Thailand: Electrical Chaos

 Everywhere we went in Thailand, we were intrigued by the complicated arrangements of electric cables that, despite looking incredibly tangled, still seemed to function.

 This was outdoors. If I'd had my laptop with me, I could have recharged it on the spot.

 Wires at twilight near a temple. See? Even cables can be beautiful.

 A multi-lane cable T-junction. And is that a loudspeaker?

 Cables by night. Very noir-ish.

  I do have more but I think you've probably seen enough by now.

New Year's Eve in Chiang Mai

    Had I had the energy, I could have done an entire photo essay on backpackers consulting their copies of the Lonely Planet guide. It's a heavy volume to cart around, in fact, heresy, but people have been known to --shock, horror--just tear out the pages they want and leave the mangled remains at home.

   We didn't so we were able to duplicate, in a small way, the experience pictured on the cover of the current edition which shows the lighting of paper lanterns on New Year's Eve. Not sure if it's in Chiang Mai but that's where we found ourselves on December 31, 2010.

Armed with a dozen paper lanterns, we made our way to the riverside and, at intervals, set one alight and launched it into the air. 

  

    Across the water, we could see literally hundreds of them, like fire-flies, soaring across the night sky. Someone told us that you package all your negative thoughts from the waning year and send them into oblivion. It was magical, all of it, unfolding your lantern, and the growing excitement as you lit it, and let the hot air inside expand the paper to the point where you could safely send it aloft.
     Not my video so thanks to the person who posted it on YouTube. P.S. Those fireworks were magnificent.

    We saw the New Year in, then made our way through the crowded streets, five of us crammed into a single tuk-tuk.
    The next morning the streets of Chiang Mai were littered with what looked like giant bats that had run afoul of the electric wires overhead: the tattered and burned remains of all those lanterns.

The search for the perfect bowl of khao soi.

    Complex, fragrant and often fiery, Thai soups are extraordinary. While tom yum has conquered the world, less famous, and by far my favourite is a soup from northern Thailand called khao soi. Describing it as curry chicken noodle soup make it sound ho-hum which it definitely isn't. Imagine a bowl of thick, creamy soup, dense with soft noodles and, on top, a crown of deep-fried noodles which makes for some interesting textural contrast. On the side, to add at will, are shallots, coriander leaves, pickled mustard greens, chilis and limes.
   Absolutely the first thing I order when I get to Chiang Mai is a bowl of it. And, during the time we were there, I managed to down more than a few versions. Here in France, it's hard to find the right kind of noodles and fresh coriander (cilantro) is something you grab when you see a bunch. But I've nailed the secret ingredient: the little packets of curry powder that I bring back from the market in Chiang Mai. Recipes? Plenty are on the Internet. The one that comes closest to the real thing is from the author of Real Thai: The Best of Thailand's Regional Cooking, Nancie McDermott. http://www.food.com/recipe/chiang-mai-curry-noodles-kao-soi-192829

This version came without the usual additions but with hefty amounts of chopped cilantro and green onion,

Someone getting inventive in the kitchen here. Check the straightness and stylish positioning of the fried noodles.

The Thailand and Laos Report. Episode 4: the Buddhist funeral

     The parade I came on one morning was odd: some men marching along were in uniform, some not, and all carried ornamental objects or seats on poles, like topless sedan chairs. 

    I followed them through the gates of a temple where the parade disbanded. Then, wandering around to behind the temple--a jaw-dropping moment, I tell you--I saw a massive, glittering edifice. Long story short, the 91-year-old head monk of the province had died and this was his ceremonial pyre. An enormous bird, magnificently decorated with thousands and thousands of pieces of metallic paper in green, red, silver, blue and gold. it glittered and shone in the sunshine like something out of an ancient myth. Nearby, men climbed bamboo scaffolding to paint and embellish a vast elephant's head.

   Of course, we came back the next day. By now the elephant's head was almost complete and gardeners were planting lemon yellow chrysanthemums, purple petunias and orange marigolds around the base of the bird. 

   It was getting near lunch time. Spotting some food stalls at the rear of the temple compound, we ambled over. A man stopped us. "Go and eat free food," he said, explaining that to gain "merit," Buddhists make and donate dishes for occasions like these. 

   That Friday, and over the weekend (the funeral was a four-day affair) we ate fried chicken with sticky rice (a Chiang Mai specialty), a little boat shaped from a banana leaf filled with a herby ground pork, pork meatballs in a sweetish sauce, omelettes with chili sauce, fried rice, pad Thai made in a wok the size of a satellite dish, and ice cream. We drank sweet, red-brown Thai tea, tamarind juice and strong coffee sweetened with condensed milk. 

   Sunday, the monk's golden coffin was brought to the temple and carried up the steep bamboo ramp to its final resting place. On Monday, untold numbers crowded into the temple grounds. Dignitaries made speeches. There was music, ornate and traditional dance, a stand-up comedian, an appearance by a princess, a slow shuffle forward as the immense crowd brought lotus blossoms, incense and other offerings to the base of the "bird."

   Darkness fell. A full moon climbed into the night sky. Fireworks blazed along the 15th century chedi (conical monument) and high over the pyre. And, finally, the peak of it burst into flames and blazed into the night sky.