No Need for Want: Settling In

In Thailand I surely am – safe’n’sound and getting my bearings.

This essay paints a picture about my day-to-day in Peace Corps Training thus far...

“Shampoo, shampoo…” my grandmotherly-like Thai host mom, Mae (Mother) Ruam, repeatedly says to me one evening. Is she referring to my unkempt bike-helmet hair? Do I smell so bad she has to accuse? Another minute of miscommunication – lost in translation – goes on, and her meaning is at last understood.
“Koon cheu-lin Sham-puu. Sui-ay, sui-ay, Sham-pu.” Far from telling me I need a bath, she is bestowing a Thai nickname upon me, a rather sentimental cultural gesture. Sham-pu simply sounds like ‘shampoo’, but in reality it is a popular tropical pon-la-maai (fruit), somewhat a cross between a glossy red delicious apple and a crisp sweet bell pepper. “Sham-puu” also happens to be the nickname of a sui-ay (beautiful) pop-star, who is half Thai, half farang (foreigner). Thus in seconds flat, I go from feeling accosted, to being flattered.

Yes, I have become fairly accustomed to the constant sway of the culture-shock swing. From the overwhelming excitement of new faces and places that catapult the endorphins, to the utter loneliness of not seeing familiar faces and places that leave the spirit dangling out-on-a-limb. From triumphant moments of communicating in a new language, to the more often then not times when the tongue is limp with disparity or dumb with blunder. Dead tired sleeps, intermixed with restless nights, and delicious new eats, interspersed with discreet gags of disgust, comprise my time here.

And surprises, so many surprises, await my curiosity at every turn, especially upon my daily 14-mile bicycle commute to language school and Peace Corps training. In the Chainat Province of central Thailand, population ~300,000, eight-lane highways intersect with tiny country roads and irrigation canals, which intersect with dirt lanes – making the transition from a paved urban hub, to a hut on stilts amongst tropical flora and fauna, miraculously immediate.

The rural roads in the morning hours are most alive, for when tian (noon) rolls around the seriously hot duang aa-tit (sun) hammers down and causes many to retreat under weathered awnings and tin roofed wooden pavilions. If out early enough, I come across small groups of pratts (monks) swathed in orange robes, pulling along carts collecting daily alms from men and women working to attain Buddhist merit. A plethora of scruffy street dogs roam, too, looking for their version of alms, and also often looking for trouble by chasing innocent cyclists – fortunately with more bark than bite. Gaggles of giddy nak-rian (school children) gather at bus-stops in their fuchsia pink, bright yellow and white collared uniforms, and both children and adults holler out “hallos” and “hey you’s” and “farang, farang” as I peddle pass with a wave, a ching-ching from my bell and a cheery sawadee ka (hello).

Motorbikes and pick-up trucks dominate the city roads, though. One statistic sites that though there are only six-million kun (people) in all of Thailand, just as many pick-up trucks are owned here as in the United States, which has a populous of nearly 300-million. This makes for some pretty truck laden roads. Unbelievably, however, there seems to be twenty-fold more motorbikes. Zipping around at Speed Racer-like speeds, it is not unusual to see a dad, mom, child and newborn piled upon one motorbike. Or three pu-yings (women) all riap roy (dressed up) “motor-pooling” to work – the driver riding traditionally and the two passengers riding side-saddle, creating an awkward site of three legs clad in skirts dangling from each side. Merchants attach racks of goods to motorbikes, haystacks are toted upon motorbikes and water buffalo (the calfs of which are absolutely adorable) are herded by motorbikes. This morning I even saw a motorbike zipping about in the wet rice fields!

As the largest exporter of rice in the world, Thailand’s thriving rice paddies serenely span on endlessly in the countryside, while in the fast-passed city vendors selling rice, rice noodles, sticky rice, rice cakes, rice puffs, rice pancakes, rice, rice, rice, are limitless. In fact, kaao (rice) is such an essential component of the Thai diet that the phrase for “to eat” is gin kaao, because a meal that does not include kaao, is not considered a meal at all. My last meal alone included a bowl of white rice, pad thai rice noodles and a rice ka noon (sweet). Understandably, and unfortunately, diabetes is an ever growing epidemic here, directly related to the diet high in starch, oil and sugar. But, oh so good are the Thai tastes of pet (spice) and waan (sweet)! However, the line must be drawn somewhere with the sweets, and the concoction of condensed milk and mayonnaise, used as a salad dressing, is certainly the line for me.

Every morning Mae Ruam sends me off to roong rian (school) with a fully stomach, and a baggie of snacks in my backpack. The ka-noon chips – dried and fried jack-fruit dipped in a sweet and salty syrup – which our neighbors make, are my favorite snack. I must admit, however, my affinity for this particular treat is somewhat biased. Two law (handsome) brothers – Waa and Waan – are the ka-noon chip makers, and also my gaan-baan (homework) study buddies. They patiently, and humorously, put up with my infant like utterances of gaa’s, koo’s and pblu’s – and they especially got a good laugh when we first met and in my limited vocab mistakenly called them a-roi (delicious)!

Homerun family businesses such as theirs are a norm here (i.e. Mom’n’Pop stores, biogas, restaurants, garages, etc.). An abundance of vegetable gardens, and small tropical fruit orchards even, are also prevalent. Such establishments are examples of an initiative jumpstarted by the King in the 1980’s, primarily in rural provinces, defined as self-sufficiency economy. The bottom-line concept is to have people not having the need for want.

“Sawadee ka Sham-pu!”, Mae Ruam warmly greets as I pull up to our large, riverside baan (house) after a long – albeit rewarding – day of studies and many miles key jak-gra-yan (bike riding). I’m naui (tired) and hui (hungry), and am comforted by the fact that she will feed me, send me off to bed and send me off to school the next morning. Though exhausted and unable to communicate in explicit detail, I am comforted to have such a set routine. I am happy to have made it through another demanding and thought-provoking day, and to have survived the mayhem of the city traffic. I wai (bow) the cultural sign of respect to my Mae, and am comforted to not have the need for want.