10 November 2011
After sundown, I go with Pete and his family for dinner. There's a never-ending spread of food. Every time a dish is close to clean, the remaining food is placed on another partially clean platter and some new delicacy replaces the empty plate. My memory is unreliable because I blacked out from pleasure, but I recall rotisserie chicken, fried fish steak, spicy papaya salad, saucy laab, spinach omelet, crispy pork slices, and a sharp vinegar and fish soup. Each plate came complete with its own unique sauce, and we ate pinches of sticky rice like dinner rolls.
Tonight the moon is full, marking the second largest festival in all of Thailand. People have gathered by the river banks, where numerous food carts are set up and the smoke and crackle of fireworks is thick. Each person carries a painted foam lotus flower, the top of which is speared with a narrow candle and sticks of incense. Around the base of these are marigolds and irises, held on by the faux leaves of the lotus. The people light the candle and incense, then concentrate on all the sin and sadness they've experienced over the past year. Then, the shrine is launched into the river, hopefully taking all the misfortune out with it. The dark waters are filled with tiny pyres, each one a twinkling prayer passing silently toward the sea.
In the northern style of Chang Mai, some people are launching makeshift hot air balloons, a thin, rice paper cylinder turned upside down and lifted by burning fuel hung from the mouth of the bag. Now the river is reflected in the sky. Bright ruby stars float past the orange harvest moon up into the stratosphere, drifting and impermanent constellations that change the once familiar firmament into something alien and beautiful.
The festivities are somewhat grim in conjunction with the flooding in the west. Pete and I are discussing what to do with our day tomorrow, and he makes an original suggestion. He is going with the family to assist with the relief effort and invites me along. It certainly would be more interesting than another day full of temples, markets, and walking. Thinking it a great opportunity, I jump onboard. What Pete doesn't mention is the extent of the problem. Or the army presence in the district. Or the utter lack of other white faces, destining me to be a spectacle. Or the escape of hundreds of crocodiles from the captive breeding center.
After sundown, I go with Pete and his family for dinner. There's a never-ending spread of food. Every time a dish is close to clean, the remaining food is placed on another partially clean platter and some new delicacy replaces the empty plate. My memory is unreliable because I blacked out from pleasure, but I recall rotisserie chicken, fried fish steak, spicy papaya salad, saucy laab, spinach omelet, crispy pork slices, and a sharp vinegar and fish soup. Each plate came complete with its own unique sauce, and we ate pinches of sticky rice like dinner rolls.
Tonight the moon is full, marking the second largest festival in all of Thailand. People have gathered by the river banks, where numerous food carts are set up and the smoke and crackle of fireworks is thick. Each person carries a painted foam lotus flower, the top of which is speared with a narrow candle and sticks of incense. Around the base of these are marigolds and irises, held on by the faux leaves of the lotus. The people light the candle and incense, then concentrate on all the sin and sadness they've experienced over the past year. Then, the shrine is launched into the river, hopefully taking all the misfortune out with it. The dark waters are filled with tiny pyres, each one a twinkling prayer passing silently toward the sea.
In the northern style of Chang Mai, some people are launching makeshift hot air balloons, a thin, rice paper cylinder turned upside down and lifted by burning fuel hung from the mouth of the bag. Now the river is reflected in the sky. Bright ruby stars float past the orange harvest moon up into the stratosphere, drifting and impermanent constellations that change the once familiar firmament into something alien and beautiful.
The festivities are somewhat grim in conjunction with the flooding in the west. Pete and I are discussing what to do with our day tomorrow, and he makes an original suggestion. He is going with the family to assist with the relief effort and invites me along. It certainly would be more interesting than another day full of temples, markets, and walking. Thinking it a great opportunity, I jump onboard. What Pete doesn't mention is the extent of the problem. Or the army presence in the district. Or the utter lack of other white faces, destining me to be a spectacle. Or the escape of hundreds of crocodiles from the captive breeding center.
