Sawadee

We made it! battered and buffeted and not used to staying up for 24+ hours, we pulled into the New Siam II only an hour later than scheduled. It was 3:00am when we finally bounced like tossed coins onto the crisp white sheets of our second floor in the back room. We had no illusions about sleep, but being horizontal with a pillow under our heads, stretching and turning to the whirring of the overhead fan was good for two or three hours of dozing, tossing, and dozing again. Truth be told, we were biding our time until we could stumble over to Ricky's for much needed coffee and breakfast. Now, Ricky's is no great shakes (no pun intended) when it comes to food, or atmosphere for that matter, but it is the idea of Ricky's that pleases. Coffee so strong it stands up and salutes you in the morning, a bowl of meusli, fruit and yogurt...not Thai, but full of fresh pineapple, papaya, banana and the attractive but tasteless dragon fruit, and a Mexican omelette for Muzzy, was the start we had been dreaming of for the last few months. Ricky's looks a little worse for wear, but then, so do we. It's railings are listing and swaying, and the tables tend to stumble on the uneven floorboards. The sign announcing its hours as 07:00-21:00 was amended with a Sharpie at some point to read 08:00 but the ink has worn off. The time is 08:00, not 07:00, and the cadre of sleepy Thai girls who arrive just a little after 08:00 on the backs of motorbikes or out of the cover of a tuk tuk attest to the fact that we are, indeed, on Thai time. The coffee revived us so much that we plunged into the day by jumping in the back of a taxi, the driver quoting us the outrageous price of 400 baht, which prompted me to clutch my heart involuntarily crying "pang maak!". He laughed heartily and ammended it to 300 with the addition of "Happy New Year!" and something about money. I firmly got him down to 250, which is still too much, and we both knew it, but off we went to Chatuchak Market...the colossal weekend free-market debauch which has been servicing this corner of Southeast Asia since the time of the Silk Road (and looks like it too!). I must admit I had misgivings about doing this on our first day, but Muzzy is ever the optimist and both of us, fueled by coffee, breakfast, humidity and the fact that you just have to plunge right in, were up for it! It is still its crazy, overcrowded, overheated sensory overload of smells, sights, and sounds. I bought some sweet little face beads, which made me so happy we stopped for an iced mocha treat at a small corner coffee stand that we found in Chatuchak a few years ago. Lucky us! The owners are closing the stand and moving back to Chiang Mai on the 13th of January. Muzzy took some photos, which we will try to post in the future. It was great to share in the farewells and sip a gigantic iced mocha. We would have missed the stand entirely if we hadn't decided at the last minute to visit the market today. As usual, Chatuchack is not for the faint of heart. It opens, sort of, at 9:00 am and if you aren't out of there by noon, you are probably a shop owner or too burned out to know when to leave. Being somewhat jet-lagged, we made our escape in a timely manner and were back at the New Siam, lying on the bed, well before lunch. We debated the pros and cons of a trip by river taxi to Wat Pho for massage, and finally decided on lunch at the small cafe next to the New Siam that Sarah recommended. We thought we would eat and then check out massages closer to our guesthouse. Both decisions turned out to be total winners. The friendly owner of the New Siam, whom we have dealt with now for several years, recommended the new "Spa" across the street at the New Siam Riverside. I'm telling you, these people are marketing mavens. Four hotel/guesthouses catering to every level of backpacker, flashpacker and tourist, taxis, travel service, internet and now a Spa and Wifi! The cafe, whose name I will find, is definitely a gem. It is a Thai street cafe serving khao mun gai (chicken and rice) with a few variations, simple, inexpensive and delicious...not too many farang (us), mostly working Thais. The massages we had afterward were half the price of Wat Pho, which isn't expensive either, and were FANTASTIC. I finally understood through the grunts and groans and squeals of pain, that this is one of the things you come to Thailand for...that and the food, the people, the sights, the smells, the crazy traffic, etc. etc. And I wasn't the only one groaning...Muzzy was right there beside me. 350 baht for an hour and a half and I am officially on vacation. We have already decided to go back tomorrow...it's right across the street which allows us to stumble up the stairs to our room with little effort. We have extended our stay in Bangkok one day, booked the tickets into and out of Yangon for less than they were at home, and are looking forward to Jok Pochana and a big bottle of beer tonight. If you don't know about the Weekend Market in Bangkok, look it up. It's a crazy wonderful place, variously known and spelled JJ Market, Chatuchak, Jatujak, etc. Anyone of those searches will get you there, or, better yet, buy a ticket. It's an E coupon all the way!

The Countdown

A week to go. We made it through Christmas. It was low key, nice, cozy, our grandkitties were enthralled at the birds outside the windows, and Sarah, Muzzy and I got to see the new Hobbit movie in 3D. I was aprehensive because I don't like 3D. I saw Alice in Wonderland and found it distracting and annoying. However, I may have to change my thoughts on this. The Hobbit 3D was actually very mellow, enhancing the action and the fabulous scenery. There was one present mishap. I opened the box for my new Ipad, excited to take it on the trip, set it on the floor, and continued opening packages. The clever external keyboard/stand that Muzzy also gave me was insecurely packaged and slipped out of the box, bouncing on the floor. I picked it up, noting how lucky I was not to have broken it, and set it aside as well. After all the flurry of paper and bows was done, I picked up the Ipad to see a spreading spiderweb of cracks in the face. It wasn't even out of the plastic! I was horrified! So that is what that pinging noise was when the keyboard dropped. We pressed on, determined not to spoil the day. I called the Apple support line, and was told to get to the nearest Mac store and I could get a replacement. There wasn't time to mail it in and wait...we leave in a week! I made an "appointment" at the Mac store in the Alderwood Mall for the next morning, dreading I would be responsible for the repairs, that they wouldn't have a replacement, etc. etc. After a sleepless night, Sarah and I jumped in the car on Wednesday morning and drove to Lynwood, got to the store where the very sweet manager simply handed me a new Ipad, made the exchange, declaring that it must have gotten damaged in shipping (!), and sent us on our way. We were home before noon with a new device, had a great lunch. Sarah generously helped me set it up, she is so quick and helpful and I am so grateful for her patience. WHEW! Now we will see how it works on the trip! So...if you want to follow this blog, there is a place on the right, below the photos, where you can enter your email to get notifications. Otherwise, check back if you are interested. We will be posting blog entries and, hopefully, photos, as we go.

It's nearly Christmas and I am in the throes of Christmas things, and trying to get ready to go. We leave January 4th and I have anchored our trip in and out but have done nothing about booking lodging or travel in Myanmar/Burma. I haven't even been able to book our air ticket to Yangon, so I am trusting we can do that in Bangkok. On the other hand, being stuck in Bangkok isn't such a bad prospect. We have our Burmese visas, so...there you go. We are at the New Siam II in BK and spending the last week on Koh Tao, back on the gulf side of Thailand again. The place we booked looks good in the photos, but then, they all do. Just the prospect of a week on an island can't be all bad. In between we have the conundrum of getting from Yangon to Inle Lake to Bagan and back to Yangon. It's looking like the trip down the Irrawaddy from Bagan may not be the best idea after all. The scenery has been described as depressing, the boat as unreliable, and the time too long. I can do two days on a boat and have done that, but not four. As I discovered on our last trip to Burma, the romance in my head does not match the reality of a country still reeling from an oppressive government and terrible natural disasters. I have low expectations this time and want to leave as gentle a footprint as I can. I do, however, remember the incredible hospitality of the people, and the beauty of Bagan and Schwedegon Paya. I'm sure Inle Lake will be wonderful, so...I'm looking forward to more adventures.

Getting ready for Thailand and Burma (Myanmar) in January '13.

San Francisco April 2012

Sarah and I took a 3 day break and went to San Francisco last week. We stayed at the Hotel Boheme in North Beach, our favorite place to stay now. It was a beatnik flophouse in the '50's and lies above what used to be the Stella Dora Bakery right on Columbus Street.

The rooms are small and cozy and surprisingly quiet. And we love being in North Beach. The food is great, its easy to walk around, City Lights is right down the block. While we waited for our room to be available, we went up the block and had lunch at an Italian cafe. I had a plate of pasta pomodoro, simple, delicious and perfect. I sat in the sun with my sunglasses on, watching the parade of people. After checking in, we went around the corner to the Caffe Trieste, an old favorite, and had a cafe au lait, in a glass, the way its supposed to be. The original is the best.

Our next stop was a thorough perusal of City Lights. It is overwhelming the number of books we don't see or hear about in Bellingham, and a little depressing. Without copying down the names like a complete dufus, I will never remember them all and I felt like a rube. We finally killed enough time to cross what is now "Jack Kerouac Alley" to Vesuvio's for happy hour. Sarah was amazed that I had never been to Vesuvio's in all the years I lived in the City. I explained to her that when I lived there, I wasn't yet 21. Besides, though the Beats had made it famous by 1966, no one I knew, real City-zens, would be caught dead being that uncool. I loved sitting upstairs drinking a Stella with my daughter. The City always makes me feel sophisticated. Even now, 40+ years later, I get a continental, adult, very hip feeling doing "city" things. I loved Vesuvio's. It was charming.

Our next stop was the House of Nanking. It's right across the street from the Zoetrope Building. Usually there is a long ine out front, but we were just early enough to get the last two empty spots at one of the long tables that line the interior of this tiny crowded Chinese eatery. Although I just finished reading The Devil of Nanking, a gory and somewhat depressing book, it didn't distract me from eating my fill of garlic long beans and crispy chicken with sweet potatoes. We washed it down with some Tsingdao and walked back to the Boheme for a good night's sleep.

Thursday was our full day. We had cafe au lait and pain au chocolate at Cafe Trieste, ensconced at our table in the back, then headed to Market Street via the Stockton bus. Transferring to the 71 Haight, we arrived at Haight and Masonic for a walk down to the Park. I don't remember how many times I've made that walk. I snapped some photos, forcing myself to overcome the feelings of Uber Tourist. I got a good one of the entrance to the Drogstore Cafe. It used to be an actual drugstore until the City forced the new owners to change the name...a cutsey play on words for the Haight back in the day. It was also the first place I belly danced in public with my friend Happy Hyder in 1972. I had Sarah take a photo of me at the Haight Ashbury sign at Ben & Jerry's. The actual street signs have been conveniently lowered to fit into just such photos, but it came out pretty well. And I snapped a shot of the big beautifully restored Victorian on the corner of Ashbury and Page that Shob Carter lived in before he was killed. I spent a night in the turret room with Shob...and that's about all I remember, really. I also got a snap of 408, the infamous commune building where I met Sarah's father. Adventures around 408 and those two years including the Summer of Love are the core of the novel I am trying so hard to finish. On the way back up to Haight Street Sarah and I tried to visit a small private Haight Museum attached to a B&B, but no one would come to the door even though the charming gate was open. Too bad. From what we could see with our noses pressed to the oval glass door, it might have been fun.

We braved the wind (I forgot how breezy it is in San Francisco) and headed for the Park. I caught a relatively unpeopled shot of the entry pond and the tunnel that ducks under Stanyan Street. That tunnel used to seem so long and dark. I remember Carol and I seeing a flasher in there and running out laughing so hard we fell on the grass. I tried not to wax too nostalgic for Sarah about how many times I brought her and her sister Lise to the children's playground which is straight ahead as you come out of the gloom. We turned right toward Hippie Hill and I took a shot of the nearly empty hillside. Sarah remarked how the hippies were a lot more colorful than the homeless who now lounge around the area. Not a politically correct thing to say, but a true observation and a comment on the times, I suppose. Going back to the Haight is always tinged with sadness for me.

Were we colorful? Hippie Hill was so full of ghosts that I could almost hear the drums and see the long line of conga players lining the walkway. We continued into the interior of the Park. Things change in 40 years, even the plants. What I called the Prehistoric Garden was being replanted by a small work crew, but as we passed through I wasn't sure it was the same place. Sarah spotted the Science Museum with the rooftop garden and told me we were near the deYoung. As we walked around the side, I finally figured out where I was. Before me spread the large rectangle holding the fountain and the rows of benches in front of the old bandstand. The deYoung sat on the north side and the Science Museum that replaced the old Natural History Museum on the south. Sarah told me they saved the huge pendulum clock from the old Natural History Museum and that the old albino alligator was still alive and housed in the new Science Museum. I missed the art deco entrance with its Egyptian lions flanking the steps of the newly remodeled deYoung, but it the exhibit of Jean Paul Gaultier's couture wear was what we came to see. We'd had some debate about expense and time, but OH MY GOD! I'm so glad we did it!!!! Indescribable, exciting, exotic, fabulous, unique...not enough superlatives to explain the sensory overload! The mannequins had moving faces projected on them so they spoke, sang, and seemed alive. One was Jean Paul himself talking about his work and the exhibit. Fantastique! The Madonna grouping (not Madonna the person, but like, the mother of god) sang. Sarah knew the many of the models and so much about the clothing. We were two seamstresses in heaven! The mermaids were the very best. One was on crutches...because mermaid's don't have feet...and her crutches were unique pieces of art. We were close enough to the the clothing to walk all the way around most of it. There was even a place to sit down and rest our very achy feet while watching a wall of monitors showing videos of Gaultier's collections.

Upon leaving the museum, I noticed the old Egyptian lions sitting in a small space to the side of the entrance. I snapped a photo of Sarah in her purple jacket sitting with a lion, my little Leo rising. And as we contemplated the long walk back to Haight Street for lunch, not one but two taxis pulled up and let people out. We rode back to Haight Street on the Lincoln Street side of the Park near my old commune on 6th Avenue. I was suddenly re-oriented...and then I was gone again.

Eating at a small Thai place on Haight Street I stared out the window, trying to recall the "old days" and wondering why I couldn't relate this tree lined shabby street to the one in my memory. It occurred to me that when I was on Haight Street, there were no trees at all! We spent the next couple of hours at the Korean spa next to the Fillmore in Japan town. After being scraped and pummeled, we had more noodles and went to see The Hunger Games. It was on the whole, a perfect day! Friday we had a big breakfast, more cafe au lait at Trieste, and explored the Beatnik Museum while we waited for the bead store to open. Yone's is a North Beach, San Francisco institution for bead freaks. I first went there in 1967 with my best friend Carol. Yone died several years ago and now it is run by Sandra. It is open Thursday, Friday and Saturdays from 1-6 pm. Braving the scaffolding that obscured the entrance, we went into the small shop full of 50 years of beads. It isn't an ordinary place. There is some order...of a sort. Sandra asked what type of thing we were looking for and started bringing out trays of assorted vintage silver pieces that made my mouth first dry and then drool. My heart beat faster and I felt faint with overload as I loaded up one empty holding tray after another. Behind us, the sound of someone moving caught our attention as 90 year old Herman shuffled into the store and took his place behind the counter. Sarah struck up a conversation and soon all four of us were telling stories, looking at obscure vintage and antique beads, laughing and talking as I narrowed down my choices. Difficult as always, I missed Muzzy then...he always urges me to spend, to be bold, to take chances and not hold back. On my own I am much more conservative and then always regret it. But the best part of the bead store was Herman and Sandra...she, the Lebanese pastry expert trying to learn the business, and Herman, talking about lining his coffin with beads he couldn't bear to sell. It isn't often anymore that I can amaze my adult child. Yone's was a gift from me to my daughter, via her father, the king of serendipity, who introduced me to the wonder of San Francisco 46 years ago. I fell in love with the City through his eyes and despite everything, I still find it magical. How nice to share that magick moment with my daughter, and to see it through her eyes, to find myself with one more trick up my sleeve. I should have taken more pictures.

I love the man washing the cooking pots on the left of this photo. This was taken on the trip from Ranong to Koh Phayam. I think this boat has everything I need.

The Khamu Jacket

When we were in Luang Prabang, Laos this year, I paid not one but two visits to my favorite silk weaving establishment in the village of Xang Khong, Lao Textile Natural Dyes. I have been visiting this house since 2005; the original old teak house, the new air conditioned building across the dirt road that housed their collection of antique costumes and fabrics, again when the whole house was completely demolished, and this year. To my delight, the new house was built in the old style, new style concrete outside, but all wood interior. I was excited by the good supply of hand woven, naturally dyed silks in a variety of weaves. After amassing a large and expensive pile of new silks in solid colors, Veomanee reminded me that they had moved their collection of antique textiles upstairs and invited me to see them. Removing my shoes, I followed a young woman up cool smooth wooden stairs where she unlocked the doors to a large room that took up half the top of the shop house. It was very dark inside, and very cool, perfect for preserving fragile fabrics. I waited for my eyes to accustom to the gloom while she went from window to window, opening the exquisitely carved shutters to let in more light. The room was dominated by a large traditional bed frame hung with antique silk mosquito net borders. On top of the bed slats were piles of bedding and household textiles. Ranged around the walls were stacks and stacks of baby carriers, phasin (skirts), ceremonial shoulder cloths, jackets, shaman cloths, more bed sheets, curtains, blankets and wall hangings. She invited me by gesture to look at whatever I liked. When I sat down on the floor, she ran to get me a low stool and when she saw my interest in a certain item, she went around the room gathering more of that style. Things were arranged by use and tribal group. On another low pallet bed of wood were pieces of old textiles that had been removed from items that were too far gone to save. The embroidery or supplementary weaving examples were too precious to discard. Many would find their way into frames on walls, or as cartoons for young apprentice weavers to study. There were countless phasin borders, jacket trims, ribbons and ends of head wraps and shoulder cloths. Phasin borders are a specialty in Laos and are often removed when the body of the skirt has worn out. Lao skirts are made in 3 separate sections, waist or hip band, skirt body, and skirt border. I spent quite a bit of time looking through the beautiful hand work, asking about the identity of tribal groups they came from, and indulging a textile junkie's passion in all things made by hand. I didn't buy any old pieces that day. I left with 3 large hand made saa paper bags full of new fabric to use for my own designs back home.

Four days later I returned, bringing a new friend that I had infused (or should I say overwhelmed?) with my own passion and wonder. I met Ann Crittenden on our way up river to Nong Khiaw and I promised to take her to Xang Khong to help her buy some silk which she could have made into a blouse or two when she returned to the States. Veomanee was thrilled to see me again and even more excited that I brought a friend. I asked if Ann could see the treasures upstairs. Together we ascended the stairs to the almost mystical storeroom. Once again one of the girls scurried around, throwing open the shutters to let in the light. From one of the piles near the largest bed, Ann picked out an antique wall hanging from the far north. It was a classic black (actually dark dark indigo) and white geometric supplementary weave bordered by white cotton. I spent time with a pile of jackets against one wall, and revisited the distinctively woven antique silk phasin from the Sam Neua area. Veomanee told me his mother was the impetus for the collection. His mohter was from the Vietnamese border, near Sam Neua, and had traveled from one end of Laos to the other collecting old textiles and costumes. As we were getting ready to leave and go downstairs, I walked over to a rod hung from the ceiling where longer coats and jackets from the Hmong, Lienten, Khamu and Yao Mien hung. Among them was one odd, longish jacket. As I pulled it down and from the doorway, I looked up and saw Veomanee's mother watching me. Veomanee's mother was elegant. Her gray hair was pulled back neatly into bun at the nape of her neck. She wore an expensive cardigan over a traditional subtle striped silk Luang Prabang style phasin, complete with intricate, elaborate border. A very tasteful beautifully woven Lao shawl hung around her shoulders. She looked right at me, "Khamu". I turned to Veomanee with a questioning look. "It is Khamu jacket. From Khamu people, very very old." Indeed. I had been through Khamu villages further north, but I had never seen anything like this jacket, nor could I remember having seen it in any of my textile books. It was thick black polished cotton on the outside, lined with a coarser hand woven indigo hopsacking I had seen used for the long jackets worn by the Yao Mien. I looked more closely. Completely hand sewn, the two layers fitted together perfectly to make a heavy, warm jacket for the cold highlands where the Khamu used to live. Every seam was worked in such tiny stitches I didn't see most of them until I returned home to the US and saw them under the bright electric lights of my sewing room. They were worked in red thread. The side gussets were topped by a thin column of red satin stitch along the seam. The frog style fastenings were red cotton attached with green embroidery thread. Mother of pearl buttons were used as fasteners on one end of the loops. I fell in love with this jacket. I didn't pay a lot for it, not by Nordstrom standards, but for something I could not wear and something so unremarkable at first glance, it was an extravagance. Veomanee's mother motioned for the doors to the room across the hall to be opened, where even more wonders were arrayed, this time in more of a museum like setting. We ohhhed and ahhhed and were properly appreciative, but I had the Khamu jacket clutched under my arm, and Ann had already made her choices, so we went back downstairs to complete our purchases. As I walked into the main room, Veomanee moved toward me with a small folded piece of silk. "My mother thinks you may like this." I unfolded it carefully and held a piece of soft, aged mat mee in my hand. It was a gorgeous antique phasin. I knew immediately that it was very valuable. I had purchased one very similar on my first trip to Southeast Asia in 1990. I had paid $15 at the time and felt myself ill used. I brought it home and cut it into a loose overblouse. I knew that the $85 she was asking from me for this lovely antique skirt was a good deal. I could buy the exquisite phasin or the Khamu jacket. Not both. It was no contest. I would never find another Khamu jacket.

I have been working on a pattern from this jacket. It's a sweet jacket, very flattering, but very very tiny. I realized part way through the pattern process that the jacket was probably for a man. That made sizing for a woman a little tricky. I love ethnic clothes. I love their deceptive simplicty, their use of the maximum amount of fabric with the minimum of cutting, their economy in using what is to hand, and their surprising, sometimes whimsical details. It soothes my sense of purpose and attention to make things that are one of a kind. The pattern may be the same, the intent and materials, never. I have included photos of the original and the one I just finished. The new one is done in linen/rayon hopsacking lined with Kaufmann cotton sateen...a fabulous find. I used DMC Perle cotton for the embroidery. The frogs were purchased in Bangkok and attached with a herringbone embroidery stitch. I tried to show the red embroidery above the gusset, but it is a little tricky and didn't quite some out in the photo

I changed a few things. The collar is not quite as long as the original and I will remedy that on the next go round. I put darts in the back and used one large side gusset rather than the two smaller ones on the original. I may change that as well. It still needs a few adjustments, but it is quite wonderful, and can be tailor made to fit almost anyone!