Mommy Dearest

Having spent the better part of the last two years scheming ways of stealing adorable Thai babies from their unsuspecting mothers, I finally made the decision to get my own "little one" the old-fashioned way--buy it.

And so I headed off last Sunday morning to the mother of all markets in Thailand, Jatchujak Market in Bangkok. JJ has everything you could ever look for--of both the legal and illegal variety--from kitchenware to snake's blood, clothing to endangered animals. Surely I'd be able to find an adoptable offspring.

One hour into the mission--success. Having to negotiate through the claustrophobic maze of narrow alleys amongst a mass of shoppers whose presence made the heat stifling, I found the dark, near-empty shop sandwiched between reptiles and dog grooming. After waking the shopkeepers from a peaceful nap, Laura and I chose our new loves at the exorbitant price of 50 baht each (less than two dollars).

The busride home was interesting, as we had to sneak them on and muffle their cries with loud chatter. The gods were on our side that day, as we made it home in record time. And so we welcomed Aroon (Thai for 'Dawn') and Eliza (named after Laura's sister).

Say hello to our darlings...

Sabai House

One week later--and more baht than I care to mention--Laura and I are completely set up in our new pad. We've purchased new crockery (Aussie for 'dishes') and have given names to our "major" appliances--Frieda Fridge, Wendy Wok, Katie Kettle, and Toby Toaster(oven). Give us fifty years, and we'll still be reminding each other that Frieda is hungry (i.e. we need to go grocery shopping) while knitting sweaters (because it's so cold here) and whining about our arthritis. For now, we come home from work and park our bicycles, welcomed by Pahlo and Nahm Daeng, our neighbour's geese. A bridge connects us to our porch and house, both of which are build over a canal where fish, birds, and turtles make their homes. The house is made entirely of a dark wood that goes nicely with the surrounding greenery, including a few banana trees, whose fruit we are anxiously awaiting to ripen. We now have the opportunity to lay in the hammock, practice yoga, make dinner, or entertain friends whenever we want. Now all we need are pets...

How to go apartment hunting in Thailand

Mac, live in Sriracha:

Recent events have made me realize that I need a change of scenery, and so Laura and I have begun a search for an apartment to share. Having lived in Thailand for nearly two years, one would think that I would have learned to ditch my preconceptions for how things work based on my own culture and just expect the unexpected. Well, I'm still learning. Searching for an apartment has proven to be a little more difficult than expected, but I think I've figured out the basic rules:

Rule #1: An apartment actually only refers to a studio. Trying to explain that we want an apartment that has two separate bedrooms and a kitchen and living room has not been received well. First, they think that Laura and I are a couple and want to share one bedroom, then when they realize we just want to share a place, they tell us to get two studios (no kitchen or living room) or to get a house outside of town (and buy a car to get to work every day). Simple, no?

Rule #2: Everything is word-of-mouth. There aren't any listings, and real estate agents for rental properties are hard to come by. House hunting literally means getting in your car and driving around until you notice a for-rent sign posted on the gate of a house or townhouse. Not having our transportation, we are relying on the generosity of colleagues to chauffeur us around town.

Rule # 3: Time frames are not universally understood. We went to one apartment building and explained that we wanted a two-bedroom apartment with kitchen and living room to move in to as soon as possible. The landlord, realizing that the current building did not have our request, lit up upon telling us that she had another building not far that had what we were looking for. Getting our hopes up, we ventured to the new location--a construction site. Having come directly from school, and thus still wearing our uniform and heels, we looked warily at the mud and wet cement. Our guide, undaunted, led us around the maze of equipment, through the groups of ogling workers (pretending not to hear shouts of "Farang! I love farang!") and up the eight flights of stairs to the unfinished room that was locked and not to be opened. She pointed to the door and said, "This is it. You can move in in about two or three months." To be fair, that was as soon as possible, but not quite what we had in mind. Plus, when she told us we could also rent another room and tutor people in English (herself included) warning bells inside our head went off, and we told her we'd keep in touch.

Rule # 4: Stand your ground. We have found that refusing to waver on certain things, like price, number of bedrooms, and internet have opened up so many more possibilities. Everything is negotiable, and you have to fight to keep the prices reasonable. When first you hear that there are only one-bedroom houses, stand your ground. Less than one hour later you will receive a phone call that a two-bedroom place has "just opened up." When you are told that you cannot get internet, stand your ground. "I will call the company today" follows with a phone call that DSL will be installed within ten days. In the end, both parties are satisfied, and you've already established a relationship based on mutual respect.

Armed with these principles, we quickly succeeded and have now moved into a small duplex. It's Thai-style--wooden, sitting over a pond. With an eclectic mix of furniture, tacky cushions, and a refrigerator older than me, we've worked hard to put together a place we can call home.

Reflections on Vietnam

It was obvious from the beginning that the Vietnamese are a different breed from the open-hearted, smiley Thais that we have come to know and love. While we were able to crack a smile here and there, most relationships in Vietnam were forged on the basis of how many dong with which we were willing to part. Negotiating certainly wasn't the friendly bartering to which we were accustomed in Thailand. Instead of smiles and laughter, we were forced to contend with pitiful stares and phrases like, "But it's Happy Hour--special price." (Happy Hour all day?) "No good for me. Good for you." "Not my lucky day. Today no sell. Help me lucky." And if we didn't make a purchase, there wasn't a mai bpen rai attitude -- we felt daggers from icy glares piercing our backs as we made a hasty retreat.

This was most apparent on the beaches of Hoi An, where women as old as the Earth itself shuffled barefooted on the scorching sand and dropped their baskets. They sat back on their haunches, sighed heavily, and begged us to buy their wares. How many pineapples and bags of peanuts can you purchase and consume of a morning? We dare not admit.
Or, take the woman who boarded our sleeper bus in Hue, who spent an hour and a half huffing and puffing down the aisles, reorganizing the seating arrangements. Our coveted single beds on the top bunk at the front of the bus, which we had procured by boarding an hour before departure, were ripped from our clutches. We were shoved to the rear and forced to sleep on the large, 5-person bed on the bottom bunk, next to a groping drunk and underneath a woman suffering from chronic car sickness.

Still, it takes a lot more than that to bring us down, and overall we had a pleasant experience. We will forever hold Mr. Tinh dear in our hearts, despite his abrupt and unenthusiastic departure upon dropping us off at our hotel. We expected at least a tearful goodbye. Or even just a goodbye.



One last point: For the first time since living in Asia, we visited a country in which not a single, solitary street housed the familiar, beloved convenience store that is 7-Eleven (or any convenience store, for that matter.) Not only was this mind-blowing, but also irritating when you could walk up to any stall and be quoted upward of three times the market price for a bottle of water. What so bad about price tags? Or Coffika? We put this question to Mr. Tinh, to which he answered with a pondering expression, "I don't know? Maybe it is not a lucky number." Oh Mr. Tinh, we miss you already.

The Incredible Mr. Tinh

With more sights to see outside the city we booked a 3 day/ 2 night boat tour of Halong Bay and the Cat Ba islands. Our tour guide - Mr. Tinh - shuttled us onto the still-moving van outside the hotel and entertained us with pop quizzes about Vietnam history and culture during the three-hour trip. He quickly won us over with his humour and knowledge, and made us smile whenever we called for him by responding with a sassy twist of the head and smirky smile, "Can I help you?"

Our three days were spent on and off the boat, scouting the still, aquamarine waters for giant kong seua (jellyfish) from our kayaks. There was relative concern for our safety, but when we assured the crew that we could swim, they didn't make us wear those annoying life jackets. Plus, upon seeing our first jellyfish, no way were we getting in the water, no matter how inviting. Our guide was very nonplussed about our sighting:
"A jellyfish? Why, yes. Maybe it will sting you. It will be so funny. We will go to hotel for treatment."
"Hotel?...Oh, hospital."
"Yes, hotel."
"Mr. Tinh, have you ever been stung?"
"Yes, many times. It was so funny...Ok, you go swimming now or no?"

The next day we left the boat and ventured to Cat Ba National Park for an enjoyable hike, which was preluded with this announcement by our dear guide:
"We are going there." (He points to a mountain in the far recesses of the background.) If you don't think you can go, don't. It is not easy."
Following this understatement of the century, we began our trek. As we trudged up the steep incline, dodging thorny branches and trying not to slip in the mud, we asked, "Mr. Tinh, how long does it take to reach the top?" He replied, "For me? One hour and a half. For you? Maybe two hours." As our fitness level had just been put into question (never mind that he probably completes the hike at least twice a week) we made it our mission to prove our prowess, with much success--Mr. Tinh was very impressed. The view from the top was worth the mud on our shoes...and our pants...and our elbows, faces, and hair.

Ding-Dong!

First thing to do in a foreigh country: familiarize yourself with their money. It is almost always a different size and color than what you are used to, and this preventative measure can avoid the embarrasing moment when you try to pay for a bottle of water with the largest demonination available.

In Vietnam, US dollars are widely accepted and will get you about 16,000 Vietnamese dong. Most vendors can make change in either currency but local ATMs onlt distribute dong. Before we got far from our hotel in Hanoi, Laura decided to make a withdrawl and was presented with on-screen options ranging from 1,000 to 2,000,000 dong. "How much dong should I get?" she asked. Distracted by local scenery, we left her to figure it out for herself. When she caught up to us, triumphantly fisting a colorful array of paper notes, she announed she had 20,000 dong. We did the math, three different times and said, "Great. Now you can buy yourself a soda." What kind of ATM lets you withdrawl $1.25? As experience dictates our second try is usually a charm so she headed back to make a bigger impact on her davings and treated us to our first round of mineral water.

It's always a good idea to carry local currency so, without the convenience of debit cards, Keeks and Mac went in search of a money exchange. When two Vietnamese women approached us on the street with a rate that sounded too good to be true, we said "Sure. How much for $100?" Never mind that it was probably illegal, as long as it was fair- it took just sconds of leafing through the stacks of notes to discover a lot was missing. With the help of and already jaded Dutch ex-pat, we got our money back and were pointed in the direction of a proper exchange.

Final Call

As the taxi pulled into the Bangkok hotel, Kiki hoped the message had been relayed to Mac that her flight from Singapore was late. It was past 1:00 am and Mac was no doubt tucked away in bed with visions of Vietnam playing across her eyelids. Instead, the car had not yet come to a complete stop when the door was flung open and there stood Mac- with three Thai boys and a big smile on her face. "These are our new friends," she began, "and we are drinking whiskey at their restaurant. Welcome back!" When it came about that Mac had been introduced through a friend of a friend and patronized the restaurant for dinner, then tried to pay her bill which they wouldn't allow so she bought them a bottle of whiskey instead... it all made sense. "Just one drink..." were Kiki's famous last words, and by nearly 4:00 am we were able to tear ourselves away from the welcoming committee in order to catch a few hours of sleep before the trip.


We arrived at Suvarnabhumi (Sue-wanna-boom) Airport to catch our flight to Hanoi, ready for ten days worth of adventure. Our companion Laura, an Aussie addition to the ACS staff, was there waiting and told us our original 11:45 am flight had been "re-timed" to depart at 12:10 pm. Perfect, we thought, and used the extra time to grab a coffee and chat. A quick glance at the clock revealed 11:30 am- Head to the gate? Nah, there was still time to grab some snacks and use the loo before making our way to Immigration. We got through with ten minutes until take-off, before realizing Laura was being detained. "They just announced Final Call!" Mac warned. Kiki ran ahead only to reach the gate just as the aircraft was pulling away. Why would you have a "final call" when the boarding gate is already closing? It should really be an "SOL call" and sound something like, "We aren't going to let you on the plane anymore so stop running, idiots!"


Laura and Mac anticipated fighting through long lines at security only to be greeted by chuckling guards who informed them that our plane "bai laeo!" Obviously, we had missed our flight. With six hours until our second chance departure we did what anyone who had learned their lesson would- drank more coffee and waited. When we boarded the later flight with just two minutes to spare, we were greeted with rolling eyes and smiles from the Thai crew, as we shouted "Vietnam, here we come!"

Do you have one minute?

Keeks, live in San Diego:

When I thought back to it, it had been a year and a half since I last interviewed for a job- riding the bus from Chonburi to Sriracha, roaming around the Assumption campus asking for "Mit Su-DAH" and sealing the deal for Mac to join me in Thailand.  As I drove out to Mission Hills, hoping I was dressed enough like a flower child, I thought this one might be a little different.  There would be competition, and I wouldn't be able to win them over by showing off with my Thai.  Plus, there wouldn't be any language barriers, right? Well, you'd be hella surprised, dude. 

It turns out the director interviewing our group was once married to a Thai lady.  Small world, I guess, although he met her in Miami and couldn't say more than "sawasdee" (and poorly too!) He was intrigued by my experience and had lots of questions for me, not entirely related to the position unless you can find the connection between Thai cuisine and oil spills.  Canvassing sounded like a good deal- hanging out during the day and talking people into saving the beaches.  I started on Valentine's day.

It was pouring rain and 45 degrees outside- not the sunny California weather I had fled the mountains chasing.  My job was to greet every person coming out of the Trader Joe's and ask them if they had "one minute for the environment?"  One guy told us that the "only was to save the environment is to kill yourself!", and countless others offered that the environment was "fine" before driving off in their Ford F-350 or H2.  I quickly learned that the job would require strength and confidence (supplemented with handfuls of chocolate chips to maintain energy) and for all the people who did have a minute to hear me out, I got a lot of practice and was well on my way to making staff.  When you boil it down, canvassing is a sales job.  We have a daily quota of $125 and are expected to sign up two to three sustainers each day.  A "sustainer" is someone who becomes part of the monthly-giving program and agrees to let us access their credit card- or checking account- each month for funds necessary to save the world.  And all they get is a bumper sticker!  That, and positive social change (which you can't really plaster all over a Toyota Prius.)

Breakin' up is hard to do...

To say that we are overdue for an update is an understatement, we know. In our defense, Kiki has been busy moving the past two years of her life back home and preparing for the move to San Diego, and Mac had been refusing to publicly acknowledge Kiki's absence and has been delegated the role of tour guide/translator/culture shock counselor for the new wave of teachers who arrived at the beginning of the new semester. So, what pray tell, has happened since November? Here are the highlights:

Mac, reporting from Sriracha, Thailand

• Any worries about being bored without Keeks around have been officially dubbed ridiculous, as never in my life have I had such a long-running series of dramas that, although have kept things interesting, have also been extremely exhausting. Friends have taken it upon themselves to find my soul mate in the hopes of keeping me in Thailand forever. In an effort to not disappoint them, I've begun dating, and after two teachers, a lecherous oaf who had been Prince Charming but turned out to be married, a comedian/actor, a mafioso studying to be a pilot, and an air host, I figured I've given it adequate effort and am handing in the towel. These matchmaking demons who disguise themselves as my friends have not gotten this memo, however, but I'm becoming quite adept at dodging blind dates and awkward set-ups that involve lines like, "So, you know, Mac is looking for a Thai boyfriend (*not true, Mom and Dad, I promise!) and since you don't have a girlfriend..." I appreciate their effort, but I'm doing just fine on my own. As if my personal life weren't enough, the school has graciously bestowed upon me a load of responsibilities to fill my time at the school that used to be devoted to reading and watching ANTM. Fortunately, I've found solace in a few new teachers who have joined the school. I've made so many memories with them these past four months. Sadly, two of the three are leaving, and their presence will be sorely missed. So, what did I do to counter the stress and exhaustion I've immersed myself in? Took up boxing and Muay Thai, of course. Now, I get up at 5am for training before school, and split my evening between a second Muay Thai session or Yoga with one of my new teacher-friends. I've only suffered one split lip and mildly shattered shin bones, so I considered myself lucky. I just hope my arms stop getting so big. (Don't worry, Say, yours are still far bigger.)
  

Kiki, live in San Diego:

• After weeks spent on the Coronado Old Lady Tennis Circuit (doubles, anyone?), I realized there had to be more to my new life than just looking forward to Thursday's happy hour at the clubhouse. Sure it was nice- sleeping in until ten most mornings before heading out to the oceanside courts at The Cays, driving our new Element with the windows down and the coastal breeze in my hair and waiting for my hubby to get home from work. Basically, I had to find something productive to apply myself to before I went insane. So I opened a local paper and called the first listing in the help wanted section, under "Activist." After an interview and some phone calls to cancel my upcoming tennis dates, I became the newest canvasser for The Fund, a state-wide non-profit that works to get contributions for campaigns ranging from cleaner beaches to high-speed rail in California. Now my days are spent standing outside of health food stores and on college campuses, looking out for Toyota Prius drivers and kids wearing peace sign accessories and asking them to donate money to a great cause. I'm certainly getting some life experience, becoming passionate about saving the world and working on a pretty fierce t-shirt tan. I'm thinking of inventing a reverse swimsuit so that I will be ready for the beach, even though I know 1.5 million people get sick every year just from swimming in southern California's beaches and have no intention of actually going into the water. That's disgusting.

They say that breaking up is hard to do. Now we know that it's true, but survivable. While we no longer have the comfort of running down the hall to rescue each other from giant spiders and must now rely entirely on our own selection of clothes to complete our wardrobe, we look forward to the next adventure- wherever it takes us, we'll always be together (even if we temporarily aren't.)

It's all part of the Rough Life...