It's a continual challenge to stand flat-footed and accept that things are how they are.
That's the bugger: no matter what I think or expect or believe about something, no matter how it is or was or especially can/should be or was/has been elsewhere, it is how it is here, wherever it happens to be.
So... a word that ends with L and looks like, "soul" actually ends with an N sound and comes out like "son." And if they call something coffee and that's what you get when you ask someone for "Gah-FEH," that's coffee.
Other examples.
Only two people on campus call Teacher Joel "Teacher Joel" and we're both farangs. Otherwise, he simply IS "Teacher Jo."
A hamburger is coarse-chopped ham.
An S digraph--the S sound connected with another consonant, i.e. steak, swim, slip--has a big, empty syllable in the middle: sa-teak, sa-wim, sa-lip. It just does. Like a ta-ree.
But it seems like there should come a line... and now that I say that I realize it's in my perception, not the actions of another person. I just like to think myself tolerant, rational, and reasonable enough that by the time I'm getting peeved and thinking, "sum'pn ain't right," anyone willing to observe the situation with a degree of objectivity would say,"there's been a line crossed."
Case in point: trying a new massage parlor.
My usual haunts have closed or are under renovation or simply haven't been open for a goodly while, so I went to a new place.
The masseuse was a pint-sized brunhilda of a bruiser: a goodly bit under 5" and a proud 60 kilos--130ish pounds.
There are some things to accept before the issue at hand.
FIRST: In western terms, a Thai massage is an exercise in contortion with breaks to gasp for air and regain the quest for relaxation. For Thai people, it's a social engagement. Rarely are there curtains between mats, so the parlor is generally open for gossip between masseuses and those victims inclined to participate.
I do my best to avoid those--when there are curtains, it's less likely that there'll be rounds of, "feel how bony this ass is!"
Still, as much as I'd like the chance to check out and let the massage do its work to re-open circulation and facilitate recuperation, that's only my desire. In reality, the masseuse will bring her phone with her, answer every text and call and make any number herself, and I just hope she doesn't get stuck working a sore spot while she talks, because she stands to work up and down and up and down that one damn spot until her conversation runs its course.
SECOND: A customary Thai greeting goes as follows: "What is your name? Where are you from? How do you like Thailand? You eat Thai food? Where do you live now? How much does it cost? Where do you work? How much do you make? How much was your watch/shirt/necklace?"
THIRD: As a farang, I am here as a linguistic liaison. That is all. As much as it riles me to have people hoot and holler and "HALLO! HALLOHALLOHALLO!" until I look, then laugh and duck away, it's my job to be open to those willing to try an exchange. And when I find someone who seems to speak English, it should be my relief to communicate.
Back to the issue: it's usually easy to sidestep the interrogation through incomprehension. It's enough to focus on relaxing and bracing for the next contortion.
But today I found the pint-sized Brunhilda who happens to know some English and wants desperately to learn more. So my smiling "Mai kow jai" got slow, syllabic explanations and translations.
Precisely when I care about them as little as ever.
So I suck it up and parrot back and offer what translations or pronunciations I can, until she gets stuck and can't understand my salary.
So we break while she gets pen and paper, and first I have to write my monthly salary, and then it turns into a series of writing lessons, with her teaching me the Thai alphabet.
This is the point I'm going, "There's gotta be a line."
But obviously not in her world.
Which is the law of the land.
Sigh.
That's the bugger: no matter what I think or expect or believe about something, no matter how it is or was or especially can/should be or was/has been elsewhere, it is how it is here, wherever it happens to be.
So... a word that ends with L and looks like, "soul" actually ends with an N sound and comes out like "son." And if they call something coffee and that's what you get when you ask someone for "Gah-FEH," that's coffee.
Other examples.
Only two people on campus call Teacher Joel "Teacher Joel" and we're both farangs. Otherwise, he simply IS "Teacher Jo."
A hamburger is coarse-chopped ham.
An S digraph--the S sound connected with another consonant, i.e. steak, swim, slip--has a big, empty syllable in the middle: sa-teak, sa-wim, sa-lip. It just does. Like a ta-ree.
But it seems like there should come a line... and now that I say that I realize it's in my perception, not the actions of another person. I just like to think myself tolerant, rational, and reasonable enough that by the time I'm getting peeved and thinking, "sum'pn ain't right," anyone willing to observe the situation with a degree of objectivity would say,"there's been a line crossed."
Case in point: trying a new massage parlor.
My usual haunts have closed or are under renovation or simply haven't been open for a goodly while, so I went to a new place.
The masseuse was a pint-sized brunhilda of a bruiser: a goodly bit under 5" and a proud 60 kilos--130ish pounds.
There are some things to accept before the issue at hand.
FIRST: In western terms, a Thai massage is an exercise in contortion with breaks to gasp for air and regain the quest for relaxation. For Thai people, it's a social engagement. Rarely are there curtains between mats, so the parlor is generally open for gossip between masseuses and those victims inclined to participate.
I do my best to avoid those--when there are curtains, it's less likely that there'll be rounds of, "feel how bony this ass is!"
Still, as much as I'd like the chance to check out and let the massage do its work to re-open circulation and facilitate recuperation, that's only my desire. In reality, the masseuse will bring her phone with her, answer every text and call and make any number herself, and I just hope she doesn't get stuck working a sore spot while she talks, because she stands to work up and down and up and down that one damn spot until her conversation runs its course.
SECOND: A customary Thai greeting goes as follows: "What is your name? Where are you from? How do you like Thailand? You eat Thai food? Where do you live now? How much does it cost? Where do you work? How much do you make? How much was your watch/shirt/necklace?"
THIRD: As a farang, I am here as a linguistic liaison. That is all. As much as it riles me to have people hoot and holler and "HALLO! HALLOHALLOHALLO!" until I look, then laugh and duck away, it's my job to be open to those willing to try an exchange. And when I find someone who seems to speak English, it should be my relief to communicate.
Back to the issue: it's usually easy to sidestep the interrogation through incomprehension. It's enough to focus on relaxing and bracing for the next contortion.
But today I found the pint-sized Brunhilda who happens to know some English and wants desperately to learn more. So my smiling "Mai kow jai" got slow, syllabic explanations and translations.
Precisely when I care about them as little as ever.
So I suck it up and parrot back and offer what translations or pronunciations I can, until she gets stuck and can't understand my salary.
So we break while she gets pen and paper, and first I have to write my monthly salary, and then it turns into a series of writing lessons, with her teaching me the Thai alphabet.
This is the point I'm going, "There's gotta be a line."
But obviously not in her world.
Which is the law of the land.
Sigh.
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