Going Domestic

mystery shopper

Grocery shopping here nearly always comes with elements of surprise or mystery. Sometimes the shop will have received a new shipment of imported products, and the shelves will be full of familiar packages and my day will immediately brighten. Othertimes, I'll walk in and immediately feel a pang of regret that I didn't buy that extra box of Cheerios the last time that I was in. I will never *not* buy an extra box of Cheerios on a go forward basis, by the way.

The element of mystery usually comes into play when I get the wacky idea to try cooking or baking something new. Today, it was a recipe for pumpkin loaf. I actually needed to buy a fair amount of the ingredients, but many of them were pantry basics, like brown sugar and chocolate chips (okay, the recipe called for nuts, but why would I make something with nuts when I could use chocolate chips instead?). One thing that I would be buying for the first time in Thailand was evaporated milk. I figured that it wouldn't be hard to find as there seemed to be a plethora of canned milk products available here. Alas, I came home in the freakish heat and humidity empty-handed.

There was something on the shelf that I think *might* have been evaporated milk. The thing that gave me pause was that the Thai characters on the can were identical to those on the can of sweetened condensed milk. I really had no idea what I was considering buying. I might as well admit that. Anyway. Chef Google produced many suggestions to use half-and-half as a substitute for evaporated milk, and hunting the grocery store for half-and-half appeals to me more than reducing whole milk on the stovetop (another frequently suggested substitution). So, maybe I'll still end up baking a pumpkin loaf this upcoming week ...

sticky situation

One year ago, as I madly tried to prepare for our overseas move, I wasn't really thinking, "Gee, I ought to take some craft supplies with me." With the exception of my knitting stuff and scrapbooking tote, everything was packaged up for storage. Who knows when I'll see that again ...

Over the last nine or ten months, I have driven myself a little crazy trying to source out where to find something crafty for myself or for my preschooler. Sometimes you find stuff, like embroidery floss, and sometimes you don't (apparently, construction paper does not exist here). Right now, Mod Podge is the object of my obsession. I'd like to decoupage the frame around a mirror for my kid.

I doubt I'll find Mod Podge. I had a big tub of it that I bought in St. John's, and why I tossed it into the garbage bin there, I will never understand. Did I seriously think a 375 ml container was too big to take back to Calgary and beyond?

Anyway, it's my fault and now I have to deal. Quick googling makes me believe that I can probably fake mod podge with diluted permanent white glue, and I am optimistic. Pretty sure that I can find permanent white glue here at a department store stationary department. Wish me luck.

foolish? poolish?

Thailand must be a truly blessed land. Repair work that would surely injure, kill, or just never work out is accomplished here with minimal fuss and attention to safety. Today, a bunch of ceramic tiles in the swimming pool at our apartment are scheduled for replacement. I had assumed that the maintenance workers were going to drain the pool to accomplish this repair, but it looks like thousands and thousands of litres of water isn't going to stop the repair work. It must be like the time when my friend had the underwater lights in her pool replaced while the electricity was still on and the water was still in ...

The swimming pool repair conundrum is just one of the bizarre things occupying my mind today. The other thing that I am getting obsessed with is having to submit a copy of our truck's registration to the office that issues us the permit to use The Compound's shortcut access to the expressway to get permanent access before our temporary access expires. I thought that a photocopy of our registration sticker would do it, but the folks at the office assured me that I needed a photocopy of some booket. Well, while fetching the toy that my kid left in the car last night, I searched the glove box, and there are no booklets! So, I'm wondering if maybe "registration" was a code word for "proof of insurance" because that's what I found. Even when I think that I know what I'm doing here, it's obvious that I don't ...

Maybe I should just eat more spicy papaya salad and not think so hard :)

sometimes the quest for a good burger goes astray

Yesterday, I ate a mediocre burger as a patriotic act. It was kind of soothing to see the familar Triple O/White Spot logo beaming at us across a busy shopping centre. Chris and I don't often find Canadian things in Bangkok, but there, on one of the upper floors of Central World, was a little franchise from Nat Bailey's White Spot empire. I swear the fries tasted like McCain's. They were my favourite part of our lunch!  It's probably been four and a half years since Chris and I had eaten at a White Spot, but we used to step into the Macleod Trail location after work from time to time.

talking to americans

Sometimes it's a lot of fun living in the cultural mosaic that is Bangkok's foreign community. Last week, I was over at my friend S's house, and her daughter and mine were dancing around to selections from S's iPod. As the final notes of a classic Springsteen track played, S's daughter suddenly said, "Mom, I need to hear the baseball song!" S and her family are from the US, so I assumed that I'd soon be watching the little girls rock out to "Take Me Out to the Ballgame". A little seventh-inning stretch for the playdate, so to speak. My friend wandered over to her iPod and remarked, "Laura, you are going to laugh so hard when you hear that she calls the baseball song!"

She was correct. I burst out laughing as soon as I heard the opening notes of Queen's "We Will Rock You". "S," I said, "that's the HOCKEY song!!! Everyone knows that!"

Funny the difference that a silly border can make, and that I discover this whilst on the other side of the planet.

springtime in the prairie

I've been wondering, lately, what my backyard in Calgary is looking like. How much snow is left? A few inches, or a few centimeters? Any bare patches where brown leaves and yellow grass are poking through?

We moved back home from Newfoundland at the end of March/beginning of April last year (to be honest, the time was such a whirlwind that I can't remember which!), and I swear in less than a week, I found that my tulips had popped out of the ground!

I love the way that spring smells, snow mold and all. I loved the sound of the melting snow on the road as the tires of vehicles rolled through the wet patches, and the sound of the melt-off running into the drains. Raking dead grass from the lawn is therapeutic.

I wish that we could have packed some of that up and brought it here. Every day looks and smells the same, and it's hard to believe that the months are passing at all.

stuggling artists everywhere

If anyone asked me what the best thing about living in Thailand is, I'm not sure what I would answer. The ability to furnish and decorate one's home inexpensively? The terrifically yummy pomegranate green tea beverage that I am now addicted to? For today, I'll get the home decorating alternative win the battle ...

This painting is our latest acquisition. The artist was an elephant living at the elephant camp (with her mahout). I know that the situation with the elephants  in Thailand is often dubious, and I'm really torn about whether I'm supposed to feel bad for the ones who lost their traditional work in the logging industry here and end up in camps or the elephants who are dragged into central Bangkok amid the traffic and pollution and crowds and are only fed if tourists buy them a hand of bananas. Both? The elephants at the camp near Chiang Mai didn't need any sort of persuading to work on their paintings, so I don't feel particularly guilty and am happy to have a cool memory for our walls.

I don't know if I've ranted and railed about the cost of custom framing back in Canada, but if I'd known what custom framing costs here, I would have! This piece is 28"x35" with a double mat and a 2" solid wood frame. The tiny frame shop down the road from us did the work for $65!

i still heart usps

On Friday, I was delighted to discover another package from the USA sitting outside the door of our apartment. My sister had ordered my birthday gift from etsy, and asked the artisan/seller to send the package directly to me here in Thailand. It wasn't really a package - it was a manilla envelope that contained two silk-screened tees. The total cost of postage from somewhere in the USA? $6.50. For TWO shirts.

Anyone care to guess how much Canada Post would have charged? 

I'm dumbfounded that I envy Americans their postal system! "Envy" and "postal system" are not normally used in the same sentence, no?

for the birds

Where else but in the suburbs of Bangkok can a person find a Mexican restaurant that will decorate a birthday cake with a budgie bird? Que Pasa really does make delicious cakes, and their frosty is light. I'm just glad that Chris decided to pass on one of their homemade pinatas. It would have been a bit too much ...

how i got here, part two

I like to think that I hit the ground running once Madeline and I stepped off the airplane to join Chris in Thailand. He had already been working here for three weeks. The very next day, we were occupied with a bit of unpacking, finding out where to buy the groceries that I wanted, figuring out what to do with an energetic three year-old in very, very hot weather.  We'd moved here in July, a time when the majority of families in our community were on home leave, so the only other people around during the day were the handful of other families who'd also moved in the summer.

A lot of our first month was spent waiting. Waiting for our cable television to be hooked up, waiting for our internet connection to be set up, waiting for our sea container to arrive at the port. It seemed to past fairly quickly, despite that. We experienced our first beach resort holiday, checked out the children's museum in Bangkok, and explored the aquarium at the Siam Paragon shopping center.

By the time September rolled around, Madeline had been in preschool for a few weeks, and I guess I slowed down long enough to be hit by a massive case of homesickness? Depression? Frustration? Probably all three. I frequently felt ill if I spent time outside in the sun. I actually had to boycott the grocery store where I'd doing the majority of my weekly shopping because the prospect of wandering around Tesco Lotus one more time, pushing a cart that was unsatisfyingly half full because I just couldn't find what I was looking for because many things we like aren't available here, put me on the verge of an anxiety attack. It's now March, and I still haven't gone back.  The traffic began to get to me. I forced myself to think happy thoughts of a cool autumn in St. John's, Newfoundland, where I could eat pea soup from Belbin's, find all of Madeline's snacks readily available, and bad traffic meant that it took fifteen minutes to get home instead of ten.

I can't remember exactly, I think I pulled out of it as I started building stronger friendships with some of the other foreigners here. It was October. Chris, Madeline, and I had some really good adventures together, and life in Thailand started to be fine. I don't blink an eye anymore about buying my groceries at what's probably the most expensive place in town, because they usually have at least 75% of what I need. I can settle for that (and good mental health). Shopping for apparel for me is a depressing prospect, but I swear that this is the best place on the planet for affordably decorating one's home.  Massages and pedicures are cheap. Madeline gets to go to a private Reggio preschool. I think that there will always be things that I miss about Canada or frustrate me about our life in Thailand, but I have a feeling that when I run the final numbers in two or three years, we'll have come out a bit ahead.