Kudos For You Who Do Bamboo

A man with a heavy yoke bearing wok-like metal caldrons of coals with roasted eggs and peanuts on their grates walks past an upscale, five-star continental restaurant. A man in worn clothes and a coolie hat pushes a large cart filled with elegant, handmade brooms made of fine rushes in front of a modern department store. Their customers, people with incomes similar to theirs, pay very little for their wares - foreigners pay much more. We don't complain. The new/old, rich/poor parade is common to Thailand. We hear varying opinions about it all the time. Change is inevitable, change is sad and change is exhilarating. Judgements are a waste of time.


One becomes accustomed to the disparities, but the juxtaposition of new next to old is occasionally startling. I was startled today. We were in a five-storied shopping complex called, "Big C". The shop we were looking for was on the top floor, so we took a series of escalators up from the basement parking area. As we approached the last escalator, we saw an enormous grid of bamboo sticks supporting the scaffolding for a work platform near the ceiling of this huge building. Evidently, there is some cleaning, or the hanging of a new decorative installation going on up there.


At first glance, it appeared as if this flimsy looking array of bamboo sticks of varying diameters could be blown down by any huffing-puffing passing wolf, but upon close inspection, I realized it was a masterful piece of engineering. The construction was elegant, sensible, sturdy and a perfect example of economic simplicity. There were no metal parts - not a screw - not a nail - not a stanchion. The requisite triangulation was kept to a minimum - no redundancies (as found in heavily regulated western scaffolding). I had the feeling that I was looking at a child's tree-house until I zeroed in on the joined parts.


Every length of bamboo was lashed to it's supporting leg with heavy twine twisted taut with a short stick, and it, in turn, was tied down to keep it from flying off like a toy propeller wound on a rubber band.


I was mesmerized by it all. I'm not sure what feelings coursed through me as I marveled at the construction of this scaffolding. Here I was, standing in the bowels of an extravagant, modern shopping mall and staring at the sort of construction one might have seen at the building site of The Great Pyramid Of Giza. Mostly, I was overwhelmed with joy just knowing that there are people still alive who know how to build something like this - people who build simply and expertly without using sophisticated materials, diagrams, or OSHA regulations.

I've seen numerous pickup trucks on the highways with long lengths of bamboo strapped to them. I have a new respect for the folks in the front seats and crammed into the truck beds - the guys in torn tee shirts, puffing on hand-rolled butts and grinning toothlessly at me as they pass. They are not poor and they know it - they are the masters of a fading art. They make me sad and they make me proud. They poke a bamboo stick into a ball of undefinable emotions.

Beached

Low season, or not, monsoons notwithstanding, A needs her water fix.

It's cruel to bring someone so enamored of water to an island circuited with such inviting beaches and day after day look out a window mumbling, "Damn... Look at those clouds... Nope... Can't go today either." Her trembling hands and the look in her eyes this morning told me that I had better not look out the window and we had better make at least an attempt to go to the beach, or I would end up dodging a homicidal water demon. She had her bathing suit on and a smile on her face when we got into the car. It was pouring rain.


We stopped for lunch on the way and sure enough, the clouds parted while we were eating, so we continued on to Nai Harn beach, a magical stretch of sand at the base of a group of steep hills covered with lush foliage at the southernmost tip of the island. The beach was practically deserted and for a practical reason - the waves were fierce and dangerous. Red flags are posted on the more popular beaches when it is too dangerous to go into the ocean and the red flags were flapping today.


Some tourists ignore the flags and are unable to resist the thrill of being buffeted by the fierce waves. Well, the crashing waves aren't the problem, it's the undertow; and it's unexpectedly strong. It will pull you off your feet, even in shallow water, and you might find yourself floundering, disoriented, with a mouthful of water, being tugged and scraped along the bottom and end up far from shore in a blink. A few tourists meet their end this way every year, despite the warnings and watchful eyes of the lifeguards. Below is the lifeguard's tower at Nai Harn today with the red flag blowing in the wind. There were three lifeguards on duty and only five people on the beach.


The lifeguards, sensing possible trouble, climbed out of the tower and positioned themselves on the beach, not far from the young ladies below. Sure enough, these gals were having a ball in the exciting waves, went way too far out and were very close to getting themselves into serious trouble. The lifeguards managed to get their attention and waved them in. We were happy to see them make it back to shore.



The tsunami hit Nai Harn hard, but there is little evidence of the devastation. Thailand has done an incredible and inspiring job of recovering from the catastrophe, but the skinned bark of this palm tree remembers and reminds.

A walked the beach and splashed about a bit. It wasn't a proper swim, by any means, but it erased the dangerous look she had in her eyes. We had about an hour at the beach before the next squall blew in and we drove home in yet another downpour.

It was rush hour.

And kids were getting out of school.

Some moms and dads pick up their kids after school, just like in suburbia USA - well, perhaps not exactly like in the USA.

Maybe the sun will shine tomorrow, the seas will calm down and we can make another attempt at ridding A of her trembles. I think it's a matter of survival for both of us.

Monsoon Rains & Body Bags

It's the monsoon season - the most balmy time of the year - my favorite season. Comfy temperatures and strong breezes push blustery, often ferocious, rain squalls over the island every day. The cool winds would be most welcomed during the winter months, when, oddly enough for this location seven degrees above the equator, the still air and heat descend on tourists who flock to the island for what we call, "the high season." Water sports, however, are much more enjoyable during the winter months and what else does one come to a tropical island for, if not the beaches?

There are no images accompanying this post, but the images associated with it will linger long in our minds.

A and I left Patong for the trip home around ten-thirty the other night. It had been another enjoyable, cool evening. We looked up at the fast moving clouds dancing around the moon as we bent into the Nissan for the forty-minute trip home. Maybe the rain was done for the day. Maybe there would be a calm window for us to travel in without extra cautions. It was not to be. We crawled past the police checkpoint leading out of Patong. The cops were ducking for cover as the first pounding drops of another rain squall hit our windshield. One never knows if the rain will last three minutes, or three hours at this time of the year.

We snaked through that squall easily and headed over the impossible winding mountain that separates the east and west sides of the island. We got over the mountain without having to deal with lightning, thunder or pelting rain and it appeared as if we might sail home dry. It was not meant to be. A roaring wet Lady of Hell & Fury came out from behind a cloud twenty-five minutes into the trip and buffeted us the rest of the way home.

Motorbikes are the predominant means of transportation, but more and more cars vie for space on the highways as the economy improves. Wise motorbike drivers pull off the road and look for an overhang to tuck themselves under during downpours. The roads are slippery and potholes are filled with water, so a motorbike driver can't scoot around them. Visibility is close to zero, especially at night and helmets are not equipped with windshield washers on their visors, so the best option for a motorbike is to pull off the road and wait it out. Unfortunately, some motorbike drivers think their driving skills will beat the miserable odds against making a safe journey.

We were about fifteen minutes away from home, crawling at a snail's pace through the pelting rain, when we spotted the whirling red lights of police vehicles. Our emergency lights were also blinking, as were most of the other slow moving cars on the road and everyone was driving cautiously and sensibly. We saw a policeman running along the side of the road as we got nearer the flashing lights surrounding an accident. A tan pickup truck was askew and perpendicular to the road, it's nose embedded in a roadside food stand. Two mangled motorbikes were spread about thirty feet apart. My heart dropped. The horror of it all - the image that will never go away - was the two body bags laying in the road quite a distance from one another. At least two people died on that spot not long before we drove past. It's a terrible feeling. We drove the rest of the way home in silence - the scene atrophied all conversation.

I've made a number of remarks about Thai drivers and driving conditions in earlier posts and, for the most part, I give Thai drivers very high marks - not so much because they are better drivers than anyone else in the world, but because they somehow manage not to kill one another off in greater numbers in face of the anarchy of these unpredictable highways. Anarchy is the only way to put it. Traffic laws are observed in a very off-hand manner and it's rare to find someone pulled over by a cop for an infraction. You learn to watch every motion of every vehicle before and behind you when on the highway and learn to read the signs that someone is going to run a red light - almost everyone does - or make a turn without giving a signal, or pass you when it appears as if there is impassable oncoming traffic in the opposite lane. There is no such thing as a relaxing drive here and every bit of the driver's attention has to be directed to the business of survival. That is not an exaggeration. Driving has become an exercise in extreme concentration for me, although I'm no longer nervous about it - jumpy nerves are as dangerous as inattention.

There is a pattern to it all, but it takes a while to figure it out. A van in the oncoming lane heads straight at you as it is passing two or three motorbikes in his lane. You are expected to veer over to your shoulder and give way to the oncoming van. If you don't, it's you who have caused the problem and possible collision, not the oncoming vehicle in your lane. Crazy, eh? That's only one craziness - there are countless others and you cannot navigate this vehicular spaghetti safely until you learn them all. It's the way it is and it's getting worse with the increasing number of vehicles.

The police seem to put most of their energy into pulling over and fining motorbike drivers who aren't wearing helmets. Most traffic deaths are motorbike riders, so I suppose the police try to reduce the fatalities by enforcing helmet laws, but it's obvious that the biggest killers are speed, total disregard of rights of way and ignored traffic lights. Highway lighting is poor, or nonexistent, except in a few intersections and it's difficult to see lane lines (as if anyone would bother to honor them). Until those issues are addressed and enforced in an aggressive manner, the fatalities will continue to escalate exponentially with the increasing number of vehicles on the roads.

The sacrosanct rules of the road here are hyper-vigilance and sensible speed. Too many drivers seem to be in a hurry to crawl into their body bag.