Koru lounge

Auckland Airport

3rd January, 2010

Dear

We are sitting in the Koru lounge, having gone against my gut feeling, and taken the advice of our travel agent to wait for a later flight to Dunedin.  The agent feared we would miss our connection, but even with us having to hand in the Thai triangular pillow to be sprayed by bio security, which unknown to me was stuffed with straw, we would have had time to board the one o’clock flight.  Luckily, I joined the Koru Club last year, and having had a shower, and been in the same lounge as Helen Clark, (which means absolutely nothing except that it is wonderful that she is such a down to earth person,) I am able to sit and write to you with a glass of wine beside me.  Jan is furious that he left two books on the plane which he hunted for, and finally found in Thailand, and they were really interesting books on human behaviour and economics.  Although he returned to the international terminal, it seems that they haven’t been handed in. The power of positive thinking must prevail, however.  The reason I believe this is that when Jan, Chris and I had a 2 hour massage after our dinner on our second night in Bangkok, I vividly remembered folding my clothing, and placing my expensive Citizen watch on top, before lying down to have a hilarious first hour in which Chris was massaged by a “lady boy” who was an expert, but who had Chris in fits of laughter.  His laugh was infectious, and it felt good to really belly laugh.  After the Thai massage, in which pressure was applied, we had a one hour relaxing massage with oil, and we left after a refreshing cup of tea with the owner.  Only in the morning did I realise that I had left my watch on the floor, but we left too early for the north for me to check if it was still there.  However, I wrote the owner a note, with my business card, saying that Chris would come back and check on New Year’s Eve, which he slipped under the door.  Han and I had given each other the same watch a number of years ago, and I loved the gold time piece with the mother of pearl face.  Part of me felt that it was a sign of our separation that I no longer had it, but part of me was upset with myself that I had been so negligent. Part of me felt that it would not return, but a much stronger part of me felt that it would be returned to me.  When we arrived back in Bangkok on New Year’s Day, Jan and I passed the massage place to find it closed.  I had forgotten my rolls of film to be developed, and on our return, we were greeted by the owner who called us over, and wished us “Happy New Year!” I replied with, “Suwadee bi mai!” which I had learnt, and I was given an all-embracing hug.  I pointed to my wrist and Praew immediately told me that she had given my watch to my “son.”  I felt tears well in my eyes as I hugged her again, and I said I would return for a massage the following day.  She said she would be open at ten o’clock, but changed the time to nine o’clock when I said we were leaving before midday.  However, arriving the following day after an early morning swim, the shutters were still down, and it was just before we caught the taxi that I returned in the hope of giving her some money as a thank you for returning the watch. The massage team in bright green t-shirts were waiting outside to encourage customers, and they greeted me warmly when I arrived.  They took me in to meet Praew, and when I opened my wallet she looked shocked, and dismissed the offer with a smile, saying that I had to return for a massage within the year.  Such was the generous, open, honest spirit of the Thais whom we met in the two weeks we were away.  Friends and family had warned Jan to be careful with his money, but we felt as safe in Thailand as we do in Dunedin.  We were lucky in that we were chauffeur driven everywhere, and were able to leave our valuables with the driver, so we were cocooned to a large extent, although we did negotiate the markets with no one attempting to snatch our bags.

Life, however, is lived on the street for many people, and the difference between the rich and poor is evident everywhere, and there was a wish to give money to as many as we could. Jan would say, and in fact did say, that I “was far too cheap for that and demanded some material return for my hard earned cash,” and I agree that I didn’t just hand over any money, but gave to those who were trying to sell even a few trinkets, as I mentioned before.  I don’t believe that I am “cheap,” but I know that Jan finds my unpredictable frugality difficult at times.  I understand that my Presbyterian upbringing with its philosophy of “look after the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves,” is in stark contrast with my love of the finer (more expensive) luxuries that life has to offer.  Our first experience of begging in Bangkok was on the bridge where we bought our first “bargains.” There was a young boy of about three years old, wearing only a scruffy pair of shorts, lying prostrate across the steps, with his stretched out arm  clenching a bucket in his little hand.  His mother sat begging at the top of the stairs, and our hearts went out to these unfortunate members of a society which provides so little for them.  However, two days later, we saw the same family standing on the same bridge, but with the little boy standing beside his mother in good, clean clothes, holding a supermarket bag, a big smile on his face.  Using the boy as a begging tool is a form of abuse in my eyes, but I am not one to cast judgement on a country of which I know so little. Perhaps the money allowed him to be well dressed.  We will never know.

I am now writing as we pass over South Canterbury and the plains are tapestries of fields lined with two lane roads and bordered by braided rivers.  What a stark contrast to the concrete jungle of Bangkok with its looping skyways and haphazard construction.  The Southern Alps stand majestic guards to the west, still capped with snow and a covering of fluffy, luminous cloud, sitting comfortably beneath a blue, clear sky.  We have indeed left the grey film of Bangkok’s pollution behind us.  Karina and Chris are exhausted, asleep in each other’s arms after twenty four hours of no sleep. Jan and I have also had no sleep, but seem buoyed by our trip, and will no doubt fall into a deep sleep on our arrival home.  When I commented to the flight attendant on the stunning scene, she remarked, “it’s not a bad old country,” and I love the use of understatement among my compatriots. As we head south, the skies have cleared from grey and rain to reveal brilliant sunshine, and I look forward to flying over the spectacular Otago harbour and peninsula which welcomes us home.   My heart always fills with pride as we approach Dunedin, although I must admit to loving that feeling of stepping onto Asian soil and feeling the energy with pulses in through its veins. The cacophony of sounds assaults one’s ears, the smells of charcoaled meat is layered with wafts of sewerage, and people play Russian roulette with their lives as they negotiate the traffic which surges at erratic speed or grinds to a patience testing halt.  We live in our ordered houses with our carefully kept gardens, and they live on the street with the neighbourhood shrine and big urns displaying water lilies across the water’s surface.  Seldom do you fly over landscape without houses in Asia, the population sprawling across the land, whereas we fly for miles over pristine forest and manicured landscape.  The plane is now about to land, so I will have to finish here for now.  I feel very happy to be returning home, and as we make our bumpy landing, assured that this year will not be as bumpy as this arrival back on land!

Love

Sharron