Some random experiences from the last little while...
A few weeks ago, I bought some vegetables, including okra, with the intention of making a stir-fry curry dish. The next day, I discovered said vegetables on the stove, concocted into a soup by one of my lovely housemates. I tried some. It was odd. First of all, okra should never be boiled. It becomes positively mucoid. Second of all, okra should never be sweet. It just doesn't work. I bravely slurped away regardless. When the creator of the soup found me eating it, she made a face indicating that her opinion of the stuff coincided with mine. Turns out that some of our many recent house guests had refilled one of the Thai spicy salt containers with what they of course assumed was spicy salt. They were wrong. They had got hold of my baking supplies, more specifically my brown sugar. Mary was not aware of this unintentional blunder when she began cooking a few days later. The result was painfully sweet okra soup. Interestingly, while she seemed averse to the fact that it was sweet, she was not bothered by its blatant sliminess. We threw the rest away. Eventually.
Most people from Thailand and Burma do not use toilet paper. Let me re-phrase. They don't use toilet paper for its intended purpose. They do use it as a rolled, segmentable serviette during meals. But in the bathroom, they prefer to use water. Only water. Sometimes from a handled dipper bucket, sometimes from a conveniently-located spray hose. The two bathrooms in our house are each blessed with the spray hose variety, an easy reach from the toilet. I don't use them. Let me re-phrase. I don't use them for their intended purpose. I do use those hoses to power-wash the bathroom floor and walls from time to time. Ever since we got a water pump for the house, our water pressure is first-rate. And the little spray hoses only have two settings: off and full blast. Water comes out of those nozzles at a speed that would rival a Delta Sonic car wash. Yet, I've noticed that the toilet paper in the bathrooms still remains almost untouched. I can only imagine the alternative experience.
Mary and I went to a fashion show at a Karen school around the corner a few days ago. The first two hours were predictable but not uninteresting. Pairs of high school students were dressed in traditional Karen clothing from ten different Karen State regions. Each guy/girl combo would take turns stepping up to the microphone and explaining the symbolism and significance of their apparel. Then came part two of the program. It was a complete surprise, at least to me. You might even say shock. With much fanfare, the MC announced that we were about to witness a pageant: Miss IDP. Now, IDP stands for "Internally Displaced Person," a status normally associated with brutal attacks and death-defying escapes. Not exactly congruous with a beauty pageant. I wasn't sure what to expect. Pretty soon, the louder speakers started blaring Smash Mouth's "Allstar," and the contestants paraded onto the well-lit stage: ten uncommonly shapely youth flaunting about in trendy western style dresses. The MC put them through all kinds of entertaining trials: model walking, "Simon Says" type physical antics, and then live interviews. By then, if there was any doubt as to the identity of the contestants, it was completely dispelled by their cracking falsetto voices and masculine laughter. "Internally Displaced" indeed! We left around eleven, and they were still going strong. Over all, I was rather encouraged by the proof that these young Karen were holding onto their traditional roots but were also willing to be ridiculous. In both cases they were uninhibited, which gave me hope for future theatrical adventures alongside the Karen.
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