cobilingual

Langkawi

Originally uploaded by cobismith.

I’ve now been living in Asia for three months. Living here has given me an appreciation for something I’d formerly taken for granted, I think. Or perhaps, given that I’m making a concerted effort to cultivate it here, I took it for precisely what it was in Australia and realise it’s more vital here, at least for the type of lifestyle I’m leading.

Balance and dexterity are things I now appreciate my mother making efforts to imbue me with as a child. I was supported to do ballet, gymnastics, Taekwondo, sofcrosse and other athletic activities, my mother patiently shuttling me around after school, allowing me to drop out when I lost interest, to be replaced by another. Except for sofcrosse, which I remember participating in for season after season until adolescence forced its replacement with lacrosse, which I endured for only weeks before deciding getting hit in the face with a stick wasn’t worth it. That was replaced by volleyball, which I did consistently and relentlessly (to the detriment of my shoulder) throughout high school and sporadically since.

Trams in Melbourne require a certain amount of balance and dexterity, but the implications of having lapses of them mid-transport are less catastrophic than on a motorcycle. If you’d asked me when I was 21 what were the odds I would own a motorcycle when I was 30, I would have taken what I thought was a safe bet, and subsequently owed you money.

Learning to ride a motorcycle to get to work – along highways with trucks at high speeds in Asian traffic no less – has been terrifying. Probably the levels of fear and adrenaline it’s induced in me are a good thing, given I’ve managed to avoid disaster thus far. I’m thankful my dad bought me a fancy helmet for my 30th birthday before I left, because they’re few and far between here so it’s easy to slip into thinking you needn’t wear one, but because he bought it for me I feel obliged.

Now that I’m getting more comfortable with it, I concede that riding a motorcycle is fun. I particularly enjoy meandering along curving country roads. However my daily commute frequently has moments that are not fun. I had a particularly stressful ride home one day in a crosswind with a storm looming, where I was riding behind a guy carrying a gas bottle in one arm, balancing and steering with the other. I slowed down to distance myself from that potential fireball should a poorly timed car or truck decide to back out and collide with him.

So instead at the next set of lights I found myself behind a guy carrying a rooster underarm. The poor creature was completely limp, except for its head gazing around stopped at the lights. It wasn’t tied up or anything, it just limply flopped under the guys arm, as it floated along at 90 kilometres in midair along a highway, wings close to its body, feet dangling around the guy’s elbow behind, jowls flapping in front. Somehow I found the rooster comforting. I imagined the rooster accepted it was best just to let go. Surrender to the fact its life was in the hands, or arm, of this larger creature that was propelling them both on a noisy machine hurtling among other noisy machines. Struggling was unlikely to make the experience stop.

This is how I feel about the things that aren’t no great about living here. Why get upset about them? Accepting things I can’t change for the way they are, making the most of good things, and helping to make positive changes where I might have influence, like water trickling on a rock. Sometimes I’m the rooster. Sometimes I’m the motorbike rider. Every time I get on my bike to travel to and from work I say to myself “this is the time I am most likely to die today”. Recognising mortality isn’t depressing, it’s realistic.

On trams in Melbourne I would look at my phone or gaze out the window, people watch, or daydream. However here every moment I travel I’m present in that moment. This is a good thing. It’s conducive to happiness. Given all of this adrenaline though I need outlets for it. So I’m doing quite a lot of yoga. Chiang Mai’s great for yoga. Being the adrenaline junkie that I am though, I’ve also been doing acroyoga, which has given me a few moments of being caught unexpectedly in spine-threatening positions above the ground and defeats the purpose of yoga for relaxation.

Despite ample opportunities for injuries to happen, from motorcyles, acrobatics, scrambling around mountainous temples, on wet rocks or off bamboo rafts, the worst fall I’ve had came from basketball of all things. It was a Sunday afternoon and I was tired, but I’d met some friends for it and we had even numbers for teams, so I was playing halfheartedly. My mind was elsewhere and someone accidentally tripped me while I had the ball. The week earlier someone had broken a limb in the same circumstance. Thanks to my years of volleyball training, I fell into a skid rather than crunching. I slid rather spectacularly along the bitumen for what felt like several seconds, giving even distracted people at the other end of the court the chance to see. People gathered around. I stood up and pulled up my tshirt to survey the unpleasant gash and bruising along my left hip. My elbow and left hand had grazes too. It could have been much worse, I concluded, and reassured people I was all right, while I limped off to motorcycle home and dress my wounds.

I decided to stick to yoga and dance and frisbee. I don’t need contact sports on top of motorcycle riding this year. The following week as my immune system was distracted knitting my flesh back together it let in a virus, resulting in a brief visit to hospital to ensure it wasn’t Dengue or malaria, which is was not. So I’ve gotten off lightly during my first few months living in Asia. I feel this is thanks in part to learning to fall. I spent hours in volleyball training learning to slide along the court, diving to pick up the ball spectacularly a second before it would otherwise hit the ground. Safely falling.

Not just physically, but mentally too. Every time I say something stupid, or worry what someone thinks of this out-of-place tall white person, or realise I forgot to do something I’d intended to do that day, I take it lightly. This is something I’ve learnt to do during my twenties, with the help of Buddhist philosophy. I’m consciously working to keep supple, not just through backbends but also mentally. Learning Thai script is a rewarding challenge, as is learning to listen longer and speak more slowly.

I’m three months into thirty. I can see why people say it’s a good decade.

Sprinkling water on the temple

Originally uploaded by cobismith.

I had a plan for my Sunday morning. I was walking along a road towards the old city, where I had a certain yoga class in mind. Hearing music drifting from a laneway, I turned to see a brightly coloured temple with a golden Buddha smiling in the air.

I walked down the lane to take photos of brightly coloured flags against the sky. As I did so, I noticed wires running from the temple grounds to the top of the pagoda. There were people at the base, near the source of music. They were attaching something to the wires. A metal bird began its way tugged up the wires on a pulley system. How curious, I thought as I watched its ascent. As the bird contraption nudged the top of the building it opened, sprinkling water over the pagoda.

I took in this unexpected outcome with delight, and things fell into place. Ah! Songkran – the Buddhist new year celebration for which I receive three days off next week. Songkran, coinciding with the hottest, driest time of year, is a festival of cleansing water rituals. For Buddhist temples, this means many such ceremonies in which pagodas are sprinkled and Buddha statues are washed. For Chiang Mai city, it means the biggest celebration of the year, a five-day all-in cheeky water fight.

As I was rapt in the ritual, someone tugged at my shirt. I looked down.
“What are you doing here?” a familiar face asked. It was one of the children of fellow Australian volunteers I’ve befriended. I didn’t have a good answer, but the same question. In a city of two hundred thousand people of whom I know perhaps 30, it was beautiful happenstance.
“What are you doing here!?” I replied. The rest of the family appeared at the top of the lane, lugging large bags. They’re moving to Laos next fortnight and have been busy sorting and packing.
“We’re looking for Free Bird Cafe! Do you know where it is?”
In another stroke of fate, I did indeed. In my first few weeks I’ve become familiar with only a couple of places, but Free Bird Cafe – also a charity shop supporting Burmese refugee and Thai indigenous communities – is one of those places.
“Yes!” I walked over to lighten their load. Free Bird was only two street corners away.
It was approaching lunchtime; in my haste to get to the destination I’d originally had in mind I hadn’t though about eating. I was hungry. At the cafe the family donated bags of clothes destined for refugee camps on the border and we shared delicious Sunday brunch. I appreciated the brief chance to spend time with new friends busy with moving preparations.

I made it to a later yoga class, via serendipitous moments of rapt understanding and deepening friendship.

It’s worth living in the moment to notice the music.

People dining outside the temple

Originally uploaded by cobismith.

My market food experience described in my last post isn’t typical of my Thai food experiences. Mostly when I try something that I don’t know what it is I’m rewarded with a culinary revelation. For example, banana flower salad! I love stuffed zucchini flowers in Italian food – I didn’t know that banana flowers could be equally as scrumptious.

I’m also enjoying a coconut curry soup with noodles like pretzels in it. They taste like pretzels but are shaped like lightning. They are crispy joy. Speaking of crispy joy – fried wild pepper leaves! Or betel leaves (there is controversy on the interwebs which is used) – either way, nom nom!

Food is everywhere in Chiang Mai’s old city. You can hardly go ten metres without having options of street food or restaurants. During the Sunday walking market, the grounds of a Buddhist temple (pictured) is converted into a massive food court with hundreds of food stalls – as well as, I’m pleased to say, two different types of bins for recycling (shame on any so-called ‘developed’ countries where that’s not yet typical practice).

With such a diversity of options available, it’s silly to try and eat Western food. That said, there’s plenty around for three reasons. The first being lame, unadventurous tourists. The second being locals wanting to try Western food. The third being expats with cravings.

I am not yet the latter, but in preparation for the eventuality I was escorted to the big fancy shopping centre supermarket where I was encouraged to buy things I couldn’t get other places. I felt indignant that I should need such a trip. I’m a traveller, not a tourist! I don’t need anything the locals don’t need! But it’s standard practice with orientation. A fellow expat who’s been here 11 months, but with a family in tow, described her experience of being taken to the big Tesco in her first week and wheeling her trolley around in a daze, torn between feeling the trip was unnecessary, but also mild panic about choosing the right things, with dazed-until-crazed kids running around making the situation worse.

I came away from my supermarket experience with dark rye bread and an avocado. There were no knives at the supermarket, despite a bewildering array of kitchen devices. There was no knives or forks or spoons, despite large barbecuing forks and ladles. This is one of those baffling things it’s better not to question (unless someone from Tesco is reading this – sell cutlery in your Chiang Mai Central Airport Plaza store!).

So in my little bar fridge I’ve had rye bread and an avocado waiting. This morning I decided I should use the avocado before it goes off. The bread is beyond fresh eating – it’s toast or bust.

So I took my rye bread and avocado to breakfast with me, since they have cutlery there. Like most guests here I’ve been eating the fresher and tastier-looking Thai breakfast options and fresh salad, rather than the less appetising UHT milk or sweet breads and marmalades.

I feel it’s important to emphasise here that I was put in the position of wanting to use this avocado and rye bread because I felt compelled to buy things at the supermarket because I was shuttled there for that purpose. I didn’t mean to make a fuss at breakfast this morning.

I entered the breakfast room with my own bread and fruit in hand. The staff looked a little disconcerted. I told them my room number, making it clear I still intended to pay for breakfast. There were a pile of butter knives along with the usual array of cutlery and crockery at the entrance. I picked up a butter knife and gestured a cutting motion into my rye bread with it. They understood, then three staff proceeded to discuss the matter. Eventually a lady who spoke English was called out from the kitchen, who said “you need a sharper knife?” to which I replied “that would be fantastic, thank you”.

In such cross-cultural situations I should probably just say “yes” so make life simpler for everyone. I can’t seem to help but make things more complicated, misguidedly gushing thanks and praise when in awkward situations like being the lady who brings her own breakfast to the breakfast buffet.

Four people were chattering in Thai about the bread-cutting situation, before the lady disappeared into the kitchen again. I stood around awkwardly for a minute until the staff dissipated. So I went to get some salad and breakfast from the buffet as normal. I’ve been advised that in Thailand if something awkward happens often the appropriate response is to pretend nothing happened. One of the first phrases I learnt was ‘mai bpen rai’ – ‘no worries’ – which is useful for this.

I at down and proceeded to eat my normal breakfast and pretended to ignore my loaf of rye bread and avocado sitting on the table next to my bag.

Eventually – voila! The lady reappeared with a sharp knife! I thanked her in Thai and gave her a big smile. I’d advanced to the next level of my ‘being the strange lady who brings her own breakfast’ game. I cut two slices of bread. I do love good dark rye, so this was satisfying. Then I approached the toasting machine, which was turned off, because no-one else was silly enough to want to use it when there were lovely, healthier Thai breakfast options available.

Two staff buzzed over and examined the machine, discussing it in Thai. I waited (trying to be polite now) before pointing to the knob that said ‘off’, ‘toast’, ‘buns’. They nodded so I set it to toast. The light went on and the conveyer started whirring along, so the staff retreated and I put in my bread slices. It was one of those slow conveyer belt things often found at breakfast buffets, so I went to get a plate while I waited for my toast.

When I returned a minute later my bread had vanished. I looked around the breakfast buffet room. Had someone else found my toast irresistible? I considered it unlikely someone else would want to implicate themselves in my spectacle of weirdness.

On closer inspection I discovered that the tray that slides the toast back to the front of the machine upon toasting wasn’t installed properly, so the toast fell off the back of the conveyor belt, behind the table onto the carpet floor.

I picked my toast off the floor. It was beyond the three second rule, but it was clean carpet. Also the machine was so slow it would need at least two goes through to be toasted. I adjusted the catching tray and wedged my plate on top of the gap to the floor for safe measure.

After another two runs through the machine my two sliced of rye bread were toasted. I put avocado on them. It was tasty.

So is banana blossom salad and fresh coconuts though – and they’re less of an ordeal. Now I have two-thirds of a chunk of rye-bread back in my bar fridge that I feel compelled to use up. It was probably more expensive than the entire breakfast buffet.

I blame Tesco for selling dark rye bread and nothing to cut it with.

But whatever. I am strange – there’s no scapegoat for that. YOLO. Mai bpen rai.