a second cup of jo

I settled for a Nescafe in the rumbling damp alleyways of Warowat. Tables being shed of their blue and white tarps dirtied from years of use. Just steps away from 7-Elevens and Starbucks, I remain a novelty in the hollows of my all time favorite market. Overflowing with pork carcasses, hand cut rice noodles, and steaming vats of rice. My broken Thai brings smiles to nearby vendors as I order my morning cup of jo. Our Western addiction has yet to catch to this rapidly modernizing culture. Nearly a half hour following saffron robed monks and side stepping puddles before anyone could even direct me to coffee.

My writing in the little leather journal I bouht at the street market, still attracts curious glances reminding me of my days when simply being a farang was novel.

Cobwebs hang from fluorescent bulbs dripping just inches into icy baths of beheaded catfish. Eels slither and flop in shallow black buckets. Hand carts loaded with sacks of rice rush past. The chatter sing song of market hum lulls me into the world of Siam.

My second cup of jo-Thai coffee seems to have vanished form the streets of Chiang Mai, is found in a side alley, hidden from the morning sun. Donuts gurgle in a 10 gallon wok of oil. Motorcycles begin filling the curbside. The Thai’s have a keen ability to balance more on a motorbike than we could fit in our car trunks. Ice, laundry, 3-4 children, baskets of cabbage and bamboo trays of dried fish.

The day began hours ago, dogs starting their customary territory claim at 4 am. “Gaeng Gaeng na ka”, I must look exhausted if she is asking me if I want it strong. “Ka, Ka” I eagerly respond, wanting to wake my sleepy head.

Plastic bags continue to be the favored mode of transport for liquid beverages-hot coffee, cold coffee, soy milk, soda, spooned into clear plastic bags and magically sealed with a rubber band.

How much of Thailand do I take for granted. How much do I no longer see.

Bringing groups certainly has it’s selfish elements-to remind me of my innocence, the world of my youth. What a gift to be able to see this country that is my second home through the fresh eyes of newcomers each year.

I’ll look for an old haunt-a wonderful gaeow shop that was once in the heart of Warowat. If luck is following me, I’ll soon be slurping slippery folds of fresh wonton shortly.