Chicken Or The Egg

Here's a brief photo blog of my lunch adventure at Dab Jae restaurant.

August is the start of the high season for the furniture industry in the UK. To keep up with the rapid increase in orders, my factory has worked 12 hours a day for 20 days in a row since the beginning of August. Finally, this past Saturday after 3 long weeks, we had cleared all of our scheduled orders.

To show my appreciation for the long hours put in by the engineers and production supervisors, I agreed to pick up the tab for yesterday's lunch. Just wish I had also picked the restaurant.

From afar, Dab Jae looks like any ordinary rural Thai restaurant. Open-air, breezy, surrounded by trees and ponds. Even the food looks normal - spicy soup, fried meat, and some curry.


But upon closer inspection you'll find something not so common - at least for me.

Here you have deep-fried Kermit the frog. If he was alive, I would be shaking his hand. I'm not sure if he would be right-side up or upside down.




Below is some sun-dried beef. Probably the most normal thing on the menu.



I didn't get a picture of the curry, but it was filled with baby muscles/ clams that you find in the ditch next to the road. I passed.

One good thing about Dab Jae is its air-conditioning system, and I don't mean the fan. If you look at the ceiling you can see a blue PVC pipe running along the roof beam. Water was being pumped through it and then, onto the roof where it cooled down the corrugated sheets. I didn't have to break out my winter parka, but it certainly cooled things down.

Finally, this spicy soup had a nice flavor, and the boiled egg yolks looked fairly standard until I realized that they weren't normal eggs. These eggs had never seen the light of day, nor had they ever had a shell. Talk about picking fruit right from the tree - these eggs were picked right from the ovary. In fact, some were still attached.

Civil Disobedience

Some brag about being beat by police at the '68 Democratic Convention, others about stealing a stereo from Radio Shack during the L.A. riots. As for me, I've pretty much been a passive onlooker my entire life. I do remember when I, along with the rest of Orange Park High, walked out of 7th period to protest the firing of our principal, but that was more to get out of 7th period than to make any kind of statement. On the other side of things, when the workers at my factory decided to have a walk out because their year end bonus wasn't high enough (it was 0), I fired the ring leaders, then locked the remaining disgruntled employees out and hired 300 new people. But that was all local news. I've never been a part of something national - that is until now.

You may not have heard, but Thailand's favorite Soap Opera, otherwise known as politics, has a new series in the making. The People's Alliance for Democracy or PAD, a group of concerned citizens who are exercising their right to uphold democracy by kicking out the democratically elected government, is on the rampage again and will not stop until they get what they want. I won't go into details, but what they want invariably depends on their mood - could be world domination, could be a 56" plasma television.

For some reason their preferred method of civil disobedience is causing traffic jams. I think they've finally realized that adding more traffic to the already over-saturated Bangkok roads is like pi$$ing in the ocean because they've now moved to the lonely roads of upcountry Thailand.

Yesterday, as I was driving to Korat, Nuch called to warn me that the PAD were on the road between Bangkok and Korat and had set up a blockade. For a moment, I was concerned - what if today they wanted to make an example of an imperialist American invading their native homeland. Before I could think much more about it, I came across a team of policeman who were redirecting traffic. Sure enough, up ahead the PAD had set up one of their impromptu stages and had stopped traffic going from Bangkok to Korat. On the other side, where I was sent via a break in the median, the road from Korat to Bangkok (now, going both ways) was flowing freely.

Drive out to the middle of nowhere, set up a tent and speakers, and agree with each other on how right you are just to redirect traffic. I probably lost about 30 seconds of my time, but I did get some pictures.


Freedom!!!!


Just after the PAD protest, I passed these enormous pigs!

Okay, so it's not the '68 convention or a sale at Radio Shack courtesy of Rodney King, but at least I can say I was there.

Here are some pictures of the Bangkok protests from the New Mandela.

Heaven and Hell

One man's heaven is another man's hell.

On Monday evening I found myself caught in the middle of a war between Good and Evil. The battlefield - Kao San Rd.

On one side, two bible beaters in white shirts showed up (difficult to see them in the background, but you can hear them) and started warning all the backpackers that they've got a one-way ticket to you know where. On the other side, the devil's merry-makers were fairly quiet. Most just stared, then moved on.

Next to me, there was a raspy guitarist singing Pink Floyd's "Wish you were here".

A rather surreal moment until Nuch told me to get the check because the battle between Good and Evil was too loud.

Olympic Spirit

The Olympics bring out the best in everyone. It happened to bring out the ultra-competitor in Nuch's mother.

Here she is watching the Men's Volleyball Final between the US and Brazil. She's yelling "watch out for the hole" (or open court) and "slam it!" Although frustrating to watch at times, the US Men's Volleyball Team with their inspirational victory, now, have their newest, fan.

I can't say the same for the Women's Volleyball team, who played the night before. Nuch's mother found the high number of out of bounds serves and ineffective strategy of drop/ lob shots completely unacceptable.

Handy Man

I'm probably going to lose my "G" rating for this (G is for Grandma), but this guy gave me the best laugh I've had in weeks.

He's one of the maintenance guys at my factory. In other words, he's our Handy Man. When he's not setting up sewing machines or installing new lighting fixtures, he's busy fixing broken hearts that need repair.

As you can see, he loves his job.

World's Oldest Dino Footprints

I read in the Thai news yesterday that the oldest Dino-footprints ever discovered (210 million years old) were recently unearthed in Chaiyaphum, the province where I served in the Peace Corps. The article also states that it's likely a new species.

Pretty impressive for a small Thai province. This guy is certainly excited.



Finally, Chaiyaphum has put its mark on the world map - and the Thai map for that matter.


Before I was sent there for my 2-year commitment, I asked several of my Thai trainers about Chaiyaphum - what did they know about it, and what is it famous for. Although they did confirm that it is a province and is, in fact, in Thailand, nobody could tell me where it's located (it's not in the South was the best answer I got). As far as what is Chaiyaphum famous for - after several blank stares, one trainer said she thought she had heard that Chaiyaphum has good rice.


During the months before I left for Thailand, I had dreamed of tropical beaches, meandering rivers, and terraced mountains hidden in the clouds. Chaiyaphum, the geographic center of the place farthest from beaches, rivers, and mountains, turned out to be the Waldo of Thailand without the speed traps - because nobody even drove through it. It was so dull, it made the rice taste good.


But now, look who's laughing. Now, everyone will want to come to Chaiyaphum to see the world's oldest Dino footprints - but they won't, because they can't, because they don't know where Chaiyaphum is, and I'm not telling them.

Patience Part II

These pictures were taken on the same day that I took the pictures of Nuch's garden (Patience Part I).

After brunch at the Marriott, we rushed back home to pick up Nuch's mother, who had her monthly appointment with Dr. Sunthorn (of "An Apple a Day" fame).

This is the sign outside his clinic/ home. It's looks as historic as his clinic.



Once there, and with Nuch and her mom talking to Dr. Sunthorn, I, for the second time in the same day, found myself with extra time on my hands, enjoying some of the finer aspects of being married, and mastering the art of patience.

Fortunately, to help pass the time, I still had my camera with me.

Dr. Sunthorn's house and clinic are in the same compound - house on one side, bordering a small canal and clinic on the other side next to the road. In the middle is a tropical garden filled with a collection of alien plants from galaxies far, far away. I have to give Dr. Sunthorn some credit. His garden doesn't necessarily have the mass that Nuch's dad's garden has, but what it lacks in quantity is well made up for with the quality of its exotic specimens.


The lawn decorations are a nice touch.


After exploring the garden, I took a stroll along the canal that runs adjacent to Dr. Sunthorn's home. Here's one of Thailand's famous long-tailed boats. I'll add a video later.


Soon after, it was time to go home, and I'm happy to report that Nuch's mother is as healthy and as fiery as ever.

TV Dinner

Cute kid outside his home enjoying a carton of milk and some potato chips while watching the Olympics.

Patience Part I

Several years ago (and before I was married), I was visiting Carl on the way in from Korat. We had decided to go out for lunch and took a short walk to a nearby Mexican restaurant, where we were later joined by his wife, Nok.

After lunch, we stopped by a 7/11 to get some snacks (beer) before we headed back to his house. It was crowded that time of day, and there was a long line at the check out counter. After a tortuous wait, I remember having bought our goodies and then, finding ourselves waiting, once again, but this time outside the 7/11. Carl turned to me and said - Joe, this is marriage.

I had not been paying attention, but apparently, while we were waiting in line, Carl had asked Nok if she wanted to get anything. She had not, but as soon as Carl had paid up, Nok decided that, in fact, she did need some things. Thus, she was now waiting at the end of a long line with a bottle of shampoo in her hand, and Carl and I were standing outside the large glass window staring back inside. Sweat began to bead across my forehead.

At the time, I thought he meant that marriage is waiting or time lost between point A and point B. More recently (and after being married), I've gained a new understanding of what he meant, and now believe that his message is this - marriage is patience.


This past Sunday, Nuch and I planned to have brunch at the Marriott. After rushing to get ready, I found myself waiting outside Nuch's house with those same beads of sweat appearing on my brow. Years ago, I would have grumbled to myself about having to wait or wasting time. Instead, I find myself practicing the disciplined art of patience.

By the way, the reason I'm writing this blog is not to tell you the secret to marriage or the meaning of life bla bla bla. The reason I'm telling you this is because while I was being patient, I had a chance to do something that I would not normally do - take pictures of flowers.

Eventually, I had taken a picture of every flower in the garden, so I went back inside and took a picture of Nuch's mother with her mother's day gift.

Then, back outside and taking more picture. (You can be thankful that I've chosen not to post the other 50+ pictures I took while being patient.)

The barbs on the wall surrounding Nuch's house

a Thai gardening hat

Another thing I've learned - the secret to having patience is having something worth waiting for - and Nuch certainly is that (34 years worth of waiting to be exact and another 5 minutes is not going to hurt).

Finally, check out this convoy of sugar ants that were busy bringing things in and out of Nuch's house. While being patient (and without harming a single ant), I decided to interrupt the monotony of their imprinted tasks - utter chaos ensues.

Sam's Hairdo

One of the great things about Thailand is the 2 dollar hair cut (including tip). One of the bad things is very few Thais know how to cut western hair.

Finding a good barber is like finding a good hat. They're relatively inexpensive, they're readily available, but there are so many styles and variations that's it's near impossible to find the one that's just right for you, and once you do find the one that suits you, you hold on to it. Not sure if that's the best analogy.

Here are some pictures of my barber shop on Soi 37 Jaran Sanitwong Rd. The guy on the left in the grey shirt is my barber.

Not sure what the guy on the right is taking out of his customer's ear.

My barber (never did get his name) is the only guy I know that can cut my hair - and by that I mean cut white guy hair. Everyone else applies Thai hair cutting techniques to my head, and I get a one inch ring around my scalp, trimmed to the skin, while the rest is left, basically, untouched. You can imagine what this would look like after a few months - not unlike Moe Howard.

My barber used to work at a shop just down the street from Nuch's house. About a year ago, I went for a haircut and found out he had moved to another shop. No problem, I just asked the other guy to cut my hair. You may remember the hack job I had when I went to the US last July.

After that I found out where his new shop was located and hunted him down like an obsessed stalker, who had just lost their hat.

Here are some more pictures of Sam's Hairdo.

Not a very clear picture, but you can see the guy on the right is in phase 1 of the Moe, where the guy on the left is in the more advanced phases of his Moe.

Be Careful What You Wish For

When I was a poor Peace Corps Volunteer, I had a lot time to myself where I could sit and imagine all the places in the world I would rather be than stuck in Podunk, Chaiyaphum - one of those places was a crowded party, filled with lovely Thai Air flight attendants.

Well, a couple weeks ago, this adolescent fantasy came true.

Nuch started working as a flight attendant (or Air Hostess, as they're known here) in 1997, so this year her class decided to celebrate their 11th anniversary of working for Thai Air. (Originally, they had planned to celebrate their 10th anniversary, but it took a year before they could all get together at one time.)

When Nuch invited me to join, I, having waited for more than a decade for this "dream" to come true, gladly accepted. Little did she know that I had just mentally checked off one of the items on my "100 things to do before I die" list.

Excited to have only 99 more items remaining, I never even considered where we would be going or what we would be doing. I guess in the end I should have known better - what else would Thai friends or co-workers do for an 11th anniversary.

Karaoke is popular in some factions of American society, but very few Americans could ever imagine the amount of leisure time it consumes in Asia. How many people do you know with Karaoke sound systems in their bedroom or in their car?

How can something that most people are inherently bad at become so popular? For the most part, Americans just don't get it. An expat friend of mine once described the experience like this - "karaoke is about as entertaining as watching paint dry."

So, like the man whose wish to live forever was happily granted by the genie, who neglected to mention that the man would still continue to age (forever), I had my Thai Air flight attendant "dream" party at a Karaoke Lounge.

Actually, as much as I enjoy complaining about Karaoke, there's a hidden side of me that secretly relishes the temporary super star status that Karaoke affords, but I would never admit that.

After 10 years in Asia, I've built up a certain immunity to this social phenomena of suffering through your friend's cackling voice and graciously returning the favor. Then, doing it all over and over again until you're asked to leave by the karaoke staff and owners.

As part of my Peace Corps experience, I was forced to develop a repertoire of Vietnam war-era super hits like Hotel California, Country Roads, and Beautiful Sunday. Eventually, I learned to survive a night out crooning with locals, who quite often didn't remember the words to the song, couldn't read the lyrics fast enough and didn't even try to carry a tune.

Heineken helps. The quirky video concepts they come up with can help pass the time, as well. For some reason, for Eric Clapton's "Wonderful Tonight" they decided to film the inside of a church - not before a wedding, which would have made sense, but before Mass.

The paint is starting to dry.

So, although it wasn't quite how I had envisioned my dream party years ago, while stranded in the rice paddies of Northeast Thailand, overall it was a good time, and I'm hoping that despite my mangling of Robbie Williams' "Better Man", I will be invited back for the 22nd anniversary.

Here are some pictures of the restaurant/ karaoke bar we were at - Waterside. It's a beautiful spot - set atop lighted ponds, filled with water fountains and palm trees. Next time, I'll have to try the food.