. As we took off, we covered some serious ground, going at top speeds, narrowly missing other vehicles and I felt alive. By that time, I was listening to Paul Okenfold's Ready Steady Go! It happens to be my favorite song to listen to while riding at high speeds on a motorbike ride. You can hear it in the Bourne Identity during the awesome car chase scene.

Until we hit another red light, I kinda thought this was turning into an alright excursion out of the house. My driver mumbled something under his breath. I switched songs. I hit a slow Red Hot Chili Peppers ballad and had to turn again. I wasn't in the mood. Another timer was lit in red and I tried not to stare.

By the time my driver got be the pier, I was more than a little anxious. For all of that time he spent with me would he stick to the flat rate that I was accustom to? Or would he try to milk me for more cash? And if so, what could I possibly do about it? Huh? Argue with him?

You don't argue with people, Charish. I thought to myself. You avoid confrontation with service workers so as not to let them think you're the capitalist "Man" trying to "keep them down." As I got off the bike and handed him his helmet back, I smiled and thanked him in Thai. I tried to keep the air clear of thoughts that suggested he did a terrible job of avoiding the traffic. Could I have done a better job? Of course not, it was no one's fault.

"Tow rai?" I asked. How much?
"See sip et," he told me. 40.

Okay. awesome.

I am pleasantly surprised by the Thai's patience and kindness everyday that I interact with them. It makes me feel guilty that I have doubts or suspicions that creep up every once in awhile. Part of it is out of caution. I am, after all, a female traveling alone most of the time. But it's also because I'm just not used to honest people where ever I go. I certainly not used to people wanting to help you out for no reason in the states.

Let's not kids ourselves, there are scams here just like anywhere else, but on the whole, the Thai are some of the most thoughtful and helpful people I've ever lived amongst. I shouldn't have been terribly surprised that my driver didn't stiff me. I gladly paid him for all his trouble, thanked him again and went on my way with the knowledge that I didn't have to be cynical when it came to humanity in the world.