Thai wives' tales and other magic

(Snake story later!..)

It's a rapidly modernising, bustling, Thai new world. Or so it might seem in the urban areas where most tourist visitors base themselves, when not on trips to floating markets, elephant camps, wats and tiger temples. Easy to be left with the impression that the Thais are eager converts to the Western way of life. Little room for superstition in the twenty-first century order of things? Think again...

Being around during 9 months of a Thai pregnancy was an eye-opener in this respect. I gradually became aware of some pretty odd behaviour and comments from both my girlfriend and mother-in-law-to-be...

Early on I began to get the vaguely uncomfortable feeling that I was being stared at. I would be dozing off at night, wake with a start, and she was at it again. It was a touch disconcerting. In the morning over breakfast, the same sensation. Asked a couple of times... "Just look" came the answer. Had I forgotten to zip up? Been too lazy to shave? Some other unpardonable sin perhaps? I needn't have worried. Ploy finally let on that Thai women believe that by looking at you for lengthy periods, their babies will end up as the spitting image of their fathers.

Fortunately for us blokes and our self-esteem, Thai girls don't seem to be able to tell when farang blokes are really quite ugly critters. As a result it wasn't so easy to explain to mum-to-be that the last thing one would wish on one's baby is that he/she should look even remotely like her father. Good job we don't believe in the truth of such old wives' tales, eh?

So what else have I heard over the past nine months? If mum-to-be prefers to eat light-coloured foods, apparently this is because the baby will have whiter skin as a result (I did think of asking what effect her occasional craving for Mister Donut buns would have in terms of our daughter's future figure, but relented. Especially as mother-in-law-2b insisted we were having a boy, based of the shape of my girlfriend's pregnant belly. Despite the graphic evidence provided by the scans)...

An ice-cream while browsing through the Sunday market? Of course not! walking and eating at the same time results in a painful birth! Stupid of me.

A passing baby elephant, while sat at a bar in Chiang Mai's Loi Kroh, was studiously ignored. Why? I ventured to ask (I thought she liked elephants). The reply was immediate: "You want your baby look like elephant?" Not sure how this one fits with the superstition that while pregnant, walking (twice) under the stomach of a elephant ensures the future health of the baby. Perhaps Thai ladies manage to do this with their eyes closed. Sounds a bit dangerous to me, but what do I know. I'm only an ignorant farang...

A relative died a few months into the pregnancy. Fortunately not too close a relative, and the family lived far enough away to make our excuses. I learned that attending a funeral during a pregnancy is a bad move because a ghost will come and take the baby away. Can't it come and take mother-in-law-2b away instead, for a few months, I thought? (It had been a bad day). I managed to keep stum.

When the little one eventually popped out there was no birthmark to be found, much to Grandma's considerable disappointment. Apparently she believes that by touching the birthmark on a newly born, this will bring good luck...

There are thousands of superstitions, affecting all areas of everyday Thai life. I blogged a while back about the start of a building project next to our home. According to Thai astrology there are three days of the week when it is considered bad luck to commence the construction phase proper; Tuesday, Saturday and Sunday. So on Monday - after a frantic and noisy weekend during which they seemed to be making preparations night and day - there was an eerie calm first thing...

Click on any of the photos in this blog, small or large, to see the full-size pics

The man in white is a Brahman priest. A quick religious history... at its inception in 600 B.C., Buddhism was a reaction against Brahmanism. In modern-day Thailand Buddhism and Brahmanism co-exist quite comfortably, with Buddhism intermingling with certain pre-Buddhist animist and Brahman practices. Today turned out to be a blessing ceremony for the laying of the first foundations of the six-storey condo building our new Thai neighbours were having constructed. Members of the growing wealthy and educated Thai upper middle classes they may be, but as I watched throughout the two hours of ritual, it was clear that they weren't just conforming to convention. They were taking proceedings very seriously indeed...

The similarities with the ceremony performed by Buddhist monks at the opening of a new bar to which I was invited were evident (see October blog "Hello MisTER Wel-coooOME!") - the same bowl, its contents blessed by the four sacred elements, earth, water, wind and fire (earth by the candle wax, water by that contained in the bowl, fire by the flame of the candle, and wind by the breath extinguishing the flame).

Above: 1) a text in Pali, with Thai translation 2) Initial prayer ceremonies over, the sacred contents of the bowl are sprinkled over the foundations 3) Precise instructions on how to arrange the flowers (marigold garlands), coconuts, bananas and other puja (Brahman worship) offerings are given. Below the puja materials are carefully attached to the two main struts.

Most Thais believe in a rich supernatural world, whether or not they call themselves Buddhists. Especially when times are hard, or if they are sick, or undertaking a challenging new venture, supernatural help is called upon. In this case the Brahmin is the conduit through which the spirits are called upon to look favourably on a substantial new building project.

(Click to see full-size pic) The owner ceremonially places water lily leaves, bound together (see inset), containing money and gold, at the base of the foundations ready for the concrete to be poured.

1) Petals are removed from the flowers for the next part of the ceremony 2) The struts are lifted into place 3) The owner and his wife make the symbolic gesture of placing the first structural supports in place

Once secured, the owner's wife scatters the petals prior to the pouring of the concrete

Not a hard hat in sight ...

The blessing ritual continues, as the Brahmin splashes the 'lustral' water over the structural supports

More prayers before the final stage (concrete pouring). I'm not one for superstitions, and I was almost certain that courtesy of my zoom lens no one had seen me snapping away... but check out the full resolution version of the above photo - just look at the old lady's eyes! I'm sure the matriarch was placing a curse on the disrespectful farang. I might have to go and place a few garlands and glasses of Sang Som in their spirit house to ward off evil ghosts later... and have a few snifters myself by way of Dutch courage, of course...

The boss's wife gets her hands dirty, chucking a bucket or two of cement into the foundations... then the combined racket of diggers, cement mixers and drills resumed. The peace and quiet was too good to last...

Anyway, back to the snake...

Ok I admit it - it was small. I don't have giant feet. All the same, discovering this unknown species just as I was about to don flip-flops to put the rubbish out a short while back was a bit disconcerting to say the least. We don't see that many snakes in the centre of Chiang Mai. No idea what it was - probably harmless - but to stay on topic (ref superstition) Ploy immediately informed me that this would bring us good luck, and that I should put it outside carefully without injuring it. I did so. Hurriedly. Much as I need the luck, I would rather not find one sleeping in my flip-flops again...

Reminds me of a trip in a tuk tuk near Phnom Penh earlier this year - not one, but two snakes crossed the road in front of us. We braked hard to avoid them. The driver was delighted - double the luck, he said. I asked if the locals didn't eat snake. "Of course!" came the astonished reply... "Very good!" Not so lucky for the snakes then...

Giving birth in Thailand - a dad's perspective

We had opted for a Thai maternity hospital over the farang-catering alternative, not especially for reasons of cost (although there is a significant difference). Like many things in Thailand, it sort of 'just happened'. Total cost around 150 euros, for three nights board, lodging, paracetemol (epidural analgesia not an option), and care. The more luxurious alternatives would cost 700 or 800 euros up. There is a cheaper version still, for the truly impoverished. I dread to think what that must be like...

(click on any of the images in this blog to see the full-size photos ...)


To properly compare the Thai version of the maternity hospital to its European equivalent requires more than sketchy memories of the latter, and mine are pretty hazy with respect to events long past. Three children born in both England and France before, and I was present during their births (the youngest is 13, the oldest 20). Vague recollections of sterile conditions and ultra-efficient, schoolmarmly nurses and midwives in England, removing all need of personal initiative, especially from the dad; whose role in events during childbirth and the next few days in hospital was pretty minimal from the little I can remember. Maybe things have changed since, but back then I seemed to be little more than a tolerated occasional spectator. Similar memories from France, except for more laid-back nurses, and perhaps a slightly less strict approach to the whole process. The father was definitely something of a spare part on both sides of the English Channel.

The cleaner strolls by on the balcony outside our 'VIP' room

Ploy (pronounced Poy) had decided at the last minute that although she wanted me very close by, she didn't really want me there watching. "We not do in Thailand" as she put it. One of those transparently vague LoS (Land Of Smiles) assertions where you never really get to the truth of the matter. If you've any sense, you just resignedly give in and let your Thai spouse have her way. Direct, potentially embarrassing questions asked of any Thai, male or female, are pointless and mostly lead you into red herring exchanges. They leave you totally confused and having forgotten what you wanted to know in the first place. Forcefully interrogating your Thai partner can have considerably worse repercussions. It will certainly result in the same confusion on your part, but with varying degrees of unspoken and enduring reproach at your crass farang lack of subtlety and respect added in. This can last for hours. Many hours. It isn't worth it. So I dutifully followed instructions and waited nervously nearby. Meanwhile a troop of a dozen student doctors and nurses filed in for the moment of truth, apparently with full permission to observe. It seems that they were all keen to witness the arrival of a sizeable, long-limbed half-farang baby girl, born of a relatively diminutive Thai mum. Oh well, there must be a logic to it somewhere. Just not a Western one...

There was one other farang father at the hospital

The Chiang Mai Maternity Hospital is housed in a smallish, rather delapidated building. When I first arrived, I quickly felt that there was something missing. Just couldn't put my finger on it. Then it dawned - this was a hospital, yet it didn't have the remotest 'clinical' smell - that powerful antiseptic odour that you can almost taste as soon as the sliding doors part, wherever you are in the West. People have different reactions to this smell. To some it is simply reassuring. To others it may evoke suppressed and painful memories of the suffering of those close to you. Despite recalling mainly the latter, I've clearly been programmed to find its absence rather worrying. I was worried.

The 'VIP' private room

When Natthaya had eventually entered the world under the curious eyes of multiple Thai strangers, she and I were introduced in a ward with very simple facilities, home to some twenty mums and recently arrived offspring. Soon after we were transferred to our 'VIP' private room. I wasn't exactly anticipating 5 star luxury, but was hardly reassured. I suppose it was just about adequate for the purpose (how hard it is for Westerners to overcome that niggling critical sense of somehow always expecting, as well as being entitled to better)...

Sink in kitchen next to WCs - also serving as baby bath

The 'VIP' room had no shower room or WC. The toilets and showers were at the end of the corridor. The sink in one corner was a transit point for a never-ending procession of tiny ants, which fortunately didn't seem to wish to deviate from their chosen route to explore bed or sofa during our three day stay. The cleaner was a young guy in battered trainers who called in two or three times daily at random times. He emptied the bins, then half-heartedly swept about a third of the floor area and followed up with a five second mopping of the floor that left no smell of cleaning agents whatsoever. On day one he noticed the ants. "Mód!" (ants), he said. (Day three and checking out now, and the ants are apparently under no threat of eviction at all).

The emergency button conveniently located on the wall by the window

The emergency button was up on the wall in an inaccessible area nowhere near the bed. Mothers who can only move with considerable difficulty, especially shortly after childbirth, had to lift themselves out of bed, walk across the room, lean over the sofa and stretch up to reach it - or so I thought at the time. The TV remote only worked at less than 5 cms from the TV. The volume control on the TV itself only had an 'up' button. There was the option of an ancient and deafening air conditioning unit, or a single-speed ceiling-mounted rotating fan that produced wind speeds of hurricane force.

Soon after the birth an animated professional conference was held in our room of which I understood nothing. Those concerned expressed surprise when I asked to know what was happening. Hardly any nurses spoke English in a hospital that sees rare farang fathers and no farang mothers, so the few answers bore no relation to my questions. A passing doctor eventually proved helpful in that internationally familiar, hard-pressed, doctorly manner. Apparently Ploy had to go for a minor follow-up operation the following morning, and I was required to sign some documents. In Thai of course - I could have signed my life savings over to the hospital, I had no idea what it was about.

Fortunately with the aid of pictures I was able to bath baby during mum's three hour absence...

I asked about the position of the alarm button, and how mothers could call the nurse if they weren't able to get out of bed. Bemused looks were directed at the stupid farang, and one replied "You press". "But in the middle of the night", I insisted, "what then?" "You press", came the answer. It was slowly sinking in. Thai maternity hospitals, once the birth proper is over, are pretty much D.I.Y. affairs. A nurse might pop by at random to take the baby's temperature or a blood sample, but everything else is down to the family. I discovered that a mother is not allowed to stay alone in a 'VIP' room, which meant that I was to stay overnight. I looked around. Thais will sleep happily on a plank of wood, so I could hardly complain at the prospect of bedding down on a hard sofa that was a good 12 inches too short for an average-sized farang. Sleepless night number one ensued. At least the ants left me alone.

Day two dawned, and while I was still in an early morning sleep-deprived daze, Ploy was whisked off for the op. There I was with 15 hour old baby, some hurriedly extracted breast milk in a container with no teat, and several completely disinterested, non English-speaking Thai nurses allegedly on the end of an intercom. Help. HELP!

Prayers to Buddha helped little in my predicament

I survived three hours of absent mum, improvising with boiling water-sterilised teaspoon. Natthaya was not impressed. Got through two more days and sleepless nights, and with huge relief am now back at home. It was a reminder of how we in the West are losing our sense of personal responsibility and initiative. Back in so-called civilisation, we seem to have reached the point where we expect someone from the state to be there to hold our hands at all times. We must appear to be pretty feeble and helpless to people raised in tougher circumstances...

So the jury is still out. Do I admit to being a pampered, soft Westerner, and say that had I known in advance what to expect, I would definitely have gone for the farang-catering McCormick hospital in town? Or do I pretend to have benefited from the experience and having improvised my way through some difficult moments? Well, if I were to be really honest...