Daddy, can we go back to Thailand?

One of our dreams and motivations in moving to Shanghai was that we’d be able to take the boys on international adventures, so Allison and I were very excited about our trip to Thailand with Kai and Keegan.  As the day approached, though, what really thrilled us was simply the idea of getting warm.  Shanghai is freezing.  I grew up in Chicago (OK, OK, Des Plaines), and I know cold, and Shanghai’s got cold down.  In Chicago, however, people know it’s going to be cold, and they plan ahead for it with handy items like central heat and weather-stripping and, you know, insulation.  In Shanghai none of this seems to have occurred to anyone, so Thailand served as an emergency thermal blanket for the whole family, and a fine blanket it is.

We flew through Bangkok to Phuket, which is not pronounced like that, and you know it (it’s really Boo-KETT). We survived the flights by toting an enormous supply of toys, books, and snacky-treats in our overflowing carry-ons and letting the boys watch multiple episodes of Dora the Explora on the portable DVD jobee (even Keegie can now say “Dora,” “Boots,” and “map” -- I used to have standards, but I think I must have left them in the seat-back in front of me.)  On landing we headed for Kamala Bay, north of Patong, where we quickly settled into a rhythm of beach-buffet-pool-beach-restaurant-beach-nap-beach-massage-beach-restaurant-pool-beach. Oh, sometimes we’d mix it up and do beach-pool at the end.  I’m exaggerating, but only  a bit; this was life in the slow lane.  If there was a difference between Phuket and heaven, I couldn't figure it out. There are very few people in the world I’d want to spend all day every day with, and they were all there in Thailand with me.  The boys certainly agreed -- heaven for them is when we’re all together constantly, and they can splash each other, eat sand, and have ice cream for dessert.

Kamala Bay was a sleepy Islamic fishing village little more than a decade ago, but like the rest of Phuket it was too beautiful to stay a secret, and now it’s filled with freezing Finns, shivering Swedes, and expat exiles like us.  The waves were really mellow on our part of the beach, but for the swim-diaper set, even a little can be a lot. To keep the boys safe at the beach, we’d dig big holes in the sand (video), trying to find just the point where the waves will slosh in as the tide comes up, and make a pool that gradually disappears into the ocean.  Allison is really good at picking the right spot.  It’s a fun sport, and it also provides a handy mountain of sand to build castles, climb up, slide down, or throw back into Daddy’s swimming hole.  When the hole was gone, we’d walk the boys out a long way in the warm water of the Andaman Sea.  Just about every time, Kai would say he didn’t want to go in, and then of course he’d say he didn’t want to get out (did I mention Kai is 2?)  He comes around if you tickle him, and then chase him on the beach; Kai is very specific about how he likes to be chased.  He’ll feed me my lines, saying, “Daddy, will you please say, ‘Oh Kai, I’m gonna GET you?’”  He also likes to turn himself into various animals, such as Little Black Kitty Cat, or Baby Duck.  It’s important to keep up with the changes, too, or else you’ll be petting a cat only to find out it’s become a kangaroo, which can be disorienting.  We met up with some actual little black cats (watch the epic cat-on-cat action here) (and yes, they generally look siamese), and came across a crowd of locals bringing in a catch of fish on the beach, that Kai was glad to help out with.  We eat mostly at restaurants with sand for floors, and the food was generally fantastic.  Want to know where to get some great Thai food?  Thailand.   As in Shanghai, the boys drew a lot of attention from the locals, who were consistently friendly, even adoring toward Kai and Keegan. We'd take slow walks back along the beach at sunset (here's the video version), stopping for a swim on the way. Back at the room, the guys sometimes hid in the cupboards to escape the paparazzi, like the Beatles in A Hard Day's Night.

We had just a couple of brief excursions away from the beach:  We took the boys for an elephant ride, which was thrilling at times -- Keegan spent the whole hour explaining in Keegan-talk to Mommy that there were elephants!!! behind and in front of him, not noticing as much the one he was sitting on.  Kai knew very well that he was on an elephant; at one point, though, when we had to cross a road, the driver hit the elephant with a stick to direct him, and poor Kai was just mortified.  (Even I was surprised, since the blows would have killed a man.)  I had to hold and soothe him for at least ten minutes (Kai, that is, not the elephant, who shrugged it off better than Kai or I), and I had to tell the elephant driver he was never, ever to hit an elephant again, and if he does, I’m going back to Thailand to give him a big time-out.  The Director's Cut of the elephant video cleans up real nice and whitewashes the seamy stuff, but to be frank, I wouldn’t recommend this activity to parents, despite its obvious appeal.  After the fact, sadly, I learned of more responsible ways to visit Thai elephants, where you can see them, feed them, and learn about them from people who treat them with the great respect they deserve; given another opportunity, that’s what our family will do next time.

Our other excursion was a drive to two beautiful Buddhist temples, Wat Phra Thong and Wat Phra Nang Sang (video) in Thalang. These were terrific, and surprisingly unvisited; I guess most people don’t want to pry themselves away from the beach, which is understandable, but these lovely temples were well worth it, and Kai and Keegan actually had a blast looking at the giant statues, shaking fortune sticks, lighting incense, and knocking over various bells.  Both of the boys know Buddha on sight and say his name when they see him.  In Keegan’s case I suspect it’s because he recognizes Buddha’s hauntingly familiar physique from his trips to the mirror.

We don’t imagine we’ve seen anything of the depth or complexity of Thailand, a nation of 65 million with a rich cultural heritage; someday we’ll go beyond the fabulous beaches to see more of the country, but for now, with our little guys, the fabulous beaches will just have to do.

We’re back in Shanghai, freezing once again; I’m literally shivering next to a space heater as I type this, so no need to be jealous.  In fact, if you live in San Francisco, or even in well-insulated Chicago, or Nome, you can gloat.  A few days after we came home, Kai said to me at lunch, “Daddy, I want to go back to our house in Thailand!”  Mommy and Daddy know the feeling, Kai.  But at least we’ve had a moment in the sun.

This is how we roll

A Tale of Two Haircuts


My first haircut in Shanghai was at an overpriced mall salon -- I paid more than US $30 (much higher than my great barber Don on Polk St.) to have  a “supervising hair technician” cut the left side half an inch shorter than the right.  He said, “Duibuqi (sorry), it come back.”  Yeah, but I won’t.  

Next time I asked a couple of neighbors where they went. The first guy, a Norwegian with a buzz cut, said he got his done on the street corner for 15 kuai (about $2.50). I wasn’t quite ready for that, and besides it’s freezing on the street corner -- almost as cold as our house.  A French guy with a soupcon more style gave me the name of a salon next to the big French grocery store, so I went in to try my luck.  The stylists there all have assistants, who in turn have assistants, so a gaggle of flunkies greeted me at the door, and I said  “dian tow-fah,”  an expression I’d learned two minutes earlier from our driver, Wang, meaning “haircut.”  This was a critical error, because now all the flunkies thought I was perfectly fluent in Chinese and began chatting away, asking me what I thought of Expo, or Yao’s latest injury, or if I wouldn’t mind sharing my mom’s meatloaf recipe. I have no idea.  I told them I spoke very little Chinese, but I said it in Chinese, so they didn’t believe me and my doom was sealed.  This has happened to me quite a few times. A lot of people seem to think language binary, an on/off switch -- you speak Chinese, or you don’t.  One expat I met said it’s people who’ve never learned, or tried to learn, or even imagined learning another language, so they don’t consider the enormous grey area between no Chinese, and Dr. Sun Yat-sen.

Anyway, I was led upstairs and shown a menu of options, in Chinese of course.  Well, except for a bit of Arabic, which I could read -- this consisted of the numerals #1, #2, and #3, with prices.  I chose the middle one, for 99 Kuai, or about 15 bucks.  I thought that seemed safe, but  I was wrong.

I spent most of the next hour with a salon assistant I’ll call Da Shou, or “Big Hands.”  Da Shou did things to me that I had to tell my wife about, just to make sure I hadn’t broken any vows. She did things to me with a q-tip that I’ve never even done to myself. It was mostly just a massage, but as I write that I can imagine I’m saying it to the judge at night court.  Da Shou was rather shockingly free of boundaries about handling customers.  She gave me a chest massage that was, well, more personal than anything I’ve gotten from a stranger since high school.  When I looked up in surprise and alarm, she met my eyes in the mirror with a frank stare and what could only be called a saucy smile.  At this point my inner dialogue is saying, “Relax, you uptight Westerner, this is normal, it’s just how they do things here.  That's how they roll -- don’t be a prude.”  Was I on the Chinese version of Candid Camera?  There were a few other people in the large room getting pre-haircut massages too, though none of the other masseuses appeared saucy -- bored, more like it.  Da Shou then began giving me an arm rub for which she found it necessary to place my hand directly on the geographic center of her lap, and exerted a little downward pressure. Another look of alarm from me, another frank look and saucy smile, extra sauce, from Da Shou.  Before you think this is a letter to Penthouse, I’ll tell you that I “ahemed,” pointed to my watch, and asked “Zhe ge shi tow-fuh ma?” or, “This is a haircut?”  Da Shou then stood up and reached for a a copy of Chinese Vogue, which she dropped in my lap with a mild smirk.  A few minutes later the “stylist” finally appeared, cut the right side half an inch shorter than the left, and I got out of there.  

I’m due for another haircut. I’m going to the street corner with my 15 kuai, and I’m leaving my coat on, too.




Three Elephants and a Lute Player

On a more pastoral note, I’ve been bringing the boys to the Shanghai Zoo in the mornings sometimes.  It’s just a few minutes from our house, and in these winter months there are very few people competing with us to see the lions, giraffes, gorillas or pandas. We’re often the only ones watching a group of zebras or elephants or what have you, and the boys love to be up close and personal, where the animals can give them frank stares and saucy smiles.  Keegan did his fine elephant impression for me in front of three big pachyderms, so I did mine in turn for him (my elephant is notoriously good, you’ll have to trust me); I was amazed to watch all three of the real elephants raise their trunks toward us and take several steps back, as if in deference.  A strange sight to see.

There are a few other people in the zoo in the early mornings, actually, but they aren’t there to see the animals.  Senior citizens can get a monthly pass to come in before 8 a.m. for almost nothing, and they do come, and they stay; they socialize, practice tai chi, sing, dance elaborate group dances, play mahjong or cards, or just hang out.  They show little or no interest in the zoo's permanent residents; they absolutely love to coo at Kai and Keegan, though.  The last time we were there, we made a slight wrong turn on the way to the pandas and came across a man playing the erhu, that two-stringed Chinese lute with a gourd at the bottom.  He was really good, too, so good that I brought the boys up closer to see him play, and he just lit up with a smile and started playing songs he thought they’d like, which meant “Happy Birthday,” and he was right -- Kai especially loves “Happy Birthday” and often sings it and blows out imaginary candles on no occasion whatsoever.  The lute player asked me where we were from -- I barely understood him but I caught the word “guojia” which means “country,”  and I told him we were “meiguo ren,” Americans.  So then the guy started playing “Clementine”, which I thought was very impressive. You know, the miner, the 49er . . . a perfect San Francisco song, and apparently the one American song he knew. Hey, I’m a sport, I know the words, so I started singing it.  As I did, the lute player's fan base, a clutch of seven or eight Chinese grannies, came over to us, having spotted Kai and Keegan, and moved in for the kill, pointing, cackling, trying to get the boys to dance with them.  They loved  that I knew the words to the song in English, and they all started singing it in Chinese.  The lute player then started in on Chinese songs I didn’t know, but it was fun to hear the old women sing and watch them strut their stuff, and we stayed with them for a couple of numbers before we headed off to find the pandas again.  If the boys had been a few years older they might have been mortified by a dozen aspects of this spectacle, but as it happened, they seemed to enjoy it just fine.  In fact, Kai has been asking me to play that song on the ipod for days, and I put it on “repeat” for him -- he calls it “Lemon Time.”

For photo and video fans, the linked visuals were not made at the zoo, but at another park, Cheng Feng Gongyuan, where we enjoyed a long walk around the lake, I got hit in the head by an eagle kite ( a great way to meet the kite fliers), and we discovered a rinky-dink amusement park that the boys thought was as cool as Disney World.  Check out the car-boat on the lake -- I think it’s a Dodge Dart.


A special shout-out to ALL of my former students at Capuchino High School.  I do not miss grading or planning, but I do miss teaching, because I miss you guys.  Now, stop playing around on the Internet and go do your homework!  (Yes, even those of you who have graduated from high school, AND college, this goes for you, too!  Get busy.  I mean it.) All best thoughts and love to you, my fellow Mustangs. 


We're going to Thailand tomorrow!  Yay!  It's WARM in Thailand!  I'll be back on the blog in a couple of weeks.