Penelope

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Textures of Thailand

 

As I say farewell to two months in Thailand, I sift through old and random photos taken to give you the colors, textures, and patterns that surrounded me.

 

 

 

Food Craving

 

What you're looking at is an example of a daily staple in my diet over here: fresh squeezed juice, fried bananas, squash, and taro. And as I said goodbye to the cranky fruit man for the last time yesterday, it got me thinking about the food you find yourself depending on abroad.

For me, going abroad has induced cravings which I can only assume must be on par with the intensity and specificity of the pregnancy type. I don't know if I should call this emotional fulfillment or my-body-needs-this-give-it-to-me-now survival instinct. But after reflecting on our time in Ubon, I don't think it's a phenomena unique to me.

I first noticed these intense and specific tastes after a bout of food poisoning. After surviving 24 hours where my stomach was trying to rend itself from my body and escape through my throat, I was scared to put anything back inside ... But when my hunger did return 48 hours later what did I crave?

Processed breads. Crackers. Donuts. Freakin' garlic butter toast.

We all did. And we made sure we fulfilled that need. There was no taxi ride too expensive to ensure we treated our bodies to digestible fare. So, after each of our food poisoning episodes, we survived on refined buns of nutrient leeching flour to build our tolerance up again for the much less processed but suddenly much scarier local food.

The perplexing choices your body makes...You don't appreciate a food back home, in fact, you may not even like it. And then, you see the shiny familiar looking wrapper in a store and your stomach takes a robot like control, much like Krang of the old ninja turtles cartoon. And.you.must.have.that.food. 

Krang: "PRETZEL DOG, NOW!!!"

A few weeks back I saw a snickers bar at 7-11 and I had that Krang-like reaction. Every other food option within my bike radius (pad-Thai, fried rice, stir-fry) suddenly sounded the equivalent of ingesting drywall. And if I wasn't able to access that candy bar then and there, I knew I would die a long, slow nougat-less death.

So I ate three of them, one for lunch, two for dinner (with a side of pineapple and papaya of course.) 

Cringe if you want, but I never felt sick. Instead, I was practically reborn.

What could my body have been lacking in my Thai diet that it needed to supplement with this American candy?

Well, there's caramel (which never was a favorite of mine), peanuts (which are readily available in other forms), and chewy nougat (whatever that is)...but I think we all know it was just the processed combination conveniently wrapped up in a cradle of chocolate.

The craving isn't just for junk food. I've had days where I practically crawled to the salad bar at Tops Grocery in the ritzy mall that you have to take a cab just to get to, and I filled my plastic container with uncooked, unprocessed, wholly recognizable vegetables.  I practically wept when the cashier handed me my container of greens and it was mine, all mine. And then I guarded it jealously until I was safely back in my room and no Thai cook could snatch it out of my hands and mush-ify with boiling pig fat and chili paste.

The craving works both ways too. It's not just familiar American food you want. You discover something new and amazing, like taro chips, fried fruits, or spicy tofu on a stick and your Krang-like stomach commands: "THE KEY TO YOUR SURVIVAL IS THIS!"

Oh sweet taro chips. You are deceptively insubstantial, and then a whole bag is gone.

I can only attribute these strangely specific cravings to the adjustment you're putting your body through by living in a foreign country. So no, I don't think this is emotional eating and it definitely shouldn't be over-eating. I think of it as the process your body goes through as it demands the things it's lacking during the adjustment phase.

So, what will I be giving up when I go back to the States? Sweet fried bananas, squash, and potatoes from the grumpy fruit man... Pineapples and papayas from the sweet fruit lady. And a life-giving protein source I only just discovered the night before I had to leave it all behind... meat-on-a-stick from the street vendors.

As I'm just about to put my body through the re-adjustment to American processed foods, no doubt you'll be able to find me rushing to the nearest Thai restaurant in Honolulu and inhaling chili paste and curry like there's no tomorrow.

I just had one last snickers bar earlier today and it definitely failed in satisfying that void I'm currently feeling in my basic survival. The culprit? Meat-on-a-stick. Totally unreachable to me now. Dammit all.

to Ubon's Candle Festival

The festival took over much of the city center Tuesday morning.  Big cumbersome wax floats were being driven around corners and nearly over the toes of the packed onlookers. Parade officials motioned frantically to step back.  The street cops directed pedestrians with sharp whistles and stoic nods. And pushing the overflow of spectators into the street were the sponsors' booths, the smiling workers handing free visors and water bottles to all.

Last week this place would have been an asphalt sauna baking in the 9 am sun. But after the morning rain it was only a warm towel on our skin.

If I could send you a post card of what it was like, I would.

But a post card doesn't capture the noise of Thai voices talking over moving trucks and blaring loudspeakers. You might see some blurry people on the edge of a postcard, but would you be able to feel the press of the crowd, or the touch of someone you don't know putting their hand on your back so they don't get swept away by the tide?


A post card might show people, yes, but you wouldn't be able to make eye contact with the dancers as they pass by, all dressed in silks and silver. With hair pieces piled high and sparkly eye shadow covering their lids they looked like beauty contestants. And you sidled by each other, each trying to navigate the slippery sidewalks and dripping eaves.

Older boys looked sour as they stood with their twenty-some balloons tangling above their heads, ready to sell them all.  An older women squeezed by, batting her woven fan under our noses, enticing us into a purchase with the flutter of her wrist. But even as we were regretting letting her go by, a breeze picked up and we were reborn.

We walked around the huge wax sculptures and followed the sounds of electric sitar, bells, and drums to a group of musicians warming up in the parade lineup.

If I showed you a picture of the scented candle float that came next, you might be able to appreciate the greens and blues and pinks, but would you feel that same sense of awe after rounding the corner as we did?  This dazzling watercolor of wax, so nuanced and full of depth, came after seeing only dark orange after dark orange for weeks before.

And if I handed you a picture of of this float you most certainly wouldn't be able to trace the grooves of the fish scales under your fingers. And you wouldn't be able to smell the delicate flowery perfume, which draws you in from several feet away with its lingering fragrance... an oasis for your nose in this car-exhaust, mud filled place.

The smells of street food filled our noses as we moved on. Vegetables in greasy breading, boiled squid and balls of sausage...all impaled on convenient sticks and ready to be grabbed for only 20 baht.

But the sizzle of frying bananas and coconut pastries beckoned us away.

I wish I could mail you the taste of the gooey green rice surrounding this bright yellow banana, a dessert like I've never had. I wish I could send you the feeling of biting into the rock hard shell of a fried donut and nearly chipping your tooth, only to be rewarded by finding a ball of sweet bean paste inside.


As I drank my icy coconut water, condensation dripping down my shirt in the heat, we walked by the main parade.  Stands were packed tight in neat rows, filled with people and their matching pink visors. Their eyes focused somewhere between the group of farangs walking past them and the floats driving by. It was a mutual scrutiny though, and we gave them a curious once over too.

A post card simply couldn't immerse you in the blaring voices and commercial jingles blasting out of the loudspeakers of the floats. At such a volume they crackled into an earthquake of noise. We put our fingers in our ears and wondered how the performers could stand it.

The maze of the parade took us tiptoeing around the back of the stands, sidestepping the mud and all the electrical cords running through it. It was a popular passage and we had to take turns letting the opposite foot traffic go by.

Students from the local schools were waiting on the other side. They approached would-be-westerners timidly, asking for a short interview, a photograph, and a signature for a school project. Well, some were shy with their English, but others were completely assertive.

The next postcard would have to show a quiet moment in the shade of a wat. The festival still carried on around us, but through the walls and the food trucks the noise was a little subdued. And the postcard wouldn't really be of the temple that we were sitting in front of but what's behind the photographer on a bench under a tree: a baby smashing his chubby fist into a cup of juice. I can only assume that was his older sister maneuvering a second sibling up and down the bench in some game that looked vaguely familiar but that I didn't recognize. The baby continued to slam his fist through the lid and as I smiled to myself I noticed that the mom was smiling at my reaction, and suddenly it felt like I was an active participant in this postcard all along.

Then we left the wat behind and were all piling into a taxi.  The driver was friendly and asked which city and which state... all through Mint's helpful translations.  And as he cocked his head to hear our one-word answers, we began to slowly inch away from the crowd, away from the heavy traffic, and back into the normal city sounds.

And in the post card, if there is such a post card of you from the back seat of the taxi in Ubon, you'd be feeling pretty nostalgic already for next year when you could look back on this candle festival and say you got to experience a small part of it.