Adaptations to Life in SE Asia

There are many things that I have adapted to since moving abroad to this area of the world. As a Westerner, you are raised with certain "standards" in your living quarters, food preparations, quality, service, privacy etc...almost a culture of sterile cleanliness. (Please pass the hand sanitizer) It's difficult to change the preconcieved notions of right and wrong, or in better terms- correct ways of doing things.

Is there a "correct way" to do things? My Father would say that there is a correct way to mop the floor. My Boss would say there is a correct way to organize my computer. My college friends would say that there is a correct way to drink tequilla. But is there a correct way to live? Now, don't take that heavy-handed. It's more of a live in the cultural aspect than lifestyle and judgement calls.

For instance, is it unacceptable to eat dog? Westerners say a unanimous "Hell yes!" While Vietnamese lick their chops while saying "Unacceptable, you mean decadent." Is it acceptable to have sex with a pre-pubesent girl? Some cultures embrace it while we Westerners cringe at the thought, Child Protective Services dialed in the phone's keypad.

One has to accept that differences exist; there is a great big world out there, filled with cultural juxtapositions. Who are we to cast judgements?

I thought I'd do a little series on:

ADAPTATIONS OF A TRAVELER
-adaptations in Thailand

#1. Knarly meat:

As a child I would sit at the kitchen table performing surgery on my pork chop. If even the slightest vein of fat resided in my medialian of pork - it had to go. Fat on the edge of a steak? Puh-lease. I'll nibble on the meaty heart of the slab leaving a 1/2 inch border to the slimy lard. Biting into fat was as bad as getting a swirly in the toilet, but even more repulsive. The idea of chewing fat- the chewy nub secreting the foul juices into your mouth, resisting all attempts to swallow and forget - had to be promptly removed and tucked into a napkin (or fed to the awaiting cat).

Here, I've learned to happily suck the meat off bones, ignoring tendons and dark areas of meat (before deemed off-limits) as I chew and enjoy. I casually remove chunks of cartiledge, bristled shards of bones, and uncompromising pieces of fat without blinking an eye. Normalcy of accepted dining practices of removing these obtrusive objects and putting them on your plate mid-munch has helped greatly. No one scowls at you as you pull out the rib of a fish- good thing you pulled out that rib of that fish!

Honestly, the "quality" (I put it in quotes because it is referring to the accepted quality of my culture and not of others) is completely different. If I was as picky as I once was, I don't think I could eat. Why, I'd starve! Hunger forces you to change standards, and all standards are different across the globe.

Next... bugs.

Apologies

I know, I know! It's been waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too long. But it's been a very hectic few, er month or so.

First off, the freakin mother cat kit-napped the kittens to the neighbor's yard. We haven't heard peep nor squeal in weeks. The mystery remains. Did she pull a demented mother move? Does she suffer from post-pardum depression? It all remains in the vast unknown. All we know is that she isn't welcome if she snuffed out the little bumpkins.

Second, I have a new job. No longer will I shape the minds of youths. (for the time being anyway) I have landed my *potential* dream job. I'm Associate Editor for a magazine that covers the Asian-Pacific region. Now, if I can just get some travel incorporated in that! It's going well, for the most part. I get business cards and the whole she-bang.

So, as you can see I've been consumed of late. I haven't forgotten you. I just had other things that took precedance. So, for a peace offering I give you my (soon to be published) first on assignment piece I wrote on a club in Patong, Phuket for the magazine in which I am staff writer for:

(and remember dear readers, if you write comments- I will write more)

Seduction Discotheque
Molly F. McGill

The night was ripe with mischief. Delinquent youths were already dropping to the ashen concrete in their novice haze. Didn’t they know that Patong didn’t really heat up until midnight? If one wants to survive Patong-the party haven of Phuket- one needs to know three things: How to hold their liquor, how to budget, and where to go.

The first two were well achieved when I found myself among what seemed like inebriated gazelles bounding down Patong’s Bangla Road. Being the low season the streets were noticeably less packed, one just had to avoid a collision with the frolicking cervine. It made for easy walking- without worrying of losing the pack unlike those blurring nights of high season jollies. To my left soi’s opened up between two guardian bars at the entrance (like Peter only a lot less interested in your sins and a bit more interested in your money) waiting to swallow you into the belly of belligerence. I grimaced and kept walking. This night called for something else.

A little more than half way up the debaucherous road I felt a magnetic pull to the side off Rat-U-Thit Road. A red carpet, plush and hinting at a bit of class among the riff-raff galumphing down the street, lured me towards it. I couldn’t resist and was instantly drawn into the crimson current. Cresting the top of the stairs, two men in black wai’ed me as they opened the large glass doors, I flashed a million dollar smile as the invisible paparazzi snapped coy photos of me to print the next day.

I had entered the loins of Seduction Discothèque, the pulsating beats causing my body to throb as I made my way through the smiling crowd. Ten bartenders, split between front and back bars, all aimed to please. They asked for my order with genuine concern and eagerness, “Would you like a drink? We take very good care of customer at Seduction.” I couldn’t help but stifle a girlish giggle as the suave gentlemen spun and mixed my drink. I bet you do.

An illuminated column of orange neon that shelved the night’s spirits drew my eyes upward to the second floor. Shimmering, a massive disco ball dangled from the rafters. Like a barracuda attracted to shiny objects I instantly wanted to get closer, but to my dismay the second floor was not in use this night. That heralds more fortuitous nights of bigger crowds. Slipping into my mind’s eye I pictured the masses wrapped around the banisters looking down towards the main dance floor. Gents would be picking out the lucky lady and the ladies would be playing hard to get to the ogling gents. This created an ableing environment for passion to ignite at the aptly named Seduction Disco.

Dancing along the catwalks towards the second bar in the back, I made a detour onto the dance floor as one of the three DJ’s spun a hot track. I bobbed to the music in front of the booth where the two local DJ’s and the guest DJ from Finland were flipping records. Making my way onto the dance floor, I sassily stepped onto the center stage and took full advantage of the 360 degree view. Scanning the crowd my eye caught both seducer and the seduced in action. Leaning into each other they tried to harness each others’ desires while keeping a cool demeanor. Lights whorled, music thumped and the crowd increased as the small hand of my watch crept around. It was past midnight and the dropped prices in drinks tempted the need for another.

The music had pulled the outer edges of the club onto the main floor in a frenzied dance. Steam was rising and bodies gyrated in curious mating rituals of yore. Feeling euphoric I returned to the bar with my empty glass and winked at my bartender. Seduction Disco was still heating up as my men in black opened the door for me to leave. I flashed that million dollar smile again and sashayed down the carpeted lane.

The night went without a hitch. I had held my own in Patong once again and had money still left in my pocket for a late night, I mean, morning, run to Seven-Eleven for some chips. It’s also… all about knowing where to go.