Bo on Bangkok: Day 2, Chatuchak Market

Day two of my journal:

Today I woke up a little early because of some ice coffee that I had drunk yesterday. Unfortunately I didn't have to because today we went on a trip that would begin a little later. Today we went to the largest market in Asia. It has over 15,000 stalls and is open each weekend in Bangkok.This Sunday we're lucky we started early because by the time we left, around 4 o'clock, the crowds were just starting to pour in. As you walk in you are assaulted by variety of smells. The smell of noodle soup with chicken, the site of the Clocktower, that was much bigger on the skytrain right then than in real life, and the the observation that no matter how much of it you see there's always more to this grand, grand market. After a bit, it blended together into a hodgepodge stew that barraged the senses. I got a massage that was wonderful, except maybe for the shoulder and neck part.  That hurt a bit, but that just made it feel better in the end. After that we went to a restaurant called chicken soup with noodles. I don't know if that was the name or what it served, because I don't speak Thai. I ordered chicken soup with rice. Attempted before we went to the restaurant it started raining. We had to walk over a street while it was raining raining with cars buzzing past to get that chicken soup with noodles, but boy was it good. Then walked around for a while, the sun came out although it was not as bright as it had seemed it would be in the morning, and ergonomist country to the home. Sometime during the long metro ride home it started to rain. It was the most primped subway/train ride I've ever been on in my life. We got to the hotel safe and sound.

Bo on Bangkok: Day 3, Chinatown and Wat Pho

Day 3: Today we started out sleeping late. We left on the boat which took us over to the other side of the river, but before that we had breakfast at our usual spot. Noodles, rice with garlic pork, and a spicy veggie dish were all things that were consumed that morning. After taking the boat across the river, we waited at Sathorn Pier for the tourist boat to come around. We bought an all day ticket and got on the boat. Our first stop was at Yaowarat, or Chinatown. We walked through an exquisite array of plastic beads, cheap stickers, and necklaces. We found a Dim Sum place called Shangri-La. The food was mediocre, but we got to go in an air conditioned room for a while, so it all balanced out. We left Chinatown on an express boat which, luckily for us, stopped at Pier 8. I visited Wat Pho and we got a great massage. Next we went to a cocoon museum which had some guys playing old American songs. I won a sketchbook in an Angry Birds toss and a rode a bull for 10 seconds. It rained and we escaped on a boat.

Bo on Bangkok: Day 1, Canal Tour

Today I took a tour of Bangkok. It was very fun and I saw many interesting things along the way. First, we took a taxi to the Bangkok travel system, a skytrain monorail. On the skytrain we traveled to a new stop where we were supposed to meet our guide.  However, there was a mixup as to where we were supposed to meet and we waited for a while as the problem was resolved.  Then we met the guide and and quickly got on the boat from which we traveled down the canals of Bangkok.  

Our first stop, out of six, was at a traditional market where we were supposed to get ingredients that would be prepared at the restaurant, our fourth stop.  However things changed a bit as Redd developed an itching sensation and it turned out that many of the dishes that we had wanted to eat were either too common or too rare.  So in the end we got some fruit, a bag of boiled peanuts, and a pack of pills instead of the fish, vegetables, and crab that we were supposed to eat. We then got back on the boat.  

Redd took one of the pills, we ate some noodles off of a boat, a "once in a lifetime experience" accordingly to our guide though really we've eaten a lot of noodles already, and we traveled to our second stop, a grand temple. There were multiple floors on the temple; however it was the fourth floor that really amazed me.  The first floor had columns of red paint with gold designs on them and an altar with a gold Bhudda.  The second floor had the relics of the previous monks, either dead or some who had merely stopped their education. The third floor had solid gold statues of the greatest meditators that had came to this temple, including one that weighed one hundred thousand kilograms. He was the idol of most of the people who aspire to be great meditators and many people came each day to meditate in front of him hoping that his wisdom would help them in their quest for internal peace. The fourth floor, the greatest, had a star ceiling engraved with over 50,000 gemstones that had come from Austria.  It had extremely intricate paintings of the Buddha and he was always sitting on a lotus flower. I love these paintings or engravings were not even the grandest part of the room. 

In the center of the room, surrounded by waist high glass walls, was a 3 to 4 m high green glass pyramid. At the top was a small, maybe 6 inches tall, golden Buddha. He was not sitting, as he normally is depicted as, but he was standing with his hands facing outward as if to stop the flood. After gazing at this magnificence, and taking many pictures, we got back on the boat and drove down the canals. The third thing we did was go to a smaller temple called the Forest Temple. There we learned about two things, one being the etiquette especially using the feet and where to point out. Putting your feet in the direction of someone is considered unclean as the feet are, in Buddhism,  the most unkempt part of the body. Sticking your feet toward someone is disrespectful and frowned upon, but it is okay so long as you're not looking or talking to them. 

The second thing we learned about was the different positions that the Buddha is depicted in in the statues. About 70% of them are depicted with him sitting cross-legged, his right foot foot over left foot, right hand on his right knee. This signifies his resistance to give into temptation to quit his meditation and thus, quit his path to enlightenment. About 10% have Buddha depicted sitting with his legs in the same position, but with his hands folded in his lap, right hand over left. One more 10% have Buddha depicted as reclining as this is the position he died in. The last 10% are depicted in other positions such as standing up and breaking the flood. 

The fourth place we went to was a canal restaurant where we had a couple different noodle dishes, such as dry noodles, noodle soup, and a Thai Omlette. We also had a choice for dessert of many different tubs of ice cream, such as blueberry, vanilla, chocolate, and passion fruit. 

The fifth place we went to on our canal journey was an orchid farm where, by far the most pictures were taken. There were orchids of many different colors. There were red, white, and yellow orchids. There also some more kinds, especially the yellow ones, that either had something sort of like flower freckles, or they were just plain old plants. The sixth, and final place that we went to on today's journey was an artist's home. It had puppet shows would play occasionally for free, but today was not one of those days. However we still had a lot of fun there, as we drink our iced lemon tea and fed the ravenous catfish. We went home and I started to write this journal entry.

Biking in Chiang Mai

After a week in Bangkok just prowling the streets, walking through temples, visiting the malls that SE Asians find aspirational and fascinating (and which we appreciated for the air conditioning) we hit the road for Chiang Mai in the northwest part of Thailand, close to the Burma border.  Which Mason will correct you and tell you is now Myanmar.  Noted.

Stayed here for a week in a fantastic little hotel called Rimping Village, in the little quaint town square not far from the historic center.  The place has bikes for guests to use so we took those out for a few days. I haven't ridden a bike since we live on the Charles River in Boston's Back Bay, so that would be 15 years ago.  But like horses, it comes back to you. It was a bit nerve wracking at first watching the kids attempt to stay on the left side (didn't realize that Asia drives on the left until we pulled out of the Bangkok airport--I've now cancelled the car we were going to rent in Bali.  Who needs that aggravation??)  Also no one cares much about pedestrians here, which is so different from San Miguel where people cross with impunity anywhere they care to.  No on ewill hit them and everyone stops.  Here it's every songthoew, tuk tuk, cab and scooter for himself.  I finally had to ride in front of Redding as I couldn't bear to watch him hot dogging it, zig zagging in his lane about 2 inches from parked cars and 2 inches from moving ones.  But what a great way to get around once you get used to it.

We covered a lot of terrain through the old walled city, driving along the old moat which surrounded the city and is now a square of smelly canals defining the space.

Mason and I got foot massages one morning while the others did some school work.  He was not fond of the stick which was pushed rather hard into each of his toe pressure points.  He's becoming a bit of an expert after five massages in 10 days!  

Letters to Laura

An email to my friend, Laura in Baltimore, who purports to want to travel with her son Alex but never gets her act together to come with us because organized sports have taken over her life.  So, now I give her more encouragement:  "First I'm just going to say that I'm going to nag you from here until eternity to get your ass in gear and bring Alex on the road with us one time. We are in Chiang Mai, Thailand right now getting ready to put our fat butts on some big elephants and ride them through the rice paddies to a river where we get off and bathe them with a huge scrub brush. Ok. Maybe that last part will not entice you. But...we've had four massages each including one for Redd where he had to strip down completely and get his butt cheeks rubbed. Which at first he said was weird. But then he liked it. She put a small piece of cloth over his wiener and then proceeded to do his inner thighs. Noodle soup with pork and curry for breakfast every morning (while we were in Bangkok). Have 7 more weeks to go in Laos, Cambodia and Bali, Indonesia. There's still time to join us.  Asia is the bomb and Sam is ready to move here. Mostly because the food is so damn good and cheap. We cannot find street food for more than $2 per person per absolutely delicious meal!"

To which she replied, "LMAO....the transition from "she put a towel over his wiener" to noodle soup was a bit abrupt. Thought you were going somewhere else with that. Lol!!!  Sounds amazing. Alex and I are game for an adventure. Taylor's brother used to summer in Thailand!!!  They loved it. Real life schedule is the problem. BUT.... Never say never. I would come alone but I just can't leave Alex behind he would kill me. The big scrub brush would be amazing!!! My back itches!!! Riding elephants would be a dream come true and I really want to pet a giraffe. Ok. Maybe that's Africa... We have to plan but I think it's a must. Alex can't be all about school and football. I'm sorry to have missed Thailand.  Send me the rest of your agenda!!!  Xoxoxo. As always your writings have enthralled and amused...especially the wiener noodle part!!!

To which I replied: "Now I'm the one laughing my ass off. Ah, no one saw the noodle soup segue coming....You are correct. Time to leave behind the football and school, at least for a couple of weeks. That's stuff you will never miss when you shuffle off this mortal coil. But getting your boobs massaged vigorously by someone whom you can't identify as make or female?  That's unforgettable and life altering. (That's what was happening to me as Redding was getting his soup stirred. Sam and the other two were safely getting their feet massaged in the safety of the front room.). And FYI don't forget we have Professor Hillers on board for in-house tutoring. He's next door right now overseeing math and reading lessons. He and I are going out to find two temples and the zipline office (Flying with Gibbons it's called) while the boys stay here doing their lessons by the pool under the shade if a frangipani tree...

And no, you cannot leave Alex behind. He would have such a ball navigating these crazy markets, eating meat off a stick (that has no relation to Redd's wiener), and otherwise exploring some crazy shit with my guys (like a four-story cage of baby squirrels dressed up in costumes in a market in Bangkok. The ones that had been just born didn't have to put on a suit.)"

The Power of the Cheap Massage--and Where Redding Got His Biscuits Buffed

Everyone says get as many massages as you can while you travel.  When they're $5 each for an hour it makes the advice kind of easy to follow. Our first one was at the end of Khao San Road where we were searching for a "gorgeous teak house" that a friend in San Miguel recommended.  Searched high and low but finally settled for a kind of dirty, rickety plaster house but after a few hours of walking from temple to temple, fending off taxi drivers, we set uncle and sat down.  What you learn quickly is that almost doesn't matter where you go. Someone is going to put you down on a mat, wash your feet with water, and then start to bend, twist and rub you into oblivion.  Then give you a cold cloth and a cup of hot tea and ask for a fiver.  It just can't ever be bad.

The second massage we got at the famous Wat Phrao temple school ,perhaps one of our least favorites and most expensive, but still you have to have one.  It's a huge hall with rows and rows of beds.  Each bed has some sweaty prostrate tourist flopped down with a Thai man or woman crawling over them.  The staff gives you a pair of cotton pants to put on (you never get Thai massaged in the buff), you flop down on a mat with a colorful piece of fabric and a hard pillow, and you get prodded and bent for an hour.  Mason must have really enjoyed his.  As he said when we gathered in the courtyard of this rather fantastic wat, surrounded by gold stupas and multicolored carved dragons, "I haven't had too many massages in my life but that one seemed really good."

The kids got  a third massage in Bangkok's famous Saturday Chatuchak Market, while Sam and I had a huge bowl of tom yong goong soup and a massive plate of pad thai.  Foot massage as babysitter?  Alright.

Two more in Chiang Mai, one at Fah Lanna, the best smelling shop we visited with strong wafts of mentholyptus in the air, and where Redd and I opted for an oil massage. I just wanted someone to rub me, not bend me. So this was the first place we actually took our clothes off, which I guess you do only when you're getting oil applied.  Redd was a bit shocked at first when asked to strip down everything, including his underwear.  He told me, She rubbed my butt cheeks which at first I thought was really weird but then it felt OK.  When she turned me over she came me a little piece of cloth to cover my wiener."  Glad she didn't massage that. 

My masseuse was of some indeterminate sex.  Because he/she/it was vigorously rubbing my bare boobs with oil (another first) I just kept my eyes shut and pretended to like it.

Bangkok's Back Alleys

A favorite of the whole family was a nifty little canal tour we took through the back alleys of Bangkok.  Once known as the Venice of the East, Bangkok, until about 50 years ago, was navigated nearly strictly by boats through narrow canals.  These now are mostly covered by skyscrapers and highways but on the edges of town, accessed by the skytrain which became our preferred mode of transportation,.  We spent a day on the canals in a long-tail boat with an overbearing and rigid guide named Nui.  Redding got some strange case of itching so we had to stop at a water market for some potion to make it bearable for him.  His whole body itched and he was uncomfortable for the whole morning.  Nui had no sympathy.  In spite of her telling us what we could eat, when we could eat it, what we had to look at, how close we had to stand to her, etc. we loved this day.

The motor on the boat is about as long as the boat itself and looks like some prehistoric animal with a skinny metal tail cutting through the lotus flowers and aquatic plants that have to be cleared from the canals daily. We zipped from temple to temple and from market to riverside restaurant in one of these cool, canvas covered boats.  The highlight: Seeing an old woman bathing in the (rather filthy) water with a white paper cap on, while a six-foot foot monitor lizard swam by.  Nui assured me these were not crocodiles and we're not man eating but still I had no desire to take a dip myself.  We stopped for cold coffee drinks at a wooden house where the boys fed dog food pellets to a massive pile of writhing catfish below in the river.  They loved that Steven Tyler from Aerosmith had been there too, and took a picture of a picture of him with one of the coffee bar hostesses.  Who knew they knew Steven Tyler??

Temples and Tuk Tuks

Though we vow to take it easy in Bangkok and spend the days recovering from the travel that proves impossible to do when you look at a map and see just what's out there.  Redding wants to find a basketball court in Lumpini Park (he's become an NBA nut).  Sam wants his fill of temples.  Bo and Mason want to hang by the pool and "chillax" but there's no time for that.  So they'll take ice cream instead. I want to go to Chatuchak Market and find these stainless steel drinking cups that another street vendor served his ice water in.  But we all decide to have a massage to get us in the mix.

First stop: some nutty massage parlor on the street that is advertising just feet, or head and shoulders, or Thai massage with out oil.  We opt for that.  We've been walking for a while and this seems like the perfect time to take a break.  I'm probably the only person in this family who's ever had a masasge.  Well, I'm certain the kids haven't.  We are each taken to a mat on the floor and told to put on maroon cotton shorts.  We are lined up, each with a masseuse squatting over us.  The treatment begins.  It's kind of weird, frankly, and a bit more exercise than I would have liked.  I am the only one with a male.  The others all get ladies whom I'm guessing aren't as strong. Mine twists, turns and otherwise manipulates my arms and legs, putting them into positions that make me wince.  In the end I'm not sure if I feel better or worse, but it was an hour and a half off my feet and in an air-conditioned room.  Bo said he wanted to laugh the whole time but the others loved it and Redding declared his aching soles healed. Everyone wants another.  

Breakfast in Bangkok

We cannot go to sleep.  We have to plow through. At 6:30am we leave our condo and start searching for food.  It doesn't take more than a block and we're in this very local alley behind our place where street vendors are already setting up their stalls for the day.  One cart has all the ingredients of Thai cooking carefully bagged in little plastic sacks hanging from a pole to sell to cooks or housewives: cilantro, ginger (peeled and sliced), scallions, dried shrimp, multiple kinds of greens, pandan leaves, kaffir leaves, limes, stalks of lemongrass, tomatoes.  Burners and grills with woks of hot oil are frying up whole fish, chicken, or steaming vats of broth to pour over noodles.  The kids have never been to place like Asia before, and this set up is wholly foreign to them, but they're enthusiastic and ready to sit down on the little plastic stools that front a couple of wooden tables at each of these stands.  We decide on a noodle place and just point to what other people are eating.  We end up with bowls of hot rice noodles with slices of fried pork, onions and some kind of spinach, probably bok choy, and are handed a caddy of four condiments.  There's sugar, dried chili, fish sauce and wet chili oil.  The man motions for us to put a little of each of these on the soup.  So we do.  Chopsticks and square spoons come out of a metal box.  Five plastic red mugs are put on the table filled with ice and a straw.  A pitcher of water appears on the table.  We dig in.  The food is so divine we eat there almost every morning, breaking our routine only a little to sample a whole fish (whose head is stuffed with sticks of lemongrass and bay leaves), meat on a stick covered with vinegar and chiles, deepfried drumsticks and dough balls dipped in honey, and tom yung goong for me (shrimp and red curry soup).   Breakfast is our favorite meal and we are up and on the streets every morning early, loving the routine.

One Week in Bangkok

Touch down: Bangkok.  3am, humid, sweaty, loud, overcast and full of tall buildings.  As well as a kind taxi driver named Peter who was waiting with our name on a sign to whisk us into the city to the River condominiums, a place I booked off VRBO on the west bank of the Chao Phraya river next door to the Peninsula Hotel.  He pulled into the driveway and we piled out ino the gleaming lobby of this grand highrise with fountains and bamboo and marble floors, and attendants who even at 4am came running, sliding on their socks, to open the door, greet us and take our bags to the elevator.  I'm liking it already.

Up we go to the 21st floor and into our pad for the week.  We pull open the curtains, get the AC running, and see all of Bangkok below us, lit up and brights.  The river flows and small boats are going up and down its center even in the middle of the morning.  The kids want to know about jet lag.  Do we have it yet?  Are we going to get it?  Should we sleep, should we stay up?  We opt for staying up.  By now it's after four and it seems silly to sleep.  Would throw us off our game entirely.  So we unpack, explore our rooms, hop on rock-hard beds (a staple in Asia we will find), marvel at the faucets in the sleek bathrooms, and decide to find the swimming pool.

The kids and I head back down the elevator.  It's dusky, still warm and weirdly still, and we creep out on floor five to take a swim.  What we find is unbelieveable.  We're so excited we can hardly stand it. There is a series of 4 pools, all rectangular and tiled with iridescent grey and silver tiles, stretching about 400 feet from where we stand through these gardens with papaya, banana and palm trees.  The fruit is hanging on them for the picking.  We crawl quietly into the first one, knowing that probably we shouldn't be swimming at 5. Above us loom these enormous towers of metallic, mirrored blue.  We're in this oasis of water surrounded by highrises.  The water is the perfect temperature, just right for the morning.  We decide to keep walking through the gardens--Reddy finds a badminton court where he can bounce the basketball he's been carrying with him since LA.  Then the gym, and then another pool that absolutely floors us.

It's a single pool that is surrounded by wooden decks that look like swimming platforms on a lake. It stretches from one end of the complex to the other, where there's nothing but an edge dropping off into the lake.  Or so it seems from where we stand 500 feet away.  We get in and crawl through the water as the sky is starting to lighten and there's a bit more activity on the river.  We swim to the end, and there's a glass wall separating the pool from the river below.  I lie on my back, feel jet lag start to wash over me, but have such a feeling of utter bliss lying in a body of water in Bangkok with my happy kids and the sky lightening above me, inviting us to come out and explore her city.

Fish Floss and Other Oddities

Mason was the most excited of all by the long flight.  He had great memories of our summer last year flying to Johannesburg--two flights of 8 hours each separated by an hour or two trapped on board while the crew cleaned the plane and checked for contraband in our seatback pockets.  He loved it.  Movies all night long on his personal TV screen, a chance to change into pajamas in a tiny bathroom, unlimited sodas from kind flight attendants, and the socks they give you in a plastic bag with a tiny toothbrush and tube of paste.  He loved every minute of it.  So he was dying to get the same experience on the way to Asia.  Score. Except for the socks and toothpaste.  And the edible in-flight meals.

But oh that little TV on the seat back in front of him.  Kept the kids happy for 14 straight hours.  I was seated a couple of places away.  I literally almost never spoke to them (I was too busy trying to find a comfortable spot in my skinny little chair.  I had Sam on one side of me and some girl on the other.)  But the highlight of the trip, for me, was the fish floss.

The stewardness came by with breakfast: eggs or porridge?  So all the kids opt for porridge.  What they didn't know is that it was, psych, congee!  Japanese breakfast staple of a thick rice gruel served with seaweed, pork and...fish floss.  A small packet of condiments atop the porridge with the name Fish Floss. Sam opened his, sniffed it, and pronounced it the exact same thing as what you fed the goldfish you won at the fair when you were little.  Fish food!  (Who knew fish were cannibals.)  Flakes of dried fish to sprinkle atop your gruel.  The kids went hungry.  But still they loved the flight and even got a little shut eye. We woke up in Taiwan where we caught another plane (31/2 hours never felt so easy) to Bangkok.

Same Kids, Different Countries--Summer in SE Asia

Our last week in San Miguel was a bit of a madcap dash towards a constantly moving finish line.  In one week we moved the last of our earthly belongings out of our house of five years, sold said house, stayed with friends after being displaced by the new owners, had a last-day-of-school picnic at the hot springs and one hour later went to Leon Airport to spend the night before a 6am flight to Tijuana.  Flew to Tijuana, crossed the border into the US in San Diego, made our way to LA, and caught a flight to Bangkok.  With the proceeds of our house sale we decided to spend nine weeks in SE Asia, beginning in Thailand and ending up Bali.  Nine weeks on the road with one roll aboard each, divvied up between Thailand, Laos, Cambodia and Indonesia.  But first we had to get through a  14-hour flight to Taiwan.....

Masonism #11

"There's not anyone I personally know who can drink water in bed without spilling."

Ladies Who Lunch....Oddly

Jenny Hensley's in town for two weeks so we've been eating, drinking, driving, shopping, and laughing. How is it that three grown women can be seen like this in town?  It's San Miguel, I guess.  

Here we are after a comida with the families at Don Tomas, followed by a madcap ride on scooters to see the new Macdonald/Asfour compound on Prolongacion La Quinta. Tom showed up with a stack of plastic cups, a six-pack and a bottle of tequila.  We walked the obra gris of their new house, then headed to the Hensleys' rental to watch the final game of the NCAA tournament.

Tom and Janan

What exactly is Jenny doing?!

What exactly am I doing?  I don't need a cab. Jenny has her moto, though with her at the wheel it's always Mr. Toad's Wild Ride.

 

The two-shoe trivet.  Hey, it's a rental house.  Don't mess up their furniture or your deposit is gone.

Boys Night Out--And Wedding-Ring Tattoos

Sam plays pool on Wednesday with an interesting group of guys.  There's a new guy who just joined them. He's got a lot of tattoos.  He starts a story to explain one of his tats with, "I was living in Vegas and married this stripper."  Sam says, "Hold on.  There aren't many stories that start like that."  So he carries on with how he and his stripper wife got each other's names inked across their wedding ring fingers. It was all great until the divorce.  When the girlfriends weren't crazy about the ex-wife's name still on the finger.  So he got it scrapped off.  It took three months of weekly sessions and hurt a hell of a lot more than the original tattoo.

Sam and I don't have as good a story.  But we did get wedding band tattoos.  One Christmas in Guatemala when the world was supposed to end on December 21, 2012.  Turns out the Mayans knew all along it wasn't ending, but a new bak'tun was beginning--the 13th bak'tun, or long count, or period of 5200 years.  To make our own story even better we just happened to be married 13 years and had been looking for a symbol of the two of us and the three boys.  Here it is, the Mayan numeral 13.

The Sunday Tuesday Market

Redding, our friend Will Hensley, and Mason with their bags
of agua de limon and jamaica, plus steamed garbanzo beans with
lime and chile

Sunday mornings are a big day for our family.  Up early, out to Landeta, the open fields around an often dried up dam with the dogs, then breakfast at the Tuesday Market, a local mercado that is now open on Sundays as well.  It's the breakfast of champions: pizza with hot dogs and a plastic cup of orange soda; waffles with chocolate syrup and condensed milk; or barbacoa and consomme--lamb steamed in banana leaves served in tacos with hot sauce, cilantro and onions.

The DoriLoco cart with condiments

On a special morning it might be DoriLocos: a bag of nacho-cheese Doritos cut open at the topped with toppings poured into the bag: cucumber, Chinese noodles, garbanzo beans, salsa, onions, shaved carrots.

Then we rummage through piles of dead people's clothes, or cast offs from road races and other charity events in the states.  Sometimes you'll find J.Jill, Gap, Ann Taylor, Old Navy, Burberry, and Merrell shoes.  Yesterday I got two lovely summer shirts for $1.52 in total. I'm wearing one now.  They're washed, ironed and always smell like really good laundry soap.  What's not to love.

We also pick up several bootleg movies which invariably disappointment because although they say they're in English they almost never are.  Then there's a bird seller who walks around with a multi-story tower of wooden bird cages filled with parakeets and small wrens.  The fighting cock guy with his dozens of birds in cardboard lettuce boxes pocked by knife holes to give them air.  The pit pull puppy guy, always with a big mamma dog in tow sporting a leather harness and huge steel chain.

Redd always wants a new wallet (which is interesting because he never has any money) or a sleeveless athletic shirt.  Bo is content with nothing with is his way, and Mason angles fo ra baby turtle, a chihuahua, or some other animal that's not coming home with us.

The Face of an Illegal Alien

Last week I traveled to Sayulita, on the west coast of Mexico in the state of Nayarit, north of Puerto Vallarta.  After several days in the sun with friends from Los Angeles, drinking way too much tequila but eating just the right amount of mahi mahi and shrimp ceviche, I came home from the Mexico City airport with a driver named Pedro Rios.  Incredibly handsome, 30-ish, fit, dressed in Polo jeans, a light blue and green checked long-sleeved shirt and polished loafers, he took my bag, escorted me to the parking garage, and we left for the three-hour drive back to San Miguel. He spoke no English. I was a bit exhausted from the week but Pedro drives this route six days a week, back and forth, eight hours at a time. He was in the mood to talk.  When I'm tired it's hard for me to speak Spanish well. But Pedro started asking questions and I figured I could find my way to answer.  Off and on for three hours we talked about things, the most fascinating topic being his trip over the border to find work in the States.

He's been a driver for a shuttle company for about four years.  Before that he was a professional soccer player in San Luis Potosi and still plays on Sundays for a team which pays him to play here in San Miguel.  He drives every other day that he's not playing soccer.  But for two and a half years he worked on the railroads in Texas and Iowa, laying rails and maintaining old track, after crossing at Laredo, Texas, not through the river but over a barbed wire fence.  He looks nothing like the immigrants that people are so scared of.  

He told me about the business of getting to the US.  "I went with a coyote from San Miguel.  There were 40 of us. This coyote is muy inteligente, he knew exactly what we should do when the helicopters flew over us. He told us to crouch down, keep your head down, don't look up or the radar will pick up the light from your eyes.  He told us how to run if the trucks came, how to lose ourselves in the desert when the migra came.  He knew the hours when the migra patrolled and told us exactly when we could walk without being seen."

Some facts I learned from Pedro:

• It costs about $3000US to get from San Miguel to Texas.
• The coyote receives about $2000 of that per person.
• The Zeta cartel controls the border.  After you cross they arrive in pick up trucks with AK47s and take a fee from each person.  When Pedro crossed it was 1800 pesos ($120).  Today it is 7500 (about $600). 
• Forty people left with him in his group but two people didn't make it.  I asked him if they died. He told me he thought no, that they went back to Mexico. But I think he was just saying that. He told me the woman was old and with her male cousin, who could no longer drink or take water.  They left them in the desert and kept walking.
• The coyote asked Pedro to be his driver, ferrying illegal immigrants from the desert to a second point where they would be met by another truck.  The fee: $300 a person for the 90-minute ride.  The eight-person Suburban, like the one I was driving in, would be filled with 20 people.  That would be $6000 a day, three days a week.  Pedro turned him down.
• Sometimes, when the American boss on the railroad wasn't around, the Mexican boss would write that the crew worked for 10 hours even though they only worked five.  But they worked so hard they got the hours in to justify the fraud.  Pedro said it was grueling work but that he was very strong back then.

I asked him why he came back.  He said, my family of course.  I missed them.  He is now trying to get a legitimate visa so that he can go back to work.  He won't stay forever but he can still make more than driving me to and from Mexico City.

Questions from a Nightmare

Redding and Bo, uncharacteristically, spat and Bo, who has been sharing a bed, not just a room, with Redding for about the last ten years, wishes he had a room of his own so that he could get away from Reddy for the night. I suggest he go to the casita, an independent house at the back of our garden, outside and away from everyone.  Also uncharacteristically, Bo agrees and goes downstairs, outside, past the pool in the dark, and into the casita. I can see the light on in there from my room.  (Once Bo is upstairs he doesn't like going back down.  He is afraid of the dark and things unknown).  But tonight he  is frustrated enough with his brother to leave. 

I go to bed myself and am surprised when I see the casita lights are off and realize that Bo truly is staying there for the night.  About 30 minutes later I hear some awful sounds from Reddy's room.  I go in, and he is sleeping sideways in the bed, wrapped like a mummy in damp sheets.  Bo is next to him sound asleep, lightly snoring. The room is so hot--it's only early April but San Miguel is already warm and no one here has air conditioning.  There's a breeze in the hallway but Reddy has his windows shut and shuttered so that our dog, Jozi, can't see outside and bark at the night watchman who makes laps around the neighborhood, often standing in front of our house I'm convinced to make the dogs go crazy.  So Redd is warm to the touch and sweaty and crying.  Bo doesn't stir.

He wakes up immediately and starts shaking and telling me about his nightmare: "I had a dream that men came into our house with guns and took you away."  What could be more horrible for a child to imagine?  Of course I try to soothe him with the normal lines but he is inconsolable and opens up about all of his fears of dying and losing our family and not understanding his place in the world.  Almost like he's still asleep or feverish or in some weird state of not being quite conscience he rambles on for nearly 40 minutes: "I can't stand to think about losing you or dad or Bo or Mason.  That's why I had to go to the casita and get Bo.  I couldn't think about him being alone in there or scared or having something happen to him. I needed to have him back with me.  I don't know what I'd do if something happened to anyone of you. I think about it all the time. I think about it when I go to bed. I can't sleep because I think about dying and what happens when you die, what happens when your brain stops.  How does a brain stop?   How does it just stop?  What happens to your body?  Where does it go?  I have so many questions.  There are so many things I don't understand. I know about the universe and I know that the sky spreads out to infinity and that there's no end but I can't grasp that, I can't understand what is after infinity...."  I tell him that the world has been around for so long that the thought of it ending in our short life time just seems so remote. I say, "The whole solar system and all of our life has been around for billions of years..." He interrupts me and says, "4.6."  4.6 billion years he knows from his science classes with Polly at school.  So I try to tell him that even if something happened to the alignment of the planets we'd all die at one time, instantaneously, that we'd all be together in this great big world, snuffed out at the same second.  Somehow this seems mildly soothing to him.  But he continues on about death and fears and the unknown and I just don't know how to help him.  I try to tell him that one day he will have his own family and that I won't be as important to him.  That the world without me will not seem quite so scary.  But he can't believe that day can ever come. He's filled with too much love for me and his dad and his two brothers that the idea that we won't be there with him forever is too much to bear.  We talk until about 11 o'clock, I rub his head which he likes and run my fingers through his hair and finally he calms down and falls asleep.  In the morning we never discuss it and I don't know if he remembers it or not.

What I know is that I must be more careful in this life.

From the "Only in Mexico" Field Trip Files

Redd has a school photography class on Fridays.  His class was taken to the local cemetery to film some of the uniquely colorful Mexican graves.

Because this was not your typical field trip, he came home very excited about certain aspects of the day.  "It was really cool.  While we were there these men were digging up bones from some of the graves. In Mexico if you don't pay your rent they dig you up and bury you somewhere else.  So we got to see these guys take bones out of a grave and put them in a bag."  This led to a short discussion of the difference in the States where you outright buy your plot rather than rent it.  Which led to a discussion of economics and the value of money and how certain societies live more day to day than with long-term plans.  Which also led to a discussion about cremation which I was surprised to learn my children know I desire.  I asked them to take little bags with me wherever they travel and just scatter me all over their journeys. 

Mariachis singing at gravesites

Then, Mason chimes in, "Tell her about the coffin you found."  So, oh yes, Reddy mentions that there was an old, rusty coffin sitting inside the courtyard.  They lifted the lid but the odor was so bad they just let it fall down. He told me he knew there was a body inside but it smelled too bad to see what it was.  There's just no end to what you mind see or find or do on an average day in San Miguel.

Redding: My Little Dreamer, My Football Star

Redding wants nothing more than to play football, something that is denied him here in Mexico. When he grows up he wants to be a professional football player, a running back.  But he's never played in his life; there aren't teams in San Miguel, there aren't boys who've ever touched a football, there isn't the interest.  If you play soccer, it would be a different story. But this is a boy who roots for the Ravens, follows the Steelers, covers the Vikings, knows every player in every league, (and just bought a book of stickers and an NFL guidebook in Spanish at the local grocery store, only to find out that the stickers were actually extra and not available in Mexico) but is woefully out of touch with the day-to-day realities of U.S sports.  And all that they encompass.

We were talking about our summer 2014 plans, that I want us to all go to Southeast Asia and bike around Ankor Wat, drink Lao Beer on the Mekong, sweat our asses off hiking through the hill country of Thailand, and finally end up on a beach in Phuket eating ginger crab.  Reddy shyly told me he would love to go to football camp next summer in the States. I didn't know how to sugar coat it, this coming from a boy who has never played football in his life, save the few afternoons when Sam goes with him to the corner park in our neighborhood and they throw the pigskin among the agave cactus and the thorn-studded lime trees.  

I told him, in my typically blunt and unkind fashion, "Redd, you're going to be out of your league." I didn't know how else to say it.  He didn't even know what that meant.  (How do you enroll a 12-year-old boy in an American football camp when he hasn't done anything more than throw a ball up and down the  cobblestoned sidewalks on his mile-long walk to school, yet his fellow campers have been putting on pads and going to Pop Warner since they were five?)  But to his huge, incredible, wonderful credit, he was full of bluster and enthusiasm and didn't see anything wrong whatsoever with this picture.  I told him he'd have to wait until summer 2015 as we are going to SE Asia next summer so there's no football camp in summer 2014.  He did some quick math and realized he'd be an old 13 in the summer of '15.

I also told him how big these kids would be. He's 70 pounds, four inches wide, and way less than five feet tall.  And he's almost 12.

Redding at the State Fair, happy to ride solo with a couple of local girls

He started jumping around the bed (we were talking at bedtime): "I'll be up against the younglings, the sweet 13s, the young 13s, the fresh kills, the fresh little ones.  I'll be the street smart, the savvy, I'll teach them how to play.  I'll be the old guy, the old 13.  I can toughen up and know the routes and I'll teach them.  I know they have things like 'the shimanny nani' and the 'go left and jump over that dude.'  I'll know the routes." (He's talking about plays; he doesn't even know the term for a "play."  He calls it a route, and gives it nonsense terms, and isn't the least bit self conscience about his utter lack of knowledge of rules or strategy.)  His belief in himself and his ability to join a team, a camp of American boys who have been playing for years and know all the routes, is so absolute, so without fear or doubt, that I know he could do it.  But first we have to get to Cambodia.

Bulking up on tacos at the State Fair

An old photo that I loaded by accident (same jpeg number as the one above).  But it's actually so fitting. Here is Redding doing some weird karate on the terrace of our house in San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua, April 2012.

So Maybe You Don't Want the Sushi

We couldn't decide which one to have: the shrimp with cream cheese, cucumber, and avocado or the shrimp with cream cheese, cucumber, and avocado, or maybe the shrimp with cream cheese, cucumber, and avocado.  So we just went with the cheapest.

A Perfect Little Day

While out running errands (dropping off Reddy's history notebook at school--he thanked me profusely; stopping by with a drawing and a deposit at Ramiro the Ironworker's shop; he's making a base for a huge mesquite slab I bought as a dining room table; leaving a sympathy card from Jenny Hensley for Antonieta at Warren Hardy School) I decided I was hungry. Happily I found myself at the San Juan de Dios Market.  So I sat down at a stool and ordered a couple of tacos.  Too many people would be turned off by this site.  But you mustn't. You're missing out on the best food in Mexico at these places.  14 pesos later ($1.15) I was on my way home.

But the afternoon just got better.  See below.

Janan and I had just been talking about joining Malanquin, the San Miguel country club.  It was mostly in jest, but the thought of having a regular place to take the kids so that they could run around on green grass, swim in a warm pool, and maybe even take up tennis or golf (who am I kidding?) seemed very appealing.  But then Janan had the great idea to head up the Salida a Querétaro to the El Molino Hotel.  We'd heard you could swim there if you bought some food.  We heard there was putt putt golf and some free bikes to ride around the grounds. 

So Sam, Redd, Mason and I, plus the Macdonalds went up after school.  Suffice to say we don't need to join a country club.  Everything we needed was right there. OK, maybe not the snob factor--and the bikes were shot (the handle bars kind of fell off and turned the opposite direction of the wheel) but the warm was pool, and our helpful waiter brought us a great margarita, some dynamite guacamole and spaghetti bolognese that the kids raved about.  And it's a whole lot cheaper.  We now call it Molinquin.  Get it, Malanquin y El Molino?  Nice little play on words for the cheapskates.

Tom Macdonald, Janan Asfour and Will Mac

The grounds of Molinquin

Redding Hillers

The sun's going down, the air's getting cool, and Mason's still in the water.  My super fish.

MASON HILLERS

The namesake Molino (windmill)

The ride home down Chorro towards Parque Juarez.

A Masonism

"Look at this.  It's a real talent I have.  Sometimes I can comb my hair using my breath."

Huh?

I'm coming home from circus class with Redding, Mason, and their buddy, Will Mac.  Will is coming over for dinner but is concerned that he has a lot of homework.  Redding tells him, "I'll do it for you.  Just show me how you write."  And Will says, "No, I have to bring something in.  Some kind of paper with shots on it.  Something like that."  (Which I guess constitutes a lot of homework down here.)  

"It's your immunization record," I tell him.  "Good luck with that. Your mom's going to have a tough time coming up with that one tonight."  Which reminds Mason of his own homework last spring.  "I had to do something like that too.  My mom and I both couldn't do it."  He's talking about an assignment where he was asked to fill in some kind of Mexican national record with questions that were completely foreign to us, things that are on a Mexican birth certificate that you'd never find on your own.  Mason says, "We only answered about two questions: Where were you born?  And how old were you when you were neutered?"  

Reddy chimes in, "Dad's neutered, isn't he?"  Redding will be twelve in November.  I think it's time for the talk.

An August Evening

It's late August and the boys run back into the house to get a sweatshirt and shoes.  They've been playing down the street with Milo, an only child who has an uncanny gift for fixing broken iPhones, iPads, and small appliances.  His mother, Violet Feldt, a name I must steal if ever I write a Southern novel, is taking them to the jardin to get gelato from a new stand that opened up while we were gone for the summer.  

The sky is black but still full of grackles screeching in the trees.  The street lamp from the back alley is shining through the palm trees.  A few mosquitoes fight in the air over my head. I can hear their miserable electric hums.  I am sitting in my bed listening to all the night noises of San Miguel: the trucks clattering over the street bump at our back door.  The roof dog crying to the free dogs down below.  The creepy jeweler, Hernan, playing his guitar across the alley.  (If I ever go missing, I've told Sam, check his store.)

School has not started yet.  Victoria, the director, works around some obsolete American schedule when kids used to go back after Labor Day.  But it's no longer vogue, not here, and not in the States.  Mexican schools started two weeks ago; with the exception of Milo, nearly everyone else we know is already back in school, their happy parents reclaiming their days, their sanity.

So I am thrilled when they leave and head out for ice cream.  In a parade of four boys and Violet they will march up Zacateros single file, turn right on steep Pila Seca where the sidewalks are a foot wide, a foot off the ground.  They will watch for cars that have no stop signs or stop lights, but that do follow a pattern and take turns crossing intersections.  It is civilized Mexico where people have figured out how to live without lots of rules.  Where you take responsibility for yourself and what happens to you.  The boys know to be careful though it doesn't stop them from jostling each other, fighting to ahead of each other on these narrow, dimly lit streets.  They'll then turn left onto pedestrian-only Cuna de Allende, where the outdoor tables of Ten Ten Pie will be filled with diners having shrimp tacos, cheese fondue, and margaritas. 

They'll get their gelatos and head to the jardin where the church's bright cross will be lit at this hour, something I can see from my shower until 2am when they turn it off for the night.  They'll sit on the stone steps in front of the church, or the benches under the carefully clipped laurel trees, and spoon little bits of sweetness into their mouths.  Bo will get strawberry and mint, if he's allowed two flavors; Redding chocolate; Mason will have what one of his brothers are having, mostly so that he can avoid ordering himself.  Then they might run across the car-free plaza, chasing the pigeons across the cobblestones, forcing them to fly up and land a few paces away.  They might even angle for a cup of corn from the truck, or a bag of fresh potato chips doused with Valentina salsa and lime juice.

Then they'll make their way back down Pila Seca to home, and though it will only be an hour or so since they left, I will be happy to see them again, to tuck them into their soft, lucky beds and know that they are safe and mine.