March 21, 2002: I'm sitting in my rented condo, eating a profoundly-spicy northern Thai dish called "lahb"; I will "pay" for this meal again. Listening to James Taylor on an MP3 player. Catching up on the correspondence, procrastinating doing my Thai homework...
As for the fire filling my mouth and my thoughts just now, (maybe it's burned its way to my brain): it's a ground pork salad (comes in beef too) with a vinegar-y tang, about half meat, half chilies (chopped very fine, inseparable from the meat) with measure of shallots thrown in. It comes with a side of vegetables: blanched string beans, cukes, raw cabbage. The latter doesn't sound real appealing, but its crunch and slight bitterness turns out a nice contrast to the soft, fiery meat. And without getting too anatomical about this whole experience, the fiber will probably be a help, once this food is done with me.
I'm finished the meal: rivulets of sweat begin pouring down the side of my face, but only from one side, for some odd reason. One drip just plopped onto the shorts I'm wearing. Where can you get this kind of entertainment for a mere forty cents? And there's fresh pineapple in the frig. Beer too — but my Thai writing is fledgling enough without that. Sure would be nice, though.
The thoughts of home aren't what you might think — this food isn't foreign — it "tastes just like home". The music's more than familiar, it's been my sole evening companion since January 30th, except for the recent companionship of Terry Wollen, one of a cadre of simply wonderful, caring people at Heifer. He's just arrived from a stint in Nepal with his wife, she's run back to the US for a couple of weeks and returns on the same flight (from Bangkok at least) as Kathy. He's good company, has wheels (I do too, but I've only got two and they're human powered). Our time in the office expands to dinners, a concert, and shopping: he's busy settling into a house and needs all the stuff a new homeowner does. Terry does not, how to put this, "have the same appreciation for spicy food" as me. We all have our faults. This dish would have been his undoing. I loved it.
There's a delightful animation to Terry, stories of his journeys, from New Orleans to Nepal, are full of life and everyday adventure. And he has the best collection of cow photos I've ever seen, although now that I think of it, he has the only collection of cow pictures I've ever seen. [Terry's a Veterinarian, I don't think it's a fetish or anything].
Friends and family are close by, just at the end of this PC. I think I've been more in touch since I've been gone, then when I'm at home. My thoughts are focused on Kathy's arrival in a bit less than a week, and that, despite a month's extension to my stay here, I'm past the half-way point toward going home. I do not especially look forward to it. I've grown immensely fond of Chiang Mai; I know the streets and alleys and where to find fabulous fried chicken (ok, it's just across the street); where the shops and bars and music and food stalls are. What the "right price" is with the siilor drivers. How to tell a t-shirt seller "You can't be serious" [about their offering price], and an Akha trinket-sales-woman "no thanks" [this is astounding to them. They always give a big smile, then me wide berth].
This has been such a special experience. The language study and a modicum of proficiency at it, a great town to learn and savor, working with people who not only care about their work, but have care as their work. And Kathy's pending arrival just makes it that much more special: love shared is love doubled, redoubled.