Sleepless in Ayutthaya

The neighbours are having a party – not that I’ve been invited. How do I know? Well, the first clue was last night with a motley group of labourers erecting a canopy in the front garden and tying swags of blue and gold cloth to the front railings. And now the whole house is shaking to the heavy thump of over-amplified music – and I use the term “music” only loosely. If I didn’t know about the party I’d be tempted to call the RSPCA suspecting gross cruelty to cats – or even cruelty to a gross of cats. It’s only midday, so I can look forward to several more hours with the doors and windows clamped shut, stifling in the heat, and struggling to hear the TV.

***

At one o’clock I headed out to lunch at a riverside restaurant. I see that a giant bank of loudspeakers has been erected not in the garden of the party family, but on the opposite side of the street in the road. In the garden there are three middle-aged women lounging around. All this racket is, so far, solely for their benefit.

***

At the restaurant I see a floating platform, the sort used to ferry cars across rivers, accompanied by four barges, one to each side, one in front and one bringing up the rear heading up the river. The vessels are packed with party goers. Then I remembered, we’re just about to enter the rainy season retreat when young men traditionally enter the monkhood for three months to make merit, often for their mother or grandmothers. It’s a source of great pride for each family concerned and is often marked by an extravagant party. On the way back home I spy a number of other parties in progress.

***

7 p.m. the party next door is still in full swing. The street is clogged with parked cars. The first couple of restaurants I visit are packed with groups celebrating. I head elsewhere.

***

Midnight. The music has stopped.

Under other circumstances I might feel a little miffed by the intrusive noise, but I understand that this is a very special day for the young men and the families concerned. Let them have their fun.

***

Sunday, 5 a.m.. They’re back to strangling cats. I’m woken abruptly by a song calling on all to wake up and start working. I resist that siren call and struggle to regain oblivion.

***

11 a.m.. Now someone is reciting the life story of the young man concerned. After an hour they’ve only reached the day of his birth. It’s going to be a long, long tale. I also now understand that they will be partying until he goes to the temple tomorrow (Monday) morning, in time for lunch (the last meal of the day for monks) which is taken before midday.

***

4 p.m. and the music throbs on. In fact, the volume’s so loud that it’s taken to setting off the alarms of the cars in the vicinity. I’m just glad that I’m now returning to Bangkok and will flee the ongoing cacophony. The other neighbours have to put up with this until some time tomorrow.

[399]

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

As the years pass my forehead expands relentlessly to claim space previously occupied by my flowing locks. It seems I am genetically predisposed to join the ranks of the follicularly challenged. Not for me the strong heads of hair, long, thick, jet black and straight, that are the preserve of the people around me.

Not that Thai people are oblivious to the beauty of their hair: many has been the time that I’ve visited a public restroom and had to wait whilst all the basins are occupied by young men preening their hair, teasing each strand until it’s just so.

Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity.
- Ecclesiastes 1:2, Authorised King James Version (1611)

In search of individuality, some young men dye their hair – usually to a dark chestnut colour, though some go further and reach for the Clorox.

These same young men weren’t allowed to display their crowning glories when they were at school; the Thai educational system demands that all boys have closely cut crops. If a teacher thinks a student’s hair is too long she (for it almost always is a she) will grab a clump of hair and cut it off with a pair of scissors, so forcing the student to make an unscheduled trip to the barber.

***

In searching for the quote from King Solomon I came across this optical illusion, which is apparently quite famous, but I hadn’t come across before and think is worth duplicating here, even though it has nothing to do with Thailand:

- All is Vanity, C. Allan Gilbert (1892)

Incidentally, Gilbert, an American, was only 18 years old when he created this image.

[398]

A Fruit For All Seasons

Despite the tropical climate, fruit in Thailand is highly seasonal. Earlier this year the cost of limes sky-rocketed from the usual one or two Baht a piece (according to size and juiciness) to 60 Baht for a pack of five in the supermarket. This was quite a headache for the restaurant trade since lime juice is very widely used as a souring agent in Thai dishes, balancing the sweetness of added sugar (usually palm sugar), which in turn is there to balance the fieriness of the chillies; the high cost of limes was definitely eating into profits. (The common souring alternative, tamarind, is only used in a relatively small number of dishes, mostly from the South.) Anyway, the rains broke about a month ago and the price of limes is back to normal and I can enjoy a slice with my sundowner gin and tonic once more.

This is probably the best time of year for Thai fruits, with both durian and mangosteen in season. These fruits are known by the Thais as respectively the king and queen of fruit. And rambutan, the spicy, pink and green alien testicles are still around and very cheap (about 25 pence per kilo).

Durian, with its custardy flesh and overpowering smell of rank sewage, is definitely an acquired taste. And the best thing about acquired tastes is that one doesn’t have to acquire them.

Mangosteen is something that I hadn’t got around to trying, until today. The purple skin, which is soft when freshly picked, quickly hardens until it needs to be cut with a knife to reveal the soft white flesh within. To be honest, I wasn’t overwhelmed by the taste. The flesh is soft and a balance of sweet and sour, but without any particularly aromatic notes. Still, until they breed mangosteens which taste like foie gras or belly pork, I guess I’m going to remain unimpressed.

[397]

Lizard Superstitions

Perhaps the two most feared things in Thailand are ghosts and lizards. Thai ghosts aren’t of the friendly “Casper” kind, nor do they look like someone draped in a white sheet with holes for eyes. Almost all ghosts are both female and truly terrifying – some taking the form of simply a head and digestive tract. Probably the most famous ghost is Mae Naak. Born about a hundred and thirty year ago in Bangkok (that’s according to some versions of the story – there’s really no historical evidence for her existence, and some sources claim she lived in the Ayutthaya period), she died during childbirth and was buried with her unborn son. However, her spirit pined for her husband who had been conscripted to fight a foreign war, and she refused to pass on. When her husband returns from the war she disguises both herself and her son as human. However, when her husband sees her reach through the floorboards of their wooden house to retrieve a fallen lime he realises she’s a ghost. Not surprisingly, he flees, only to be pursued by his wife. She then goes on the rampage, killing everyone who crosses her path.

The story continues with the attempts of the villagers to get rid of her spirit, involving black magic and “spirit doctors” in the process – but nothing works. Her terrorised husband takes refuge in a temple, but the monks can do little to protect him. At last a gifted novice from a far away province captures her soul and puts it in a clay pot which he drops in the river.

All scary stuff. And as for Thai ghosts, you certainly wouldn’t want to meet one.

The fear of lizards is perhaps less understandable. Most houses have a few small lizards hanging around the light fittings of an evening, eating the occasional passing mosquito. OK, they are inclined to poo everywhere, but only in tiny quantities – and it’s far less offensive than essence of dog or cat.

Anyway, the belief is that if a lizard falls on you it’s bad luck. And today I can confirm that’s true: as I was opening my bedroom balcony doors this morning an adolescent house lizard fell on me. I’m not sure if I or the less-than-sure-footed critter was more startled. Anyway, I stepped backwards and caught my heel on my bed frame. Soon blood was gushing from my wound. So, proof definitive: having a lizard fall on you is bad luck.

[396]

Trumpets and Foie Gras

According to Sydney Smith (a long-dead clergyman), heaven is “eating pâté de foie gras to the sound of trumpets”.

Today I was sitting in one of my favourite riverside restaurants with the deafening drumming of rain on the corrugated iron roof. Across the river was a magnificent Thai temple, gold paint glittering in the half light. Nearby was a sugar palm, its lollipop shape stark against the gloomy sky. And the river ferry carried on its work, taking motorcycles and passengers across the river, to-and-fro, to-and-fro.

I was waiting for my lunch: steamed pork spare ribs with soy sauce topped with finely chopped green chillies and garlic, a smoky, warm salad of grilled aubergines with minced pork and prawns, and some plain rice.

It then struck me that this has become so normal for me; I no longer look upon the temples with awe or feel thrilled by the brilliant food.

One can have too much even of foie gras to the trumpets’ clarion call.

[395]

Fakes

A couple of years ago a then Deputy Prime Minister decided to lead a raid against Pantip Plaza (a large shopping mall specialising in IT equipment and software) in the interests of suppress vice and intellectual property crimes. This is a place where sellers come up to you, grab your arm and ask “Want to buy dirty video?” If you want a pirated copy of the latest Windows software there’s no need for such an indignity, you just need to look at the comprehensive displays. The Minister’s raid was a tad unsuccessful: only a single pornographic VCD and a couple of bags of marijuana were found. Doubtless the vendors had been tipped off about the impending raid and the illegal material spirited swiftly away.

Counterfeit goods are freely available in Thailand: it’s far easier to by a dodgy copy of Microsoft Windows or Office than to buy the real thing; stalls lining Sukhumwit road openly sell fake Calvin Klein and Adidas sportswear alongside counterfeit pills designed to put a smile on a man’s face and a spring in his step; fake car parts and pharmaceuticals abound. Despite the dent in Microsoft’s profits and the risk of the sick taking worthless (or positively harmful) pills, what little has been done about the problem has been largely ineffective.

Now that America’s US Trade Representative has started rattling Thailand’s cage about intellectual property rights the government has responded with a raid on Patpong (an area famous for its sleazy nightclubs where women, in the absence of male companionship, perform strange acts with ping-pong balls) where this is a well-known for its night market stuffed to the gills with counterfeit goods. About fifty officials from the Commerce Ministry raided the stalls of the night market, seizing fake items and arresting the vendors for selling pirated goods. The vendors weren’t too happy:

[Picture from Thai Rath newspaper]

About 200 vendors threw stones and bottles and attacked the officials with wooden sticks.

The officials weren’t too happy, either, and fired their guns into the air.

Yet another nail in the coffin of the Thai tourist industry.

And we are told that such raids will be repeated every two days from now on.

***

As an aside, I just wonder if American companies are really losing out from piracy in Thailand and other developing countries? The price of genuine designer goods here is way beyond the means of the vast, vast majority of the population. The designer companies aren’t actually losing out on sales, and nobody is fooled into thinking that the fakes are genuine so the companies’ reputations aren’t harmed. In fact, the profiles of the companies are raised by the sale of counterfeits. Eventually, when people become affluent enough they will want to switch to the real deal. Until then Uncle Sam is simply shooting himself in the foot.

[394]

Wat Pho

Wat Phra Chetuphon Vimolmangklararm Rajwaramahaviharn or as it is (mercifully) better known, Wat Pho*, is one of Bangkok’s top tourist attractions, famous for its massive reclining Buddha figure, 46 metres long and 18 metres high. It’s also a very active temple, with a large contingent of monks. Most tourists come away with a standard picture of the face of the Buddha figure – but because the hall is so tight around the Buddha figure, it’s impossible to capture its immenseness.

The Lord Buddha was recognised at birth as an individual of extraordinary destiny, not just because he immediately walked and that lotus flowers sprang from each footprint, but because his feet bore 108 auspicious characteristics. These marks are captured in mother-of-pearl on the soles of the Buddha figure at Wat Pho.

This image is of the back of the Buddha figure’s head, showing the tight curls of his hair – another auspicious sign:

[Curiously enough, despite the iconography which has developed around the Lord Buddha (an iconography itself derived from traditional Brahman teaching), the Lord Buddha was not of extraordinary appearance. According to the Tripitaka (the most authoritative of the Buddhist scriptures in the Theravada tradition), when King Ajātasattu went to meet him the king was unable to distinguish him from the disciples around him. And in another incident, Pukkasāti sat talking to the Lord Buddha for hours before he realised to whom he was talking.]

Before Wat Pho became a temple it was a centre of learning for traditional Thai medicine. This tradition continues. There are various statues showing yoga positions:

and plaques inscribed with medical texts:

The plaques date from the era of King Rama III when the King had the temple restored, starting in 1788 CE. Last year they were recognised by UNESCO.

It would appear that Thai medical wisdom extends to the health of demonesses, too:

There were some strange trees at the temple, with the flowers growing directly out of the trunk:

I was also drawn to this stack of roof tiles:

One way that temples raise money for restoration is by encouraging adherents to pay for a roof tile. In return they can write the name of a loved one on the tile in dedication. Somewhere in Ayutthaya there’s a temple tile with the name of my late father on it.

*For clarification, “Pho” is pronounced with a hard “p” sound, so sounds like the informal word for a chamber pot. Though the Vietnamese dish of noodles in broth is spelled the same way, that word is pronounced more like “fur”, the name being derived from the French “pot-au-feu”.

[393]

Swine Redux

I missed a perhaps more famous swine quotation – also from the Bible:

“Geve not that which is holy to dogges nether cast ye youre pearles before swyne lest they treade them vnder their fete and ye other tourne agayne and all to rent you.”

- Matthew 7:6, Tyndale translation (1526)

I’m reminded of the anecdote (probably apocryphal) of an encounter between Dorothy Parker and Clare Booth Luce. Meeting outside the entrance to a party, the younger and much more beautiful Luce stepped aside and invited Parker in saying “Age before beauty”.

Parker swept past saying sweetly “Pearls before swine”.

[392]

Swine Flu

On hearing of a new influenza variant that combines aspects of both avian and porcine viruses I was pleased to conclude that pigs really can fly.

Now, after a few hours, it seems that the media are referring to this new variant as “Swine Flu”, and I’m left wondering if there are also “Cad” and “Bounder” types.

The use of the word “swine” seems a little strange to me. Apart from the pejorative use of the term, the word has virtually vanished from the English language – except, perhaps, for the term “Gadarene swine” – which smacks more of the English of Tyndale than of the current era:

Then ye devyles besought him [Iesus] sayinge: if thou cast vs out suffre vs to go oure waye in to the heerd of swyne.

And he sayd vnto the: go youre wayes. Then wet they out and departed into ye heerd of swyne And beholde ye whoale heerd of swyne was caryed wt violence hedlinge in to the see and perisshed in ye water.

Then ye heerdme fleed and wet their ways in to ye cyte and tolde every thinge and what had fortuned vnto the possessed of the devyls.

- Matthew 8:31-33, Tyndale translation (1526)

[391]

A Maggot in the Lotus

Last weekend I was entertaining. Rather than cook something Western I decided to showcase my talent (or lack thereof, as it turns out) for Thai food. Admittedly, this was a little foolhardy. Most Thai people are very particular about their food and analyse it in far more detail than your average Westerner would. Most Thai recipes include a comment about how the food should taste, along the lines of “first sour, then spicy, then equally sweet and salty”. Get the balance wrong and it will be noted.

My menu was straightforward:

• duck salad (Thai style) with rambutan
• tom yam gung (a hot, sour prawn soup)
• hor mok (steamed finely chopped fish and other seafood in a spicy coconut milk custard).

At least, it was straightforward until I went to Tesco-Lotus to do the shopping. The first problem was that they didn’t have any duck. And the second was that they didn’t have mussels. (I’d wanted to serve the hor mok in mussel shells; this curry is usually served in banana leaf cups, but serving it in mussel shells is a rather more elegant presentation.) After a bit of thought I substituted beef for the duck – not that Tesco-Lotus had any nice steaks or similar, so I made do with some tough old cut which I marinated for a few hours first. And as for the hor mok, I settled for serving it in ramekins.

The beef salad turned out pretty well – though apparently not quite as spicy as it should be, so I was told – though my sinuses and tear ducts beg to differ. The other two dishes weren’t so good. The hor mok had a good taste, but I hadn’t ground the curry paste quite finely enough in my enormous granite mortar, I’d not added enough fish sauce (leaving it under-salted) and there was rather too much coconut milk for the quantity of fish. The tom yam gung – using a recipe from a relative of HM The Queen none-the-less – was a total disaster. It was strangely cloudy, and neither spicy nor sour. The prawns were fished out and consumed, but the soup itself was left untouched.

A friend made the pudding – taro root cooked in a heavy syrup and chilled served with salted coconut cream. It may sound a little strange, but it works really well. However, I still don’t know how I’ll ever get my saucepan clean again!

But back to the subject of Tesco-Lotus – or “Lotus” as it’s generally called in Thailand. (Actually, it’s more like “loh-tut” since Thai people, for the most part, can’t pronounce “s” at the end of syllables.) I usually shop there because it’s rather more convenient to get to than Big C (which opened a little over a year ago), plus it seems rather more hygienic: Big C has sparrows flying around inside doing what sparrows do. My opinion changed somewhat earlier today. I picked a packet of red curry paste from the shelf in Lotus. (I only make curry pastes from scratch when I’m entertaining – it’s such hard work grinding the ingredients by hand.) I then noticed a movement at the back of the shelf: it was a large, fat, sleek rat. I jumped back in surprise. A couple of middle-aged Thai women looked at me askance until I explained what I’d seen.

Sri Sathya Sai Baba wrote:

“The honey in the flower or lotus does not crave for bees; they do not plead with the bees to come. Since they have tasted the sweetness, they themselves search for the flowers and rush in.”

When it comes to Lotuses of the Tesco variety, it’s not the sweet honey that attracts the bees, but rather the lack of a decent alternative.

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