My Love Affair with Street Food

      I adore Thai street food. Love it. LOVE it. Eat it every single day and, if I don’t, miss it like crazy. I never get sick of sitting down on a faded plastic stool, often with questionable carry-capacity, scooting up to a metal card table, and chowing down on freshly prepared deliciousness. It will never get old and I can guarantee that it will be something that I mourn losing before I leave. 
  For many Westerners, street food is a bit iffy. Ordering food from a cart displaying is various raw wares and eating such food whilst sitting on the sidewalk is not something that 1st world citizens do with any frequency. Questions of sanitation are probably to first to pop up. Then there is the worry about what precisely one is eating. Fair enough. I get the initial apprehension. But, if you are going to come to Thailand (or any of Southeast Asia, India, Central/South America, or China....all places where street food is king) it is a tourist crime not to indulge in street food on multiple occasions. Get over the sanitation bit. I would rather see the person (and the hand) that is cooking my dinner than have them cloaked behind a kitchen door.  No, the food cart might not make an ‘A’ on a US health department scorecard but I doubt my kitchen in the States would do much better. Furthermore, Thais eat street food everyday themselves. If there were some hidden sanitation crisis I guarantee that street carts wouldn’t be frequented by families day after day. Not every country bathes in hand sanitizer. You’ll live. Promise. 
  The really delightful thing about street food is its variance. You won’t see a measuring cup or spoon-set. Instead, you’ll watch a street-chef prepare a meal from scratch, in minutes, from memory. Amazing in and of itself. Recipes vary by vendor, by street, by province, by region. For instance, in Bangkok, the som-tom makers understand my tender (by thai-standards) palate with regard to spice quotient... They understand my ‘pheed nit noy na ka’ to mean 1-2 chiles at maximum. But outside of Bangkok? In the heart of Issaan ‘pheed nit noy na ka’ seems to translate to: ‘I’d like to feel my tongue again, if it takes a day or two thats okay, just so long as it is not permanently in fire’. Not that I am complaining... I think that eating locally, on the street, in the proverbial gastronomic trenches is that quickest and easiest way to immerse myself in the particularities of a place. Where else can I get a literal taste of local culture while people watching, finding out the local gossip, and breathing in the sights/sounds/smells of an area? All this and the knowledge that I am supporting local people and eating (mostly) local agricultural products... Never have I ever been so satisfied with a meal on so many levels.

Tick Collection: Thai Style

      Back in third grade I was prompted to write about ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’. (Weren’t we all?)  You see, my entrance to nerd-dom started early. Really early. Even at the tender age of 8 I had my life planned out. I was going to be, wait for it.......... a HERBOLOGIST. Of course, that is an entirely made-up term. I defined this career as stomping through the jungle in exotic locales looking for plants that had medicinal properties. So very 8-year-old me. Screw dreams of being a prima ballerina, I set my sights on science early. Can you imagine the sort of response my desire garnered in my rural, WNC, public school teachers and peers? Yeah, I was that kid. Make my mistake, I was never ridiculed or bullied... well, not any more than is normal in the cruel world of children’s social interactions. But I was tagged at very early age as being a little, in Southern geniality terms, interesting.
      Fair enough. I am a little odd. Cool by me. 
      But, you know what is really cool?! 14 years later I AM getting paid to stomp through the rainforest. That’s right, I might not be a ‘herbologist’ but, gosh-darn-it, I am living the dream. Poetic justice or just coincidence? Who knows. And, frankly, I don’t care. What concerns me is that I got to go tick collecting in Thailand. So freaking cool.


Where? Northeastern Thailand. 
When? November 27-December 2nd, 5 days
Who? Chalao, Bpioo, Mee and I
Provinces? Chiayaphum, Phetchabun, Loei, Phitsanulok, and Uttaradit (And a glimpse of Laos!)
National Parks? PhuKhieo Wildlife Sanctuary, NaamNaao National Park, PhuSuan National Park, PhuSoiDao National Park, NamtokChatTrakan National Park
Ticks Collected? 200+ between the 4 of us
Ticks parasitized by? More than I care to admit. I stopped counting after I pulled nymph #40 off my stomach. We all managed to get a number of nymphs. Chalao has the brunt of the after effects. He is still dealing with bite site side-effects... we’ve been keeping track of his symptoms and documenting the wound progression. We even drew blood and have been doing some testing.
Trip Summarized in One Word: Wonderous. 


I think the pictures will speak for themselves (see video at the end of the post). But I do have a few anecdotes to share that have no equivalent pictorial representation:


The Leech
     I have never really dealt with leeches. In my mind they are creatures that inhabit faraway, watery  places. Sure, I was traipsing through the Thai rainforest but I wasn’t fording rivers.... surely, I would be fine. Wrong. 
     On the first day, our first national park, I was enthusiastically absorbed in leaving no leaf unturned for our pursuit of ticks. I was utterly in my element. We had walked for over an hour and were just about to retrace our way back to the truck. The day had been incredibly successful. Ticks were everywhere. I think at that point we had already found at least 3 genus... not too shabby. I was pretty blissed out and, at first, paid no mind to the wet, cold sensation on my foot. It became annoying enough that I reached down to brush it off. To my horror there was, attached to my foot and engaged in full-body pumping action, a LEECH. 
      I screeched, leapt up into the tell-tale, one-footed, balanced dance of ‘get the hell off’ and managed scare the beejesus out of everyone present. I think I might have even let a four-letter word or two slip. Really, I was a sight to behold. Chalao came to the rescue and procured the critter off my foot. Whew. I would have liked to have stomped it but Chaloa, ever the scientist, wanted to save it for a colleague. He 
      The funniest thing about this whole experience is that I am really, really conscious of ‘keeping face’ around my lab-mates. I try extremely hard to keep an air of academic professionalism. I do not allow myself to act anything less than happy in their presence, no matter what. And yet, there I was, in full blown freakout mode in the middle of the rainforest. So much for saving face. 
     As the trip progressed I acquired more leeches. Lots of them. The visceral, emotional response lessened with each one and I managed to even leave one attached long enough to snap a picture. Make no mistake, they still creep me the heck out. Ew. 


I Am my Father’s Daughter
     To really get the full effect of this story you have to understand that my father is just over 6ft tall and has, for the duration of my relationship with him, always managed to hit is head. If there is a low overhang, the crest of his head will meet it violently. Always. It is basically a running joke in our family that this sort of misfortune always befalls him. 
     Thailand is not made for tall people. And by ‘tall’ I mean anyone over 5’6”. By this definition, I am tall. Way tall. In Bangkok I get by pretty easy. Some buses have a tight head clearance but, mostly, there is no need for me to duck and weave through my daily life. However, in rural areas, things are simply not built to accommodate someone my height. Totally understandable.  Somehow, despite recognizing this fact, my physical actions did not reflect such knowledge. 
      Case and point: We stayed at a simply stunning bungalow near the Thai-Laos border. We arrived there late at night, in the pitch dark. The bungalow was set up in such a manner that one had to step from the group up to a porch and from the porch into the room. Unsurprisingly, the head clearance at both of these thresholds was low.... lower than could accommodate me. 
     So, the first time we inspected the room, I gingerly stepped up to the porch and *SMACK*, crest o’ head meets ceiling beam. Fantastic. I laughed and so did everyone else. It was really par for the course. Then, 15 seconds later, I did it again. Stepping into the bungalow, not even thinking about it, I stood tall and proud. *WAM*. Precisely the same point of contact. Lovely. The dull soreness from the first time around graduated into splitting headache. I laughed and, surprise surprise, so did everyone else... silly American who doesn’t understand her own height. I gobbled 3 ibuprofens and chugged water in hopes that pain would subside. 30 minutes later while I was exiting the bathroom, I hit my head AGAIN. Not even kidding. The impact wasn’t nearly as jarring as the first two times but it was significant and hardly pleasant.  Bpioo and Mee must have thought that I was the most clumsy person they had ever seen. Meanwhile, they dipped in and out of the bathroom with nary a thought of the low threshold. I couldn’t help but be a bit envious.

     The next morning we woke up in Thai heaven. It was misty and, dare I say, pretty chilly out. The porch of the bungalow overlooked a sprawling lotus pond and it was the kind of quiet that makes you wonder if rapture is real. I padded outside, camera in hand and explored the immediate area. On the way back in, I ducked under the first threshold and congratulated myself on being so savvy to remember to do so. Let’s just say I spoke too soon. 10 minutes later, after a brief session of psuedo-meditation on the porch, I attempted to step back inside the bungalow. *CRACK* The entire bungalow structure shuddered under the impact. goddamnit. I erupted into peels of laughter because, if I hadn’t, there was a good chance I would have welled up from frustration/pain. 
     Is such a thing genetic? I have little evidence to prove otherwise. 


The Chicken Head
      If you have been reading regularly, you will have noticed that the frequency of freaky food encounters has decreased. I attribute this partially to my increasing thai language capabilities “mai moo, na ka” and a mostly to my honed eye for mystery meat ingredients. 
      My lab mates understand my vegetarian tendencies and, despite my insistence that they do not, always try to accommodate my dietary finickiness. On this trip we had been eating alot of chicken, which I am okay with while here, but I’ve really never been chicken’s biggest fan. Chalao seemed to read my mind and after two solid days of chicken meals (6 meals straight), started asking for extra veggies... I was both deeply grateful and totally relieved. For the next two days I feasted on local mushrooms, morning glory, eggplant, and squash.... all way better than chicken. One our way back to Bangkok (an epic 600 km road-trip), Chalao was insistent that we stop at a roadside restaurant for a traditional Issan food as our last meal of the trip. Since SomTum, my absolute favorite green papaya salad was sure to be included, I knew it would be a delicious meal regardless of whether it included meat.
      We found the loveliest of restaurants perched on the side of a rice patty. It was empty save for a flock of roving mini-cocks, clearly some specialty breed of chicken, that were much cuter than the usual meat variety that roam everywhere here. One of the most traditional of Issan meals is somtum, baked -over-coals chicken, and sticky rice. The combination is exquisite when done right. Just the right amalgamation of salty, sweet, sour, and spicy. Our meal here was easily the tastiest example I have had the privilege of eating so far. Despite my usual indifference to chicken, this one was cooked to perfection and so perfectly complimented the side dishes that I couldn’t resist a second helping. Chalao, excited by my enthusiasm for the meal, quickly served me up another piece. 
      As I slowly pulled the meat from the bone, arranging forkfuls of equal portions sticky rice, papaya salad and chicken, I had trouble defining the portion of the bird I was eating. (I really shouldn’t be so inquiring) All the bones seemed to be in irregular places and there were ligaments I was not accustomed to dealing with. Finally, I pulled the last bit of crisped skin of the bone and revealed a chicken head, eyelids and wattle intact. It was all I could do not to change my demeanor. I took deep breaths, calmed my queasy stomach, and covered the atrocity with a paper napkin. It was probably the best act of self-control I have made yet. 
      Just when I think I have everything under control a chicken head lands on my plate. Good ole’ Thailand, keeps me on my toes. 

Looi Krathong

      Think about the 4th of July in the States. Recall the feelings of nostalgia, national unity, family bonding, and a care-free summer attitude. Imagine your favorite foods packed into a picnic basket and transported to a prime fireworks viewing location. Think about the traffic jams, the hordes of people at the most popular venues, and the air of celebration that is present in those crowds. 
       Now, shed all the Americanism. No star-spangled banner, no military parades, no BBQ, no Jesus, no Budweiser, and no bikini clad celebrants. Add ‘krathongs’ (small rafts made out of coconut leaves, bread or paper), sprinkle in a heaping portion of Buddhist ritual (incense burning, flower offering, samsara-teachings), a sense of wonder and awe of the environment, and a firm respect for Thailand monarchy. Imagine traditional thai songs, beauty pageants, endless celebratory street food, and constant smiles.  
      There you have it: Looi Krathong. A much beloved Thai holiday and one that I was able to celebrate the weekend of the 21st of November. I was graciously invited to accompany Chalao, Wan, Bpioo and her friends for their celebrations. So, on Sunday morning, I set out for the unknown. I hadn’t had time to do much homework on the holiday but I knew from my past experiences with Chalao that any trip he plans is sure to be incredibly rewarding.
      A bit of history on the holiday; Looi Krathong is a traditional celebration, thought to have originated over 500 years ago, that pays tribute to the life-giving and sustaining forces of the principal water ways in Thailand. It takes place just after the conclusion of the rainy season and, consequently, just as the yearly flood waters are receding. It is a celebration of the coming year and a ceremonial shedding of the past years worries, woes, and khamma. It is a way for Buddhists to rid themselves of a years worth of bad douka, poor khamma, and to start fresh in the new cycle of dry/wet season. The krathong’s carry alot of symbolism, much of which I am still naive of. However, most krathongs have a few key elements in common: flowers, incense, a candle, biodegradability, and a symbolic coin or two. Flowers, incense and candles play a pivotal role in buddhist offerings, therefore, no big surprise at their presence here. The krathongs are usually made out of leave or bread materials which can sink into the river and decompose or be eaten rapidly. The coins are considered an offering to the water body itself, a tiding of sorts for one’s year long use and abuse. 
      Thais have a great respect for rivers, principally, the Chao Phraya  (which runs through Bangkok) and the Mekong (which runs on the border between Thailand/Laos). The rivers themselves have mythical powers and deities associated with them. This particular year was especially important because of the heavy flooding that had occurred throughout the country claiming upwards of 200 lives and causing over a billion baht in damages. Many mystics, monks, and traditional thais attributed the waters backlash to the political unrest that has pervaded Thai society over the past year. Needless to say, this years Looi Krathong celebration had a certain emotional weight to it. A hopeful shedding of the past years political unrest and tragedy.
     My Looi Krathong celebration was magical. We started the day at Phra Pantom Chedi, Thailand’s largest pagoda. The temple was in midst of its annual festival so we joined thousands of other visitors in making merit and admiring its impressive size/beauty. Part of the annual celebration is the re-cloaking of the Chedi clothes, the fabric which wraps the main spire. The old fabric is removed and new, bright orange fabric is hung. Before its ceremonial replacement this new fabric is made available for temple-goers to write on. I was a bit unsure of what to write so I kept it short and sweet, “Health, Happiness and Peace to those whom I love.” It covers the bases and, if you are reading this, know that I made a wee bit of merit in your honor. 
      After the temple visit we headed to Ayutthaya province, Bang Sai district to visit ‘The Support Arts and Crafts International Centre of Thailand’. This organization is under the Queen’s patronage and serves to foster, support, and teach traditional thai craft to thai people. The facility has a mind-boggling gallery, 19 separate studies and a prime position on the Chao Phraya River. I was in heaven. Growing up at both the Appalachian Center for Crafts and the John C. Campbell Folk School, visiting a Thai organization with similar values was nostalgic. 
      The best part? We were invited to make our own krathongs for the evening’s celebrations while visiting the thai-silk studio. The ladies there had the supplies to make their own and graciously invited our group to join in. What fun!!! I had been told several times in the weeks leading up to the festival that it was best if I could make my own krathong because it carried more good ju-ju weight than purchasing one... Never did I think I would actually get the opportunity to do so. It was a blast. I learned how to twist, fold and pin leaves in auspicious shapes for optimal good vibes. We used marigold petals and purple orchids to adorn our finished piece. The three women I was with,Wan, Bpioo, and Mee, all ending up producing a single finished product... a perfectly lovely, uber-traditional, coconut leaf krathong. I was overwhelmed when the ladies insisted I use it as my own for that evening. It was the most fitting representation of my last year as a whole... a beautiful amalgamation of effort, love, and support.... 10% me and 90% the incredible people I have in my life. 
      That night I offered my krathong to the Chao Phraya and realized that if my next year is anything like my last one, I will be blessed beyond words. (I already am)

Biscuits and Gravy Come to Bangkok

       Yes, indeed. I caved. You see, in Thailand, there is no such thing as breakfast food. Thais eat the same sort of dishes every meal of the day. Which, under most circumstances, is actually quite convenient: no need to whip out different ingredients or find a speciality restaurant in order to eat breakfast food. This seems all fine and good until you realize that you are a person who adores classic breakfast dishes. 
       You see, I am one of those people. I love breakfast. I love capers and lox on a homemade bagel. I salivate at the thought of banana pancakes with Michigan, grade B, maple syrup. I get an endorphin high just thinking about the multitude of muffin possibilities. And, I take personal pride in my no-recipe-necessary rendition of biscuits and gravy. It is my power-recipe. I make it to relax, to give myself an ego-boost, and to show my love for those around me. 
       Naturally, when presented with the opportunity to cook in a friend's kitchen here, I jumped at the opportunity. My menu choice was even less surprising: Biscuits and Black Pepper Gravy and all the fixin’s for a Southern Breakfast. Who cares if it was Halloween Eve, a dinner party, and we were in Bangkok?! I was making Southern Breakfast come hell or high water.

Its not often that you take a boat to a friend's house. But, wait, I'm in Bangkok. That explains everything... Also, Keng's apartment is the bomb-diggity. Just the fact that there is a private shuttle boat should insight oohs and ahhs.

Bacon in a wok in Bangkok?! Check!

What homemade meal is complete without homemade cookies? None I make!

Sous-chef extraordinaire! He was a cookie makin' pro by the end of the evening.  

Making cookies is for the sole purpose of licking the spoon. Duh. 

Finished product: Biscuits, black pepper gravy, scrambled eggs, bacon and thai honey. Yum! Lovely evening with lovely people.  Love, love, love, love, love. 

"My Research, My Pride"

        Isn’t that a nifty slogan?! Mahidol recently hosted their graduate research exposition, where this was the catch-phrase. I was lucky enough to be able to attend an assortment of lectures, poster presentations and even a community ‘hot-pot’ dinner. It was awesome. I love seeing other people’s research. I love talking to them about it. I love academia on display. Love. It. 
It was really intriguing to see how a Thai university conducted an event like this. Movie stars were hired to lend their voices to the campus-wide advertisements. Young professors served as trendy MCs for the event. Trivia was played between speakers and the prizes were legit (500 baht... heck yes!). It was basically like a 2-day celebration of all things Mahidol Research related. And, the best part? It was mostly in English... Score!
I was incredibly impressed with the sheer scope of research going on. I knew that the Faculty of Science encompassed a wide-range of departments but it really hadn’t dawned on me how diverse my campus is. There were mathematicians who worked on nanotube structure, physicists who devised electronic noses, and chemists who invented antibiotic/antiviral infused, natural rubber gloves to help prevent infection from needle-pricks. Basically, I sat in awe for the duration of the day. 
Most of all I loved the student support that the research received. Every single speaker gave their presentation to a standing-room-only crowd. Whole departments would sit together and wave hand-made signs of support when one of their own presented. The clapping, hooting and hollering that followed each presentation was deafening. It was a true community of support, encouragement and love of research. I realized all over again why I was so lucky to be at Mahidol and why I wanted to be a lifetime-academic. 
I have always, in longer terms, took“My Research, My Pride” as a personal mantra. How nice it was to be surrounded by people who thought the same thing and weren’t ashamed to make it publicly known. 
Second to the actual research, the highlight of the event was the final ‘hot-pot’ meal. All the students and faculty gathered in ‘The Canteen’ the main dining hall for a traditional cook-it-yourself dinner. Each table had its own cooking contraption, a massive basket of veggies/noodles and a gallon bag of broth. Meat and fried rice was served buffet style in one corner of the room. Each table got a heaping plate of meat, lit their wood-fire and went to town. It was delectable. 

To top it off, a karaoke stage was set up so that professors and a few students could share their renditions of Thai pop tunes throughout the night. I couldn’t help but wonder if the professors of Willet Science Center at Mercer would be game for some pop karaoke at the next Undergraduate Research Symposium. Doubtful and not necessarily a bad thing.

Bliss Filled Weekend::: Amphawa, Samut Songkhram, Samut Sakhon

      Chalao and his wife, Wan, invited me for a weekend outside of the city. It took me a full quarter of a second to respond with a resounding ‘yes!’. Did I care where we went? Nope. Was I positively delighted to get a Thai perspective on traveling within the country? You ‘betcha!

      So, for the second weekend in a row, I suited up with my backpack and made a foray outside of the urban jungle. Saturday morning Chalao and Wan swung by my apartment to pick me up. I had the entire backseat of his truck to myself (my abs were still throbbing from my balancing act on the train) complete with A/C and company that didn’t look at me like I was an alien. We chatted a bit on the ride but mostly I just enjoyed the window view. Being a passenger is a foreign concept to me... since I have had a driving permit (and actually before, thanks Mom!), I have driven everywhere Roadtrip? I’ll drive! It just is easier that way. (Can we say control freak?) Being able to kick back, relax and enjoy the view was a real treat. That being said....

      Would I ever drive here? Hell. No. Not only is there the tricky factor of lane/steering-wheel orientation but traffic is INSANE. Utterly ridiculous. Take Atlanta traffic at 5pm, on a Friday, before a Braves game and a U2 concert; add 3 million motorcycles, 10,000 tuk tuks, a few thousand food cards, and a disregard for any concept of road courtesy and *ta-da* you have just created Bangkok on the very best of days. (Now imagine its worst) Needless to say, I was completely impressed with Chalao’s driving skills. In moments where I would be white-knuckling and spewing profanities he just chuckles and manages to maneuver through the traffic with ease and safety. Incredible. 

     Anyways, the drive there was neat and before long we were out of the realm of Bangkok. Amphawa is in the Central Coastal Plain area of Thailand. Much of the land between Bangkok and there is in the coastal floodplain and, consequently, is utilized as salt flats. Very intriguing. The water is pulled, via windmill (hey, hey Dutch roots), from the Gulf, deposited into neatly organized flats where it evaporates, and then is hand harvested. That’s right. They hand-harvest salt. I will never again take salt for granted.

      Once we were in Amphawa, we checked into our homestay. It was beyond lovely. Situated on the Maeklong River, the restaurant/cottages we were staying at were surrounded by coconut plantations and not much else. A view up or down the river revealed a limited number of other houses and two temples. Precisely what this rural-loving girl likes to see.... as little human development as possible. 

      We set out, after lunch, for the sightseeing. We met up with B, Wan’s friend from work, and her husband, Tum, both of whom were very familiar with the area and served as our tour guides for our stay. It was a delightful afternoon, full of laughter, pictures, and lots of good memories. We spent alot of time on the Maeklong river both in paddled and motorized longtail boats. Our evening was spent time at the night market and on a firefly tour to see the famous synchronized blinking of the local species. Too neat.

      The next day we visited the famous Maeklong Station market... a market which is literally built each day on top of the railroad tracks making in necessary for the vendors to pull down their tarps and pull back their wares as the train passes. It is a sight to be seen. The transformation is nothing short of incredible. 

      This area was PACKED with Western tourists... Most of them German or French. Nearly all were unhappy, bitter, rude, and epitomized everything I hate about tourists here. They were unappreciative of local culture, travelled in hordes, were disrespectful in dress, action, and word and just were generally pests. Now, I fully acknowledge that for the entire duration of my time here, I am basically a tourist. Fine. But these people? They were terrible, awful, very-bad, no-good representations of Westerners everywhere. I was ashamed. When one attempted to talk to me (a German man who seemed to think my eyes were around my collarbone) I feigned naiveté. 

      After the train fiasco, we walked around the town, visited the temple, and took a ride on the river ferry (funny how the tourists were absent from the true cultural gems of the city). We grabbed a pumelo for the road and then ventured to see the Gulf of Thailand. Exciting! I was beyond thrilled when we wound around a bend and there it was, a watery expanse that, in theory, connected me back to the States. Nifty, nifty, nifty. I gawked out the window, cooed about the mangrove forests, and was generally over-the-moon with contentment. We stopped by a temple to visit a museum and stepped into a village for the Sunday afternoon tradition of fish-fighting and, naturally, gambling. We then proceeded to a provincial park to visit the mangroves, the resident monkeys, and see the Gulf up close and in-person. Our tour-guide also doubled as the security guard and brandished a sling-shot to keep the curious simians at bay. He talked about mangrove ecology, the fact the the Gulf we were seeing was actually high-tide and that the real Gulf technically started 8km to the South (this, by the way, is one of the longest horizontal tide changes in the world) and that when the tide was out clams were harvested from the mudflats by the locals (both humanoid and simian). 

      Before bidding adieu, he recommended a local restaurant that his wife worked at... Naturally, we stopped there on the way home. It was divine. Mudflat clam curry, a whole fried fish, and a variation of Tom Yum Goong (my fave soup here) that incorporated both local shrimp and crab with local coconut and pumelo juice. I left in a contentment coma. It was the perfect conclusion to a perfectly blissful weekend. 

      I felt so welcomed by Chalao, his wife and their friends. This was easily the most lovely weekend I have had so far. Every single moment was simply magical. 

City Escape: Ruins, Monkeys, and Railways

Sometimes a mega city can simply be too much. So, instead of holing up in my apartment or getting blue, I packed my backpack and hopped a train north. I had looked on the map in my Lonely Planet guidebook, picked several cities within 200 km and accessible by rail, and chose the one with the most interesting introductory paragraph. I landed up in Lopburi and it was beyond fantastic. The town is rurally located, built amidst 16th century ruins of palaces and temples, and is filled with a mind-boggling number of mischievous monkeys 

My train ride there was lovely. I was relaxed just watching the urban sprawl fade into the distance. My fare was a whopping 50 baht for a ‘rapid’ train northward. No air-conditioning but very breezy open windows and, technically, I didn’t have a seat... I managed to successfully play musical chairs as people disembarked so I didn’t have to stand for the entire trip. I hopped on the train at about 7:20 am Sat. morning and arrived in Lopburi about 2 hours later. 

My first order of business was to find food for breakfast and a bed for that evening. I managed to do both within about a half an hour. My room at Noom’s Guesthouse was small with a single bed and not much else. But I did have a view out of half a window and the bedspread was cheery and colorful. Naturally, there was no air-con but for 150 baht a night it can hardly be expected. 

       Right outside the guesthouse there was a food stall cooking up tiny, purple pancakes. I bought a box and upon tasting deduced that they were a mix of taro, coconut and corn... and quite tasty.

Having dropped off my backpack, I found a city map and embarked on my sightseeing mission. There were a plethora of ruin sites in town and I wanted to see as many as I could. Most of them had free admission, but one or two charged a nominal fee because they had a museum on site. The various ruins and temples were lovely and it was nice to learn about some of Thailand’s cultural and natural history... something I have been woefully negligent of. 

I saved the temples most famous for the monkeys for the afternoon because I knew once I was there I would be reticent to visit anywhere without adorable, simian inhabitants.The shrine for the monkeys is situated in the center of town and is surrounded by a fence... though its use is unknown since the monkeys pay it no mind. I was wearing a long-ish skirt that day and only carried a small sling bag... I was hoping to slide under the radar of both people and critters. Nonetheless, upon approaching the temple, I was an immediate target of the monkeys. I quickly realized that my skirt provided a game for them. It could serve as a momentary cape, a method of climbing, a colorful flag, or a place to hide when retreating from a chase. I am fairly certain that the monkeys knew I was not thai; they were more insistent on food demands, were more daring in climbing on me, and took full advantage of my slight fear of being bitten.  Regardless, I had a ball playing with them and photographing their antics. To say they were adorable would be an understatement. As Dr. Smith says, “Cute as button-pie.”

After hanging out with the monkeys until shrine closing time, I went in search of something to eat. The food in Lopburi was slightly different than what I find in Bangkok. It was a bit more tradtitional thai, with less Chinese influence (though there were several specifically Chinese restaurants in town). The main drag that paralleled the railroad tracks turned into a virtual food-festival once the sun started setting. The road was lined with festive carts and cart-cooks sung the praises of their fare. Since Thailand is still celebrating the Vegetarian Festival, I didn’t have to play guessing games with mystery meat... I chose a food cart run by an elderly couple that was serving up enticing smelling pat-thai. My nose knew best and when the meal arrived I was rewarded with some of the best food I have had thus far. Fresh, cooked to perfection and served with love and attention to detail. Yum.

The next morning I woke up bright and early to find breakfast and purchase my ticket back to Bangkok. I ate the pancakes again (they were too tasty and cheap (10 bath!!) to pass up) and paid a visit to the rail station ticket counter. I selected the 8:45am train (an ordinary train) and paid the steep fare of 28 baht. I had two hours to kill in town before my train left and I spent it visiting the local wet market. Everything from produce to hula-hoops were sold on the streets. I enjoyed just being immersed in rural commerce. While the streets were packed, they were no where near as crowded as the streets or markets in Bangkok. It felt like a luxury to mosey around and not feel utterly overwhelmed. 

I checked out of the guesthouse, and headed for the train station. I expected to wait about 15 minutes for the train to arrive and futzed with my touch. 15 minutes turned into and hour before I started getting worried... maybe I had missed my train? I thought back and it occurred to me that no trains had passed. I gave a worried glance to a rail security guard. He seemed to understand and we entered a rudimentary thai conversation from which I deduced that my train was, in fact, late. He said what I thought amounted to ‘it will be coming shortly’. An hour later and no sign of the train, I was approached by a station attendant. He said the train was still delayed but would arrive within the hour. At this point, I was a little concerned. I needed to be back in Bangkok by 3 to teach a class at the NGO I have been volunteering with. I knew this would cut it close, but without any alternative options, I just bided my time. The train finally arrived at noon. I gleefully hopped on only to realize that it was standing room only... and by that I mean the only available space was directly in the center of the aisle, wedged in between the two rows of people already standing within reach of the handholds. I giggled, found a spot for my backpack in the luggage racks (next to a box containing a chicken, mind you), and began the 2 hour balancing act that was my ride home. If you think for one moment that these trains glide gently across the thai countryside you are very wrong. They rumble, shudder, jerk and screech along the tracks... forget a balance board or ball for an ab-workout, just trying to stay vertical was the most thorough core workout I have ever gotten. That being said, the ride was as much a cultural education as the entirety of my day sightseeing. I was the only Westerner in sight (most opt for the more expensive, air-conditioned seats found in the 2nd and 1st class cars) and I am certain I provided continuous entertainment for everyone in my car. 

2 hours later, I stepped off the train at Bang Sue Junction, the Bangkok station nearest my apartment, and looked at the time. It was 2:15 and I had to be across town (in professional wear for teaching) in 45 minutes. Yikes! I hopped a taxi to my apartment, ran upstairs, underwent a 10 minute presto-chango act complete with shower, and undertook a hurried commute across town. I managed to get to class only 5 minutes late and before some of my students. A Bangkok Miracle. 

My (mis)Adventures in Thai Curry

Let's be clear about this, I am curry’s number one fan. It is rare that I sample a curry that I don’t like. I love them hot, spicy, smokey, sweet, sour, thick, thin, cheesy, and just about everything in between. I even carried home 40+ packs of pre-made, thai curry mix from my last visit. Consequently, I was elated when I kept running across food stalls with nothing but vats of various renditions of curry. Sounds like heaven, right?

Experience Number One:

My first sampling started well enough. I pointed at a yellow-green mixture that appeared to have two varieties of eggplant, substantial greens, a few onions, and only a hint of oil floating on the top. It seemed vegetarian-esq and healthy enough. I ordered a bowl full. The first sign that something was not quite right was a particular odor that emanated from my dinnerware. It was musty, unfamiliar, but undoubtedly of the flesh... the kind of odor associated with organs. Oh, no. I looked into my bowl, did a bit of prodding, and came to the conclusion that the white-ish, purple, marbled masses I presumed to be eggplant were, in fact, liver. Eek. I couldn’t just walk away from a freshly served bowl of curry since I was sitting in the vendors stall. Damn my avoidance of plastic take-out containers. Knowing I had no other polite option, I mustered my newly discovered iron stomach and picked around the liver, being careful to eat only the curried pieces I could identify as vegetable. I was left with an impolite amount of meat in my bowl. Luckily, the food stall owner was feeding the local dogs with her scraps... I disposed of my untouched liver bits directly into the mouth of a clearly malnourished stray. I didn’t even feel bad about not eating it. I walked away and made a mental note not to trust similarly colored mystery ingredients in the future. Lesson learned.

Experience Number Two

I had street-noodle varietals for lunch for 3 days in a row. All were tasty, filling, and filled with ingredients I could identify.... but a fourth rendition just didn’t appeal. So, I hunted down a curry cart near my apartment to add a bit of variety to my lunchtime repertoire. Keeping in mind my first experience I steered clear of anything with possible liver chucks. I selected a red curry that had bell peppers, carrots, sprouts, and small bits of meat. The cart lady dished up a heaping portion and even fished for bits from the bottom of the pan... ‘how kind’, I thought. The curry itself was quite spicy, enough to inspire moisture on my brow. I cooled it with bits of stick rice and a cool glass of water. I was about halfway through my plate when I encountered a large piece of fat... presumably the item she fished from the pot’s depths. ‘Umm’, I thought, ‘avoiding that.’ I made a motion to pull it to the side of my bowl so I could access the rice beneath it. In flipping it over I revealed thick, black, bristly hair on the underside. Instant gag induction. ‘Crap, crap, crap... this is NOT good,’ the last thing I needed to do was purge onto the table in front of the local motorbike taxi gang, the 7/11 owner, and the kind curry lady. That would work wonders for my reputation in the neighborhood.

So, I did the only sensible thing I knew how. I pushed the bowl away as calmly as possible, paid for my meal as though I had an appointment (little did she know it was with my bathroom), and darted across the street to my apartment complex. I skipped the elevator and dashed up the stairs to my 6th floor abode, my repulsion growing with each flight. I darted into the safety of my bathroom and lost it: the lunch, any remnants of breakfast, and my tolerance for mystery curry as a whole. After my purge session (for those of you who don’t know... puking is, by far, one of my least favorite activities in the world... right above breaking limbs and undergoing torture) I decided that my adventuresome eating would no longer include curry. No way, no how was I subjecting myself to that again. I detoxed for the rest of the day and into most of the next on fresh fruit and juices. That hunk of hairy fat still gives me the heeblies.