We were ready for our holiday in Thailand and Indonesia. I was appropriately warned by BF, "Do not get used to this." I was not prepared for what was to come.
We flew into Bangkok from HK and did the usual tourist things. I was denied entrance to a temple unless I wore a shirt that covered my shoulders. I tried wearing my fishnet shirt over my tank but that did not go well with the Thais either. I had to wear a shirt that they provide to impertinent tourists like me. It did not help my case that I might actually be mistaken for a Thai. They would address me in a tounge I did not understand and they would get a deaf and mute staring blankly at them. From the way they were speaking to me, I was sure that I was being lectured for lack of decorum. They handed me a men's shirt that had seen better days and smelled of mold, but at least it made me look respectful if not respectable and only then was I allowed into the temple. I made sure I was properly covered going forward.
The Thais are very, very friendly and accommodating people. They smiled a lot except when it was about their fish. A dried fish vendor in the market motioned me to go away, saying something with disdain, with body language telling me to "go fish!" as I pointed excitedly at the dried gourami (a fish that I recognized from my childhood). The good thing about being in a country where you do not speak its language is you can get insulted and not take offense. The bad thing is that you are being insulted and you are not taking offense. Thank God that BF was oblivious to all these- he was busy checking out other points of interests in the market. And I was sure it had nothing to do with fish.
Lesson 1, topless women should stay away from temples.
Lesson 2, do not disrespect dried fish.
While in Thailand, I have vowed to forever more observe a higher standard for myself whenever I am in an Asian country. I am always mistaken to be a native of the Asian country I am visiting with my husband. I decided, therefore, that I shall not "embarrass" the women of the host country by publicly demonstrating affection that might be construed as risque, like holding hands with my husband or allowing him to put an arm on my shoulders. I understand completely that there are unwritten rules of "saving face" in these countries and I have become aware that my action would reflect poorly on how women may be treated especially by a non-Asian male. I embraced those rules more than ever when I realized that I was more Fil-Am than Filipino. For his part, BF is cooperative, willing to understand the cultural divide and help to narrow it so that we may both succeed in our choice to be together.
Lesson 3, in Asia, always keep an arm's length from boyfriend.
I add Lesson 4 - walk fast to keep up and never walk behind boyfriend in Asia. If you do, you appear to be subservient most especially when the BF is glow-in-dark White.
We left Bangkok for Bali, Indonesia where we initially stayed at a beautiful Hyatt resort. The sparkling emerald water of the Indian Ocean was warm and we strolled at the beach each evening, taking in the sounds and the feel of the rushing water on our bare feet as the waves slapped the shore. We retired to a beautiful Balinese room at the resort.
After a few days in the sand and sun, we continued on to Ubud, the art center of Bali. Each night, guided by star lights, we went to see Barong and Legong dances performed with such artistry by classical Bali dancers. We traced back our steps to the cottage, walking along the dry rice fields, teased by the gentle wind and serenaded by the rich sound from the bamboo whind chimes hanging on balconies of the homes along the gravelly road.
We took dips in our private wading pool, surrounded by tropical flowers, situated a few steps outside the cottage. In the mornings and during afternoon siestas, we were awakened by the sound and smell of Bali; first there was the sound of the courtyard being swept, then we hear a "kulintang" being played (xylophone) by the same person who swept the ground. On our way to the breakfast cottage, we would discover that all paths were lined by plumeria petals. All around us, it smelled of faint, sweet coconut oil. I felt home - I imagined my Indonesian ancestors smiling at me, applauding at how far I have travelled to step on Indonesian soil.One afternoon during our daily foray along Monkey Road, I fell in like with the "bench boys." It was a group of boys, individually carved out of wood, don't ask how I knew they're boys; I knew; with mother and father figures, all seated on a wooden bench.
BF was at the store next door so I decided to try haggling myself. I could not do it. When the shopkeeper/storekeeper (SK) told me it was $7.00, I could not bring myself to ask her to sell it to me for half the price. I gave her a mournful look. She did not want to lose the sale so she gave me $.25 discount. When BF found how much I paid the lady, he acted genuinely shocked at my being duped, at the "astronomical" cost I paid. I, on the other hand, defended the altruism behind my purchase, "The lady needs to feed her kids tonight. She needs the $6.75 more than I do!"
You see, BF had a system and I did not "get it." When we would find an artwork we wanted, he would spend time with the storekeeper learning about it. The Balinese takes pride in their artwork and it shows. Each of the mobiles and the masks is painstakingly carved on pule or waru wood among others and painted in deep colors. They are mostly dance masks and represent characters in the Ramayana. And I collected and loved them. Anyway, BF would ask at least 15, in my estimation no less, questions about the work. He and the SK would have an earnest discussion for what seemed an eternity. Then we would leave the store empty handed! The victim (SK) is silent. It drove me absolutely crazy.
I held, and still hold the belief, that if I spend time with a SK, posturing as I might that I am interested in something he is selling, and I discuss prices with him, and I show interest in the object we are discussing, then I believe that I am actively negotiating. When ShopKeeper and I both agree about his merchandise's quality, about its beauty, and about its price, I ought to buy it. I owe it to him, for his time, and his goodwill, to show him the money. Not BF.
He would spend endless time, with what I personally termed shooting bull with the shopkeeper. Maybe "bs-ing" is a strong word, but you see, I feel strongly about these things. For example, when I so badly want to own an object and it is taking forever to buy it and what's keeping me from owning it is BF's and SK's endless exchanges of "No, too high, it should be lower" and "No too low, give me a little bit more..." , I honestly believe I have the right to rescue myself from this stressful situation by raising my hand to call their attention and proclaim, in no uncertain terms, "Excuse me! I do not want it anymore!" Silence from both sides of the negotiation counter. Uh-huh!:-)
"But I thought you liked it?!" "I don't anymore." "Why?" "Because the guy is lying." I am particularly emboldened by my hope that the SK does not speak English because I am 'dissing' him. I tell BF, "He would not give his honest price. He is lying and your haggling makes me nauseous."
One day, in Hong Kong's Stanley Market, I was asked by one by well-meaning shopkeeper why I looked so annoyed. I told her it was because I hate that everyone was lying to me. She told me that the shopkeepers respect someone who haggles; right, they respect me when I acknowlege by haggling that all of them are con artists trying to make me part with my limited single mom hard-earned money that I was totally spending on crap. OMG, was I that bitter?
Anyway, when I would ask BF why he would not buy after all that banter, he would tell me that now that he knows more about the subject, he would find similar objects in other shops and perhaps get a better deal. As a result, after eleven years of a happy marriage, we still have not bought fine china.
But his system clearly worked. On our way from Ubud, he bought a pair of Balinese gold and sapphire earrings without ever speaking Bahasa except for "No" and a little Casio calculator. He and ShopKeeper would take turns at the Casio, "text touch"* ferverishly, (*another one of my personal coined words) the price they want and hold it high for the other to see. Each would excitedly say "no!" during his turn waving the Casio in the air. The negotiation suddenly attracted a sizeable crowd. The negotiation was going on in a little jewelry store by the roadside. Imagine if you will, that the next store was a fruit store, and on the other side was a soft drink stand. The jewelry store had only one wall, one display case, and the rest of the store was a thatched roof and three open sides. It looked like a forlorn bus stop but in fact, the earrings were beatufilly made out of 24 k. gold. Women in beautiful batik sarongs with fruit baskets on their heads, little children with sleep in their eyes, men carrying tools or fish baskets started to gather around the shopkeeper, emphatically shaking his head and saying "No,no, no!" and the White man brandishing a Casio saying "No, no, no!" It was theater of the absurd. I was transfixed despite myself. And the winner is.....the white man with the $250! Please pass the earrings this way. "Do not get used to this."
In the end, we packed a whole suitcase filled with Balinese mermaids, male-mades (:-, and nymphs. He told me that he was starting to like my Balinese crafts (not crap). I made sure I heard the "f" not "p" in crafts. You never know, we Filipinos are known to exchange our p's and f's and "him" and "her."
We went back to HK, packed and shipped whatever needed shipping and stayed in HK for a couple of days of rest before heading back to the USA. On the day of our departure, the GM or some other top level guy with the JW Marriott in HK escorted us back to the airport for our journey home. I kept carrying my suitcases with my Balinese crap :-) and BF kept reminding me to put them down. I was not used to having an entourage following me and carrying my bags. He kept saying in a hushed tone, "Please do not get used to this." What was he saying? I carry my bags but he keeps telling me to put them down for these people to carry them. So, if I were already doing what I should not get used to, what was the problem?
A shiny black M-Benz limo waited to take us to the airport. Really? Oh-kay. Let him do his "staging." BF and Marriott GM were having small talk on the way to the airport. GM was very nice to BF, speaking to him like he was Mr. Marriott's personal emissary, the way things were going. Like how we Catholics talk "to Jesus through Mary," remember? Suddenly, it clicked. BF was an international development attorney for Marriott. He was like, how many degrees from the guy who owns the bacon? :-)
So someone carried my suitcases. We were VIPs. My luggage has seen better days. Mr. Porter may have been thinking, "Wow Filipina amah got lucky, she is now with American investment banker. WRONG! Hee-hee-hee! Hee-hee-hee. Underscored.
At the ticket counter, they told BF that he did not have a reservation. However, they told us I have a seat in business class. I felt very uncomfortable; I had no right being the chosen one. Then I witnessed how calmly he spoke with the airline staff, how he was able to straighten things out. I was appropriately impressed. Not only was he issued a ticket, he told them that we were on a honeymoon, so they made sure we were seated next to each other, and most embarrasing of all, the flight attendants were going out of their way to pay us extra attention. Somewhere in his possession was a 4-carat blue sapphire that would be my engagement ring. I was mercifully excused from bearing witness to the haggling that went into buying it. He realized I was useless when it came to shopping. I did not know a good from a bad gem. If it was big, I liked it, if it was small I liked it. I was a nubie and I acted like one.
We arrived to find a very happy little boy. I proceeded to show my son a very special yo-yo we brought for him. I was so excited to show him how it worked so I said, "Here, let me show you!" Bam! It hit the floor and broke in two pieces. He cried for a while and I apologized all over, but he forgot about the broken yo-yo the moment I hugged him tightly and showered him with mommy kisses. In reality, mommies are better presents than a yo-yo when you are a six year-old.
To this day, I do not haggle. The bench boys watch me cook in the kitchen. My engagement ring is beautiful and sentimental. My BF became my HS (husband!). But the journey has just begun...
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