Adventures in Frenemies...

Meet Esmeralda. She's been in my life for 3 days now. I'd like to say that we hit it off right away, but I can't. I can't even say that we have a love/hate relationship. Instead, it seems as though we've settled into some sort of twisted Junior High rendition of "You're nice an' all, but I hate you anyway" relationship.

Esmeralda: She's nice an' all, but I hate her anyway.

You see, she is really nice. She's lightweight, smooths out the bumps in the roads, and is very shiny. Sources (i.e. a Google search for 'what the heck should I look for when buying a bike?') tell me that she has good brakes, and other fine qualities. I'm sure if we had met under other circumstances, (like if she was someone else's bike) we would have gotten along famously. In fact, I really liked her when we met - as long as she still belonged to the bike shop. However, just minutes after making the purchase, she reminded me that she was, in fact, a mountain bike.

I hate mountain bikes.

Mountain bikes and I have had our moments. I've explored the volcanic Korean island of Jeju on a mountain bike (making up many new curse words along the way). I've seen the Cambodian countryside and the splendors of Angkor Wat on a mountain bike (what a delightfully flat country!) More recently (yesterday, in fact) I discovered a  friendly northern Thai sausage vendor because I was on my mountain bike. It hasn't been all bad. 

In fact, coming home today, with a bag of recently purchased sour-pork sausages dangling from my handlebars, I came close to reconciling my relationship with Esmeralda. As I glided smoothly along my lane, a super decked-out uber-cyclist came from the opposite direction. He looked completely at home on his mountain bike, while I was still feeling like a bit of a cycling fraud. Apparently, he didn't realize I wasn't really a mountain biker, because he rang his little bell and smiled at me, as though we really were fellow travelers in a mountain bike world.  A warm glow enveloped me, and I smiled broadly, thinking maybe I really did belong...then I nearly ran myself into a bush.

The trouble is, no matter how much I'd like to think I'm all mountain bike-y and awesome, my dorky little heart belongs to bikes like these:

I wonder what's become of this sweet ride. Seriously, look at the chain guard. It says 'sweet'.

So, if anyone wants to take Esmeralda off my hands, and save her from a litany of imaginary curse words in the coming weeks, give me a call. She's for sale.

Adventures in my Hot and Spicy Kitchen...

*Warning: This post contains pictures of lizards mating, mangoes boiling, and a lazy cat - any of which may be disturbing for some readers.*

My kitchen is tiny. Not as tiny as this one in my former apartment, but still tiny.

"I hope the Blue Faerie will turn me into a real kitchen someday!"

Since it's so small, not much happens in it. In the morning, coffee gets brewed, an egg gets fried and a slice of bread gets toasted. On a good day, the 3 resulting dirty dishes might get washed. That's about it. (Unless the cat uses the space to practice some sort of extravagant cabaret show while I'm out...)

Um...yeah, that's not likely.

 

Cat shenanigans notwithstanding, my kitchen has seen a lot more action this week than it usually does. And yes, I do mean action. 'Tis the season when a young lizard's fancy turns to thoughts of...CPR. I came home the other day and interrupted a Gecko 1st Aid class in progress on my kitchen wall:

"Henri, we have been spotted! Quick, pretend you're giving me the Heimlich maneuver!"

Not to be outdone by the lizards, I decided to spice things up a bit myself. Uhh..let me re-phrase that. I really started to get things cooking. Hmm, no, that doesn't sound quite right either. Y'know what? There is just no appropriate Grandma-might-be-reading-this way to transition from taking pictures of lizard sex CPR to making mango chutney. Except maybe to say, "A few days later, I made mango chutney."

A few days later, I made mango chutney. My neighbour had picked a gazillion mangoes off my tree, and gave me a giant basket full of yumminess. I shared lots of them, but was still left with nearly a dozen delicious, juicy mangoes to use up. In a sudden burst of domestic fervor, I dug out my saucepan, bought some canning jars, Googled a recipe, read for a while, painted my toenails, did some laundry, and eventually set to work. The recipe called for crystallized ginger, and red pepper flakes. Why use those when fresh ginger and fresh chillies abound?

This is a photo of an awesome pot of chutney...with a not-so-awesome caption.

The bright yellow/orange mangoes and the fiery red chilies in a sweet and tangy sauce make the perfect companion to almost any meal in this wet and rainy season.

Uh-oh.

I've just made an uncomfortable discovery. I don't actually make meals in my kitchen. Why on earth did I make a condiment to go with them!? It's like handing someone a bottle of ketchup and saying, "Here, look at this pretty ketchup, and imagine how good it would taste if you had a burger to put it on." Drat!

I guess the lizards are going to have to find a new venue for their 1st aid classes, and the cat is going to have to have cabaret practice in the living room. It looks like I'll be gettin' busy (Sorry, Grandma!) in my kitchen after all.

Adventures in Ants In My Pants...

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a thesaurus when I grew up. That dream never came to pass, but today I did get to be an idiom for a little while instead.

The day began like many others. The morning sun peeked through the lingering night-time rain clouds, the birds began choir practice in my trees, a gentle breeze lifted my curtains and brought the scent of mangoes across my typing desk, the cat puked up a wad of half-chewed bamboo leaves on my front stoop... Yes, a day like many others.

I didn't rush to clean up the cat's mess. I was still in my PJs, and enjoying my coffee. The cat had wandered off to new adventures; besides, the mess was outside and organic. It could wait.

Eventually, I went out to grab the hose, figuring I might as well wash the whole porch while I was at it. However, instead of a dusty porch and a sad little pile of mushy green bamboo-barf, I saw an over-excited swarm of giant red ants. Apparently, in some ant dialects, "cat vomit" and "buffet" are synonyms. The cat had produced a puddle about 2 inches in diameter, which in less than 20 minutes had become the epicenter of a swarm of ants almost 2 feet across.

These aren't your everyday "Let's ruin your picnic" ants. These are the ants that audition for roles in Indiana Jones or National Geographic movies. These are the very ants that got angry with me last winter for trimming their branch bridge - and then tried to re-build it themselves with nothing but sheer determination and acrobatic acumen!

"Bridge? We don't need no stinkin' bridge."

I'm happy to say, I've never seen these ants inside my house, but I still wasn't thrilled about having them turn my porch into an insect party-palace. So, I turned the hose on, and washed them all back onto the lawn. I don't think any of them were even injured. Sometime in September, aging ants will be telling their grandchildren about how they survived the Great Hosedown of May 30th.

As anyone in a flood would do, some of the ants headed for higher ground. Some of them headed up the hose and onto my arm. Some of them headed up the broom and onto my arm. Some of them took advantage of my distracted arm-slapping and headed up my legs. The leg-climbers were sneaky though. They kept a low profile until the deck was washed, and I was back at my computer. You know how after one bug crawls on you, you imagine all sorts of bugs crawling on you? But then you tell yourself, "Don't be silly. It's just a loose thread, hair, crumb or popcorn kernel"? That's what I was telling myself as I felt little tickles and itches on my legs - until eventually I realized that loose threads, hairs, crumbs and popcorn kernels don't continue to crawl after you've scratched them.

I won't tell you what happened next, because who knows what ads Google will come up with next to this post if I describe the hasty removal of my attire, or the frenetic dance that accompanied it. In the end, there were really only a couple of ants in my pants...but they were enough to have me twitchily slapping myself for the rest of the day when any loose thread, hair or popcorn kernel accosted me.

All in all, given the choice between pursuing my dream of being a thesaurus, or settling for living the idiomatic dream, I'm gonna keep reaching for those stars/celestial orbs/celebrities/luminaries/headliners.

Adventures in Learning...

I like learning new things. When I learn something new, it's like a little drop of water sprinkles itself on a formerly dry part of my brain. In the spirit of learning something new today, (and having something to write about tonight), I googled "famous quotes about learning new things." Unfortunately, I had to stop reading when I got to the following Persian proverb, and realized I was in trouble: One pound of learning requires ten pounds of common sense to apply it. I can assure you that my extra 10 pounds have not been applied to my common sense.

The problem is, I don't usually keep track of things I learn from day to day. Never mind applying the things I've learned, I'm hard pressed to even remember them by the time I'm finished lunch. To give myself a helping hand, I decided to write down the things I learned this week...

1. Spiders are not reliable body guards.

I have a rather large daddy longlegs spider on my bedroom ceiling.  In Canada, I would have vanquished him ages ago. In my little Thai cottage, I don't mind him. I know where he lives, so I can keep an eye on him. He chills out up on the ceiling, and eats all kinds of weird and wonderful things that I'd rather land in his web than on my head. So, we're cool. I kind of see him as my buggy little bodyguard superhero. However, this past week, he fought 3 consecutive battles with a large, villainous Winged Thing, and lost every time. The Winged Thing would escape, plummet, recover, and head right back into the web. My 8-legged superhero would pounce, and start wrapping up the delectable treat, only to have the thing escape, plummet, recover... On the 3rd escape of the Winged Thing, it flew straight at my head. I ran and hid in the living room, my bodyguard went to bed without supper, and the Winged Thing lived to fly another day.

2. There are some really bad reasons to consider matrimony.

Many of my friends have gotten married, and I'm sure they must have had good reasons for doing so. (Perhaps to have someone more reliable than a spider around to vanquish Winged Things?) As I was driving along this week, even I thought to myself, "Hmmm, maybe I should get married... ... ...so someone else can drive, while I sit on the back of the bike and take pictures of weird things on trucks." I saw so many crazy things on trucks this week, that if I could have taken pictures of them, I would have started a new blog called Stuff on Trucks that I could neglect as conscientiously as I neglect this one! Wouldn't you be excited to see pictures of a regular pick-up truck with 21 fridges and 3 washing machines stacked and strapped on the back? Or a truck bed full of pineapples, piled 3x as high as the truck itself? Or a motorcycle tied down in the flatbed, with a person sitting on the bike wearing a helmet? Wouldn't that be awesome!!?? Well, it's not going to happen, because it's a lousy reason to get married.

3. Aliens smell bad.

I didn't actually learn this for real and for certain, but I did make an educated guess. You see, one of the nice things about being illiterate in your country of residence, is that you rely 100% on packaging to sway your decisions. "These cookies have a picture of a squid and some pickles on the package? Put 'em back." or "I think this picture means you need to give it lots of water, and only feed it after midnight..." So, when picking out laundry detergent from a row of brightly coloured mystery packages, I naturally opted for the one with a large UFO hovering in a pink sky, with a sparkling white shirt in it's tractor beam. How could I go wrong? Just like misreading Gremlin instructions, things can go very wrong indeed. The detergent smells awful. Rest assured, dear friends, if I small bad for the next month, it's because I'm wearing clean clothes, washed in detergent recommended by aliens.

Veteran journalist Bill Moyers says, "When I learn something new - and it happens every day - I feel a little more at home in this universe, a little more comfortable in the nest." After re-reading my list, I think Bill Moyers and I must be learning very different things.

Adventures in Rainy Season

4 Reasons Why Rainy Season Makes Me Feel Like a Kindergartener Again:

1 - Some puddles are just too big to go around, I just have to roll up the pant legs and splash on through.
2 - All outdoor fun might be cancelled because it's wet outside, but school never is.
3 - Cookies and milk taste better when eaten in a cozy house while listening to the sound of pouring rain.
4 - I have to carry a change of dry clothes in my backpack...just in case my pants get wet (for a different reason of course, but it's still uncomfortable to be stuck in soggy drawers all day!)

Adventures in Regrets...

I've been thinking about regrets this week.  Not big life-changing things. Not even smaller live 'n' learn things.  I'm talking about "Oooooh, drat. I knew better than that" things. On most days, if you asked me if I have any regrets in life, I'd say  'no'... I'd also probably be lying, since I might regret having posted this photo online, and telling you how it came to pass. 

I'm sure I won't regret this...

But, for the most part, I've (eventually) learned from my mistakes, and am pretty regret free...or at least I was until this week.  This week, I found myself adding 2 new regrets to my list.  Two regrets in one week?  How could that be?

#2 - Burpees.

At some point in the distant past, I agreed to join the 100-day burpee challenge.  That's 1 burpee on the 1st day, 2 burpees on the 2nd day, etc. until the 100th miserable day.  On day 8, as I waddled, jumped and flopped through my 8th burpee, and my indolent body was still complaining about the previous 7, burpees had made it onto my regret list.  However, since my sister's also doing the challenge, it gives us a reason to send each other messages every day.  Since I like my sister, and since burpees are good for me, and since #1 on the list is way worse, burpees will eventually be relieved of their regretful status.

#1 -Bugs.

I check everything  for bugs here.  I shake out my shoes before I put my feet in them, I peek in the kettle every morning before I plug it in, I check my helmet every time I put it on...but I didn't check my mango bag. A few weeks ago, I wrapped some of the mangoes on my tree in little paper bags, to keep the bugs, birds and squirrels off them as they ripened.  On Monday, I picked a bagged mango and brought it inside. When I opened the bag, I was left standing with a beautiful mango in one hand, an empty bag in the other ... and 2 dozen little baby cockroaches scattering across my counter.  Since then, I've been finding a disturbing number of adolescent cockroaches partying it up in my pantry.   

That is the kind of regret I'm talking about this week!



  

Adventures in a long path to a short story...

Today, I tried Googling my blog.  I never did find it, because the 1st hit I got looking for me was for my friend Sally's Blog.  (If you haven't read her Unbrave Girl, you really should...although you'll probably love it, and I'll never see you here again. I'll miss you.) 

Are you still here?  Really?  If I were you, I'd still be reading Sally's blog - but no matter.  Here's the story...the reason Sally's blog came up was that my name came up in her comment section.  Apparently, sometime last August, I commented on her post about making mistakes while traveling.  In the comments I referred to my worst travel experience ever (which I'll tell you about in a minute).  I started to wonder, "Is that really still my worst experience ever?"  It was 12 years ago.  I've traveled a lot since then - surely something dreadful must have happened?  Was it really worse than food poisoning on a 6-hour bus ride in Cambodia?  Worse than getting stuck in the current and floating 1/2 way to Vietnam before the snorkel-boat picked us up?  Worse than day 3 of a bike tour, pedaling uphill in the rain with a rash on my tushie?  Yes, Yes, a thousand times, Yes. 

The year was 2000.  I remember it well.  (I liked all the '0's.)  I was living abroad for the first time, and for the most part loving China.  My friend JM and I had just spent a few holiday days at the beach, and were headed back to Harbin.  On the way to the beach, we had booked a sleeper car on the train - the bunk-style beds were clean and comfortable, and the heater was fully operational.  We thought we had the same thing on the way back...how wrong we were!  We didn't have a sleeper car for the return journey; we had seats on an un-padded, straight-backed wooden bench for the overnight trip.  We found ourselves squeezed onto the hard 2-person bench along with 2 other people near the end of a tightly packed car.  The windows were open, so whatever went out the window 2 seats up, flew back in the window 2 seats back.  I would doze off only to awaken when spit-covered sunflower seed husks landed on my face, or I was lightly misted with a mysterious spray after the toilets were flushed. I had also expected to be in the hot sleeper cars, so I had dressed lightly.  By 2am, I was freezing, couldn't stand up to stretch lest the passengers around me ooze me out of my 4 inches of seat, and was covered in unpleasant 'window gifts'. So yes, I still think that's my worst travel experience ever.

However, when I think about it, I'm kind of glad it's my go-to travel horror story.  If an exhausting night on a Chinese train is the worst case in my disaster file, I think I'm doing alright. 

Adventures in Advertising

Hello,

We interrupt this erratic and irregularly scheduled blog to introduce a new feature on this site.  Since Blogger changed their set-up setting-y type things, they've included a feature where you can see how many people are reading your blog, and from where. (Don't worry, they don't show your address, just your country.  Oh yes, Latvia.  I see you.) About 10 minutes ago, I discovered that I have more than 1 reader!!  I can stop addressing my posts to my dear reader(s), and can affix that pluralization with confidence.  Hellooooo readers!  Yes.  All of you.  Welcome!  Welcome to the community of people who really should be doing something better with their time.  This blog's for you.

Oh, yes, sorry, I was so dreadfully excited about addressing you (without hiding behind the ambiguity of a plural or singular 'you') that I forgot the reason for this interruption.  I've added (or will add...in 5-50 minutes, depending on the degree of ineptitude I exhibit) AdSense ads to the blog.  I'm not actually expecting to generate any income from it; although, if you would like to click on the ads, please do so.  (I want to add "with reckless abandon!" but I think it would violate the terms of the user policy.  So please, don't be reckless.) To be perfectly honest, I'm really just curious to see what kind of ads Google will think are relevant, based on my blog content.  Really - I think this could be entertaining...or horrifically embarrassing.  We'll soon find out.

Ooooooh, I'm just so excited that there are so many of you!  Welcome, welcome, welcome.

Adventures in Circumventing the Long Arm of the Law...

Kudos to the Chiang Mai police department for trying to get motorcyclists to wear helmets.  Unfortunately, this is primarily done through setting up (highly visible) roadblocks near busy intersections.  The result?  Dozens of motorbikes braking to a halt and pulling U-turns in the middle of crowded streets.  Sigh.

The other day, I saw a new and interesting technique employed.  I pulled up next to a motorbike with a helmeted driver, but a helmet-less adult and a helmet-less child riding along.  Looking across the intersection, we both saw the police checkpoint already issuing tickets to the bare-headed. Instead of turning around and navigating an alternate route, the driver of the motorbike motioned to the truck driver next to him.  A brief exchange took place through the open window, and the helmet-less passengers hopped off the motorbike and climbed into the truck.  Arrangements were made for both drivers to stop again just beyond the checkpoint and allow the passengers to hop back on the bike. 

That's how we roll here in Chiang Mai.

Adventures in Rude Awakenings...

It's 1:30 am, and I'm lying in bed, wide awake and soaking wet. 3 minutes ago, I was lying in bed sound asleep and bone dry. In between, I was startled awake by a terrific crashing sound in my bathroom, followed by the sound of gushing water. In my haste to rouse myself, I got tangled up in my mosquito net, so that the cat, my bed sheet, my mosquito net and I all tumbled out of bed together in a giant mess of mesh, fur and limbs. 

As I extricated myself from the mess, my brain was trying to make sense of the sounds coming from my bathroom. "Did my toilet just blow up? Is that possible? Is that even a thing that could happen?" I finally stumbled my way across the 5 feet to the bathroom, and discovered that the faucet in my shower had blown off. Water was gushing out of the pipe in the wall, and the tap that is supposed to be attached to the pipe was on the other side of the bathroom. I have no idea where the water shut-off valve for the house is, so I pushed the faucet back onto the pipe, bathing myself in a watery spray worthy of any plumbing fiasco scene in a comedy.  There I was, spluttering and making dreadful scrunchy faces as I tried to avoid the jets of water spraying everywhere.  Once the tap was back on, I jiggled it to make sure it was secure.  In fact, I tested it so thoroughly that it blew off again, and I had to repeat my spluttering scrunchy-face routine.  After I got it back on the second time, I didn't test it anymore.  Instead, I turned the tap on a little bit (to ease the pressure?? That seemed to make sense...) and crawled back into bed. I'm going to try to go back to sleep, and hope it doesn't blow off again 'til morning.

Adventures in Awkward Conversations...

Me: Why hello, you gorgeous blog!  It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance!

Blog: Uh, Janice, we've met before. 

Me: No, that's impossible!  How could I forget such delightful humour and stunning punctuation!?

Blog: It's me, Adventures in My Shoes... we spent seven years together.  Then you just disappeared without so much as a farewell keystroke!

Me: Oh, ummmm, we did? I did? I guess I've uhhh... been .... busy?

Blog: Yeah, busy updating your facebook status and composing e-mails and crafting academic papers.  Writing all over the place in fact - everywhere but here! 

Me:  Sorry about that.  Really, I am.  I think I kind of liked you.  So, do you wanna hang out again?

Adventures in Loi Khratang

The heavens proclaim the glory of God, 

The skies display his craftsmanship.

- Psalm 19:1 - 

Tonight's Loi Khratang festival was an incredibly magnificent ending to an otherwise rough week.   A few of us rode about 10km northeast of the city, and followed the traffic to an open field.  In good Thai tradition, we picked up some snacks on the way in and settled in to munch on some chicken satay and sticky coconut rice steamed in bamboo.

                                     
The field was dotted with rows of citronella candles on pikes, and some large decorative lanterns.

 Since Loi Khratong is a Buddhist festival, there were a lot of saffron-robed monks leading some chants before the lanterns were lit.  When it was time, people lit the burners (slices of toilet paper rolls dipped in flammable stuff) in the big paper lanterns with the citronella candles, and held onto them as the hot air produced by the flames filled the lanterns. 

When the signal was given, everyone released their lanterns at the same time.

The sky was soon filled with thousands of lanterns.  It was incredible.

 As throngs of participants "oooooohed" and "aaaaaahed", a few matters of practical concern quickly became apparent.  Some of the lanterns released in our area drifted up into the overhanging branches of a tree.  Soon, chunks of flaming lantern started to fall on the crowds below.  When moving out of the path of descending flames, we also had to be careful not to back up into one of the blazing citronella spikes.  Amazingly, no one was injured, and a very good time was had by all. 

As some of the lanterns burned out, and their empty white husks drifted back to earth, I was reminded that as beautifully breathtaking as the event was, things made by human hands are so fleeting and temporary.  The lanterns placed when the skies were formed - like the hands that formed them - will last a great deal longer.

Adventures in Morning Musings...

What went through my head upon waking up today (poor punctuation and all):

...it's morning...get up, Janice.  ... get up now...really, i mean it... 1-2-3 NOW! ...okay, one more try, this time for real... 1-2-3- GETUP! oh for goodness sake, you know that if you get up now you'll have time for a nice cup of coffee before class.  mmmm, steamy hot lovely smelling coffee...mmmm.  okay, ready?  get up now. get up. now. get. up. now. get.up.now.getupnow.getup.getup.getup.up.up.upupuppies puppies!....dang it, Janice, you can be such a moron...fine, if coffee won't get you up, maybe your bladder will...you know you have to pee...no, you can't hold it a while longer, you have to get up now...fine, so maybe you can hold it...for goodness sake, why is this so difficult?  We go through this every morning...every morning for how many years?  not counting naps, and the first few years where it didn't matter, that means 365 days, multiplied by a lot of years...carry the 11.5...divide by something orange...haha brain, that'll teach you to try and spring math on me before my eyes are open...oh, my eyes aren't open...that might help...okaaaayyyyy....squint a little...good...one eye open...good...then the other...oh! it's not raining...rub your eyes...good...keep 'em open...look for lizards...good...yes, you can blink............IT DOESN'T TAKE 54 SECONDS TO BLINK!!! Open your eyes!! pathetic.  Alright, one foot on the floor...that's progress...now, just one more....NONONO, cat cat! This is NOT a good time to curl up on my stomach all cute and purring and snuggly...sigh.  Late again.

Adventures in Working 'til the Cows Come Home...

Sitting on my balcony this evening, I was enjoying a beautiful sunset and a lightly cooling breeze ... and working industriously on my linguistics projects.  Just as the world slipped into the magic moment that only lasts for about 10 minutes, and only on the very best of summer nights, I heard the tinkling of bells.  For a moment, I thought it was the ice cream truck (well, the ice cream motorcycle with a chilly side car to be precise).  Since I had just encountered my very first freshly made coconut ice cream on Sunday, I was prepared to skip downstairs and have another.  Looking up, I saw it wasn't the ice cream-o-cycle after all: it was the cows coming home.  The small herd of cattle that moves from field to field near my apartment was making its way around the traffic circle and heading for the lane.  Something about watching those cows heading home in the twilight after a long days grazing made me feel very peaceful and content.  It also made me realize I've been sitting here typing for too long.  I'm going to find some ice cream.

Adventures in Sheepish Confessions...

My plans last night fell through, so instead of going out, I stayed in.  I sat for a while listening to the pouring rain, the croaking frogs and the chirping crickets...then I got bored listening to the rain, frogs and crickets, and I let my mind wander.  When left to its own devices, there are a few well worn paths down which it wanders.  The History Path is one of them, and that's where we found ourselves last night.  After finding some rather ghastly information regarding health care and childbirth in the 19th Century, I eventually stumbled upon a decidedly less horrific subject: how women managed to get all those curly tendrils without the use of hot irons. The secret?  Brown paper!

I just happened to have a pile of brown paper hanging around doing nothing, since I had forgiven my orchids (see the previous post) and bought them a proper vase - wrapped in brown paper.  "Hmmmm", I thought to myself, "maybe I could..." I hesitated though; after the disastrous results of my 1940s hairstyle reproduction attempt, I had vowed to avoid any further ...ahem ...entanglements. However, the rain, frogs and crickets had lulled me into a bit of a dozy trance, and I thought I could handle it.  Half an hour later, I was desperately hoping that there would be no reason to evacuate the building during the night, because I looked like this:  

 After a good night's sleep, I pulled out the papers this morning, curious to see what was atop my noggin.  I tried coaxing the curls into a passable Regency era coiffure, but the result would have mortified Jane Austen, and I won't even post the picture here it was so bad. Once I shook out the historical horror though, the curls actually weren't so bad.  While the experiment failed miserably as an 1810 'do, it was passable as a 2010 one:

 There you have it...I sheepishly confess that this is what I do when left to my own devices for an evening. 

Adventures in Airing Dirty Laundry...

 I mean the title of this post quite literally.  At 4:30 this afternoon, I aired my dirty laundry.   If you want to know why, I should back up a few hours...

  I had a fantastic lunch with my friend Britte-Catherine. (I had a grilled chicken, avocado and salsa sandwich on 7-grain bread, in case you wanted to know.)   Afterward, we spent a few minutes sniffing lovely lotions and shampoos in the drug store (yes, I'm a girl), until I accidentally squirted one up my nose, after which everything smelled like jasmine and cocoa hand cream (but now I have a very soft nostril, in case you wanted to know.)  While Britte-Catherine was still sniffing, I realized we were close to the flower market, and since I cleaned my apartment yesterday, all my tabletops were looking bare and neglected without their towers of books and lacy coating of dust.  I also have a great moldible-flexible plastic vase that has been sad and empty for quite some time.  Putting all these things together in my mind, (while trying to discreetly empty my nose of lotion - unsuccessfully, in case you wanted to know), I thought it would be a great idea to pick up some fresh cut flowers on the way home.


 I bought a gorgeous bunch of red and orange orchidy kind of looking things and carefully unwrapped them when I got back to my apartment.  I pulled out my vase and cheerfully arranged the flowers in it.  However, they wouldn't all fit, so I just arranged a few and put them on my bedroom dresser.  I turned my back for a moment, and when I looked again, the vase had toppled over and soaked the cat's carpet covered scratching post, so I spent 20 minutes scrubbing the hairy thing dry.  


  When I was finished, I tried again - but with fewer flowers in the vase.  It looked sturdy, so I came out here to tell you all about my pretty flowers.  Moments later, I heard the unmistakable sound of pouring water...the vase had toppled again. This time, it spewed all its water directly into my laundry hamper.  Muttering under my breath, I hauled out my soaking dirty laundry and started hanging it up on the drying rack.  I felt a little ridiculous pinning up dirty clothes. 


  Since I've had the vase for a long time, and have always liked it, and since the flowers are quite new, and I don't know them very well at all, I have naturally blamed the flowers for both disasters.  As a result, the whole lot of them are now sitting ignominiously in my mop bucket. 

Eventually, I'll forgive them, and go find them a bigger vase.



 

Adventures in Colossal Understatements...

By reading my recent posts, my reader(s) might be inclined to think that all I do here is eat, study and interact with lizards.  While that's not an entirely inaccurate synopsis of most days, I do try and learn about things going on in this corner of the world.  On occasion, my university holds events that are quite helpful in that regard.  Last week, there was a panel discussion relating to migrant workers from Burma.  The panel included representatives from legal, economic, educational and first-hand perspectives.

The panel discussion was timed to correspond with a photographic exhibition at the school by photographer John Hume. You can see some of his incredibly communicative photos here:  In Search of a Job, Any Job 

There are between 3 and 4 million migrant workers from Burma in Thailand, and they compose about 7% of the labour force.  Like migrant workers everywhere, they tend to be viewed as simultaneously essential and disposable.  The folks from Burma usually find themselves doing jobs that are dirty, dangerous, difficult and degrading.  Factory owners often confiscate workers' documents, and have workers deported for demanding safer working conditions or minimum wage.  It's frustrating, unfair, heartbreaking ... and a ubiquitous rung on the economic ladder. I doubt there is a single country in the world that can lay claim to an economic and industrial history that's free of widespread exploitation and abuse.  Even today, Americans need only look as far as Arizona, while Canadians don't have to go any further than Toronto's garment district.

I wasn't surprised that an emerging economy is exploiting the labour force of its neighbour's ruined economy.  It happens.  Everywhere.  Everyday.  After listening to stories of people working in deplorable conditions for12+ hours/day for around $1.60/day, I was angry, frustrated, seething and heart-heavy: not surprised.  What did surprise me were the gentle words coming from the young migrant worker with the brilliant smile who had come to speak with us.  While my mind was whirling with angry adjectives and vitriolic verbs to describe the stories I was hearing, this young man related his experience and softly summed it up with, "The salary's not good and it's a little bit hard job."  What an understatement.

Adventures in Zombie Lizards...

Early this morning, (well, to be accurate, it was only early-ish) I was preparing a nice cup of oolong tea and unwrapping the remains of last night's calzone.  My plan was to sit out on my balcony and enjoy the leisurely pace of a holiday morning breakfast before hunkering down with my phonology.

As I approached my patio door, I saw a lifeless lizard with only 1/2 a face on my balcony.  I thought to myself, 'poor lizard', 'oh gross that's going to spoil my calzone', and 'where's it's face?' all at the same time.  I put my calzone and tea cup back on the counter and went to fetch my broom.  Moments later, I returned with the broom ready to sweep the poor critter up; the poor critter was gone!  I opened the door and looked all over the balcony - walls, floor, ceiling - there was no faceless lizard to be seen.  I figured a bird must have swooped in and picked up an early morning happy meal to go.  I returned the broom to the cupboard, returned my tea and calzone to my hands, opened the balcony door...and nearly stepped on the faceless lizard!  It was back, and in a different location.  Slightly creeped out, I went for the broom again, only to discover that the lizard was gone: again.  

Honestly - how far and how fast can a lifeless faceless lizard move!!??  I was starting to think I may have been mistaken about the lifeless, but the faceless part was tough to miss.  I finally concluded that I had a zombie lizard on my balcony, and if s/he wanted to stay there, that was fine with me - but I was going to have my breakfast indoors.

During the course of the day, I'd peek out and sometimes I'd see the zombie lizard and sometimes I wouldn't.  I never did  see it move.  Eventually, late in the afternoon, I did see it, surrounded by a gathering swarm of industrious ants.  That time, when I went for the broom, s/he didn't disappear.  

I learned two things today.  1. Dead things, even little lizards, make me sad.  2. The only way to crush a zombie rebellion is with ants - lots and lots of ants.

Adventures in S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y...

Since today is Saturday, neither school nor church was going to get me out of my house, so I had to come up with another plan. With no scheduled demands on my time, I was free to fill my day as I saw fit.

I spent the morning cleaning my apartment and doing laundry. Most of my laundry I take to have washed and ironed by a young woman down the street. Some things I prefer to wash on my own, so I take them to the laundromat downstairs. It's not the kind of laundromat we have in Canada. As you can see from the photo, it's just a row of washing machines lined up outside a cell-phone store.

After everything was clean and tidy,


I headed off to my favourite coffee shop to get some more school work done. I hunkered down in there for two hours, until my laptop battery died.



At that point, I packed up and tried out the Fish Foot Spa.

My plan was to read/study while little fishies were working hard to make my feet soft and smooooooth. The first five minutes were ticklish and prickly and squirmy and terrible. Eventually my frightened little nerve endings calmed down and I was able to relax for the rest of the hour. I did get some reading done, but I was facing a plate glass window that looked out onto the market street. Eventually, I put my book down and watched the street come to life as vendors arrived and set up their stalls.

The fish finished their work around 6pm, just in time for me to head out into the market and find myself some dinner. This is where I usually forage for my food on Friday and Saturday nights. Tonight, I opted for some of the Pad Thai and a bit of Northern Thai sausage.

I brought everything home and sat out on my balcony watching the clouds roll in over the mountain as I enjoyed my dinner. There are some lovely sunset views from this vantage point when it's not overcast. Oh, and that's the roof of the laundromat you can see in the foreground.

Adventures in Good Days...

Today was a good day. After class, I spent a couple of hours in a lovely coffee shop sipping hot chocolate and diving into an assignment that's interesting, but challenging. It's a phonological examination of S'gaw Karen, a Tibeto-Burman language. Most of what I did on it today went smoothly, but I did come across a few sounds that were unrecognizable to my ears, and I just couldn't figure out how to transcribe them. I'll have another go at it tomorrow.

After tucking my work away for the day, I hopped on my bike and headed out on the open road to run a few errands. By the time I got home, the sun was just thinking about setting behind the mountain, and the night market near my place was in full swing. I wandered through and found some new (and deliciously spicy) things to try for dinner, AND a vendor selling my Korean snacky nemesis: the fiendishly deceptive red-bean fish. It's a little cake shaped like a fish, and the cake is hot and delicious, and the aroma is divine...but when you bite into it, it's full of nasty, purple, thick red-bean paste. However, the vendor here at my market didn't just stop at bean paste - he offered chocolate, vanilla, blueberry and strawberry fillings!! What a sweet surprise.

After making my way home with dinner (and chocolate fish) in tow, I settled in to catch up on some new videos posted to BoingBoing.net and laughed out loud at the Swedish Chef (of muppet fame) making popcorn shrimp. While I was watching the videos, Thai and Prairie time zones eventually came into propitious alignment and I called my folks. I had a nice chat with Mom, Dad and Gramma, and now that I've told you all about my day, it's bedtime.

G'night.