:: p-dog ::

Delia has made me feel like a slug.

How?

By the time I was up and dressed, she had already run a marathon.

:: Leslie H - 9:45 AM - ::

You wouldn't think I'd be able to keep so busy when I know so very few people in this new city of mine, but I have been blessed with visitors for the past week. Last Saturday it was my mother (hi, Mom) who was snugly tucked into the air mattress in the living room. Tonight it's Delia, who I can safely call my oldest friend (I made some off-hand reference to her second-grade teacher, and what she probably looked like, and then I remembered that hey, we had the same one). Delia arrived today from Nashville to run the San Francisco marathon and then stick around for a couple of days to see the wonders of the Bay Area.

My mother's stay was a lot of fun. Leading up to it, I was, well, nervous is the wrong word. I wanted badly for the visit to go well because it was the first of its kind: just Mom, visiting just me. And almost for a whole week. My nerves were unnecessary: it was great. Every morning she'd hike over from her bed and breakfast (which was more spacious than my apartment), and about 12 hours later, she would hike back. Pictures from the week are up on gallery; we executed brilliant home improvement/craft projects, took a long hike up Mt. Tamalpais in Marin county, ate in many fabulous restaurants, and did lots of walking around Berkeley--my first time to do it as a resident, discovering places I'd want to return to.

Delia's visit will be different. We'll probably get out of Berkeley a lot more since she's never seen the area (and since she's probably not so interested in sewing my bedspread). We have tentative plans to visit Muir Woods and perhaps do some Napa valley wine tasting. Tomorrow she's running 26 miles through San Francisco, so I don't have to worry much about that part of the tour. Bay Area natives: feel free to recommend must-see sights for a first time visitor. I feel unqualified to give the tour of the more northern area since I've only lived here for two weeks.

Meanwhile, Bryan is in L.A. giving a talk at one graphics conference and hobbling around another with his Berkeley cohort. These sound like just about the most entertaining professional/academic conferences around, light on the boring speeches and heavy on the entertaining videos of dancing teapots and smoking Buddhas (and you know how I love Buddhas). It's also an opportunity for Bryan to get his cast signed by more geeks trying to be witty. Hard to pass that up.

I also got to talk to Clare on the phone last night, for the first time since she left for the Peace Corps nearly a year ago. I didn't quite believe that I could talk to her in Senegal. It seemed too remote to possibly be reached by telephone. Wrong, of course. She has a cell phone and gets excellent reception in her hut. While it's not quite as quaint as letter-writing, a phone call feels much more like real communication. So here's to Clare, the Senegalese rainy season, and ill-tended millet. Cheers.

:: Leslie H - 10:42 PM - ::

As it turns out, dislocating an ankle is worse than breaking it. It basically means that you've (when you = Bryan) ripped every ligament in the damn thing. Bryan has a deeply unsettling picture of his broken foot on his blog; it's not for the faint of heart (me).

I took him to the doctor today to get it casted, and we learned that he would be on crutches for 6 weeks, followed by physical therapy to regain strength. Not such a hot way to start our stay in a city where you walk everywhere. But we're trying to look on the bright side. At least at the end of it all, he'll have outrageously burly shoulders.

He's trying to take a shower at the moment with a garbage bag on his leg.

In other news, the apartment set-up continues to progress, and I hope to have pictures of the move and the new place up by Friday. Mom is coming to visit next week, which should be great fun. And Berkeley remains an amazing place to live.

:: Leslie H - 4:52 PM - ::

Why must boys be so tough? Why must they, with their chipped bones and recent dislocations, poo-poo their Vicodin prescriptions and try to sleep all night with only a few Aleve rattling around inside them, causing agony to those who love them when they manfully haul themselves to the bathroom in the middle of the night, trying to keep their groans quiet?

:: Leslie H - 8:02 AM - ::

Bryan called me about an hour ago from the climbing gym, where he had just broken his ankle and was waiting for the ambulance. After my concerns for his immediate safety were satisfied, my mind went the following places:

1) I'm glad we arranged all the 2-person furniture this morning.
2) I guess this means I will need to carry those boxes down to the basement. (I'd been reluctant after locking myself down there yesterday and being rescued 20 minutes later by a neighbor, knuckles bruised from banging on the door. Turns out this is a very good way to meet neighbors.)
3) How many 24-year-olds break their ankles? Did we somehow cause this by our Sunday conversation about his gruesomely broken arm in childhood?
4) We've been so overjoyed to move to a city where everything you'd want is in walking distance--how well will he be able to get around? How crazy will this drive him?
5) This throws quite a wrench into our early August road trip plans.
6) I'm glad he'd already stopped training for the SF marathon in a week and a half.

And on, etc. At least it gives me something to occupy my mind while I sit ineffectually in Berkeley while he gets his bones set in San Jose.

Happy, bone-knitting thoughts to Bryan.


UPDATE: We just got back from the ER (I did end up going). Bryan is fine. It turns out that his ankle isn't broken; it was just dislocated and a couple of bones chipped. Functionally, it's as if he broke it--it will end up in a cast--but without the long-term arthritis implications. I am very glad I ended up getting there late, thus missing all of the gross positioning. Evidently his foot was perpendicular to his leg. Considering I almost passed out when he had laser eye surgery, I would not have been much help tonight.

:: Leslie H - 7:02 PM - ::

Ode to my old bumper sticker

Today I had to pick you off in pieces. Covered in road dirt, slashed by other cars' license plate bolts from my parallel-parking-by-feel, you ended your 6-year reign on my bumper, giving way to a parking permit. Your simple square, W with a no sign, ended in 9 shreds on the leg of my jeans, where I stuck your pieces as I peeled them off.

For as long as Bush has held office, you have denied his middle initial with courage, with heart, with simple elegance. You have encapsulated my bumper-sticker political views since Dad made me remove the "Bush is a punk-ass chump" sign for fear I'd get a brick through my window in our conservative Texas neighborhood. With eloquence and fortitude, despite the slings and arrows of minor bumper collisions and creative parking strategy, you have held on.

But today, after wiping yellow chalk off my tires every two hours all morning, I had to get a Berkeley resident parking permit. It must be on the left side of my rear bumper. You were bumped. But I will not forget you. Further, I believe that a Berkeley resident permit will carry on the spirit of your message.

A special note to our president: lest you think the removal of my "No W" sticker implies any kind of approval of your policies, know that in 6 years, my opinion of you has changed little. Though what then I excused as inept, I now consider sinister.

:: Leslie H - 2:10 PM - ::

Well, I'm finally home. Monday's Index was a red herring; I didn't leave Thailand till Thursday. (Due to the 14 hour time difference, I left Bangkok at 7 am and arrived in San Francisco at 9:30 am on the same day.) I'm feeling jet-lagged and kind of sick, but I'm glad to be home.

Though "home" is a tricky word. Our apartment has been mostly packed for a couple of weeks, and tomorrow we move to Berkeley. Which is really the reason for this post: I know it will be a couple of days before I have internet access again.

Pictures are up on gallery from the whirlwind Thailand tour. Be sure to leave comments.

:: Leslie H - 9:47 PM - ::

Thailand Index (in the style of Harpers and Clare)

Number of potentially malarial insect bites: 37

Maximum persons fit into the back of a pick-up truck: 17 (incl. 4 hanging onto back)
including small children/nursing babies: 20
including driver and 2 Buddhist monks in the front seat: 23

Instances of squat toilet usage (estimate) : 23

Hours spent being massaged: 7
approx total cost: $35

Maximum number of times Catie was observed to brush her teeth in one day: 6

Elephants ridden: 1

Total bus rides: 5 (approx 16 hours)
with AC: 1 (approx 2.5 hours)

Number of fellow Americans encountered: 1 (Charles, from East Palo Alto)

Number of Buddhas seen (exaggerated estimate): 700,000
number of monks (realistic estimate): 400

Time in life lost to air pollution inhaled: 4 months

Number of thai dishes cooked: 7

Number of days before we were sure of our tour guide's name: 3

Number of times tour guide has said the phrase, "it's okay, you can do it" : 150
number of times he's started a story with the phrase, "long time ago, in Thailand..." : 476
range of years indicated by "long time ago" : anything between 3 and 2,000

Chang beers consumed: approx 23
Chang beers consumed by Tim: approx 87

Max number of days without a shower: 3
number of "showers" taken via a trashcan and a bowl of water: 2

Baht/dollar: 41

Average daily wage of Thai worker: 160 baht

Average cost of pad thai in restaurant: 40 baht

[Bonus] Top three British words heard from travel-mates
1. rubbish As in: "That's a really rubbish t-shirt."
2. fancy As in: "I fancy a bit of a wander round."
3. cheers In place of "hello," "goodbye," "thank you" etc.

:: Leslie H - 2:06 AM - ::

Okay, I left us in the jungles of Thailand, sweating through our clothes and gawking at awesome mountain vistas and dung beetles alike.

Aside from two long hills, the hike wasn't too strenuous, and it was very beautiful. But around 1:00 we reached a large river that we certainly couldn't cross alone. It called for elephants. We waited by the river for about 15 minutes, enjoying the rest and swatting at the gnat clouds around our heads, and then we caught sight of our elephants lumbering toward us.

You mount an elephant by climbing on something tall and stepping on its head and neck. Two passengers sit perched on a little bench on top, sometimes with a rope tied across as a makeshift (and probably completely ineffective) seatbelt. The elephant handlers walked along behind, keeping the elephants moving with yells and, occasionally, a slap on the testicles. As a passenger, you have no control over where the elephant goes or what it does. Ours would stop to rip down whole branches of bamboo and particularly succulent vines to carry in their trunks and munch on as they strolled. Sometimes they would take a snort of river water and hose themselves (and us) down. It was altogether the greatest experience of my life.

Okay, it wasn't the greatest experience of my life. But it was pretty damn cool. And after 30-45 minutes, it was pretty damn cool to get off the elephants and eat lunch in the shade.

The last leg of our journey was by bamboo raft. Now, when they said bamboo raft to me, I didn't think about it that much. I imagined the sort of large, sturdy, inflatable raft that I had always ridden in before. Bamboo, I vaguely determined, must refer to the scenery on the river banks, or, at most, the poles we would use to navigate.

Oh, white city girl. While we ate our pad thai in the elephant hut, our rafts were being built entirely out of bamboo. They were the sort of long, lashed together pole rafts that every child imagines building but no one would be crazy enough to ride on. They're about 20 feet long and 4 feet wide, bamboo stalks tied together with bamboo strips. When loaded with 6 people, they ride about and inch under water, so you stand or get all your clothes wet (we all eventually chose the latter). You avoid crashing into things (rocks, river banks, elephants) by pushing off of them with 12-foot poles. It was awesome.

An hour or so later, we sailed into our next village like conquistadors--well, with the pride, without the will to exterminate native peoples. Houses in this village were built from bamboo and teak, on stilts, and with only perhaps 6 chicken-per-person. We took long bucket baths in the bathroom huts, toured around the village, met the citizenry, learned some fun facts (a fat pig under a house means there's a single woman there), and enjoyed another delicious meal cooked by our guide Tee, who we were increasingly convinced could do anything.

We were excited when our local guide Sin took out the guitar and offered to play us some traditional Karen music (it was the people we were staying with and the tribe he was from). Then he busted out with "Hey Jude." This kicked off a reprise of the 1970s, mostly Tee playing Led Zepplin, Pink Floyd, the Beatles, Simon and Garfunkle, etc. Because in addition to cooking, raft-building, haggling, and getting groups of tourists all over the country, he's also an incredible guitarist. But we did learn one Thai song, which we've been singing ineptly since. The Chang song, in honor of the elephants and the Thai beer we drank waay too much of. I love it. Here it is:

Elephant, Elephant, Elephant
(alternately: Chang, Chang, Chang)
Have you ever seen elephant?
Elephant have big bod-ee
Long nose which we call nyong
Two teeth we call nyaaa
Two eyes, two ears
and a long tail.

It's evidently a children's song, but of course we couldn't seem to pull it off. We always seemed to fall apart after the long nose we call nyong part. (You should have heard us practicing the Thai word for tusks, which sounds something like"nyaaa." We sounded like a mental ward.)

We drank a lot. I drank much more than usual. Too much. It was a great night, but it sort of disappears into a haze. I'm told that near the end I spent 20 minutes in the bathroom hut (bamboo walls, spiders, squat toilet, trash can full of water for bathing/manually flushing the toilet) probably with Catie's headlamp strapped to me, and they only knew I was okay because I was laughing hysterically the whole time.

Anyhoo, the next day we rose far too early (but without the help of roosters) and got back on the bamboo rafts. Now, rafting was beautiful and certainly not strenuous, but I must advise you in the strongest possible terms not to get on a boat after a night of Chang beer. I was never actually sick, but I did want to die a little bit. I pulled it together after a few hours, though, and enjoyed most of the ride. To entertain ourselves, we started playing silly summer camp games (20 questions, etc), adopting interesting bugs as pets (Ah, Quincy, where are you now?), and, of course, singing the elephant song. In the afternoon, we hopped back into a pick-up and bounced down an almost impassible dirt road back to the city.

Oh, the glories of a shower when you're dirty. Even if the hotel room is muggy and the drain is clogged so you end up ankle-deep in your filthy water.

As soon as we'd showered, we turned on the TV--everywhere I've been in the world gets the BBC, and sometimes it's nice to hear people talking in English when you're in a foreign country. It was 9:30 or 10 in London, and they were just beginning to get reports of explosions in the tube and rumors of one on a bus, but they were still thinking they were power surges. We told our British travel companions to turn on their TV and left for a long Thai massage. By the time we returned a few hours later, they were certain it was terrorism and had many more specifics. We tuned in for updates every few hours--it was interesting watching the differences in coverage on the BBC, CNN, and an Asian news channel (all in English). Superficial observation: American news anchors are grossly tanned. At our Thai cooking class yesterday, we spoke to two travelers from London, one of whom normally took one of the damaged trains, at that time, and likely would have been on it had they been at home. The general reaction from the hordes of British here seems to be understandable alarm, concern for friends/relatives in London, and the sense that some attack was inevitable, only a matter of time.

In about half an hour we leave for Chiang Rai and sort of the last leg of our trip. Yesterday Catie and I took a Thai cooking class, so I pledge to come home and cook two kinds of curry and hot and sour soup. I'm sure I will blog again before I leave. In a week I'll be moving to Berkeley...

:: Leslie H - 7:22 PM - ::

After living with an expressway in my front yard for two years in Austin, I moved to California and thought the ocean sounded a lot like traffic. In the jungles of Thailand, I mistook the whine of cicadas for construction noise. ("Who would be using a buzz saw in this village that lacks running water?")

There's too much to cover in detail. Catie, Tee-the-Thai-tourguide, our two British companions (mates) and I returned from our wilderness trek yesterday. It was hard, insanely sweaty, and without a sit-down toilet in sight, but I think we all had the most fun of the trip so far.

Kanchanaburi and the River Kwai gave way to Ayudhya, ruined temples, and an overnight train voyage, and we found ourselves in Chiang Mai, the capital of northern Thailand (important sights: the grandest gold Buddhas yet and warehouse/factories where you can see people doing various impressive things by hand, like polish gem stones, weave silk, carve teak, and make those painted paper umbrellas). We ate a northern Thai dinner, sitting on the floor and helping ourselves to culinary delights like fried chicken legs, fried bananas, and fried pork fat, which Tim informed us was sometimes available in British pubs and called something like "pork scratchings." (It was actually a great meal; I'm just being snotty.) As we finished eating, dancers performed for an hour or so, a series of traditional dances to live music on instruments I didn't recognize.

Then we took our last shower for three days and headed into the hills via our most common form of transportation: the back of a pick-up truck.

The scenery driving into the mountains had us literally hanging our heads out the side of the truck for a better view. Lush jungles growing on impossibly steep slopes, tops of mountains disappearing into misty clouds, etc. We stopped for a quick lunch in a leaf-thatched hut, sampled a few local fruits (something like "rambutan" and "longhan") and hiked for a couple of hours to our first village, home of about 200 Lisu people. Notable details: slash-and-burn at work, domesticated water buffalo, and more barnyard animals than I ever needed to be so close to.

The hilltribes, by the by, are various groups who live in nearly inaccessible villages in the mountains, who came to Thailand from China, Laos, Burma, etc, usually fleeing from wars. They include the Lisu, Karen, Lahu (whose villages we saw or stayed in) the Hmong (whom I've read about), and several others which I can't remember. They farm rice, raise livestock, and sell crafts aggressively.

Our first night gave me great appreciation for Clare's lifestyle: squat toilets, bucket baths, and obnoxiously noisy farm animals (no sheep, alas). The village had no power or running water (although the Thai government gave them some solar cells to power radios and the occasional light 2-3 months ago), and approx 14 chickens to every person. The people were definitely friendly--we walked around a bit and sat in someone's house for a while, but not really outgoing. None seemed to speak more than a few words of English--why would they?--so we didn't have a lot of interaction. We ate our noodle dinner by candlelight and went to bed shortly after dark, legs shiny with insect repellent.

The chorus of roosters started about 3 am, and we emerged from our bamboo barn sleeping quarters to find half the village women with crafts spread out on blankets, whom we practically had to step over to get to breakfast. In traditional dress, teeth black from chewing narcotic nuts, they guilted us all into buying a little something. We ate, paid off our white guilt, and left.

We all seemed to enjoy the second day the most. We started our 4-hour hike by cutting through a very muddy rice field and disturbing some wallowing water buffalo. We walked up and down a serious hill and sweated more than we thought possible, trying various remedies to relieve the heat/dampness, including a hat made from a giant jungle leaf by our hilltribe guide (whose name sounded a lot like "Sin").

Alright, to be continued, because I have to go to my Thai cooking class...

:: Leslie H - 6:14 PM - ::

A few quick updates

The heat: After all my worry, it's not even as bad as Texas. Which I've forced myself to stop saying to my sweating, miserable travel companions.
The group: We expected to be traveling with 12--we got 4: me, Catie, and Tim and Nancy, college students from Britain. Our guide is a 30-something Thai guy who basically gets us places and turns us loose, so we don't at all have the feeling of being on a guided tour. It's just that all our transportation and lodging is taken care of, and we're presented with several options for what to do with our time.
The sights: At the moment we're lodged in a guest house that's floating on the River Kwai (it's not as nice as the one in Bangkok--the rooms feel like you're trapped in a wicker basket, and there are birds roosting in the ceiling). We've buzzed up and down the river, seen the famous bridge (which I knew zip about save the name), driven through the mountains in the back of a pick-up, hiked, toured a WW2 museum, and swum in a beautiful waterfall. Oh, and more giant gold Buddhas. We don't even bother taking pictures anymore.
The tourists: I'm so used to Europe being overrun with Americans; here there are relatively few tourists, mostly Asian, a good helping of Australians, some Europeans, and only a smattering of Americans (I actually can't think of any we've met). It's refreshing.
Highlights: the food, the scenery, the prices, picking up British slang from our tour-mates
Lowlights: showering in a toilet stall with pigeons hopping overhead, getting black-lung from the exhaust fumes
Next: Who knows? I don't have to plan anything!

:: Leslie H - 3:31 AM - ::