Maybe it was the Wind

January 14, 2015

Kong Chiam, Thailand

January 15, 2015

As we sit in our unusually comfortable guest house in Kong Chiam, Thailand for a third day poised to exit Thailand to southern Lao in only sixteen miles, we've been reflecting on our trip through Isan. I didn't know what to expect in this vast eastern lobe (the elephant's ear) of Thailand. I've always been interested in visiting Isan and now I know that our route along the Mekong was a very good plan.

The towns we've stayed in as well as all the tiny villages we’ve passed through have truly been a delight - the people generous of character. I was surprised to learn how poor most people are in Isan. In fact, it's the poorest area of Thailand I've ever seen. I’d heard that most farmers in Thailand are basically subsistence farmers but over here in hot, dry, out-of-the-way Isan they must be just barely making ends meet.

It's no wonder, then, that they will never forget a prime minister (Thaksin) who pushed through cheap health care for all Thais more than ten years ago. The plan was sustainable for only a few years, as long as Thaksin thought he would be in office, but no one admits that fact around here. In the minds of Isan farmers there are no guarantees of anything, especially for a few years. They only remember the kindness extended to them. I remember it as a shrewd political move.

A little more flimsy political move came from Thaksin a few years later when he was running for a second term. He promised all the farmers a baby water buffalo. Six months after he was re-elected the farmers finally asked where their baby water buffaloes were. Thaksin’s spokesmen told the farmers that they would be coming but they wanted to “grow them up a bit more.”

Of course no one ever received a water buffalo but the Thais love a story that makes them laugh. “Mai pen rai”, (never mind) they say. It’s almost as if the laugh was calculated into the water buffalo scheme. Brilliant move Thaksin, brilliant move. If you make a Thai laugh you have made a friend and in this case a vote with the red shirts from now on is certain from Isan farmers.

Although each Mekong River town has had its own unique personality there has been an overriding atmospheric feeling which they all share. It's hard to describe but I've felt I was in a place where either a film has been made, is being made or should be made. The desolate down-and-out hopeless feeling in The Last Picture Show comes to mind. The constant wind played the role of dispassionate - impassive. In the film human emotions are laid out in front of us so raw and unfiltered that we can't bring ourselves to turn away. Instead we’re riveted and drawn in further. Like gazing at the tremendous upwellings of Mekong waters; terrifying, but I looked and looked because it was also unusually beautiful. We all share these feelings.

Lots of things in the Mekong towns are broken, dilapidated, used up, discarded in a heap, blowing around, banging against the house in the wind that blew constantly from the east. Streets were largely deserted. Everyday we wondered where everyone was and more often we wondered where in the Hell we were. Dogs lying in the dirt didn't move as we rode inches from them. We sometimes thought they were dead but they were just sleeping soundly wherever they had dropped trusting everyone. That alone says something about the character of the people. They wouldn’t hurt even a dog, the lowest being on the Buddhist totem pole.

We have found that the best and loudest Isan music emanates from the worst shacks.

The streets nearest the Mekong and the quickly-returning-to-nature promenades were the most desolate. Promenades should be promenaded upon! Instead weeds sprawled and we rode over them. The fact that we didn’t see more than a handful of people in each tiny community was quite odd since it’s the dry season and work in the fields comes to a halt for a few months. We saw a few people weaving baskets, a wintertime occupation or pastime. Maybe the people were cold, retreated inside and closed all the doors and windows. It was a mystery to us but the wind seemed to intensify the atmosphere I was feeling. Rusting signs squeaked in the wind and I thought of saloon doors in the American west swinging, banging, dust blowing in.

A promenade and main street of a tiny village.

Maybe because the people were so incredibly nice to us I come away thinking they aren’t doing as badly as they probably are and then I am more free to enjoy the atmosphere I describe. Am I a bit insensitive to admit that I enjoy such an atmosphere? I don’t know. I am who I am and I enjoyed riding slowly through these would-be Hollywood sets; my creativity invigorated. It’s not that I like to see people not be more successful. There’s also the completely different way of looking at life over here. We foreigners might see poverty but I’m not so sure they view themselves that way. There is a humanity and rich communal way of living which we have largely lost in the West. They might even view our societies as lacking some essential element and feel sorry for us. At any rate, I loved the villages and the people we encountered.

One day we stopped at a place where funerals and cremations take place. Normally in Thailand if you see a small building that looks sort of like a temple but not really because it has a very tall skinny chimney, it's a crematory with a furnace. In poor areas there isn't enough money to build those buildings and the bodies are burned in simple brick-lined pits.

Whether buildings with chimneys or open pits there are always covered platforms for the friends and family of the deceased to sit, pray and eat while the body burns. Probably music is played but I don't know this because I actually have never experienced a cremation at one of these places.

As the people mingle or listen to the monks chanting the deceased body is inside an elaborate, colorful framework made of bamboo decorated with intricately folded banana leaves, paper and flowers. It's all burned in the brick pit a few feet from everyone at the auspicious time.

There is a closeness of community. Everything is more communal than we westerners are used to and with this tight togetherness and the beliefs of Buddhism, there is more acceptance of death. The burning flesh must smell horrible but it's life, or death which is an essential part of life. The Thais deal with it head on while gossiping and eating. Life goes on. So it doesn't matter much if things are rusting away or swinging in the wind on their houses. Everything is transient. Life goes on and there are important things such as marriages, births, children and getting enough to eat.

As we sat there resting under the covered area we talked about the many spirits that might be roaming the area. Andrea went over to the blackened brick structure and threw in some peanuts to appease any spirits who might be angry with us. It's what the Thais would have done too. Actually the Thais probably would never dream of stopping at such a place for a rest and a snack. Things have specific functions and spirits lurk.

Thais are very superstitious and everyone has stories about spirits. Everyone. That's why Thais build spirit houses in the corner of their yards, for the spirits of the land who were displaced when a house was built on the site. Even gas stations have spirit houses in the corner of their lots. Funny, then, that the cremation grounds did not have a spirit house. Maybe they get an exemption for some reason. There is so much to learn.

We had noticed the old shack near the funeral area. It looked abandoned but as we munched oranges and peanuts we saw a very old woman hobble out and go to the outhouse. I'm sure she functions as the caretaker of the entire compound, allowed to live in the shack for the rest of her life. Maybe she has no family to care for her so the people of the community do. She’s first given a job of sorts so she has a purpose to live and in return food is provided. The people gain merit by helping an old helpless person and in return they might have a better life next time around. There really is nothing to take care of at the cremation grounds but the old woman thinks she has an important function. The people of the village probably think she has abilities to make peace with the spirits as well. Simple but intricate, it all works out.

For us it was another aspect of a complex society we have only begun to understand. Being on bikes we feel as though we are closer to everything. Questions come more frequently and some answers are revealed too.

The poorest areas had only these brick lined pits in which cremations took place.

Isan has a lot of these funerary pagodas lining the walls of temples. The family provides them to hold the ashes of loved ones and they act similar to headstones. Sometimes they are placed in the yards of homes.

Maybe it was the constant wind coming off the Mekong that made me feel as if I was at the seaside. There were so many promenades, even in the smallest towns, and they resembled seawalls. Especially when we were in the bigger cities such as Nakon Phanom and Mukdahan I had the distinct feeling we were instead in Havana, Cuba or Pondicherry, India; places where severe, blocky architecture of raw cement is common. Places where decay is common as well. The upper floors always seemed as if no one lived or worked in them. At night there were no lights up there. It was a feeling of emptiness in more ways than one. But again, maybe selfish of me, I enjoyed that feeling. It was something I wasn't expecting so when it happened to such a great extent every single day of our time through Isan, I soaked it up.

The great Isan women cooks have provided us with some of the best Thai food I’ve ever eaten. We bought fifty cent plastic bowls when we entered Thailand and around 4PM everyday we go in search of the night market in each small town. We want to be early because the food we are looking for, in stainless steel trays or big pots, cools and is sold quickly. There is never more than one woman in each town who cooks the old-style, REAL Thai food we seek.

This type of Thai food is so complex and good that it would make Andy Ricker, of Pok Pok fame in Portland, curl up and whimper at the feet of these master chefs. Unfortunately few women, usually older, still make these recipes and bring them to the open air markets. I imagine it's a lot of work cooking all day at home, keeping it hot and then transporting all of it to the market area. It's my favorite food to such an extent that when I find it I always stop and eat no matter if I have already eaten and am full.

The women spoon our selections into plastic bags and tie them with rubber bands in such a tricky way that I’ve never figured out how the heck they did it. Back in our room it takes us quite some time to undo the rubber bands. We get impatient and cut the rubber bands with a knife. We dump the food in our bowls and ooooh and awww about the flavors. Most people would call it ‘take away’ or ‘take out’ but we call it, "Bowl Food”. Each bagful costs less than a dollar and a bag of rice, enough for both of us, is 60 cents .

Here in Kong Chiam we haven’t found any ‘Bowl Food’ yet. Often this type of food is made only on “special” night market days which are held on Mondays and Fridays. But we’ve eaten at the very basic restaurants right inside the main market. Each seems to specialize in one or two dishes and we’ve spread our interest in their food equally. All have been great and the best part is that here in Thailand I never get sick no matter how dirty the area looks. The Thais have figured out how to keep food clean and to use only bottled water for washing vegetables. These precautions do not occur in neighboring countries as much and it’s just a matter of time before I have intestinal distress. It’s just another facet why I’ve loved pedaling from small town to small town along the Mekong in Isan: Not worrying about getting sick from the food is so nice.

I’m pleasantly surprised by how fun biking and visiting Isan has been and frankly I don’t want to leave this part of Thailand. Tomorrow is Friday and maybe the special night market will happen and there will be an older woman with an array of old style foods in stainless steel trays. The thought makes me want to stay one more day. Maybe the wind will be too strong tomorrow. Just one more day. Any excuse. My tastebuds are whining.

Lovebruce

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