Location: Lamphun district, Chiang Mai
Temples visited: 12 or so
He called me over. With trembling hands he took my own, slipping the ring on to my finger with his shaky ones. The ring was golden-coloured, patterned on each side and set with a greenish stone, and completely surprisingly, it fit. I admired it for a minute before slipping it off my finger and trying to hand it back to him: but he would not take it. For me? I asked in our sign language, and he nodded emphatically. Really for me? I asked again. He nodded again. Because he liked me, because I liked him, because we took good care of each other, he had given me his ring. The old guy and I had been getting on splendidly these past few days, and had developed a kind of sign language with a few English and Thai words able to cover the basics of communication. If he or I had anything more complicated to ask, we used our translator. Yesterday at lunch he kidnapped me, deciding now was the time to leave the table and return to the van, and so he took my hand and the two of us headed for the car as fast as his legs could take us, waving to the others over our heads as we left, and me all the while wondering where it was we were even going. Not bad for an 83-year-old. He still has most of his hair, which he dyes black, and most of his teeth. His voice is gravelly and difficult to understand even in Thai, so I am not all too disadvantaged. He calls me the youngest daughter of the family, and I am honored.
Yesterday was sightseeing day. The family rented a van and a driver so that everyone could come, so myself, my friend, her parents, her cousin, her uncle and two friends of her mum's all came with. And we set off, the ladies chattering happily about this and that, telling funny stories and generally having a good time. My friend wasn't feeling well and slept all the way there, and while I dozed in and out of sleep I was still fascinated by the surroundings. We travelled up past Chiang Mai to a temple called Wat Phrathat Doi Suthep, one of the more famous and extravagent temples in the area atop a mountain, reachable by elevator or by climbing a 306-step-Naga (dragon) staircase. The more elderly took the lift, and the rest of us made our way as best we could with all of the French and German tourists, many toting helmets. Our group bought their lotus blossoms and entered the temple. There is a large, golden pagoda there, and one is supposed to walk around it, clockwise, holding the lotus flower. As the heathen of the group, I wasn't given a lotus flower but rather the video camera and instructed to take a lap or two for posterity. I filmed the first lap entirely with the lens cap on, which I am sure contributed significantly to the artistic quality of the shoot. Afterwards we are blessed by an ancient and friendly-looking monk who ties a bracelet around my wrist; it's not my religion and still I feel the goodwill emanating from the piece of braided string.
From Wikipedia:
Established in 1383, this magnificent temple overlooks the city from its 1,073m elevation on the slopes of Doi (Mount) Suthep, which peaks at 1,685m. It is famous for its large gold-plated chedi, visible from the city on a good clear day. Although Wat Doi Suthep is the most recently built of the temples dating from the Lanna Thai period, it is the symbol of Chiang Mai. The site was selected by sending an elephant to roam at will up the mountainside. When it reached this spot, it trumpeted, circled three times, and knelt down - which was interpreted as a sign indicating an auspicious site.
My impression of Thailand, now expanding over these last few days, is that of a country hovering somewhere between its past and its future. Its past, evidenced in its beautiful and impeccably maintained temples (unlike Egypt, where many beautiful historical relics are derelict and all are dusty) and also by its strong rural character, at least in these parts, and beautiful old houses, is also reflected in workers laboring in the hot sun, or the man transporting his wares precariously balanced on a bicycle, or the little sheds that serve as workshops or restaurants or perhaps houses. The future has marked Thailand with mobile phones and gadgets and tourists, and grand shiny new houses sprouting up across the landscape. It's an uneven mix, but not an unfamiliar one: many areas remind me of some of the small mountain towns of my youth, consisting of some newer, grander houses and a lot of older, worn down but lovingly maintained ones with dead and dying vehicules in the driveway or livestock still in the back. A difference remains that here, there is a gentle gradiation between rural and town, where I am used to a sharp divide: city, suburbs, nothing, town, nothing, town. And here, the general level of technology seems to be about ten years behind the US, though not completely. Not that I am a disciple of modernization theory - holding that having navigated the transportation networks to come to this beautiful place, with no sense of deeper connection? I have been stunned by the beauty of the temples here, far more than I have been awed or impressed by a building for a long time, just based on their sheer beauty. But sometimes I miss the connection altogether and stand, in a beautiful or famous or ancient place, I take my pictures and I leave without this place ever really having touched me. So I wonder what makes Thailand a destination, an experience as opposed to a picture. Is it being in a "developing country"? Is it just the vastly different cuisine and the different language? How much of a foreign culture can you ever take in in a few days? To a certain extent, I feel like the country which has been the most foreign to me - as an American - of all the countries I have been to has been Germany, because it was the _first_ foreign country I had been to. Despite what I found to be extensive cultural similarities, the basic experience of recognizing that things are simply done differently elsewhere, for no particular reason. The experience of discovering that light switches and door knobs and toilet flushes can look completely different and yet function exactly the same was almost a revelation. Discovering the more bizarre and extreme versions of any of the above (our appartment in Egypt comes in mind, with its eighteen light switches, some of which were behind mirrors or pictures on the wall) was in comparison less profound than that initial experience of difference.
But I digress.
I've learned how to say hello and thank you, both in standard Thai and in the Northern dialect. I feel sometimes as if I'm a performing dog when my friend whispers in my ear and I am to repeat it aloud, to peals of laughter from the assembled group, without ever knowing what I said. Still, a thank you means the most in your own language, so I try my best and let my sincerity make up for the rest. And the rest mainly consists of sign language and charades, but it works out. I spent the whole morning with the family, none of whom speak English, and we got on splendidly (though we did manage to misplace the grandfather for a few minutes, when he wandered off while we were at the second temple). The first temple we went to was holding a similar ceremony to the one we had seen a few days ago. The first thing the women did was drag me into a clothing shop and outfit me with the traditional pants and shirt of the region; I chose the colors myself but needed help in tying the pants. I'm inordinately proud of the clothing, though I will have to find a way to incorporate it into my more "modern" wardrobe. At the temple we looked around, planted the grandfather in the shade and made our way up the mountain to Wat Phra Phutthabat Tak Pha (วัดพระพุทธบาทตากผ้า). The 306 steps of the previous temple were no match for this one's 460, and in almost 90-degree heat and humidity, it's not an easy march. We make it to the top, and are greeted by a few dogs and a woman who sells us water. Apart from another couple there, the place is deserted. We settle down into the temple to drink our water and cool off, and I am struck by the serenity of the place. The only sounds are the birds, our breathing, and the distant chanting of the monks from below. This place is of another world.
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