Symbols, Images and Meaning

In a place like Pattaya where people come to vacation from around the world, one has to make certain that signs communicate effectively.

I think this picture of the signs for the "restroom" which I took just this morning is not only explicit, it is hilarious. No question about what one does in these rooms, is there? It's also clear that one is for men, and one is for women but both are in similar situations of...um... distress.

There was one room, directly opposite the woman's room, that was wheelchair accessible. The image on the door was that of a 'stick figure' in a wheelchair, racing full speed ahead, his mouth and eyes clearly in distress.

I didn't want to hang around and take a picture of that. It was bad enough that I was taking pictures of these signs for bathrooms. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Thai people walking around me and I could almost hear them thinking, "Farang lady ding dong." Or, maybe even, "pervert".

There are, of course, lots of signs all 'round that are for hotels and restaurants and shops. Those that cater to a certain audience have their message written in Thai and the language of the audience with which they intend to communicate.

So, one finds signs and adverts written in Thai, English and German, for example and one knows what one will find on the menu there.

Others are written only in Thai and Arabic - but one knows that this is a Muslim establishment because, more often than not, there are men and women out front smoking.....something.....in hookahs.

This sign for Take Care is pretty clear, isn't it?

In case you couldn't tell, this is an AIDS organization, especially targeting gay men.

Like every place else in the world, HIV/AIDS in Thailand is hardly limited to gay men, but the only adverts I've seen target gay men.

From the material I've been able to pick up around town I've learned that the first case of HIV/AIDS in Thailand was diagnosed in 1984.  It was diagnosed in the States on June 5, 1981.

And, like everywhere else in the world, the first diagnosed cases were primarily among gay men, commercial sex workers, intravenous drug uses and tourists.

My pamphlet informs me that the case of Cha-on Suesom, a factory worker who became infected with HIV following a blood transfusion, was widely broadcast through the media after he agreed to allow his story and identity to be publicized in 1987.

He became well known after appearing on TV shows and in national newspapers, allowing the public to appreciate the human side of the epidemic. Cha-on and his wife had both been fired from their jobs as a result of his HIV-positive status, and the injustice of this situation helped to increase public sympathy for people living with HIV.

This is the way it seems to happen, doesn't it? No one cares if the "disposable" people in one's culture are affected. When "normal" people become affected, suddenly it's a "health crisis" and there are "injustices" which play on the "sympathies" of people. 

According to another pamphlet I picked up, in 2010 there were over 67,000,000 people from all walks of life in Thailand who were living with HIV/AIDS. And yet, to see the signs, one would assume that it was still a "gay disease". Or, perhaps, it is that gay men are more proactive in "taking care". Or, more than likely, I'm not able to read the signs that may well be around but written only in Thai.

If you want to communicate with me, however, you're going to need to do that in pictures and images with very few words - preferably in English - but as long as the images are strong, I'll get your message and you'll be heard.

Except, there is this one sign I noticed the other night at Jom Tien Beach. It was dark so I couldn't get a good picture of it. It had "Take Care" in bold across the top and I'm assuming Thai on the bottom.

The image was one of an eight ball heading into the side pocket of a pool table. There was a man and a woman standing behind the eight ball, looking very sad. The man was holding a pool stick. The woman was nearest the side pocket of the pool table.

Clever, I thought. Take care. Don't 'get behind the eight ball" with HIV/AIDS.

There are a few signs around the beautiful grounds of my neighborhood Buddhist Wat (Temple) where I join the monks in daily prayer.

My favorite one thus far is the one that says, "When money speaks, truth is silent."

It is written in English and Thai.

The second one is not anywhere near as profound but it makes me giggle every time I see it. It says, "No public display of affection. No smoking and spitting."

It is clearly written in English. Not Thai or German or Arabic.

Guess who they want to read this sign?

Guess who apparently needs to read this sign?

Signs sometimes say more than the words or images on the sign.

I wore my small Celtic cross out to dinner last night. The waiter noticed it immediately and said something before I even sat down.

"Christian?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, quietly, not really wanting to get into a conversation about religion.

I noticed he was wearing a jade Buddha sitting za zen (praying) around his neck and complimented him on how lovely it was, happy for the diversion from a potential conversation about religion. 

We shared mutual 'oohs' and 'aahs' over our religious jewelry.

"Ah," he said, "Christian - Buddhist same-same."

I looked at him quizzically, not sure what he meant. "How so?" I asked.

"Dukkah," he said, adding, "Cross is dukkah,  yes?"

"Ah, yes," I said, suddenly catching his meaning. "Suffering is dukkah, yes, yes."

You know, until that moment, I hadn't realized that Buddhists and Christians share that same basic philosophy about the presence of suffering in the world.

Oh, I suppose I knew it but hadn't made that sharp a connection.

Except, of course, Christians believe that Jesus came to relieve suffering through salvation from our "original sin".

Buddhists believe that suffering is simply a part of the enterprise of being human - a suffering which is, predominantly, self-inflicted because of our "cravings".

Christians look to Jesus and follow His teachings to relieve suffering which will only really end when we die and "return" to Paradise (Heaven) for "Eternal Life". 

Buddhists follow his Dharma (teachings) to find the path through detachment and moral living to enlightenment ("Nirvana") which one can experience in this life. 

Funny how Christians wear the cross around our necks as a symbol of our faith and Buddhists wear the Buddha sitting in prayer as a symbol of theirs.

What are we communicating? And, to whom? What is the "message" people are getting from our signs and symbols? What meaning does it have for people?

Which is the more powerful symbol, I wonder: The image of a cross of suffering and redemption from "original sin" which we'll only fully know after we die....OR... the image of a man in prayer who says, "Come, follow my teaching and you will learn how to deal with inevitable suffering and find enlightenment in this life"?

The image of the cross is one that requires a great deal of explanation in order for people to understand it as a symbol of hope. The image of Buddha is pretty clear and straightforward: Meditation and  prayer as a symbol of hope. 

I wear my cross without even giving much thought to its symbol and meaning. For me, and I suspect for lots of Christians who would be equally hesitant to admit this, it's more a piece of jewelry than an outward statement of faith.

I mean, Madonna is pretty famous for wearing lots of crosses while she cavorted about the stage in a white dress and bustier which showed lots of cleavage, singing, "Like a virgin" - which she looked anything but.

How did it come to be that the cross became so meaningless for so many people? Does it mean something that it has become meaningless? Is it time for a new symbol? Maybe something a bit more explicit, like the restroom signs I spotted this morning?

Even my waiter understood something about the symbol of my faith to which I had become numb and taken for granted. And, he immediately saw the parallels and the things we have in common, rather than the differences.

I've never worn a cross with a corpus - and, never would - but I sort of fancy a cross with a dove of peace taking wing as something that says more about what I believe about Christianity.

What I find curious is that I had to come to a Buddhist nation to get more serious about my Christianity. Not that I wasn't or haven't been serious about it, but I suppose it comes from the challenge of being a minority when I've been in a decided majority.

Then again, they are just signs and symbols, aren't they?

Faith is not something one wears about one's neck or sticks on one's lapel.

Faith is to be lived. The only way to have faith is to live it.

God is not to be talked about so much as to be experienced.

I'm beginning to hear a deeper meaning of the wisdom attributed to St. Francis who is rumored to have taught his monks, "Preach the gospel always. If necessary, use words."

To which I would add, "And, use symbols even more sparingly".

They have a power all their own.

Birds on a wire

View from my apartment balcony - Pattaya, Thailand

No matter where you are or who you are, anxiety is simply a part of the enterprise of being human.

Jesus knew this, which is why he talked about it in one of his sermons. "Consider the lilies of the field," He said, "how they grow."

Worrying won't change a thing and yet, we all do it, don't we? No matter who we are or where we are or how much we have, we all worry that it won't - there won't, we won't - be enough.

Folks here are still all in a twiter (and, I'm not talking about technological internet chatter) about the fact that the fee for the 'songthaew' - which is a pick up truck type of taxi  affectionately known as the "baht bus" - from Pattaya to Jom Tien Beach very recently went up from 10 baht to 20 baht.

100 baht is about $3.35 US. As the Brits say, "Cheap as chips."

Lord, have mercy! You would think part of the sky fell down.

Everyone is still all agog. How will anyone be able to afford it? Well, we could protest by walking to the beach, but, who could walk in this beastly heat and humidity? We'd all have to walk about with towels round our necks and umbrellas over our heads and wouldn't that be unseemly.

Mind you, these are citizens of the US and UK or France, Germany or Holland who get in salary or even pension what most of the Thai people will not earn in a year. Some of them, in their entire lifetime.

And, this conversation is taking place 'round the hotel pool where some pay 30 baht to "rent" a towel and a lounge chair for the day.

And yet, the anxiety is thick enough to cut with a knife.

I've been trying to keep my mouth shut and just listen, but I must say, it's getting pretty old.

This...THIS...is why, in part, I blog. I can say things here I wouldn't dare say to someone else's face. Well, not the people here, anyway, and they don't know about my blog.

Mind you, the Thai people have nothing much to say about this, themselves. Those who would be most deeply affected by a 10 baht increase in fee wouldn't be able to afford the original 10 baht in the first place, so, what's the point, really.

Near as I can figure, the biggest anxiety for the people in my neighborhood with whom I engage in conversation - such as it is in my poor Thai and their English - is about being able to afford whatever it takes to look more Western.

Skin lightener. Hair design. Clothing. Shoes.

We all seem to want to be something we're not.

My new best friends, the monks at the local Wat (Temple), seem to be a bit ahead of the curve on this. They practice "detachment" in order to practice "abstinence" from longing or craving.

Here's the basics, as I understand them.

 Suffering (dukka) comes up in everyone's life.

This suffering is caused by craving (tanha).

We can stop suffering by stopping craving.

To stop craving, follow Buddha's Eightfold Path - which consists mostly of living a moral life, avoiding harm to others and following a spiritual practice based on meditation.

These are called The Four Noble Truths.

This may simply be my Western mind's way of imposing my beliefs on Buddhist thought, but I have come to think that craving is a form - or expression of, or perhaps, the result of - anxiety. It's probably more complex and challenging than that, but that's where I've landed. At least, today.

It has to do, I'm told, with 'anicca' (I think that's how it's spelled. That's how it sounds).

Anicca is, as I understand it, 'impermanence' which means that everything that exists (including - gasp! - God, but more about that in a future post) is in constant movement, constant flux.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, remains just what it is.

So, for the Western mind, being is all the thing. And, for the Western mind, "I think, therefore I am," is a penultimate truth, which doesn't necessarily lead to the belief that "I am what I think," but sometimes does. It may even lead to the illusion that "I am what I think I am."

For the Buddhist mind, not being but becoming is all the thing. To 'be' is to 'become' and one can only 'be' if one is in motion.

Which is to say that, to the Buddhist, everything changes because everything is interrelated.

Everything comes into being and continues in being through and with something else - which begins to sound more South African, doesn't it? It's also Bueber's "I and thou".

So, for Buddha, we are not selves but more non-selves. We are not human 'beings' but human 'becomings', or even more to the point,  'becomings-with'.

Here's the thing, as I understand it: no one can control this process.

"You can't push the river," I'm told. Trying to do that is not only futile, it will cause anxiety which will cause cravings which will lead to suffering of self and others.

This does not eliminate - much less forbid - the enjoyment of other persons or things. The Buddhist monks just warn against trying to hold onto them or to think we own them or that we can change anything for anyone else.

Up to you, see?

Which is not to say that Buddhist don't experience anxiety or cravings. Not everyone is "Enlightened" or has achieved "Awakening" - even the monks. Everyone is just trying to get to 'Nirvana' which is not a place "up there, out there, somewhere" you get after you die, but can happen right here and now.

Self-actualization, it's called in some psychiatric circles.

Perhaps the greatest anxiety I've experience here is much like other places in the world: It's around money. Like many non-Western countries, these folk enjoy a good 'haggle' over the cost of some things. I think it is a bit of a game - a way to reduce anxiety and detach from what you think is yours.

But, once the price is negotiated, you stick to it. Or, if it has been negotiated up front - like a menu at a restaurant. To try and haggle after the negotiation has been settled causes great distress and anxiety.

What I've discovered is that humor and laughter are not only a universal languages, they are a wonderful way to reduce anxiety, which is not lost on the Thai mind.

This morning, I made a bit of a mistake in the bill for my breakfast - two poached eggs, two pieces of toast, a slice of ham, two slices of bacon, a glass of juice, a cup of tea, and a small biscuit = 110 baht. Cheap as chips.

I also had an iced coffee after breakfast - it was already hotter than the hinges on the gates of Hades at 0900 hours at Jom Tein Beach - which brought the total up to 160 baht. I should have just gotten out two one hundred baht notes and gotten the change. Instead I fiddled with the paper money and thought I had a 10 baht coin but it turns out that it was, in actuality, a 5 baht coin.

The waiter looked a bit anxious. What was foreign to my eyes was instantly recognizable to him and he knew I had made a mistake. Or, perhaps, I was trying to get something for 150 baht when it was really 160 baht.

I'm sure he felt his English was not good enough to explain the whole thing to me and he began to be anxious. There is no haggling over menu prices in Thailand. Clothes? Shoes? Maybe. Not menu.

I read his face and quickly put together that I had made the wrong selection in coins so I reached into my purse, fumbled round a bit while he kept saying, "Madam not right," feeling my own anxiety begin to rise. Finally, finally, finally, I produced the right coin.

Mind you, this was about 5 baht. Peanuts to me. Lots of money to him because it has to come out of his pocket to make up the difference in the mistake. There are mouths to feed. Rent to pay. Whitening cream and jeans to buy.

I can't even begin to express his relief when I  handed him the 10 baht coin.

His face instantly registered the flight of anxiety. I demurely put my hand to my mouth the way I see Thai women do, and said, "So sorry. Not your fault. Farang lady ding dong" - which meant, essentially, "I'm a foreign woman who is an idiot."

He deeply appreciated my self-effacing humor and laughed along with me. He then put his hands together, bowed reverently and said, "Farang lady nice lady, Sir".

We're all just birds on a wire, aren't we? 

We're all just holding on for dear life while the winds of change blow us about.

We resist mightily, I suspect, because we do not know that we can fly.

We do not know that we can fly because we have not detached from the wire, thinking it provides us a modicum of safety.

It's just a place to perch, is all.

We are not meant to perch our whole lives. We are meant to detach from the wire and fly. We can come back, if we want, but we will be much less anxious if we spread our wings and step out in faith and into the understanding that we are not so much human beings as human becomings.

What we have to decide for ourselves is whether the anxiety of holding onto the wire is better than the anxiety of what we think will happen if we let go.

No one can decide that for you except yourself.

Or, not.

Up to you.

International Women's Day

It was a bit odd to observe International Women’s Day this year.

While I am even more keenly aware of the international status of women, I can not help but reflect on this as a Western woman who is presently in Thailand.

That's a very, very different perspective. Indeed, I find it positively transformative.

It seems to these eyes, from the very superficial perspective of having only been in Thailand for a little over a week and having been, thus far, only in Pattaya and its environs, that Thai women are more liberated, in many ways, than Western women.

I’m not talking so much about economics or the pragmatics of liberation and all the Western markers of that – equality in employment opportunities, access to affordable, quality education and health care – including reproductive rights, and laws against domestic violence, etc.

I’m really talking about attitude towards women.

I am keenly aware that we may have 'liberation' on the books, but many attitudes toward Women in the West are still at the pre-Neanderthal stage when compared with the Thai attitude toward Thai women which I've observed in Thailand.

I hasten to add that, while the Prime Minister of Thailand is a woman and the Queen and the princesses are revered as much as the King, the dominant male paradigm is active and in full throttle here.

There is no doubt that this is a patriarchy with all that entails. But, there is the strong presence of a matriarchy which is also undeniable.

Women seem to have carved out a role for themselves within the patriarchal system which affords them a modicum of power that many Western women do not have. Even those Thai women who have bought into the Western ideal of beauty are strong and independent in a way that many Western women could not begin to imagine.

There is a reverence here for women – especially mothers, but also sisters and cousins and most especially children (actually, of either gender). I think this happens especially within the context of families – and 'family' seems to be more important than the individual sum of its members.

This is a culture that makes the Evangelical "family values" people look like they don't know what the heck they are talking about. Because, actually, they don't. Never have, have they?

I have been impressed and deeply moved watching Thai families interact. It’s pretty clear that, for the most part, men and women own the shops and businesses fairly equally, but women run them, absolutely.

Oh, the man may sit at the cash register and take your money while it seems that the women all run around, but that's mostly for show and because he would just get in the way, anyway, so why not let him do something useful.

Everyone – including the men, it seems – checks with “mamasan” before any decision is made.

Mind you, men may have the illusion of having made the decision, but never, it seems, without checking in with mammasan.

I’ve been especially impressed watching the families of a few small restaurants in my neighborhood – so understand that my perspective is based on this small sampling. I do not either presume or pretend to make generalized statements about the whole of Thailand.

Truth of it is, after a little over a week here, I really have no right to say anything about anything Thai, so I want to be certain to let you know that these are just first impressions and that they are mine, which I own and for which I take responsibility.

If I or you were in most any other Western city, we would probably never eat in most of these establishments everyone calls "restaurants". They are tiny little ‘holes in the wall’ - I've seen tiny Pizza Parlors in Brooklyn that were larger and for all their scuzziness, cleaner -  jammed in between shops that sell soap or wigs or little convenience stores like the Family Mart or the Seven 11 (yes, they are as ubiquitous here as they are in the States).

These places all seem to have a street vendor component crammed on the sidewalk entrance - with a hot plate and a few cooking pans - which also serves, for the most part, as the extension to the kitchen.

So, one walks by two or three women who preside over long shelves with tanks of swimming smelly fish or turtle or eel or squid (ewww, ewww, ewww), and chicken, duck or pork which has been partially roasted but some which has simply been killed and plucked and 'dressed' and are hanging all about on cords (one tries to ignore the flies), next to huge pans of eggs (one hopes they are boiled, but suspects they are not), alongside huge bins of vegetables and fruit (again, mind the flies), and all not too far from great pots of steaming rice (which may or may not have been mixed with coconut milk) before one enters the actual restaurant.

I've learned to breathe through my mouth and smile until I get indoors and let the pungent odors of the curry and chili and other spices begin to take over.

There is one place in particular that I absolutely adore. I had the Massaman Curry Chicken there shortly after I arrived here and I must say that I thought I had died and gone to heaven.

The incredible thing is that the entire meal cost 80 baht (100 baht is $3.50) - for something that, in the NYC metro area, I would have easily paid $22-25 and it wouldn't have been half as good.

It was To. Absolutely. Die. For.

The Chef there is a wonderful, short, round, middle age Thai woman named Nan whose cherubic round face is an absolute delight and whose smile is truly a joy to behold.

Rob introduced me to her as his sister (it's just easier that way) and she began to treat me at once like a cross between a long-lost relative and a royal guest.

"What you want, Madam?" she asked. "I make anything for you. Anything, Madam."

I asked for Curry Chicken. "Ah," she said, "I make Madam Massaman Curry. Very special. Favorite of Queen of Thailand."

"What is Massaman Curry?" I asked.

"Ah," she said, happy to teach me, her facial expression an interesting combination of delight and intensity as she attempted her best English.

"Massaman is old way saying 'Muslim'. Many dry spices old days come-come Thailand from Muslim traders. You wait. Oh, you wait," she said, rubbing her hands together in absolute delight.

"Nan fix for you, Madam," she said, and began to run down the ingredients on her fingers. "Have coconut milk. Cinnamon - yes, that right way say? Ah, yes. Ginger. Peanut. Potato. Cook long-long time. Sticky rice. You eat. You like very big".

Oh, indeed I did. Like. Very, very big.

After I ate - making a complete fool of myself, sounding positively orgasmic as I was 'oohing and aahing' after each morsel I put in my mouth - Nan came by and sat with us to chat us up a bit and, no doubt, to get off her feet (which I noted were a bit swollen) and out of the kitchen for a while.

It didn't take two and a half seconds for her children and grandchildren and sons-in-law to gather 'round her, clearly delighted to have these few moments together. Most of these folks work 10-12 hour days - at a minimum. And, they rarely stop.

And, that's just what they do at the shop or restaurant while it's open. There's food to purchase or procure and schlep back and prepare, and the shop to clean and, oh yes, the other activities of daily life in their own private homes.

The sons and sons-in-law own mopeds which function as texsi (taxi) and its their way to contribute to the family's economy. Of course, the proceeds from the restaurant business afforded them the investment of the moped in the first place but mostly, they make enough money for gas and permits and may actually make a bit of a profit, which goes right back into the family budget.

I was impressed by the deep affection they had for one another.

They touched and stroked each other often, laughing freely although, I must say that Nan did not hesitate to chastise and scold the little ones when they were out of line. It was clear when she meant business and everyone snapped-to in very short order - even the men.

What was interesting to me was to see a pattern emerge. Nan would say something and, even as the person or child obeyed, the sons or sons-in-law would repeat the command so that it seemed to come from them. It was as if they were putting their imprimatur on the order, although it was clearly not necessary.

There was no doubt that Nan was in control. The men were just riding her coattails - saving face in front of the Western woman, no doubt.

At one point I looked out the window of the restaurant and, pointing to the ubiquitous adverts with Western women in very Western clothing and blonde hair and makeup, and asked her, "What you think of this?"

"This, Madam?" she asked for clarification.

"Yes, yes," I said. "So many Western women. Not Thai. Western."

"Ah," she said, "Very beautiful, yes, Madam."

I frowned. "But, not Thai, no?"

She looked into my eyes, not certain where I was going with this. She was pensive for a few moments and then momentarily distracted by a grandchild craving attention. She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a small portion of sticky rice, rolled it up in a ball, and gave it to the child who squealed in delight and then ran away again.

Grandmothers are grandmothers. It's universal.

She looked back at me and said, "Madam, beauty not here," as she circled her face with her finger. "Beauty here," she said as she pointed to her heart.

I smiled as she let that sink into my thick Western skull.

Then, leaning forward on her ample forearm, she locked my eyes with hers and, pointing to her head said, "Power here," then pointing all around her said, "No power here, Madam. See?"

We create our own reality, she was saying in good Buddhist fashion, and she had clearly created her own right in this little place.

I looked around this hole-in-the-wall restaurant, stuffed with customers from various nations - Germany, France, England, Holland, Australia - eating Nan's magnificent food. I then looked at her and her amazing family and I thought, you know, there are women - and men - in America with far more material things than she who don't have an eighth of the riches she possesses.  And, they have far less power and authority.

I'm not romanticizing here. Here's the truth of it: I wouldn't trade places with her.

Then again, I really don't think she'd want to trade places with me. Not for all the masseman curry all the Muslim men could carry out of Thailand.

And, I'm not at all saying that women need to learn our place and be happy with what we've got.

What I am asking is that power is relative to one's situation, isn't it?

What I'm saying is that we are responsible for creating our own reality.

"Up to you", you know?

What I'm saying is that if American women don't fight against the Republican War on Women, we only have ourselves to blame for our own oppression.

If we don't fight the sicko Rush Limbaughs who think that young women who want contraception as part of good preventative health care are "sluts and prostitutes" or that contraception for "good girls" is an aspirin held between one's knees, then we deserve exactly what we get.

What I'm also saying is that we can't impose our Western values on anyone else. 

International Women's Day is not about making every woman live up to Western standards.

International Women's Day is about celebrating the uniqueness of women in her own unique and particular culture, and making certain, in those places where patriarchy is so entrenched that women can not even dream about having parity with men, that we work with women where they are to change what they believe needs to be changed for them.

Otherwise, we are as imperialistic and oppressive as the very ones we are working against.

I'm in a very different place about International Women's Day than I've ever been before. A more humble place, I think.

After only a week, I have come to understand that my time in Thailand is going to be more transformative than I could have ever asked for or imagined.

I am woman. I don't need you to hear me roar.

I'm responsible for creating my own reality. I only hope, one day, to be half the woman Nan is.

Forget about the roar. Just stand back and watch me continue to grow and change.

And, if you tend to be insecure about your own power and authority, well, be afraid. Be very afraid.

I may have some sticky rice in my apron pocket - but there won't be any for you.

Spiritual Awakening

Buddha though the Wat window, Pattaya

Something happened to me, yesterday, while I was participating in the "wain tein" - the procession 'round the Temple on Makha Bucha Day, the day to honor The Buddha.

I don't rightly know what it was, exactly, but it moved me to tears.

First, we - and there were literally thousands of us spiritual pilgrims - moved to the entrance of the Wat where we were blessed with Holy Water by one of the monks.

We all removed our shoes and, with hands in prayer and head down in reverence, the monk splashed us all mightily with water.

It was a bit like being before the Pope, except we were much, much closer. And, neither ashamed nor afraid.

Meanwhile, in the background, one could hear another monk delivering a sermon over the intercom.

From what I could understand from some of the people - my fellow spiritual pilgrims - he was expounding on the story of the Buddha's Enlightenment and how, 2,500 years ago, 1,250 monks who had been ordained by the Buddha simultaneously made their way to see him.

After being properly blessed, we placed our shoes at the entrance to the temple and bought a bouquet of flowers, a candle and some incense where we took our places in the procession.

We were to walk counterclockwise around the Wat three times, with a stop off, at some point - if we wished -  into the back entrance of the Wat to venerate The Buddha.

The Monks and other 'dignitaries' seemed to be using the front entrance.

It took me about two times 'round before I figured out how it all worked and even then, I wasn't exactly certain.

I was very hesitant to do something wrong and, God forbid, someone would take offense, but I found the Thai people very accommodating and helpful.  And, graciously understanding.

So, up the steps I went, into the side of the Temple entrance, where there were statues of Buddha and some of the ancient priests who were his teachers.

I sat on one of the mats and noticed that the noise from outside suddenly disappeared. It was incredibly silent. There were a few people there with me, sitting on their side, hands in prayer, silent.

Clearly, this was a Holy Place.

My first thought was, "Oh, God, I don't know any of the proper prayers, much less how to say them. So, what do I think I'm doing here?"

The woman next to me seemed to hear my thoughts and turned to me, motioning toward the statue of Buddha and nodding her head in approval.

She seemed to be saying, "It's okay. Just pray in your own way."

And so, I did.

I closed my eyes and focused my energy and began to meditate.

I suppose I thought - silly me - that praying in English, even silently, would not be understood by the Buddha (I know, right?), so I began by calling up images of the individual members of my family and asking for health and happiness for each of them.

Then, I called up an image of a dear friend of mine who was to have vascular surgery that day in the States and asked for healing. Then, I called up other images of people I know and love I wanted to hold in prayer for various reasons.

In my mind, I asked for some things. Other times, I simply called them up in prayer, one by one. And, lo and behold, there they were. In front of me. 

The thing of it is, I could see each of them clearly before me. Indeed, the clarity was rather startling.  It was not just a still image. It was as if they were really there, in front of me....although, not. It was like an apparition but of a person who was not dead but quite alive.

It was at about that point, when I was trying not to be startled or scared about what I was seeing, that I had the thought, "I wonder if the Buddha and Jesus really do walk together, as some say."

Just then, I had an image of Jesus before me. Not the image of what I like to call "the high school yearbook" picture of Jesus.  You know the image: shoulder-length dirty-blonde hair, light skinned, 3/4 profile, with back lighting for dramatic effect.

Not that Jesus. It was one I had never seen much less imagined but instantly knew that it was Jesus. Of this, there was no doubt in my mind. He looked more like a small, lean, leathery-skinned, wiry Palestinian Jew.  He was smiling and nodding his head.

I felt nothing but love and deeply at peace.

It was at that point that I realized I was weeping. I don't know why, really. I wasn't scared. I was oddly at peace and profoundly comforted.

It felt so wonderful, there seemed to be nothing else to do but weep. Not sobbing dramatically or anything. Just letting the tears flow.

The women on either side of me were suddenly by me.  They seemed to know that I had just had a deeply spiritual experience.  They helped me to my feet and the walked with me one while I walked the last time 'round the Wat. All the way 'round they smiled and patted my arm.

I met up with Rob and we walked outside the Wat in silence until we stumbled onto another shrine.

This one had an image of The Buddha surrounded by some other ancient teachers.

Again, the silence in the shrine was astounding.

This was unmistakably a Holy place.

People were purchasing small foils of gold which they attached to the statue before and after praying.

I'm not sure of the significance of the gold foil but Rob says that when one of the priests comes to visit in your home, they leave several around the door way entrance.

Indeed, we passed a few homes and shops and restaurants on the way home which had gold foil around the doors. The Monks have obviously been making the rounds and making some pastoral calls.

I suppose the gold foil is a sign of some value and worth - perhaps about that place or perhaps because a holy person has made a visit. I've not been able to find any information on Google and this is way beyond my abilities with Thai or most Thai I know to explain it to me in English.

It doesn't matter, really.  As the Buddhists teach, "When the student is ready, the teacher will appear."

Which may have been why Jesus appeared to me last night at the Wat.

I don't know what any of it means, really. I'm almost hesitant to write about this lest some of you fear I've gone right 'round the bend.

I only know what I know and saw what I saw and felt what I felt. And, I know it was true and real to me as well as I know my own name - even if I don't understand it all yet. .

This was a different side and experience of Jesus than I've had in all the years I've tried to walk with Him and follow in His way.

Here's what I've come to understand about it all: I have been in love with Jesus for most of my life and that will never change - except it has. I seem to love Jesus even more. I think, because of Buddha, I'll be even closer to Jesus.

Indeed, I found myself singing all the way home "Day by day. Day by day. Oh, dear Lord, three things I pray: To see thee more clearly. Love thee more dearly. Follow more nearly. Day by day."

Or, as the Buddha teaches, "It is better to travel well than to arrive".

Makha Bucha Day

Big doings today at the local Wat here in Pattaya.

Well, my experience of "today" is your "not yet" - it's late Wednesday afternoon for me but the wee hours of Wednesday morning for you.

For me, "right now" is in the midst a Very Big Religious Holiday.

There are saffron robed monks with shaven heads everywhere, it seems. While post offices and restaurants and many businesses are all open, Buddhists who are able are not working today, but everyone who is Buddhist - and lots of people like me who are not - will be at the Temple at Sunset.

Offices and shops, post offices and other government places will be open for business. Bars will be closed but restaurants will be open but will not be able to serve alcohol (Well, unless they are willing to pay for a special license which exempts them. Up to you.).

Today is the full moon day of the third lunar month, known as Makha Bucha Day. The third lunar month is known in the Thai language as Makha. Bucha is also a Thai word meaning "to venerate" or "to honor".

This is one of five or six major religious holidays here in Thailand, specially set aside for the veneration of Buddha and his teachings. It is an occasion when Buddhists tend to go to the temple to worship and perform activities that will earn them merit in the eyes of God.

Here's the reason for the big celebration. Makha Bucha marks "the four auspicious occurrences", nine months after the Enlightenment of the Buddha at Veḷuvana Bamboo Grove, near Rājagaha in Northern India, which was 2,500 years ago.

On that occasion, 1,250 Arahta - or "Enlightened Ones" (priests) - without so much as a memo, email, text or tweet much less an appointment - suddenly and spontaneously arose together and came to see the Buddha.

All of them - all 1,250 (not 1,249 or 1,251 but 1,250 - which seems to be a Very Important Number) were Arhantas, and all of them were ordained by the Buddha himself.

The Buddha gave those Arhantas principles of the Buddhism - known here in Thailand as the "Heart of Buddhism". Those principles are:

To cease from all evil
To do what is good
To cleanse one's mind.

And, and, AND....all of this amazing stuff happened on the full moon of the third lunar month, which usually falls sometime in February but I think this being a leap year sorta messed things up.

Tonight, there will be a candlelight procession called a wain tian (wian means circle, tian means candle).

As I understand it, the monks and the congregation, holding flowers in one hand and a lighted candle and incense in the other, will circumambulate clockwise three times around the Temple.

They will process and complete once circle 'round the Temple to honor each of the "Three Jewels" of their faith: Once for the Buddha, once for the Dharma, and once for the Sangha.

Observant Buddhists will be in and out of Temple today, wearing traditional white robes, lighting incense and chanting and meditating and making special offerings.

They will refocus and renew their commitment to keeping the Five Precepts.

"Do not kill." (Unintentional killing is considered less offensive)
"Do not steal." (Including misappropriating someone's property)
"Do not engage in improper sexual conduct." (e.g. sexual contact not sanctioned by secular laws, the Buddhist monastic code, or by one's parents and guardians)
"Do not make false statements." (Also includes pretending to know something one doesn't)
"Do not drink alcohol."

Or, for monks and laity who wish an even more rigorous, aesthetic life, there are the Eight Precepts, which focus both on avoiding morally bad behavior, as the five precepts obviously do, but include such things as celibacy, abstinence from singing, dancing, playing music, attending entertainment performances, wearing perfume, using cosmetics and garlands (decorative accessories) and using "luxurious places" for sitting or sleeping, and overindulging in sleep.

It's odd, but I find myself getting very excited about tonight's religious festivities and observances. There's something oddly reminiscent  of the religious observances and celebrations of my Roman Catholic childhood - complete with processing at night with candles and flowers and incense.

We didn't "chant" per se, but as I listen to the monks and people chanting in the Temple, it sure sounds a lot to my ears like a church filled with people, saying the rosary - only in a different language. Then again, when I was a kid, we said the rosary in Portuguese and the mass was said in Latin.

Where I once used "rosary beads", the Buddhists here use knotted "prayer ropes". 

On certain feast days - depending on the particular Saint - the children of my youth would be required to recite the Ten Commandments along with the Nicene Creed and/or sections of the Baltimore Catechism.

And, oh my goodness, did we ever have processions! Blocks and blocks of neighborhood streets would be closed off because these were more like parades, complete with marching bands playing old standards like  "Holy, Holy, Holy," while children, adults and old men and women with wavering voices would sing off key and throw flowers at the statue and "money blankets" of the particular saint we were honoring.

Every grade of catechism class would march with our own special colored sash which were festooned with various religious medals and attendance awards.

The latest "First Communion" Class would also be in procession - the boys in blue suit and tie and the girls dressed as 'brides of Christ' in white lace dresses and white tiara with a small white veil, white shoes, socks and, of course, white gloves.

Various men's and women's "guilds" would also march en masse, usually with a sash of the color of their guild and the name of their group carefully hand embroidered across the top.

Absolutely everyone - young and old - also wore our scapulars - a fabric necklace of a color of particular significance of the day from which hung a picture of a The Sacred Heart of Jesus or the Blessed Virgin Mary.

I can't for the life of me remember the significance of each color - except that blue was for Mary - but I do remember that if you were wearing a brown colored scapula when you died, you were assured of instant admission to heaven.

I don't know why that was so, exactly. I only know that the nuns said it was so, so it must be true. Everybody knew that nuns never tell a lie (wink wink), which seemed to give them full license to beat you within an inch of your life if you were ever caught telling one.

On the Christian calendar, today is the observance of Perpetua and Felicity, two of five Christian martyrs of the 3rd century.

Perpetua was a 22-year old married noble, and a nursing mother. Her co-martyr Felicity, an expectant mother, was her slave. They suffered together at Carthage in the Roman province of Africa. The Christians refused to renounce their faith in Jesus and were condemned to be torn to pieces by wild beasts, for which - it is noted - they gave thanks to God.

I remember, as a young child, listening to the nuns read us the story of Perpetua and her Companions, often as we ate our lunch in silence.  The boys loved all the gore. The girls all wept and became ill.

The nuns usually ended the telling of the story by asking "And what do we learn from the lives of these early Christians martyrs, children?"

Which, of course, gave the goody-two-shoes in the class a chance to say something pious and noble.

It also gave rise to sobering wisdom from the ranks of the lesser children of God, usually spoken in whispers in the hallway or the bathroom or the playground, like, "I think it's okay to lie to someone who is going to kill you if you tell the truth. Jesus forgave Peter. I'm sure He'll forgive us."

I'll be thinking of Perpetua and Felicity tonight as I take part in the candlelight procession around the Wat. I will, no doubt, not understand much of it but I'm looking forward to it, none the less.

There's something about public celebrations of religious beliefs that, at the very least, peak one's curiosity. I'm fascinated by the "collective unconscious" of the human religious experience with all of the similarities and parallels.

You all have just survived "Super Tuesday" which, believe it or not, has been all over the news here in Thailand: BBC, AsiaNews, Al Jazeera, and FoxNews (the only American news station on my basic cable television - Grrrrrr).

It's a religious experience, of sorts, isn't it? We all have different Gods to whom we pray and different outward and visible signs of what we believe. There's not a whole lot of difference, it seems to me, between a trip to the ballot box to vote in someone who shares your values or a procession with a candle of honor and veneration for what it is you believe.

I'm ever so grateful to be here, in Thailand, to observe Makha Bucha Day. 

Of all the things on the calendar, I think this one comes closest to my own spirituality: to cease from all evil, to do what is good, and to cleanse one's mind.

I'll vote - and be in a public procession - for that.

Time: Same-different

Sign at the Cucumber Cafe, Pattaya, Thailand

I have not had as much difficulty with jet lag as I thought I might.

The Westerners here tell me that I will Really Feel it when I return home and it will be the same day that I left.

I’m not looking forward to it. I’m just enjoying being here, now and back in my old routine which really only took about three days to re-establish and without an excess of grogginess.

Everyone here uses “Naval Time” – so 6 AM is 0600 and 6 PM is 1800 hours.

I’m used to that from my medical background, but there’s a particular method to that madness here that has nothing to do with medical records and hospital schedules.

Thai people – and, I want to make very clear that I am speaking from my experience of ‘the folk’ I have met on the streets here and not generalizing to all Thai people – have a very different sense of time than we do in the West.

I’ve not yet been here long enough nor met enough Thai people to make a general statement, but I’ve noticed that not a lot of people wear watches.

Oh, there are literally hundreds of vendors who sell knock off watches for 100 baht (about $3.25, depending on the current day’s rate exchange), but not a lot of Thai people wear them.

And, when one says, for example, to a Thai driver, “I see you at 1800 hours,” one often adds, “Six o’clock. Night. Today. Yes?” And, if one is wise, one waits for them to say, “1800 hours. 6 o’clock. Night. Today. Yes, Sir.”

There are long, sad stories of Westerners who ordered a “texsi” (taxi) to take them to the airport for a return flight home at, say, 1800 hours, but the driver arrived at 0600 hours. The day before or the day after the scheduled departure.

I learned the same thing when I was in Ghana. Time is different when you get past the International Date Line.

I’m not sure what it all means, actually. It’s obviously something about the cultural experience of East-West, but what it is that causes it, I really couldn’t say.

I tried to begin to understand it from a Western perspective until I realized that this was my own form of cultural imperialism. So, instead of concentrating on why THEY are different, I’m trying to understand the rhythm of life here in the East and start where they are to see why I’m so different from them, verses why they aren’t more like me.

It’s made for a more interesting learning experience but I confess that I have not been here long enough to “get it”. I don’t know if it can ever be “gotten,” actually – any more than an Easterner ever really “gets” our Western ways.

One simply makes accommodations for one’s present reality. Or, one goes mad or is, at the very least, frustrated all the time and what’s the point of that, really?

So, one works to be Very Clear in one’s communication – especially about time. And, one notices that a Thai’s first response will most often be, “Don’t have.”

Never "Don't Know". That would be to "lose face". Very bad. Bring Shame. No can do. So, always, always, "Don't have." Even if you do.

That is a theme here, I've noticed.

If one is shopping for, say, an electrical adapter, one gets used to hearing, “Don’t have.” It’s not that they don’t have it, it’s that they really don’t understand what you’re asking for, or they don’t know enough English to engage you in the questions which they know will inevitably follow.

Or, they have sized you up and decided that they just don’t have the patience, this very red hot second, to deal with yet another arrogant, demanding, persistent Westerner – even if you have been your most solicitous, gracious, smiling self. Or, have money.

They know better. Frustration is an ugly beast. Experience is a harsh teacher. It's simply not worth the cost of engagement.

One then simply goes to another Thai service floor person and asks the same question. And, another. And, another. And, perhaps, yet another.

It took Rob and me asking four people – one of whom simply pointed in the aisle where there were lots of electronic devices and left us on our own – and about 20 minutes before we finally found what we were looking for.

All of this takes time, which is an important commodity in the West but doesn’t have the same meaning here. It’s not that they don’t care, really. It’s just that they don’t have the same sense of urgency about time as most of us in the West seem to have.

Except, of course, on the streets and in the small alley ways around here. People on motorbikes or in cars and trucks (which are used as “buses”) seem to be in a great hurry. Indeed, crossing the street is an exercise in taking one’s life into one’s hands.

My guide book says this:

“Visitors are killed every year on hired motorcycles because they (note: this means all drivers - Thai and Western) drive carelessly on the small, winding roads. Be mindful and always wear a helmet.”

The guide book means, of course, that if you are on a motorbike - even as a passenger - one should plan to wear a helmet. It might not be a bad idea to wear a helmet whilst walking on the streets and small alley ways.

I’m learning a nuanced version of what the 1928 Prayer Book calls “the quick and the dead”. If one is not ‘quick’, one is soon ‘dead”.

Rob at the "Spirit House" at the Cucumber Cafe, Pattaya

Rob has two scars – one on his wrist and one on his leg – from the time a few years ago when he hired a motorbike to take him someplace. He wasn’t holding on when the guy took off and he slipped right off the back of the bike and onto the street.

He was stunned, cut and bleeding. They guy looked over his shoulder, saw Rob on the street, and took off in a blue streak. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, really. It’s just that there are realities here.

If he had stopped to help, he would have been responsible for Rob's medical bill.

That’s the rule, apparently. If you stop to help someone, that person is your responsibility. It’s not that you don't care. You just don't have the money to pay a hospital bill.

Or, the time. Business, after all is business. The one thing that’s the same in this difference of time is that in business, time is money. That, apparently, is universal.

I'm remembering a wonderful story in scripture about the Good Samaritan and hearing it in a whole different way. The cultural overlays are fascinating. I'd love to hear a sermon preached on that gospel text in one of the - admittedly very few - local Evangelical house churches here.

Mind you, there’s no judgment about this. You are not thought a bad person if you do not stop to help a stranger. There are certain realities to life here, is all. Bad stuff happens. All the time. “Life is suffering.” They know this because that’s what the Buddha says.

My friend Rob says that, just the other day, he saw a old woman who had collapsed on the street - half of her body on the sidewalk and half in the street. Even though he's lived here for five years, his instinct moved his body before his mind fully engaged and he went rushing over to her.

Within seconds, four young Thai men appeared from out of nowhere and surrounded her, preventing Rob from tending to her. They were not being mean. They were protecting Rob. They knew that, if he assisted her, he would be responsible for her.

The way I understand it, she would have had "free" medical care (no cost to her) if she arrived at the hospital on her own, but if Rob brought her, he would have been responsible.

I know. Makes no sense to me. Apparently, that's the way it works, the assumption is that, since all Westerners are presumed to be very wealthy, why should the government pay for her medical care when one can get a Westerner to pay.

Rob said that he has no idea what happened to the woman. On his way back home, she was gone and people were bustling about as if nothing happened. Not a word was spoken by anyone he spoke with in the local shops.

"Thai business is Thai business," says Rob, "and you learn not to mess with Thai business."

It’s just pragmatics, is all. Compassion is costly, God knows, so it is left up to God to take care of in God’s own time. And, there are always the monks at the Temple.

I’m just trying to understand enough to be able to get along with the people and the culture while I’m here these three weeks. I’m trying hard not to impose my Western values and expectations on the people here, but I have to tell you, it’s hard work.

It’s so much easier to expect others to live up to your expectations and values.

Turns out, imperialism has its own pragmatics.

It can be exhausting to try and figure out language and road signs and bus routes and time, but apparently nothing that comes anywhere near jet lag.

And for that, I am one grateful person.

Right here. Right now.

Up to you

Spirit Guard at the local Wat

I’ve been in Thailand going on four days, and already I’ve learned some important lessons about the culture here.

First, it’s the adjustment to being called “Sir”.  Men and women call me “Sir”. I’m learning that it is a sign of respect since I am Western and a ‘guest” in this country.

Remember “The King and I”? Deborah Kerr’s (and then Jody Foster’s) character, Anna, was called “Sir”.

Suddenly, I understand how that feels.

It’s a constant reminder that I am a guest and this is not my home. It is their home. I’m really clear about that every time I’m called “Madam” or “Sir”.

Which is enough to make me uncomfortable.

But, wait! There’s more.

I am called “Sir” because I am a Westerner, but also because Thai people – well, the ones I’ve met here, and I’m real clear that this is my experience and that of the Westerners I’ve met – consider  Westerners “superior”.

Well, more to the point, they really consider themselves “inferior”. Period.

And, and, AND…since “male” is clearly superior to “female”, the way to show that respect is to call me “Sir”.

I’m fighting my feminist outrage here and trying to adapt. It isn’t working too well.

But wait! There’s more.

I’ve also learned that it is considered “rude” to initiate a bow to a Thai person when greeting them or saying “Thank you.” They smile and I see them being gracious, but they are clearly uncomfortable when I do it.

This has to do with the whole Western superiority thing. They get to bow first because they consider themselves inferior, so they get to show respect to you first. And then, if – and only if – you are of a mind, you can return the respect with a bow.

The doorman downstairs explained it this way:

“You are from first world. I am from third world. First is first. See?”

“Ah,” I said, “but you are person. First, second, third. No matter. Person first. Country second. Or, Third. See?”

He smiled at me – the way an intelligent person smiles at a well-intentioned idiot – and said, “You nice lady, Sir.”

I was going to argue that by insisting on going first there was an automatic inversion of the “inferiority factor”, but I don’t think my best efforts and good intentions are going to work here.

Cultural conditioning wins. Hands down. Every time.

Besides, I’m on the other side of the world as I know it. Of course dominant social / cultural patterns are inverted. What’s “normal” for me is not “normal” for them.

And, remember, I’m a guest here. This is not my home. It’s their home.

It doesn’t stop with this.

Gender and sex really don’t matter much here. Except, of course, when they do. There is an invisible but bottom line when you are poor: money. I suppose it’s the bottom line when you are rich, as well. Except, it’s not always so obvious when you are rich – unless, of course, you want or need it to be.

Sex here does not have the same puritanical values imposed on it as it does in the West. Sex is for procreation, yes, but its primary purpose is recreation.  I mean, I suppose that when you don’t have much of anything else for pleasure in your sparse lives of poverty, and Buddha teaches that everything is suffering, at least there’s sex. It’s a mercy and a blessing and part of The Great Compassion.

Rob at the entrance to the neighborhood Wat

No values. No judgment. It is what it is. This is not a Christian nation (whatever that means anymore). This is a Buddhist nation. There are as many Buddhist “Wat” (temples) and "Spirit Houses" here as there are bars – with about the same level of attendance - which is really saying something in this neck of the woods.

I mean, My guide book on Pattaya puts it rather delicately:

"It's hard to ignore this large, loud, international resort which welcomes visitors from every corner of the globe. Although many are here for the brash nightlife, you'll also see families and couples on package deals. Pattaya is Thailand's notorious centre for selling sex, a hangover from its days an an R&R destination for American troops during the Vietnam War. It has the largest gay scene in Thailand." 

So, imagine lots of churches on every street corner in Provincetown or The Village in lower Manhattan. Got it? Right.

Outdoor shrine at the local Wat

A Wat is a House of Prayer as well as a community center for  service and community. You know. The way Christian churches are supposed  to be but more often than not, aren’t.

I watch literally hundreds of people going in and out of the Wat around the corner from my apartment complex. There are, perhaps, hundreds of monks in their glorious saffron robes and shaved heads. But, the people go in and out all day – to pray, to chant, to give offerings to the Buddha, to get some assistance.

You know. Just the way Church is the center of life for Christians. I suspect, if Churches were for Christians what Temples are for Buddhists here, we wouldn’t be saying things like, “Churches are more than buildings.”

While that is, of course, true, it means something else when you live in poverty and the Temple is where you go to be closer to God and feel the love of God in real and tangible forms of assistance.

The few Christians who are here are of the rabid Evangelical persuasion. Not very nice people. At. All. Becoming Christian means to become more Westernized. Which is, of course, what some want, but it is not exactly a walking advertisement for the Incarnate, unconditional, inclusive of Love of Jesus. 

Prostitution is illegal here in Thailand, but they don’t consider what they do as prostitution. It’s just sex they get paid for.

Understand, Sir?

What’s the difference, I ask. They look at me like I’m from another planet. Indeed, sometimes I think I am. No one seems to be able to give me an answer. I suppose it’s like the infamous definition of pornography – you know it when you see it.

So, the cops only seem to raid bars where there are drugs and underage children. Which is a good thing. I have a sneaking suspicion, however, that they only do that because of imposed Western values. Money is, after all, money and there seems to be no satisfying the voracious sexual appetites of some men from around the world.

Hey, a poor person’s gotta do what a poor person’s gotta do. The Buddha teaches them that all life is suffering. And so, it is. We create our own reality. If that's what you believe, that's what it is.

Except, what they do here is decidedly “less” suffering than they know in the North. Here, they have electricity and running water and only four or five to a one-bedroom apartment.

Much better, see, Sir?

So, there are lots of ‘girly-men” in the streets. Tight jeans or very short dresses. Perfectly coiffed hair which one can get styled in one of the many beauty shops here which helps them to look more female as well as Western. They wear open toed shoes with high spiked heels. Very Western understanding of what it means to be “sexy”.

Please note: many of them are not gay. There really is no “gay” here - except for the Westerners who self-identify in that way. There is sex between men and sex between woman. “Same-same, Sir.”

They come here to Pattaya (and to Bangkok and just about everyplace else in Thailand or the Orient where there are Westerners) from the poor northern coffee or rice farms to make money. Because there are no jobs and even less money in the North.

They make about 2,000 baht a week (about $70) and live on 1,000 baht and then send the rest home to the family up North.

They come to the cities and their “cousins” teach them how to dress and walk and talk like a girl and the Dutch and the Irish and the Russian (nobody here likes the Russians) and English and American and French men – straight and gay - get to live out their own, individual fantasies of gay sex while being with someone who looks like a woman, except he has a penis.

And, even though he’s probably in his thirties he looks like he’s twelve, and so it’s an adolescent fantasy as well.

These Thai boys know that. They go into it with their eyes wide open. It’s about the money. It’s just business. They get wined and dined and – from what I understand – most of it does not involve genital penetration. Of course, some of it does, but that’s not the main thing. “Whatever gets you through the night, is alright.”

It’s “all all right, Sir”.

Some Thai girly-men are very clear that they don't do...."that"....because, they say, it makes them feel like a woman. And, God help us, no one wants that!

It’s a slightly different slant on human trafficking than anything I’ve ever considered before. These boys are NOT humiliated. It’s just sex. It’s just money. It’s business.

The female equivalent is also here – girls walking the streets looking like hookers – but honestly? – they look just like some young girls who walk the streets in cities and suburban towns all over America. I can’t tell the difference between a rebellious adolescent and a hooker. There or here.

Truth be told, I often can’t tell the difference between a girl-girl and a girly-man. It’s all about the hyper-sexualization of the feminine to feed the sexual fantasy and appetite of the Western male which is both quite active and voracious.

My feminist sensibilities are assaulted every time I walk down the street. The image of beauty one sees on every billboard everywhere are of hyper-sexualized Western women. Blonde. Blue eyes. Thin. Perfectly coiffed. Reeking sex.

It makes me feel sad. I'm trying hard not to get angry.

Although, I must say that our waiter tonight at one of the local bars saw me looking at one of the “girly men” who was, even for a girly-man, a bit over the top – hair piled high, spiked heels, hips swinging as he sashayed down the street. I though I was being discrete, but perhaps I was more obviously gawking than I intended.

The waiter giggled. Apparently, he agreed with me.

I rolled my eyes and said, “Oh, dahling!”

He giggled and said, “Dahling too much, Sir.”

And then, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Up to you.”

I’m hearing this a great deal. “Up to you.”

Rob tells me that those three words really encapsulate the Thai philosophy on life.

“Up to you,” means that (1) each individual person gets to decide what it is you will do and (2) – and, here’s the important part – you take responsibility for your own decisions and actions because they take responsibility for theirs.

It’s the Thai version of Ed Freidman’s “Self-differentiated self”.

No guilt. No enabling. No judgment. Everyone who’s an adult takes responsibility for their own life and their own destiny.

Up to you, see, Sir?

Except, of course, that one of my working definitions of poverty is not having many – if any – options.  Except, to make a choice to lessen your suffering – which is, they understand, an inevitable and unavoidable fact of life – by trying to earn more money for yourself and your family.

Suddenly, I understand the aphorism, “Money is the root of all evil.” Money is only a tool of having power over someone else’s life, which can certainly be accomplished without a baht or a yen, a buck or a pound. Money only makes that task easier.

“Up to you.” It’s the one thing I ‘get’. It’s the one thing I’ll be certain to take from here when I take my leave three weeks from now.

That, and a deep appreciation for the summer humidity of Delaware, about which I will never again complain.

I have been to Thailand. I know better. Now.

You may choose to come here one day, and you’ll take away your own impressions and form your own opinions.

Up to you.

Thank you very big

Jomtien Beach, Pattaya, Thailand

At first, I thought it was condescending.

For the most part, the Thai people here speak English quite well. Basic stuff. Enough to do business, which is important. And, most foreigners speak enough Thai to get along and engage in a business transaction or get themselves transportation or order food and drink.

It’s enough.

Those Thai people who do speak English speak it in very basic terms and with no sense of grammar, syntax or tense. That’s because they are translating from Thai to English and there isn’t the same grammatical system.

It’s just words, you see. Which is fine. I’m sure foreigners speak Thai in the same sort of baby-sounding language we hear them use English.

The truth of it is that the Thai written language is very complex written in an elaborate style that looks to my western eye as a mix of Sanskrit and Arabic and contains over 80 letters.

The spoken language has five tones or pitches which help to determine the exact meaning of the word. There are also several words for the same thing – like, for example, ‘love’. And, ‘rain’. And ‘heat’.

Problem too much, as one Thai person said to me.

What I still haven’t gotten used to and continues to be shocking to me is that English-speaking people speak English to Thai people in the same broken, baby-sounding English language they do.

“Water. Cold. Two. One her. One me. Sir”.

“How you? Okay? Same-same, yes?”

“Twenty baht you. No tell mama-san, maybe.” (giggle, giggle)

“Oh, look sky. Very big rain come, today, maybe, yes?”

It feels – well – condescending and disrespectful to speak to another adult human being in baby talk. I mean, when my kids were little, we never spoke baby talk to them.

So, because it was bothering me, I asked Rob why everyone does it. He said that it’s not because no one respects them or is being condescending. He said it makes the Thai people less self-conscious about their own use of English.

Apparently, it’s quite respectful, at least in intent, to not only make it as easy as possible for them to understand a language which is as foreign to their ears as Thai is to us, it levels the playing field so everyone’s English sounds the same as our Thai sounds to them. It sounds more like the grammatical construct of their own language.

It’s all quite confusing and I’m not at all convinced any of this is true, but I’m going along with it for now because, really, what other choice do I have?

What’s really amazing to me is that all street signs are written in Thai script as well as English. Not Spanish. Not French. English.

Menus are the same – English and Thai script along with some very helpful pictures showing you what you are ordering. So, there you are, an adult, educated person, reduced to saying, “Number 3, please,” as you point like a four year old to the corresponding picture to prove that you actually know what you’re ordering.

If you don’t point to the picture, your waiter or waitress will often ask you to point to the picture of what you want, as s/he smiles beautifully and nods approval.

Well, this was once a British colony, wasn’t it? It was once known as “Siam” – as in The King and I – but it became Thailand after the Brits left.

“Thai” means “smile”. So, this is the land of “smiles”. And, I must say, nothing is quite as beautiful as when someone from Thailand smiles at you.

Julie, the woman who runs the hotel pool and lunch place, smiled at me today – nearly melting my heart – and said to Rob, “She sister?”

“Yes, yes,” said Rob. It’s just easier that way.

“Oh,” she said, looking at me but talking to him, “She most beautiful. Very, very most,” she said as she smiled. I actually blushed like a thirteen year old, which caused her to come sit by me and stare deeply into my eyes.

She reached out her hand and touched my face tenderly, stroking it gently. “Beautiful too much,” she said. I was absolutely undone by her honesty. This was not an empty compliment or something designed for a bigger tip.

I suddenly realized that she was fascinated by me because I was so different from her and, because I’m Western and not Thai, that was the very definition of beauty.

It broke my heart, really. What kind of ingrained cultural conditioning causes people not to see their own natural beauty? What monstrous damage over centuries had been done to the psyche of the people of this land when they were colonized?

There was nothing else to do but gather my wits about me and find the same place of truth in me and speak to her from that place. I took her face in my hands and, with my thumbs, gently followed the outline of her eyebrow and the almond shape of her eyes, resting my thumbs on her beautifully shaped, high cheekbones.

“Oh, you very much beautiful. Different, yes. Beauty is beauty. Different face. Same beauty. Beauty is beauty. Come from inside. Here. Not outside. Here.”

I could see her taking in the words, reading deep into my eyes for truth and meaning. Suddenly she got it. “No, no, no,” she said. “You, you, you. Very beauty.”

I held her face in my hands and repeated my words as she continued to search past my eyes and into my soul. She saw that I was speaking the truth as I knew it and she returned it with the most beautiful smile I have ever seen in my whole life. She just simply glowed and shone with an inner light that was breathtaking.

“Ah,” she said at last. “Thank you very big.”

I nodded my head and said, “Korb-koon, Krup.” (Thank you, sir.)

“Ka,” she says, reminding me of her lesser, female status.

“Krup,” I say, looking her square in the eye.

“Very good,” she giggled appreciatively. “Very good Thai.”

It still feels funny to me to have two adult human beings speak to each other like that, but that’s just the way it is, here. I suppose this is all part of the “adjustment” of an experience of “cultural immersion.”

Actually, I’m quite grateful to Rob for this “real view” of Thailand. I’m certainly not getting the same images as the folks on the tour buses who gawk and point and stare.

Then again, they are here for the entertainment value. I’m here to visit a very dear friend in a land that is strange to me but is now his home.

I find that I wake up in the morning filled with gratitude for the experience of being here.

Thank you, very big, I say to God.

I know that makes God smile.

I see it reflected in the beautiful smiles of the people of Thailand.

My Big Phat Thai Adventure I

Sunee Plaza, Pattaya, Thailand

Okay, so for starters, let’s get right past the 19 hours in the air from D.C. to Tokyo and then the two-hour layover in Tokyo before the five-hour flight from Tokyo to Bangkok.

And, let’s do try to forget that I dressed in DC knowing that I would arrive to 97 degree heat and 110% humidity and dressed accordingly but the AC on the plane was colder than a stepfather’s kiss.

Thankfully, I remembered to pack a pair of socks and wore one of those paper-thin airplane….”blankets”… on my lap and one wrapped round my shoulders like a shawl.

Yes, and let’s just fly right past the fact that my dear friend Rob wrote down that I was leaving on the first of March (which would meant that I would arrive on the second of March, but apparently, he forgot that part) and so he spent almost 24 hours in an ice-blue panic with worry about me.

Which meant, of course, that I would arrive in Bangkok and meet my first Real Big Phat Thai Adventure within 30 minutes of landing as I negotiated for a “texsi” (cab) to take me to Pattaya – about 90 minutes south of Bangkok.

Apparently, I struck out my first time up at bat. Rob said, “And don’t pay one baht more than 1,000 baht for the taxi”. Right. It was 2,000 baht or I wasn’t getting out of the airport. And, it was an air conditioned Mercedes and not a little red….whatever…which I later learned one can get on level four rather than level one where I was

And, oh, by the way, 1,000 baht is about $35.00. So…. Maybe not such a good deal in Bangkok but still a steal if one were trying to get from NYC to Morristown, NJ,

Einstein was right. Everything is relative.

And, if it’s all the same to you, we’ll get past the part about jet lag being a mercilessly cruel beast and proceed directly to the part about that fact that, no matter what time your body thinks it is, it is odd, indeed, it is to be called “Madam” (pronounced with a decidedly French accent) and in the third person (As in: “Would Madam like sugar or cream with her coffee?”).

When one isn’t called “Madam”, one is called “Krup” – which sounds perfectly fine until one realizes that “Krup” is “Sir”. “Ka’ is “woman,” but men say, “Krup” to every one – including women and women say “Ka” to every – including men.

I don't pretend to understand, but I think it has something to do with the Western vs. Eastern sense of gender binary.

So, I hear “Sawat dee, Krup,” Or “Good morning, Sir.”

This is going to take longer to get used to than the jet lag.

I am staying in my friend Rob’s apartment complex. He got me a perfectly fine air conditioned one room with a balcony that is appointed with a large, double bed, a sectional sofa, a small table, a television and a small “kitchen area” which has a refrigerator, microwave, and coffee pot - but no sink.

The sink is in the bathroom, which, oddly enough, has a shower right next to the toilet (no partition, no curtain) and another, small nozzle right next to the toilet so one can rinse off one’s feet….or, whatever one wants to rinse off whilst one is near or on the toilet.

Oh, and Rob said the whole thing cost $216. For the month.

I could get very used to that.

I got to bed around 2:30 AM – here (which meant 2:30 PM the day before in my body) and slept until 8:30. Rob arrived at 9 AM and we had coffee and talked and talked and talked over coffee (most excellent, even though it was instant) until about 10:30.

The wonderful thing about friends is that, no matter how long it’s been since the last time you saw each other, you seem to pick up the conversation right where you left off.

And, so it was.

Off we went, then, to the market to buy an adapter for my electronic devices (my cell phone was gasping with only one bar of life support left) and to wander aimlessly through the streets until we found the pool.

There, we met up with one of Rob’s friends, a Northern Irishman named Ronnie who has an enchanting brogue and an unmistakable glint of mischief in his eye that was an immediate give-away to his ethnicity. I can spot an Irish eye from 100 paces.

Talk, talk, talk. Yak, yak, yak. Giggle, giggle, giggle. And then, lunch.

We came home through a different part of the market where one can buy all sort and manner of things – from underwear (except, these Thai women are so small, I couldn’t fit my ankle into places meant for the thigh) to jewelry to coffee to kitchen appliances to spring rolls and chicken with peanut sauce, or, perhaps, if one were very hungry, a whole roasted head of pig – with intact eyes and snout.

Eeeeeewwww. Eeeeewww. Eeeewww. I will not get used to that. Not. Ever.

We came back to the apartment around 2:30 for a wee bit of a lie down and then Rob will pick me up for dindin about 6 PM. I’m going to try to find a WiFi so I might post this whilst we’re out. He’ll not be happy about that but there’s no WiFi here at the apartment complex and, hey, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

The heat isn’t as bad as the humidity which is actually pretty bad. Most people wear as few cloths as possible which makes for very interesting scenery.

Many, many Thai people really do try to look “Western” which means they wear jeans, T-shirt and sneakers. Even in this heat. And, humidity. Makes absolutely no sense to me.

What’s worse, however, is that there is a whole section in the market for “skin lightening” cream. I looked at the whole shelf of it and almost wept.

Here’s the logic: West=good. West=light skin. Therefore, good=light skin.

I don’t think I’ll ever – EVER – get used to that.

Pom (chun) mai kowjai. I don’t understand.

I’ll be writing more tomorrow, but until then, wherever you are and whatever time it is where you are, Laa gorn, krup. (Good evening, sir.)