Since 2010, we’ve spent about 10 months of it in Chiang Mai, Thailand. We keep leaving. We keep saying good-bye. Then, we hit a wall. Egypt last year. Beijing this winter. We need to recuperate, relax, and just go home.

I’ve written so much about Chiang Mai on this blog, mostly because I happened to travel there more often than anywhere else (we spent three months in India, two months in China but Thailand has been the longest by far).  So much so, that I get at least one email a week asking for Chiang Mai travel advice.  I’m always a little wary of recommending Chiang Mai, because it’s not necessary where you go to go somewhere.  It’s more like the place you go to recover from everywhere else.  One blogger visited six weeks into her year-long around-the-world trip and she seemed bored out of her mind.  ”You guys just eat lunch for two hours?  Don’t you have somewhere to go?  Something to do?”  It’s beyond laid-back and the travelers here, especially the ones that stay a little longer are often a year, or more into their trips.  By the time we make it to Chiang Mai we’re reveling in how delicious it is to sit still for a moment.  It’s the soft place you land when you need a break.

So we return to Chiang Mai.  I love the culture, the flexible attitude, the self-reliance that makes things like traffic laws not rules per se but suggestions, the assumption being that we’re all grown up enough to not crash into each other just because we want to make a u-turn.  I love the Thai cool-heart, the Buddhist influenced mind-set that takes the English expression, “Don’t sweat the small stuff — and it’s all small stuff” to its extreme logical conclusion.  I love the food, probably one the best cuisines in the world, right up there with French, Italian, Japanese and Indian.  (I won’t speculate on who would actually be number one).

Chiang Mai itself is smoggy and over-touristed in parts.  Outside of the city can seem like a never-ending strip mall, crammed with repair shops and electronic stores, random medical clinics and wholesale retail outlets.  The neighborhoods are lovely though, little winding side streets and Lanna style-houses, with a style of home furnishing that has been so ripped off in the West, I flash back to decorating my first apartment at Pier One Imports.  Fish ponds outside of homes are common, as are spirit houses, with little offerings to Buddha.  I love it when they offer an orange Fanta and include the straw, it’s a level of consideration that you can almost miss.

The countryside is beautiful.  The people are quick to laugh.  Having fun, “Sanuk” for the sake of having fun, is a national pass time.  That means traveling with children is an opportunity for the restaurant staff to stop their work and chase your son around while you eat.  There are monks everywhere.  They wear orange robes and can often be seen walking around town and sometimes texting on their cell phones.  They get priority seating in the airport lounge.  In the grocery story there are gift baskets, pre-made with basics like soap and toothpaste, wrapped in gold, specifically for the monks.  In a country where almost everyone is born Thai Buddhist, I have never seen even a hint of cynicism about it.

It’s extremely easy to live in Chiang Mai.  There are tiny apartments available — all you need if you’re used to living out of your backpack — for $150/mo.  Internet is everywhere.  There are malls and Apple stores, you can get your camera fixed, your Macbook replaced, your waterlogged iPhone repaired, rent a motorbike and get your teeth cleaned for 25% of the cost back home plus it’s all within a 10 minute drive.

So naturally we left.  Again.

I’m trying to reconcile this love I have of Chiang Mai and my reoccurring desire to leave anyway.  I think I made some sense of it in Sri Lanka, the day after we left, where we spent a single day at a beach resort in Colombo.  It happened that we booked a room at a resort that was actually closed.  The entire resort was for a Sri Lankan wedding, and while we didn’t know at first what was going on, we did think it was strange the way the hemmed and hawed about our reservation.

My not-so-covert attempt at zooming in and grabbing a photo. The bride glared at me after this shot. Oops!

“What in the world?” I asked Drew.

They weren’t speaking English, but I kept hearing them say, “Agoda!” in disbelief.  It wasn’t until we were in our room and saw the full wedding party — it looked like two wedding parties actually, there were so many people — lined up on the grass by the pool and taking pictures.  There were six photographers.

Holy crap.

We spent most of the day drinking beers on our balcony and spying on the wedding.  It was kind of cool to see a Sri Lankan wedding, something I’ll probably never see again, and everyone dressed so lavishly, even the men wore bright-colored ties to match the woman’s traditional dresses.

Drew is much more stealth than me. Isn't this a nice tropical resort? Just don't leave your room, there's a wedding going on.

I had a feeling that I’ve had many times in Thailand.  I was enjoying myself, but I was on the outside.  This wasn’t my wedding or my friend’s wedding, I couldn’t wish the bride well in her language and I certainly wasn’t invited.  Through chance I got to experience something new, but I was a stranger peering in.  I was beginning to wonder if all travel isn’t just a sanctioned version of being a peeping-tom.

This feeling sums up how I feel about Thailand.  There’s a kindness there, but I’ve always felt this distance.  Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t see a lot fraternizing of locals and visitors in Thailand, at least outside of couples.  I never had a bunch of Thai friends.  I love Thailand but sometimes it feels more like watching, than being a connected part of the community.  It’s the very subtle tug on my heart that makes me want to keep going.

So we left.  Experience has taught me that I have to also add this part: for now.

We’re rested, we’re ready and we’re heading out to another great adventure.  This time, something completely different.  Beirut.

Thanks Chiang Mai, and Dan (& your lovely new wife Lindsey), I hope you’ll keep the lights on for us.  Congratulations on your (non-Sri Lankan, but just as beautiful) wedding!

My name is Jonna, I’m a 21 year old girl and I’ve recently returned from a 2-week trip to volunteer in Chiang Rai, Thailand. I went on this trip because I was sort of facing a cross-road in my life: I’m about to graduate in August, I am getting a degree in Human Resource Management (gag), and I literally have no idea what I want to do when I am actually out on my own. So, I decided to go to get my feet wet in solo traveling and set the pace for my post-undergrad life. It was a WONDERFUL experience. I loved absolutely every minute of it (even when it sort of sucked). But when I got back, I didn’t really know what to do with my experience…

I was “stumbling” through travel blogs about a month before I left and I decided to follow yours because your posts were incredibly inspiring (and your pictures & stories about Cole are so darn cute!) Long story short, I also stumbled upon (literally this time) a movie called Forks Over Knives and this, in addition to my boss’ advice and other books & research, motivated me to start eating better & making an entire lifestyle change. Your blog, along with the fact that I already frequently enjoy crafting, cooking & writing & I LOVE traveling, has motivated me to start writing my own blog about what I call my “quarter-life crisis”. It will feature tons of posts about my cooking & other hobbies for people to read about, but I’m really hoping that it will keep me focused on what I love and help me decide what I really want to do with my life.

So here is the kicker: if you wouldn’t mind, could I run my blog idea by you and possibly have you tell me what you think? It’s really not a big deal if you don’t have time or you don’t feel comfortable doing it! Any advice would be nice though! I don’t want to get started on making too many posts until I decide on the format, but I’ve finished the “About Me” section that pretty much sums up what I would like to do. Feel free to take as long as you’d like. In fact, the longer you wait to read my blog, the more content there will be up for you to see.

Here is the link to what I have so far: http://allfoodthings.wordpress.com/about-me/

Regardless of your response, I just wanted to let you know again that your blog is a huge inspiration to me. Thank you for writing it!

Cheers,

Jonna

Hi Jonna,

Thank you for reading!  I’ve decided to start occasionally responding to reader emails on the blog and you’re the first one, so thank you again for letting me share your story and also, congratulations!  You’ve already done so much at 21, graduating college, traveled to Chiang Rai, Thailand (which I’m delighted to hear, I love that town) and you’re figuring out next steps.  All good things.

You asked me about your blog, and I’ll get to that, but first, I want to address why you want to do this, and how I think you can get the most out of it long-term.

That feeling you have right now, like you’ve figured something out, like you have this really great idea that you want to share: nurture that.  The ideas that move you, make you want to jump up and start a blog, reach out to another blogger for advice, the ones that make you change your life and disregard the easy and obvious answers like “get a job in HR” or “intern at a big company” — that is a feeling you will chase for the rest of your life.

I can’t predict what will happen, although I hope it’s “wildly popular blog turns into book deal which is optioned for a film starring quirky, up-and-coming actress who looks super-cute in glasses”.  Big ideas, strong starts, a little advice from another writer, this can feed your creativity for a long time.  It’s actually the best part of creating something. It’s how we step into the flow, how we sit down and write for hours and it just pours out, how we connect with our audience and build careers for ourselves.  In short, the writing, the blogging, the work itself doesn’t matter nearly as much as that feeling you have right now and learning how to keep finding new ways and ideas that give you the same charge within the framework of whatever you’re doing.

It’s really hard.  You have to be honest, authentic and confront your own feelings of doubt and fear.  You don’t do it once, you do it over and over again, and eventually, I think, I hope, you get so familiar with your process that you become really efficient at knowing what intuitions to follow and which to ignore.

That’s a long way of saying, “Welcome to the roller coaster.”  Enjoy the ride.

Now onto the blogging advice, which I suspect was your main question.  I know that for many bloggers there’s a lot of technical questions on how to begin, so here’s some blogger-to-blogger advice on that front (I’ll keep them short, these aren’t commands, but suggestions, I hope my brevity doesn’t sound terse):

• Buy a domain, get a hosting account and move away from WordPress.com.
• Format your posts well.  Since you have reoccurring recipe posts, you might consider a standard format, perhaps little icons for the Ingredients section or <H2> formating for subsections or other stylistic options that will make it easier to read.
• Learn how to take fantastic food photos – blogging, especially food blogging, is at least 50% about the photography.
• Use good lighting to shoot, even if that means using a desk lamp or some other set up to light your food well.
• Stage your shots, these are still-life portraits not action shots, so take your time.
• Take a ton of photos and use Lightroom to edit them.  Don’t go crazy with effects like vignette or filters in the beginning, subtle is better.
• Hold yourself to a very high standard.
• Learn what aperture priority setting is on your camera and practice getting that “blurry” background (bokeh).
• Don’t forget about your story.  Find ways to keep your readers involved in your unfolding narrative within the structure, even with more informational or recipe-based posts.
• In the beginning Pinterest.com will probably be your bread and butter as far as finding new readers, but don’t be afraid to guest post on larger food sites (and check the results).
• Don’t dwell on things you do wrong (there will be plenty) but try to focus on how to write a better post next time.
• Seek out and connect with people whose work you truly admire.
• Constantly try to do better.

Again, the last part is what new bloggers tend to focus on, but it’s the first part, how excited you are, that makes the biggest difference.

Keep going and trust yourself!

Best regards,

Christine

Send your letters to: christine.gilbert@gmail.com

We packed a backpack, strapped to the front of our motorbike, in what seemed at the time to be a creative Thai-like solution to fitting all of us (me, my husband and our son) on the bike plus the stroller that my husband balanced between his legs as he drove.

I love being on the motorbike, especially with the three of us, something we’ve done for years now, through India, Thailand, Laos, and Bali.  We never crash.  Well, one time we did.  We were in Chiang Mai and it was less of a crash than a slow motion tumble.  Seems like we’re due for another:

“Pheeeeeeeeeeeeeewp.”

That’s not a good thing to hear as you’re driving 30 miles an hour on a deserted highway.  No time to think, we’re fish-tailing across the road, until the point between balance and falling intersect and in a blur we’re in a jumbled heap on the ground.

I saw Cole’s face as I landed on him.  In my mind, it felt like I must have smeared him across the highway, but my soft belly just pressed across his face for a second, and startled him.  He was screaming.  I yelled at him, “Are you okay?” as if he’d answer and lifted him up, maniacally checking for damage, looking for broken bones, a nasty gash, missing limbs.  He was fine.  I realize then that we’re sitting in the middle of the road with an overturned bike, a spilled bag, stroller and a baby who is calming down but still quietly sobbing.

He’s shocked.  We’re all shocked.  Drew and I look at each other with open mouths.

I get up, swing Cole onto my hip and rescue one of my flip-flops from 10 feet away.  I couldn’t remember putting my feet down or having them dragged behind me, but apparently they had, for a split second before I landed hard on my knees, which were now lightly scraped.  Drew had a bloody elbow.  The backpack had split open, the zipper now broken, but the laptop and kindle were fine, and even the bike suffered only a bent side mirror.  Days later, Drew and I would find ripening bruises, green and yellow on our legs, brushes with the bike as we toppled over.  Cole, remarkably, would have none.

We collect ourselves and stumble down the road.

Back in town or at least the little collection of houses down the road, we paid $5 for a new tire tube, in a tiny bike shop that was also the family’s home, with a queen sized mattress set in the back of the shop, bike parts hanging from the ceiling and an old TV perched on a box.  Cole wanted to ride the children’s bikes, which were too big for him, until he noticed the bed, climbed in and laid down before anyone could stop him.  Everyone laughed.

With repairs finished, we climbed on the bike and headed towards Pai.  Fifteen minutes later, after a painful uphill slog where the bike chugged along at nearly walking speeds, we came to a flat spot and Drew pulled over.

“I think the tire is flat again,” he said.

You have to be kidding me.

He wasn’t.  We load Cole into the stroller, which I pushed uphill towards whatever unknown town was ahead, and Drew carefully drove off in search of a repair shop.  There was a little golden temple, a few abandoned road side lean-to’s and signs pointing to Coffee Hill café, just 1 km north.  I took pictures during breaks, enjoying the fact that while motorbikes and pickup trucks were whizzing past us, I was getting to see the Thai countryside up close.  I was strangely happy.  I think this might be the point at which the heat stroke had kicked in.  By the time we reached Lanna-style Coffee Hill café, I was euphoric.

A bike crash and two flat tires into our trip and our three-hour trip is now stretching into six hours.

Drew caught up with us, we ate lunch, climbed on the newly fixed bike (now on our second tire tube) and began the slow climb towards Pai.  It’s beautiful countryside, even in the dry season, where the rice paddies are empty and some farmers are burning off last year’s crops.

“Oh no,” Drew says flatly.

No.

“Come on!” I say and point out that we’re only 10 km from the hotel.

Three flat tires.  One trip.  This has never, ever, happened to us.  Drew pushes the cursed hell-bike down the road and Cole and I investigate the rooster cages at the gas station.

We are never going to make it to Pai, I think.  An hour later, several text messages from me, and a chocolate milk (for Cole) later, Drew returns:

“They replaced the entire tire.  The guy squeezed it and showed me.  It was practically crumbling in his hands.  No inner tube would have fixed that.  We are idiots.”

We hop onto the bike again.  It felt like a dream.  Instead of the soft wobbly backend we were used to, this felt solid and safe.

“Okay, so now I feel stupid, this feels entirely different.  Why didn’t we notice and why didn’t anyone tell us when they fixed our bike?” I asked Drew over his shoulder.

“I don’t know!”

We laugh.  Cole looks at me and laughs too, although I’m certain he has no idea what’s so funny.  That just cracks Drew and I up more and instead of being traumatized, this all seems way too funny, probably from heat stroke and delirium, but it’s all too typical and insane.  My in-laws will probably think we’re going to die one of these days.  All I can think is: Oh my god, our life is so weird.  

Nine hours after starting our three-hour bike ride, we reach the hotel.

***

The hotel is actually a main house with three large bungalows.  The first night we’re in the largest one with two bedrooms, and it’s larger than our apartment in Chiang Mai.  It costs $14/night.  The owners are a retired-ish British couple, who we later find out are trying to sell the entire property for $400,000.  There’s mature fruit trees, a view of the mountain range and absolute quiet.  We consider what it would take to buy it.

Immediately after leaving Beijing, I joked, but not really, about packing it in and settling down somewhere.

“We could rent a house in Chiang Mai and I could make artisanal cheeses and sell them to the expats.  Cole would go to a Thai school and we could have a gajillion babies, and you could start freelancing again.  I’d blog about my little Thai homestead like the Pioneer Women but instead of cattle ranching and homemade macaroni and cheese, it would be Buddhist temples and coconut lemongrass soup.”

I told a couple of my friends about the idea, specifically the ones who live in Chiang Mai, and they said, “Yes, and we’ll have babies too and our kids will play together and I’ll totally buy your cheese.”

Did I mention how hard it is to find good cheese in Thailand?  It’s  30 cents/slice for cheap American cheese, the kind in the individual plastic wrappers, that looks suspiciously like plastic itself.  Years ago, I had taken a cheese making class in Boston and it’s fairly easy to make fresh mozzarella and ricotta cheese.

Encouraged and deluded, we looked up houses and found that for $1000/month we could rent a home with a pool, a few acres of land and several guest bungalows just outside of town.  I decided I would call it ‘the colony’ and invite my writer friends to visit to recharge their batteries and sip frozen cocktails while my dozens of children played at their feet.

The book (naturally) would be called, “My life in Thai,” and Amy Adams would play a much nicer, sweeter version of me in the movie.

I had it all worked out.

Then what?  The research and faux-planning, the pleasant daydreams and visions of my suddenly vastly improved food photography (there would be a cookbook, of course) exhausted my need to actually do such a thing.  Knowing that I could seemed like enough, and I tucked that idea in my back pocket as my someday plan, meaning it didn’t fit, but it sounded like a good option if I ever needed it.

In Pai, I was tempted to pull it back out again.  How far away is three hours really?  Our Chiang Mai friends would come visit us, I was sure, and the serene countryside, the blue hued mountains lining the horizon, and modest costs would make it so easy to be happy here.  We wouldn’t even have to make artisan cheeses, we could just sit by the infinity pool, which, by the way, Cole swam in at least four times a day, in between throwing kaffir limes he found on the ground and riding with us around town on the motorbike.  This was the life.

Revised book title:  ”My Piece of Pai”

***

By the fourth day, we’ve done everything in Pai.  We’ve driven the loop, we’ve seen the elephants, we’ve gone to both waterfalls.  We spend an evening at the Pai Food Festival, sitting with Thai families (the westerners hang back by the food stalls, Thai music is decidedly, well, Thai).  Cole chases some little kids around and tries to convince them, their parents and any person who makes eye contact that they should let him ride their bikes.  He grunts, gestures emphatically and seems to chalk up the refusal to his inability to communicate, because surely if they understood, it’s only reasonable that all the bikes would now belong to him.  (Yes, we will be getting him a bike, soon, I hope.)

Despite the lack of things to do, or maybe because of it, I’m feeling relaxed and happy.  Our daily routine involves exploring the back roads by motorbike, escaping the heat by going somewhere, anywhere, and finding little amusements, like a bamboo hut over the river for fishing, or the local women who try to sell us weed, or an expansive five-star resort now crumbling and filling in with tropical plants.  We drive, we drink icy smoothies when we can, we have lunch somewhere that has cushions instead of chairs and a little shade, we go home for a swim and then do it all over again for dinner.

At some point I start looking for homes in Pai that we could afford, and I find one that’s only $100,000 (or so).  It’s modest but has a certain laid back Thai style that I could see as the perfect site for my forth-coming internet cooking show (the dream keeps getting bigger).

I’m convinced that living here would make me happy:

Drew agrees and claims the hammock as his.  I’m pretty sure he’s just humoring me.

On our last day, we revisit our favorite waterfall but Cole bursts into tears and we leave early.  Seems like we’re all done with Pai at once and it’s time to go.

I take the $5 mini-van home with Cole and Drew drives the bike back.  We’re dumped unceremoniously in Chiang Mai, which after almost a week in Pai feels like a hot, chaotic mess.  We’ve been in Thailand almost two months now, and suddenly that old feeling returns.  I’m looking up flights to Sri Lanka, to India, to Beirut.  I bookmark the Pai Land and House website, but I stop looking.  The dream already ran its course.

I’m rested and restless.  I’m slowing down, nearly caught, edging towards something more permanent.  It’s a beautiful life, that one with the frangipani tree in the front yard and hammock for a bed.  To have a full kitchen, space for kids and routine is a form of luxury but so is seeing new places, having little adventures and trying new things.  I’ve flirted so hard with Thailand, but I can’t make it stick.  Later, I think to myself, but I’m not sure when.

###

Notes:

Photos are from this Pai Real Estate listing

We stayed at Quinlin’s (someone always asks)

The Real Estate listing for Quinlin’s

Our favorite restaurant was Nong Beer (try the Shan curry) and we really liked the Mo Paeng waterfall (as you drive up, locals will offer to sell you weed, even if you have a toddler with you, apparently).

The Pai Land and House website.

Via: http://www.flickr.com/photos/sovietuk

One of the great joys of having this website is getting to influence 20-year-olds, and hopefully convincing them to travel before they are old like me (35), have a job (I quit mine), married (9 years and counting), have a house (sold it), and have kids (1 boy, age 2).  Because while it is possible to travel when you’re married with kids and settled down, it’s a lot easier to do it when you’re young.

An insight into the minds of college students: every year, since I started this blog in 2008, I get a huge rush of traffic starting in April and it runs until June.  Right now, thousands of people are reading two posts on my site:

• 8 Things I Wish I Knew When I Was 22
• So You’ve Graduated College, Now What?

In its peak, I’ll be averaging over 10,000 visitors a day (on just those two posts).  Last year I had a single day with over 30,000.

I call it the graduation monsoon.

During this same period, I usually get a high number of seagull trolls: people who fly into your blog and without knowing anything about it, sh*t all over it.  Then they leave.  I got smart last year and closed comments on all old posts, because cleaning up the droppings from disenfranchised old people who either a) don’t care about travel or b) want to travel but feel trapped, became too much of a chore and ultimately, I’m not really able to help those people anyway.  If you tell me, “I can’t travel because ______,” then I believe you.  Even if I had a solution, you’ve made up your mind anyway.

College students, let my troll-problem be a lesson.  There is not only a large number of people out there that will tell you that taking a year off to travel after college is a bad idea, but there are folks who will rage at the idea.  It pisses them off.  They are so mad about it that they’ll spend an entire afternoon fighting with strangers on a blog they don’t even read regularly.  Even if you don’t end up traveling, there is certainly better ways to spend your time.

Lots of people want to travel, traveling after school makes sense, yet there are still people who will tell you that not only is it a bad idea, but that you’re some how ruining the lives of everyone around you.  They are dead wrong.

Via: http://www.flickr.com/photos/adarshanto

Travel is important.  It builds a healthy and realistic perspective that will stay with you for the rest of your life.  It breaks you out of the cultural milieu you were born into, and let’s you try on worldview of different cultures, all without having to make any permanent life changes.  You can still come back, get a job, get a spouse, buy a house, have a kid, make your parents proud.  But the way you do those things and how you feel about them will forever be changed.  You can’t un-see the world.  Once you have a little dose of perspective, you’ll never be exactly the same.  Isn’t that the point?

This week, my family and I are in Chiang Mai, Thailand recuperating after a stint in Beijing during their harsh winter.  I tried to take a little break from writing, but I kept noticing this incoming flood of traffic, college students virtually banging down my door.  I’m tempted to say, “Get off my lawn!” but really I’m glad you’re here.  If you’re wondering if you should do it, try to travel, then the answer is yes.  If you’re wondering if you can do it, if you can raise the money, yes.  If you want someone to kick you off your butt and make you do it, well here you go:

Don’t be stupid.  This is a cliché but you won’t be young forever.  Also a cliché but true: you’ll never be in a better place to take off and travel.  It won’t ruin your life, it’ll make it better.  You’ll have the time of your life.  I swear.  You can do it.  You should do it.  I’ve been where you are and I waited.  That’s okay too, but I kick myself every time I think of it.  There’s a whole world out there waiting for you, you just have to choose to see it.  Go.

***

The biggest thing is making the decision.  Set a date.  Figure out how much money you’ll need.  Save, beg, borrow the cash.  Get creative.  Be willing to sleep on couches in Europe or camp your way through Central America.  Take a bus to a major city.  Get roommates.  Work a crap job (or two).  Find the cheapest flight you can and then just go.  You can work at hostels or teach English or come home when the money runs out.  No one is going to give you permission to do this, you have to decide, make it a priority and work out the details.  Little, tiny, simple details that seem impossible now, but once you’re out there, once you’ve done it, you’ll always know that you have the ability to make things happen.

Travel.  Or don’t.  But decide.

And get off my lawn, you crazy kids!

This video An Invocation for Beginnings was posted a few days ago. I can’t even describe how full of awesome it is:

Can’t view the video? Try Youtube.

Thanks to my husband @Drewgilbert for finding this. (Also, I’ll save you the trouble of googling — FILDI is F*uck It Let’s Do It and here’s the site behind the tutu reference).

Okay, so here goes: we left China.  Five months earlier than planned.  I didn’t learn fluent Mandarin, I didn’t make any friends, I didn’t get a wild story out of it or anything.  We spent a ton of money on our apartment, hired language tutors and domestic help.  We were like corporate expats, living in Beijing, compartmentalizing our lives as much every VP of Asian Development Blah De Da that lived in our building. We were in the expat bubble.

Beijing wasn’t working out.  I know there are a lot of people who will read this and think, “Well, DUH.”  Believe me I know.  Beijing in the winter.  What was I thinking?

One of Cole's early (unsuccessful) Escape-from-China attempts

So we left.  Predictably, given we didn’t know what else to do, we headed back to Chiang Mai, Thailand to regroup.  And by regroup, I mean, cough our asses off, because after the intense literally-off-the-charts pollution in China, where else would you go except to Northern Thailand during the one month of the year when they burn off their fields and the pollution skyrockets until the rainy season begins a few weeks later?  Apparently, we’re hardcore now.  People are driving around the old city with face masks on and we’re all like, “Mmmm, breathe in that fresh, slightly smokey, air.” China does that to you.

So what happened?

There where three things pulling on me in Beijing: family, work and the city.  I realized I could write and attend to Cole or I could learn the language and see the city.  But I couldn’t do all the things I wanted to do.  Cole comes first, then work, and finally when I realized that while I could make Beijing “work” I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it the way I wanted, and as a writer, stories about sitting in the 25th floor apartment and cramming Mandarin vocab while watching Xi Yang Yang with Cole wasn’t exactly the dynamic content I had hoped for.  I think when you travel you have to get out and meet people not directly on your payroll (revolutionary, I know).  Cole, the weather, and the city all conspired against me.  I couldn’t do it all, and finally after two months of denial, I realized that we’d have to do China some other time.

We snuck away like fugitives and didn’t tell anyone what we were doing until we were out.  It would have been exciting except I think we were all so shell-shocked.  One moment, sitting in the ashen cityscape of Beijing, the next, lounging by the Ping river under a palm tree in Thailand.  It was all entirely too easy, and later, when Cole was dancing in the booth at the restaurant, from joy, pure joy, of taking a sip of a watermelon shake I ordered him, it was hard to not feel a little relieved.

Cole diet: pound half a watermelon shake and then finger paint with your food.

We left Beijing.  Holy crap.

What about Mandarin?

Mandarin will have to wait.

However, I did get that language-moment I wanted, just one, but I was happy for it.  Just before we left, the three of us were in a taxi on our way into town.  We had the address written in Chinese characters, tucked in Drew’s pocket, and after he handed it over to the driver, the assailing stream of Mandarin hit Drew like a high pressure hose between the eyes.  I leaned over and translated, “He says he knows the street, but not the building, so he can take us to this address, but he doesn’t know this specific place,” and then I said to the driver, “Good, fine,” in Mandarin a few times and we were on our way.

It was kind of bad ass. Well at least my husband was impressed.

I didn’t think when I started studying Chinese that it would happen for me.  That moment of spontaneous translation, where your brain takes over, and for me, I heard the Chinese word, but instantly knew the English translation.  I didn’t get very far in my studies, but I did learn that as scary and difficult as Chinese sounds, it’s really just like any language.  If you study it, practice it, listen to it and use it, eventually, your brain gets sick of doing all the hard work of actively translating it, and says, “well since you insist on continuing to use this, I guess I’ll store it for you, that way I don’t have run all over the place looking for vocabulary every time you want to order coffee.”  And bam, you just have it, for now, until you don’t use it anymore and you brain clears it out to store plot lines to Game of Thrones or something (not that I spent the last month reading 4,000 pages of Lannister-Stark plots lines or anything, eherm).

The end result: I learned that I could learn Chinese. Really, anyone could be pretty good at Chinese if they got serious about it.  I’m not a natural at this, so if I can meander my way through tones, Chinese characters, difficult to pronounce sounds and the challenge of memorizing, I can’t imagine anyone who couldn’t. For me personally, it has shifted my perspective of languages as being mystical, challenging beasts that only a few gifted polyglots could tame, into a very practical skill set with a specific method for learning. It’s no different from learning how to program software or fix a car. The path to learning is the same: you have to do it to learn it.

Honestly, I think Drew just missed his favorite Thai breakfast: spicy noodle soup.

Now what?

Now, we go somewhere else.  We learn from this.  We tweak the design.  We do it better next time.  No one said traveling with a toddler was going to be easy.  No one said being a mom and a writer is easy either.  It’s not!  But we had fun in China (despite the setbacks) and I’m quite sure it’ll still be there when we’re ready to go back. I liked China and Mandarin and the people and the food, but for us, right now, with a small kid and all of our commitments it was too much. That sucks to admit, but I think my family is happier for it.

Location: ???

I am blown away at how fast these last two years have gone, how fast he continues to develop, and how utterly, hilariously amazing this kid can be. Even the rare times when we find ourselves frustrated (it’s safe to say these are the times he is frustrated too, unable to tell us what it is he needs), he finds some new way to surprise us and make us laugh.

I am so very lucky to have the charming toddler with the three foot long lashes in my life. Happy Birthday, Bubba!

(You can also view this video on youtube.)

“Wow, there must be a ton of MSG in this,” I remember telling Drew.

I was wrong. A month later I’d find out that this was my first introduction to Sichuan pepper, the spice with an effect so strange that I assumed I was being poisoned by an MSG overdose.

I’ve eaten Sichuan dishes in Chinese restaurants in the States before, but I’d never experienced the numbing effect. That’s because Sichuan pepper has been banned in the US since 1968 (not because it’s toxic but because it sometimes carries a bacteria that can be harmful to certain crops). The FDA only recently started allowing it again.

I really wanted to cook with it.

You might be able to find something like this in the States.

I picked up a jar of this at the store.  I wasn’t sure what to do with it, so it sat in my cupboard for a few weeks.  Finally, I decided to make up my own Spicy Sichuan Soy Chicken Wings recipe:

This is my Dark Soy Sauce and Light Soy Sauce.

Okay, so this is my super, melt-your-face-off-spicy version:

2 parts of sichuan pepper sauce (I used like a half a cup, maybe more, but scale it to your desired amount)

1 part dark soy sauce

1 part light soy sauce

5 cloves of garlic

1/2 cup sugar

2 lbs chicken wings

Now, don’t make this version.  This is stupidly spicey.  It’s THAI hot, where the Thai cook is laughing at you behind the face mask they have to wear while cooking so they don’t choke on the fumes of intense spice and while it probably won’t make you actually cry, you’ll be pretty close to it.

If you just want to try the sichuan flavor, just add a little sichuan pepper sauce to a BBQ recipe that you already use.  Go easy, people!  I lived in Thailand for six months so I’m used to spice plus I find it deeply satisfying if I make something A) that my husband thinks is delicious B) is so hot that even he can’t finish it.  I’m diabolical with the spice.

My ears were ringing after eating this, but it was really good.  Lemony-spiced with salty soy and the kind of heat that is addictive and painful.

Here are some much nicer recipes: Spicy Chicken Wings or Glazed Sichuan Chicken Wings.

The marinade.

I mix together the ingredients and it looks something like this.  I pour it over the chicken wings (or chicken legs, whatever) and let it marinade for an hour, stirring it half way through to make sure it’s well coated.

The marinaded chicken, cooking on med-high heat.

Heat a tablespoon of oil over med-high heat and add the chicken.  Save the left over marinade, if you want to make a sauce.

Killed.

Cook the heck out of it.  In a separate saucepan, bring the leftover marinade to a boil, then reduce heat.  Add a little cornstarch to thicken it up.

Coating the chicken.

Add the cooked chicken to the thickened sauce.  Stir to coat.  (Skip this step especially if you don’t want it massively hot.  This adds even more heat).

The very dark final version.

If you have white sesame seeds in your kitchen, go ahead and sprinkle them on top.  Pretty.

Dig in.

The numbing effect actually changes the way you taste food for a bit, so even drinking water during this meal has a different flavor.  It really does feel like your mouth is buzzing.

To folks in the States — can you get fresh Sichuan anywhere?  I might do a few recipes with the whole peppercorn, but I’m not sure what’s available.  Next time you’re in an Asian market, if you remember to take a look, let me know what you find.   (Also if there’s an online retailer for the Sichuan Pepper Sauce, post the link below, please, I couldn’t find it.)

I came home yesterday, an hour early, to see Cole and the Ayi in the other room, laying on the bed.  Well, the Ayi was laying anyway, Cole was sitting on her back like he was riding a pony.  Laughing.  They were watching a movie on the laptop.  In Mandarin.  He now speaks more Chinese words than English ones (he can even repeat phrases in Chinese that he doesn’t know better than in English) and when I walked in, he smiled at me.

The Ayi told me in Mandarin, “He didn’t cry.  He didn’t ask for Mama or Papa.  He ate lunch.  He was very happy.”

“See!” Drew says to me.

I know!  It’s always hardest for the mom.  Anyway, I’m getting better, so thank you.

Yes, it’s just like that.  Well, except when it’s not.

Right now, I’m sitting in a cafe at the ground level of our apartment complex.  There’s four skyscrapers housing Korean, Chinese and expat residents and a few of us sit at our laptops in the industrial steel and concrete coffee lounge, sipping caffiene-products.

My son is upstairs.  I asked the nanny to watch him for four hours while I work, so I could find a place to write and study in quiet, an indulgence really, for a mother to an almost two year old.

I’ve never used child care before, and it’s breaking my heart.

When he was little, I could take him everywhere.  We traveled to five different continents with him, all while filming a documentary. We left Oregon when he was four months and haven’t been back since.  There’s pictures floating around somewhere, taken by someone else, of me with Cole in a sling, strapped to my chest and me leaning over a camera on a tripod, setting up a shot.

Not the one I was thinking of but I was able to find this pic from Burning Man 2010. Copyright http://www.technomadia.com/

I was reading the mothering-homeschool boards, which is probably a bad idea, I admit, but I felt so sad about my situation as I read about these women who are all stay-at-home moms, who say things like, “I stopped working immediately after my son was born.”  I’m not like that.  I feel bad that I can’t do it.  Drew could work, I could stop working, or I could only work occasionally, maybe writing 1-2 articles a week, settle down, give up the bigger projects, the website, the photography and just be a mom.

If I could do it, I would.  It feels callous of me to leave him.  I know he would prefer to be with me.  I’m struggling with this, and I know I’m not the first women to fret over her role with her children and work.  I just really want to say, “Okay, I will stay home with you, Cole.” I want to say it.  I try it on.  I say it to my husband.  I announce, “That’s it, I’m quitting!” and my heart screams out, “No!”

I know everyone says you can do both.  You can’t.  I can’t, anyway.  Cole wants all of my time.  He would also love it if I would nap with him and go to bed at the same time as him at night.  Anything short of this, and he’s disappointed.  There’s degrees, of course.  If I sneak away after he falls asleep, it’s only mildly upsetting for him.  If I read in the other room, he’s willing to let me be for thirty minutes or an hour.  If he’s had his fill of me, he might play on his own for spurts of time.  However, any amount of time spent working and not focusing on him, is a compromise.  One that I’m making on his behalf.  It doesn’t seem fair that I can unilaterally make that decision for him, because I’m clearly ignoring his vote.  I can’t ignore that or gloss over it or pretend like he doesn’t notice.  He does.

I know some readers will think, “Four hours away from your child?  That’s nothing!  What’s the big deal?”

Nothing.  Look away.  Nothing at all to see here.

Location: 798 Art Zone, Beijing, China

Wee! This is why you travel with small children. It’s awesome. It’s like having a little celebrity with you at all times. Cole is so conditioned to this response that he’s super outgoing and just charges into the fray. What does he think, I wonder? “Everyone loves me! I love going outside to see the people! Yes, I will eat whatever that is you’re giving me! Can I have your phone?” The only downside is that we have to watch him carefully, otherwise he’d probably just let some random Chinese family adopt him.

I’m glad I’m tracking my time this way. I didn’t realize I had been slowly spending less time each week, but here it is. Will have to double up my efforts next week!

Total study time this week: 20 hours
Overall: 71 hours (average: 23.5 hours/week)
Written characters memorized: 57 (average: 2.7/day)
This week’s big test: talking with the nanny

The goal: Fluent as possible in six months (24 weeks). I have 21 weeks left.

If you are unable to see the video, click here.

Ira Glass on Storytelling from David Shiyang Liu on Vimeo.

(Found via Brainpickings.org)

Starbucks on the other hand, is deceptively similar.  It serves it’s lattes ‘grande’ and everything down to the furniture seems like direct imports (doesn’t the checkerboard table below look familiar?).

The sugar comes in the same white or raw choices, but it’s from a different company and the packets have some delightful English translation work: “golden coffee sugar crystals”.  Mmm, just like mom used to make.

I haven’t been in the states for a while, so I’m not sure if this is standard, but I’m assuming it’s like simple syrup they use in iced coffees.  Or as known in China, “invert syrup sachet” which if I said that out of context, you’d probably have no idea what I was talking about.  ”Yeah, make mine a grande and be sure to get some invert syrup sachets!”

The branding though, absolutely consistent.  Green plastic cutlery.  The identical label with just a little Chinese added.  Of course, what you get isn’t quite the same — it’s heavy on the corn and red beans (sweet to the Asian palette) and there’s a mystery mayo-crab-something salad in the corner.  The dressing was vaguely asian-y like a little sesame oil was added in.  Overall, just fine for a salad from Starbucks.

The table advertising is the same, but note the blueberry cheesecake.  Blueberry is like THE fruit in Beijing, it seems to me.  If you want to make something fancy, just add blueberries.

This kid could be bored in a Starbucks anywhere in the world, but nope, he’s right here in Beijing.  (By the way, this place was packed.  Starbucks is crazy popular with expats and locals.)

Even the hardwood floors look the same.  It’s like someone picked up a Starbucks from Seattle and plopped it down in China.  Cole was kind enough to inspect the floor very closely and he says, “Yes, it’s practically the same.  I think I recognize this wood grain.”

The cashier spoke with perfect English, she practically had an American accent, and then everyone fell into Mandarin as they called the order back and forth to each other.  I asked my tutor if people like Starbucks here and she said, “I think if you work in the CBD  in one of the tall buildings [note: she means a corporate job, probably] then you’d like very much to bring your cup of Starbucks to work with you.”  Does she drink it? “No, it has too many calories! I’d have to run around all day…”

My new watermark. Do you like it? I hope it doesn't detract from the photo at all.

Dear Internet,

I love Pinterest.  I love the concept, the pinning, the inspiration, the sharing, and above all, the beautiful photography.  However, recently I’ve become aware of the fact that many professional photographers are quite angry that Pinterst is essentially using their images without permission.  At first I thought, “Wait, what’s the difference between Pinterest and Google Image Search, Facebook sharing, Twitter preview, Google +, Tumblr or any number of other sites that grab images based on user shares?”

The answer: Not much.

Now, there may be some legal technical blahblahblah that protects you as long as no photographer wins the lottery and decides to spend several years in court suing your ass off.  Since most photographers don’t win the lottery, and they don’t have the deep pockets of the film, publishing or music industry, there is a virutal free-for-all when it comes to the illicit use of photography online.

Think about it this way, what if instead of Google Images, there was Google Music and it just let you search every piece of music ever posted online?

The music industry would shut that down immediately.  

What if every book was scanned and placed online for free?

The publishing industry wouldn’t allow that.

What about film?

Wait, Youtube already pulls illegal clips of TV and film that their users upload.

What about photographers then?

Under the law, photographers have the same legal rights as musicians, writers or filmmakers regarding copyright, but they don’t have the deep pockets to protect their rights.

That kind of sucks.

The good news is that there is a really simple solution.  Let photographers (or anyone else) opt out of being shared.  Just like you can prevent Google spiders from scanning your site and indexing your content by placing a small line of code on your website (invisible to users), social media and sharing sites could let individual websites opt-out.  When a user tries to share from that site, it would be automatically blocked.

So simple.

What would this do?  

• Drop the illegal sharing of copyright protected photography significantly.
• Protect artists who don’t have the financial resources to pursue litigation.
• Make the internet more awesome.

Some users would find work arounds, but this will be a much smaller number and those accounts can be addressed individually.  For Pinterest especially, most people are sharing from their friend’s share pools.  Removing the source means that someone would have to maliciously go find that content and pin it, subversely, not something that I think the average Pinterest user is interested in or motived to do.

What happens if we don’t do something?

• Startups will struggle with growing legal consequences of user generated content <– so small companies can’t make new sites, only the big boys can, swinging even more online power to Facebook and Google.
• Content creators will create more and more barriers to their content or go dark, taking their work offline.  <– Bad for everyone.
• Internet killing bills like SOPA have more justification.
• Paywalls, watermarks, crazy javascript codes to prevent theft and other bad stuff will start showing up more <–  Yuck.
• Photographers and artists who are financially hurt by online theft will STOP MAKING COOL ART!  In other words, the internet will be officially evil.

Now, we just need the developers at Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Google and Tumblr to listen.

Are you listening?

Love XOXO,

Christine

(Just one little blogger who likes the internet too much).

P.S. By the way, I like it when people share my photos, but then again, I get free traffic for it and it’s not like I’m licensing my photos for thousands of dollars.  However, I don’t think that just because I am okay with it that it’s okay for more traditional artists to have their rights ignored.  For the polar opposite point of view, see Trey Ratcliff’s recent article here.

Update: Pinterest just added new code (looks like in the last 24 hours, but I’m not sure if anyone is reporting on it, however it is in their help section) that allows you to block people from pinning from your site. The problem, however, ISN’T that people are going to download your photos and reupload. Sure that might happen, but really the problem is Tumblr, which is often the source for these images and THEY don’t let people opt out. I was looking through my pins and a surprising number (maybe 30-40%) are from Tumblr blogs, not the original source. Maybe Pinterest should look at blocking Tumblr wholesale as it’s basically no better than The Pirate Bay when it comes to copyright infringement.

The score card:

Facebook – no
Twitter – no
Pinterest – yes (see the code in the help section)
Google+ – no
Tumblr – no

Location: The Summer Palace (Yíhé Yuán, 颐和园) Beijing, China

I love the way the Summer Palace looks in the winter.  I feel like Cole should be marching out to Bjork’s Army of Me.  It’s my favorite place to bring Cole in Beijing so far, he can run from garden to garden, stepping through thresholds and running along ledges.  He’s getting even more brave.  On this day, a Chinese woman was cooing at him, so he grabbed her hand and brought her over to the souvenir stand.  When that didn’t produce a toy, he lifted his arms up, so she’d pick him up (and she did), which the crowd gathering around them though was hilarious, and they spent 10 minutes looking at bracelets and souvenirs.  Someone called him “Bābǐ wáwá” which I had recently learned is the Chinese name for Barbie Doll.  He does look like a little doll, tearing up the Imperial pavilion.

(If you’re in email or RSS and can’t see the image above, try going to this link.)

Total study time this week: 24 hours
Overall: 51 hours (average: 25.5 hours/week)
Written characters memorized: 33 (unchanged)
This week’s big test: translating recipes into Mandarin

The goal: Fluent as possible in six months (24 weeks). I have 22 weeks left.

If you are unable to see the video, click here.

Oh you shouldn't have

Drew and I aren’t much of a Valentine’s Day couple. But this year, I saw something Drew would really, really want: for me to have the cooking skill to whip up his favorite dish in the world — steamed pork buns. It’s basically airy, light buns that are soft and moist, filled with pork or veggies or whatever you want. Peanut butter and chocolate? Okay, go for it. Salty, garlicky shredded beef? Why not. If you can scoop it, you can fill a baozi with it.

This is probably the first V-day gift I’ve given Drew, maybe ever. Today I took a cooking class at The Hutong and found out that with a little baking yeast and flour you can make the buns, and fill them with whatever else you have around the house. For most of the pictures below I’m making a batch of Mushroom Bok Choy Baozi (steamed buns).

The flour

For the dough:

• 500 grams flour
• 40 grams sugar
• 280 ml water
• 2 tablespoon corn starch
• 2 tablespoon vegetable oil
• 2 teaspoon yeast
• 2 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon salt

The yeast in very warm water.

Mix together your dry ingredients: the flour, corn starch, baking powder and salt in a large bowl and set aside. Then take very warm, but not boiling water and mix it with the yeast and sugar and set aside for 15 minutes (they called this ‘feeding the yeast’).

The fillings

For the filling (mushroom bok choy):

• 500 grams bok choy (or spinach if you prefer)
• 100 gram dried shitake maushroom, minced
• 5 minced spring onions
• 2 tablespoon soy sauce
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 tablespoon cooking wine
• 2 teaspoon sesame oil
• 1 teaspoon sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon white pepper

Dried shitake mushrooms after soaking in warm water.

While you’re waiting for the yeast to activate, chop your mushrooms (having soaked them in warm water) and spring onions.

Bok choy must die.

Brutalize some bok choy.

The yeast gets all bubbly

By now, your yeast is ready, so add in your dry ingredients from the dough recipe.  Stir it until the flour is well coated and then pour in the oil.  Using your hands, form the mixture into a ball and work it until all of the ingredients are incorporated, but not too much as you’ll make the dough hard.

Dough

If it looks something like this, you’re good to go.  Now cover it with a moist towel and stick it in the oven at 150 F for 1 hour.

Sauteed mushrooms

While you’re waiting for the dough, heat up a wok over medium heat and add a tablespoon of oil.  Add the spring onions and cook until soft.  Then add the mushrooms.  Cook for a minute and then add the soy sauce and cooking wine.  Cook for another minute and then remove from heat.

I would just eat this

Now mix the sauteed mushroom with the bok choy you murdered above and add the rest of the filling ingredients: salt, sesame oil, sugar and white pepper.

The filling finished

Give it a stir.  Admire your handiwork.  Take a few photos.  Check to see what’s happening on Twitter.  Okay, now the dough is done.

Enough for two baozi

Take your ball of dough and break it into two halves.  Then slowly roll one half in your hand until it’s a long tube.  Then pull it into six pieces and roll those into balls (and then repeat with the other half of the dough).  Each ball is for one baozi.  If you want them really fluffy you can put them back into the oven and let them rise again.

Lovely

Or you can just jump to the next step: filling.

After the magic

Now, there’s some kind of magic that happens between the scooping of the filling and the formation of the bun.  The way they showed us was to fold over the edge onto itself, like you’re gathering the dough into a little purse.  Then you twist and push it down so the swirl is on top.

Like this, sort of

I never did it quite right, but they taste the same no matter what.  The technique was to make a small fold, twist the bun in your hand, fold, twist, fold twist, etc until you run out of dough.

The monster steamer

Then you steam them for 8 minutes.  12 if you fill it with meat.

The final product, yum!

They are so good straight out of the steamer.

This is a chicken one we also made in class

It’s like the freshest bread and a piping hot yummy bite of something, served together

We ate a lot of these

By the way, this is considered breakfast in China.  BREAKFAST!  My husband just cried a single tear, I think.

Happy Valentines Day, Honey!

Yes, I’m a dork, I made a heart-shaped one for Drew.  I think he even noticed as he scarfed it down.  Best gift ever!

(Update: No, I didn’t say Steampunk Pork Buns, but omg that’s an awesome (1) idea (2).)