Bangkok Expat Mama

U.S. Healthcare Crisis

Yesterday I met an American woman whose family moved here last year because they couldn't afford the care her daughter needs to fight cancer. The moppet, who keeps her bald pate warm amidst Bangkok's ubiquitous air-conditioning by wearing a fetching bandana, frolicked nearby as her mum shared their story.

I was as appalled by their situation as I was impressed by their resourcefulness. How lucky they are that this lady's husband works in an industry such that he could move overseas if need be.

And yet, how sick -- how utterly sick, no pun intended -- that the U.S. healthcare system and insurance companies have reached a point that some Americans have no alternative but to seek treatment abroad to avoid the poorhouse. Not for elective or aesthetic treatment, mind you, but for necessary, life-saving treatment.

Thailand was a great choice for this little girl, by the way. The state-run hospitals might not be that great, I don't know. But the private hospitals, at least in Bangkok, provide services that would equal or surpass those available in the West, at a fraction of the cost.

What happens to all the ill U.S. Americans (as opposed to the other North Americans, the Canucks, who have a national health system) who have no way to get out and move to another country for affordable healthcare? It may be the home of the free (less so since the Patriot Act, etc) and land of the brave (excluding the Bush administration's most ardent civilian hawks, who all found ways to avoid the draft), but the United States is becoming, health-wise, the trap of the untended. It's a scandal.

A Wedding in Lilliput

(When Khun Kris emailed P this photo, he gamely noted, "You guys sure are TALL.") Tonight Himself and I attended the wedding reception at the Four Seasons for Khun Kris, with whom P used to work, and his gorgeous, poised new wife, Khun Kay. The affair was perfect in every way that counts at wedding celebrations: The yummy tapas-style food was plentiful and delectable, and the very nice wine flowed; the small live band played terrific covers of pop and progressive hits from the past 20 years; guests mingled cheerily and, on the whole, looked terrific in impeccably tailored Thai silk ensembles, sharp suits, glamorous traditional Indian outfits, etc.; the toasts by the bride, groom, and various VIPs blended humour and sentimentality; and -- last but not least -- even the gi-nor-mous wedding cake tasted good!

This was my fourth hi-so Thai wedding in five and a half years. I found, this evening, that this time I didn't feel as nervous about the protocol and, weirdly exemplifying the smallness of Bangkok's hi-so scene, I actually knew many people from P's work and previous weddings or other events, and had many acquaintances in common with those whom I met tonight thanks to my freelance work and...well, the smallness of Bangkok's hi-so scene. ("Smallness." Henh. It's obvious I'm an editor by trade, eh? Hey, I'm tired, lay off!) Knowing how deeply to wai according to someone's status is coming more naturally to me now. Odd how that happens. Maybe the examples I've seen over the years have gradually penetrated my subconscious so that in the moment, my hands and head find themselves more quickly rising (hands) and lowering (head) the right amount.

There were many opportunities to wai at this reception. VIPs in attendance tonight included the head of Siam Commercial Bank, who is the mother of one of P's former colleagues (who also happens to be a fellow Kellogg alumna); the head of Kasikorn Bank, who gave the official VIP-representative toast; the coup government's Finance Minister (an extremely dapper man in a red bow tie); a very cute Thai soap opera actor (Channel 7), who helped with translating all the English toasts into Thai (our gorgeous acquaintance Khun Bum [no snickering!] translated Thai toasts into English); the groom's dad, who is the first ever non-Singaporean to head SingTel; and endless bubble-haired dowagers and dignified older fellows whose faces dot the pages of "Thailand Tatler" and "Living in Thailand" magazines. Wow. The sycophantic star-fuc*er in me looked on in awe. (That written with self-aware irony, mind you.) Oh, and I forgot to mention the adorable children: Never have I seen so many tiny little ones decked out in mini-tuxedos and mini-Cinderella dresses. Even a pint-sized Batman was racing around the buffet tables. We left our smallfry at home because it's a school night, but with hindsight I'm sure that if we'd let them don their super-hero costumes, they would have had a grand time indeed at the party.

At one point (the only strange one of the evening) an exotically dressed woman with an intense gaze strode over to me and said, "Hi! Are you from here?", then proceeded to feel me out as a networking contact. She even royalty-dropped (instead of name-dropped) when I'd asked her what she does(boring, I know, but she seemed jazzed to network) and she replied, "Oh, lots of charity. I'm involved with many charities. Yesterday I worked with the princess all day!" I nearly asked which princess -- one of the King's daughters, perhaps Sirindhorn? the King's sister? the ex-wife of the Prince? -- but she was already onto the next topic. Come to think of it, she may not have been networking; she may have been simply a narcissistic chatterbox. Either way, I suppose I disappointed her in the potential biz contact and/or scintillating chat departments. After a few minutes she exclaimed, "Excuse me, I want to make sure that you meet Nash!" and dashed off to, presumably, Nash, whoever that is. Maybe one of her three brothers she'd mentioned? Anyway, that's a great tactic, much better than excusing onself to use the loo or grab more wine. "Hang on, I want to make sure you meet Nigel!" and then evaporating into the crowd. I like it.

Today required a lot of effort and energy from the bride and groom. Their elaborate Buddhist ceremony took place this morning. Photos from the event played out on wide-screen video monitors scattered throughout the reception tonight. I sure hope they had time to rest in the middle of the day, because for about two hours tonight, Khun Kris and Khun Kay had to stand at the entrance to the party and pose for photos with all guests, one at a time, as they arrived. The prolonged standing, the heat, the smiling, the popping flashbulbs, the greeting of many folks whose names they couldn't recollect in such a surreal context -- had I been in Khun Kay's exquisite shoes, I might have wigged out after about 30 minutes and run off through the lobby. Somehow they summoned enough stamina to handle all the greeting photos as well as a lengthy time on stage during all the toasts. They must be so knackered by now!

Khun Kris and Khun Kay make a wonderful couple. They adore each other but have been together long enough not to have any delusions about the reality of everyday life together. She stood by him when he abruptly decided a couple years ago to leave his steady job and start his own cartoon-orientated communications firm. Money wouldn't have been the issue (his Dad runs SingTel, remember), but some partners -- especially in the status-conscious hi-so world -- might have discouraged him from leaving an established, respected firm to follow a dream based on cartoons. But she did support him and, by the way, his company is doing very well. Good on them for taking a risk and making his dream a reality.

The Dowager on Soi 2

This is the lobby of the Atlanta, an eccentric little hotel at the end of Sukhumvit Soi 2. Despite it's frozen-in-time lobby and restaurant (my Czech friend gasped and said, "I feel like I'm home[Prague]! This is just like home!" upon her visit), the Atlanta happens to be tech-savvy enough to offer free WiFi access to all comers. And they wisely chose a non-TOT ISP, which is why I've been sitting in their lobby this midday, nursing a pot of chocolate, with intentions of uploading Burma photos onto this blog -- something I can't do at home thanks to TOT's lameness.

But, to paraphrase Burns, the best-laid plans of mice and mummies often go astray.

I've got to leave in 15 minutes to pick up A from nursery, and how many photos have I uploaded and captioned? Zero. Zilch. Nada. Cuz I let myself get sucked into visiting other Typepad blogs I haven't been able to check from home in a few days thanks to TOT's...OK, you know where I'm going with this; I'm starting to sound like a broken tuk-tuk wheel that's just spinning round and round.

Maybe that's a good thing, though. I've spent so much time on political diatribes recently that this blog hasn't been living up to the "Bangkok" and "Mama" in its name. So today I'll try to make up for that a little.

As for "Bangkok", we've got the shout-out to the Atlanta. This place has terrific Thai food, as well as satisfying Western breakfasts, decent coffee, and dynamite homemade hot chocolate. The food is incredibly cheap for today's Bangkok. Despite the official hotel website's warnings that "outsiders" may not dine here or enter the premises, my friends and I have found that tipping generously (most staff are loyal long-timers) and a pleasant, respectful attitude (which one would employ anywhere, n'est-ce pas?) allow us access with no problem. I particularly enjoy lingering over a coffee by the pool, which happens to have been Bangkok's first hotel pool but, more relevant today, lies next to a lush garden inhabited by countless tame kitties and several tortoises.

Actually the kitties have free run of the whole place. No wonder I love hanging out here! (Note the furry bundle lounging on the divan in above photo.)

Rooms here are cheap, too, by this neighbourhood's standards. Friends who have stayed here tell me that the rooms are basic with a capital "B". At the Atlanta, however, the rooms are not the point. But after running around Bangkok all day, tourists usually care not a bit how fancy their room is. One comes here for the quirky ambience, convenient location, great food, reasonable rates, and the adorable cats who, in fact, run the show.

As for the "Mama" part, I'll report that apparently A's teacher has been teaching the kids (four-year-olds, mind you) yoga -- perhaps as part of an enlightened approach to holistic, New Age learning, but more likely, I suspect, in a desperate bid to settle a class of eight rambunctious boys (Mai, the only girl, just moved back to Japan). Yesterday morning A rolled out of bed and promptly stretched out on the floor and said, out of the blue, "N, let me teach you some yoga. I'm doing yoga, you see it? Now you do it, too, OK?"

As I puttered around with morning rituals (backpack? check! home-time bus snack for N? check! P.E. kit? check!), I could hear the impromptu yoga lesson continue.

"Flex, point. Flex, point. Flex, point...Now butterfly...Yah, N!...Now reach for the sky...Yah!" Giggling. "Let's do butterfly again."

So cute.

I probably won't have time to escape TOT non-Typepad world until Saturday because tomorrow will be flat-out chockers with mummy duties (helping out at N's school, the school Loy Krathong celebration, A pickup) then an interview for a freelance gig (the pastry chef of a four-star hotel, on the baked goodies they'll make for Christmas: Can you say, "free samples"? Mmm!). Burma photos coming soon...by American Thanksgiving if we're lucky.

Taps for an Extraordinary BEM

In today's Bangkok Post:

"Helen M. Papazian passed away Wednesday, October 11, 2006 in Osprey, Florida. She was 78 years old. Born May 19, 1928 in Boston, Massachusetts, Helen married Robert Baruir Papazian in 1954. He passed away in 1986.

Helen and Bob were blessed with three children: Annette Z.P.Ross, Diane H. Papazian-Longem and Robert B. Papazian. Additionally, she leaves four grandchildren, Daniel Ross, Madeline Ross, Jorgen Longem and Andreas Longem as wekk as Dr. Ira E. Ross, son-in-law, Maydar Aye, daughter-in-law and many other dear family members and friends.

Soon after Helen and Bob married, they left the United States to live in Vietnam for three years and 38 years in Thailand. Helen returned to the United States in 2003 where she lived in Florida with her three children.

Helen was an active member having served as President of the American Women's Club of Thailand, Princess Mother's Charity, Soroptimist International and International Women's Club as well as many other local Thai charities. In 2002 Helen became the first foreign recipient of the prestigious Anusingh Foundation Award for charitable contributions to the people of Thailand.

Graveside services will be held in Providence, Rhode Island where she will rest with her beloved Bob.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the Women's Resource Center of Sarasota County, 340 Tuttle Avenue South, Sarasota, Florida 34237, and St. Boniface Episcopal Church, 5615 Midnight Pass Road, Sarasota, Florida 34242."

Wow. What a lady.

It's the Wine Talkin'

Here's a post after drinking a nice large glass of Penfold's with tonight's pizza:

1. Visit newley.com and Bangkok Pundit for salient coup-related coverage.

2. "Entourage" is on right now, and it is seriously the funniest, most surreally realistic (yeah, I know, oxymorons, but true!) on U.S. TV these days. Jeremy Piven's character of Ari is adorably ruthless. And the buddies' patter is spot-on. "Let's hug it out, bitch!"

3. My children would make Dr. Johnson proud; they both invented words today. Nathan says "grampire" for "vampire" (don't ask why a seven-year-old is talking about vampires) and Alec says "makery" instead of "bakery", as in "They make pretzels in a makery, right? Where they make bread-like things?"

Business as Usual at the Pool

Here we are on Coup Day Plus Three. Unfortunately I haven't time for my take on the politics of the military coup because, thanks to government-owned T.O.T.'s blocking of all things Typepad, I only can view and update my blog during hasty visits to spots with free wi-fi between grocery shopping, ferrying my brood around to visit friends, finding Nathan decent "school shoes" that don't cost an exorbitant amount or feature large images of Ultraman or any of his compatriots (verboten by the school), engaging in the domestic project known as "Lyle's first spring-cleaning of document files since 2001", and finding time to, say, bathe.

Coup or no coup, I've had enough of T.O.T. I'm switching to True internet service next week.

Meanwhile, here is an email we received Wednesday morning, soon after dawn broke, bringing relief after a confusing night filled with rumour, half-truths, and tension. The message exemplifies the plucky "show must go on" attitude adopted by most of the people, Thai and farang, I've encountered since Tuesday night. Phrases in brackets are mine, not to poke fun at Alec's swim teacher, but rather to echo in a raw, unexpurgated manner my thoughts as I first read the email -- remember, this was before the coup panned out non-violently.

WEDNESDAY SWIMMING DURING THE COUP. SEPTEMBER 2006

Dear Lyle,

With the Coup that has occured we understand that this will disrupt all things including swimming. [You think?] All schools are closed and children / people are told to stay home.......We have decided that since many / most of our clients live in the buildings that we teach in, we WILL DO classes anyway. [So, people who drive through the city to get to class, you can choose: Keep your kid at home and miss the class you paid for in advance, or risk kid's life in the name of getting your bahts' worth!]

We regret the inconvience for those that do not reside in the buildings where we do teach [i.e. don'tcha wish now you'd splashed out on the posh flat with a big pool downstairs?], and fully understand if you do not come.....[You woos!]

Hope to see you all there. If you do miss class - then please remember that the make up class will be on offer in late november [on a day when your kid's best friend will celebrate his/her birthday and feel heartbroken if your kid instead take a swim class, so kiss those baht goodbye!]. Should the coup turn worse we may change our opinion ["may"?!], but for now we are still swimming! [Yea! Get psyched!]

Best regards,
Sam

We went to class.

(For more illustrations of this equanimical approach, please visit Lana in Phuket's site and a Thai mum's site.)

Today at 6p.m. there will be a demonstration to protest the coup, at the exceedingly posh shopping mall Siam Paragon, of all places. These are some brave people to risk jarring the whole "Hasn't this been a pleasant coup?" mentality. Let's pray that their demonstration is allowed to proceed and that the soldiers in the vicinity keep their wits about them and their fingers off the trigger.

The Large Machine-like Thing That Gives Drinks

More evidence that my kids are growing up virtually on another planet: Their glee, while in Florida on homeleave, at discovering a Minute Maid drinks vending machine. Seven-year-old Nathan could not get over the fact that after we inserted a few shiny coins into a slot and pushed a button, an icy cold drink would come tumbling out of the machine -- just...for...us. Nifty! He stared in awe as we obtained drinks for both munchkins. What ho, such a marvelous device, this large-generous-dispenser-of-beverages!

One doesn't really come across food vending machines in Bangkok. Feminine hygeine and condom dispensers, sure, but not food. All snack transactions involve human beings. It's nice when you're grabbing a Thai iced coffee by the side of the road if, like me, you like lots of milk but not so much sugar, and you can tell the "cooker" (as Alec calls anyone who's preparing food) how you like it. Then you can enjoy a perfectly tailor-made thirst-quencher. The same goes for all sorts of food items, of course.

I rather prefer not having vending machines, because they cut out a lot of potential food service jobs. I doubt the companies managing the machines hire enough maintenance staff to make up for the loss of jobs that mechanizing everything entails. Wah.

Look out, Springsteen!

The folllowing is an exchange overheard between Alec (age 4) and his Mima (maternal grandma)...

A: "Only the King is the boss."

M: "That's true, he's the boss in Thailand, but in this house, I'm the boss." (winks at me)

A: "Nooo, you're not the boss. Only the King...and Santa Claus...are the boss."

...in which Alec reveals the distillation of Thai and western cultures influencing him. If only life were that simple!

A Very Merry Unbirthday

You've heard the one about the guy forgetting his wedding anniversary. Maybe you've seen "Sixteen Candles", in which Samantha's entire family is so wrapped up in their elder daughter's impending nuptials that they all forget Sam's sweet sixteen. Perhaps you've gotten so swamped with work that several days passed before you realized you'd missed your dear old mum or dad's special day.

Well, now you can add to the list of holiday fecklessness the one about the expat mum who got her days so mixed up after traveling round the world for homeleave that she accidentally celebrated her younger son's birthday one day early.

Yesterday, we -- Mima and Nanny (maternal grandma and grandpa), Tia Margaret Leigh (auntie), and assorted friends and munchkins -- held a party for Alec at Chuck E. Cheese (or, as Nanny calls it, "the home of one Charles Cheese"). The kids had a blast playing games, collecting tickets for little tsotchkes, and crawling around in the central air system-like tubes. Chuck E.'s pizza, which on some Rachel Ray-ish level is utterly vile, is also sublimely greasy and crispy and cheesy, so I devoured large quantities of it. Everyone ate way too much pizza, drank vats of the all-you-can-quaff soda, and savored Alec's delicious chocolate Thomas the Tank Engine cake. The only things missing were Dada, who can't get here until this Friday, his side of the family, and our buddies from Bangkok. Some day -- some lovely, fantastic day -- we'll celebrate a birthday with all loved ones present!

During our time chez Charles Cheese, however, I told guests that Alec's real birthday would be today (Monday) but that we held the party Sunday because it worked better for most people's work schedules. And so today proved to be just as delightful and special a day as a four-year-old could hope.

We opened presents today; we sang the birthday song again; we consumed more Thomas cake. Mima cooked up a divine vegetable-beef soup and served it with hot biscuits for Alec's second celebratory dinner -- the real one, that is. Or so I thought.

By 7:30pm I was wondering, why hasn't Dada called yet? Maybe he's so busy with work he's gotten his days mixed up with the time difference...but wouldn't he have called earlier anyway to make sure he caught Alec on his fourth birthday? Strange, I thought. It would be completely out of this doting dad's character to forget his son's birthday!

Then Pedro called -- huzzah! -- and we exchanged news and laughs from the Chuck E. Cheese fiesta. "The boys are nearly ready for bed," I said, and was about to continue with, "so it's great that you just caught them. Let me get Alec so you can wish him a happy birthday," when Pedro interjected with, "Yeah, and this line is really bad, so please tell them I love them and I'll call you guys again tomorrow."

What?! "Pedro, it's Alec's birthday! Did you get the days mixed up?"

"I don't think so. It's the 24th."

"No, it's not. Today's the 25th!"

Awkward pause. In retrospect, one could almost hear the wheels in Pedro's head turning as he deliberated how to explain to me that I'd gotten our son's birthday wrong. "Um, well, actually today's the 24th. Really."

Oh. "So this morning, when I was lying in bed feeling really clever because I'd figured out that Alec had been born on the night of the 25th, which was morning time back in the U.S. at the time, that meant that nearly exactly four years ago from that moment I was lying bed, Alec had left my body and been born -- you mean, I was having all those sentimental thoughts a day early?"

"Yup."

"So exactly four years ago will be from tomorrow morning?"

"Uh-huh."

Huh. OK. Just to be sure, I yelled, "Mom, what day is it?"

"The 24th!" the woman who had just created a birthday dinner hollered back.

I've been walking around since our States arrival two weeks ago thinking we've been a day ahead of the real date. So we've got grandparents who can't keep birthday dates straight and a mom who can't keep days straight. Great! Our family, we're just crackerjack with numbers.

Won't Alec be pleased when he wakes up tomorrow to find that he's about to enjoy a third day of birthday joy? There's no way I can hide it from him; on principal I can't let my son go through his actual special day without a serenade of "Happy Birthday." He's already opened all of his gifts, but hey, we still have loads of Thomas cake. Let the wild rumpus start -- for the third day!

Halfway Round the World in 26 Hours

Here's a quick snap I impulsively shot when Pedro (a.k.a. Dada to the small fry) dropped us at Don Muang airport at 5:20a.m. (Per today's earlier post, I still haven't worked out how to keep vertical photos vertical. Sorry!)

Nathan and Alec really dug the psychadelic spaghetti strand-like electric light sculpture above the moving walkway that links Terminals B and C at Chicago's O'Hare. Not having given a hoot the last 10 times I've trudged under that thing during solo marathon trips, I now have a renewed appreciation for it, because it revived my little monsters' flagging spirits for the last quarter of our slog.

Hang on a tick; we had some more serendipity to help us keep our eyes on the prize. Nathan felt particularly chuffed that his name graces a national hot dog chain. Soon after this snap, jet lag took over and he collapsed in a heap on a narrow chair with barbaric metal armrests. Alec soon followed suit. Good, I thought; they'll have a nap before our last flight, and feel fresher when Nanny (i.e. maternal grandpa) greets us at the last airport. Then a Delta Airlines representative announced that a last-minute gate change would require all of us hapless souls to hoof it down to the opposite end of the B concourse. We...were not amused.

Aside from one suitcase that contained Jim Thompson fabric for my mum (I came THIS CLOSE to carrying it on) and all of my kids' clothes going to Boston by accident, we came through unscathed. These boys are troupers. They are so so travel-seasoned by now that young Nathan's passport will need extension pages soon. And Big Bro should pat himself on the back for being such a big boy this time: Not only did he resolutely wear his (heavy with toys and books) Harry Potter backpack during miles of airport hiking; but also he pulled Small Bro's roller bag after the little(r) guy pooped out on it at the midway point. Nathan, my man, you're growing up!

These last two photos show the kids perched on Mima and Nanny's couches, which offer inexpressible comfort compared with, say, the chair where poor Nathan napped for all of seven minutes in Atlanta's airport. Ahhh. We made it. (n.b. Behold the majesty of Giotto, my little sister Margaret Leigh's new kitty. She's experiencing some gender confusion thanks to her male name but she'll work through it.)