THAILAND 9 - The Letter

Thai Mai Drop Box - BANGKOK & OTHER PLACES

“Traveling is a brutality.  It forces you to trust strangers and to lost sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends.  You are constantly off balance.  Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.” – Cesare Pavese

“There it is!” I pointed excitedly to the red building. 

We had finally found the post office after weeks of trying to locate one.  I opened the door, stepped inside and stopped abruptly.  It was a small room with four counters, a prompter screen with numbers, and three dozen people waiting to mail a package or a letter.  I glanced around the room for a number card, and Justin quickly pointed it out.  189 the card read.  I looked up at the screen saw that we were only on 153, and looked down at the letter in my hand.  It was my brother’s birthday card, and it was already a month overdue. 

We spent the time waiting and observing the room around us, easing dropping on people’s conversation - trying to pick out words that we knew, and practicing our numbers.  “Nueng roi hok sip haa (165)” the teleprompter would say, and we would repeat, “nueng roi hok sip haa!” 

Our Thai is elementary, limited to ordering food, greeting people, and asking how much something costs.  We were grateful for the practice but impatient to get moving.  “Nueng roi pad sip gao. (189)” The teleprompter rang out.  Finally it was our turn! “Sawadee-ka/krup!” we greeted the man behind the counter.  “Sawadee krup.” He replied as he took our letter.  Justin pointed to the stamp on the letter and asked, “Pha sa thai riak wa arai na krup? (How do you say this in Thai?)” The man looked confused, but then replied, “Lebo.” Success! We laughed as we left the building, unsure if we had really been successful or not. 

Justin had one thing on his mind: a motorbike.  I had another: internet for our apartment.  We jumped on and off buses looking at bikes, trying to communicate the price and model in Thai.  We got the ‘farang’ (foreigner) price, and became slightly discouraged. 

Next we attempted to figure out the internet so we headed to the nearest shopping center or mall.  The malls here are 6 stories or more, and each floor is overwhelming in its magnitude.  There is usually more than one building that makes up the shopping center, and before long you can become very lost.  Navigating through the mall is no easy task in itself, but navigating without speaking or reading the native language?  Nearly impossible!

Eventually we found ourselves standing in front of a closed internet shop.  Not just any internet store, but the very one that we had searched the city for, and it was closed by 15 minutes! Justin barely controlled his ‘disappointment’ and proceeded to grab some pamphlets – all in Thai of course. We walked away in defeat back through the maze. 

A familiar sign glowed in the food court ‘Dairy Queen’.  I made a beeline towards it as though a bug drawn to the light.  I pulled Justin’s arm, and begged him to buy me some ice cream.  My blue eyes grew big and round, my lip stuck out slightly, and I looked longingly at the menu.  I was six years old again and all I knew was that this ice cream would solve every problem and injustice in the world one wonderful ice cold drop at a time.  We sat down to enjoy our treasure, put our full weight into the soft seats, and faded away into pure delight.  I was brought back to the reality of where I was when I read the menu and realized that if I wanted to get whipped cream on top of my dessert that it would cost me an extra $0.33 cents! Does everything here come at a price?   

We couldn’t find our way out, and I began to think there may be no way out.  “It’s like hotel California.  You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.” I quoted a line from a song to try and lighten the mood.  I decided I would mime our way out.  Pointing to my shoes I tried to ask one of the girls who worked there where the shoes were.  I knew if I could find the shoes, I could find the exit. 

“Save the cheerleader, save the world!” I said quoting another line from a television show.  I don’t know if these one-liners were helping at all, but the distractions kept me from falling off the brink of reality into blissful insanity.  After one unsuccessful attempt to communicate ‘shoes’ – she sent me to the socks – I asked another employee and we finally breathed a sigh of relief.  It was all we could do to hold ourselves back from running through the mall when we saw those bright shining exit doors.

Our fan wore out the day we got back from Laos, and I was determined to find a new one today.  At the Big C – the Thai’s equivalent to Wal-Mart – a fan the size of my hand is $10.00 US (or according to the noodle index – 10 meals), and to buy one that would actually put a dent in the heat of your room, you would have to spend a good $45.00 (you’re talking 2 weeks of food for one person!).  Buying one now would most likely save us money in the future, because we wouldn’t have to use our air-conditioning, but our pockets weren’t willing to give up that much money.  I had seen some fans from the bus window for much cheaper, and I was determined to find them.  I drug Justin up and down the streets promising that it was ‘just around the corner’, but when we finally did reach the fans ‘right where I remembered them to be’, the cheapest ones were gone, and a decent fan would set you back about $15.00 (450 Baht).  That is a lot of money right now, even if it could save us money later; so we left the fans to think on it for another day.

The bus ride back home seems to get longer each time.  I stare wistfully at the floor, sweat dripping down my back and legs causing my skin to stick to the seat.  I think about the seats seeping with sweat from the thousands of people before me, how tired I am after only mailing a letter, and how each day feels like an immense struggle. 

“You okay, love?” Justin’s voice rattled my silence and I looked up.  He looked as though he felt defeated too. 

“Do you think that everything is a struggle because we don’t speak the language? Or because we were born into a certain understanding of what life should be like and that’s what we’re accustomed to? Do you think that life is as laborious for them as it is for us? Or is it just because we are foreigners?”  I paused, then continued my thoughts.  “I can’t buy underwear that fits (I had tried unsuccessfully to buy underwear three times, and each time discovered that I am not as small as I thought.).  I can’t choose whether hot water or cold water comes out of the sink or shower.  When I want hot - it’s cold; when I want cold – it’s hot! If I can’t afford to buy a fan even though we make three times as much money as the locals, how can they afford to buy one without taking a second mortgage out on their home?  I feel like we are going to local markets and buying local products, but are we always getting the foreigner prices? I don’t understand.  It takes hours just to send a letter, or get to the grocery store.  It costs extra to put whipped cream on a drink!”

All of the little ‘inconveniences’, all the differences from our life back home to this one had come to a head and it needed to be voiced.  “All these things are so easy, so taken for granted back home – internet that works, free water with a meal . . .” I looked at him with pleading eyes, begging for him to tell me the answer.  

“I’m so tired at the end of the day, and all I did was mail a letter! I know I should count this as a success.  I shouldn’t complain.  I should say, ‘Hey, we navigated our way through a foreign country without getting lost, or hurt.  Success! We figured out the buses, and are learning a new language – what an adventure!’ But I’m just so tired by the time we accomplish one thing that it is difficult to appreciate the small successes.” 

He looked at me with understanding, and it seemed to calm the wolves inside me.  He spoke softly, “I think it is a combination of everything.  If it was easy then everyone would do it.  We’ve figured out how to ride the buses like a local, instead of having to take taxis everywhere.  And it will be much easier once we have a bike.”

I smiled and added, “At least I have someone to come home to at the end of the day and celebrate making it through the day with a victory romp!”

A moment passed, "And here's another cheerful thought! Just think how many thousands of people have previous sat in this exact spot dripping sweat into the seat." I leaned forward as my back created a sucking sound and left a large wet sweat print behind on the back of the seat.  A maniacal grin stretched across my face.

His face suggested that he was less than amused by the idea! 

I could have never foreseen that living in a different country would be so difficult and exhausting; I imagined that it would be exhilarating as though seeing the life for the first time.  But who am I to complain? I am living the dream after all! I can only hope that every day will get easier as we discover Thailand one baby step at a time.