Yes, I intentionally mis-quoted the saying. Whereas one usually leaves the frying pan and enters the fire (from a bad situation to a worse one), when one has as poor circulation as I do, the fire is an awfully attractive idea. Kind of like “The Cremation of Sam McGee“:
“Since I left Plumtree down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”
Except my fire is Thailand. The sun, the chili peppers, the relief after months of cold.
I’m leaving Montreal tomorrow morning (where it’s icy cold, kind of like a reverse frying pan at the Modernist Cuisine lab that freezes food instead of searing it) for Ton Sai, Thailand (a furnace on a beach, complete with deep water soloing—climbing in bathing suits, with no rope attached, and when you get to the top you jump into the water. Aka “heaven”). I stop first in New York, then Tokyo, then I overnight in the Bangkok airport before heading to Krabi, from where I’ll take a bus to Ao Nang, and finally a boat to Ton Sai, arriving sometime on Saturday afternoon, I think. I say “I think” because when I try to do the time math, I get tripped up. And I also say it because it really doesn’t matter. As long as I arrive in daylight hours so I can get a good view of the different bungalows and cabins by the white sand beach and choose the best one for my budget and needs, and hopefully also check-in with the people at Base Camp Ton Sai before heading to an open-air restaurant/bar for dinner, I’ll be fine.
(I write a long sentence like that and I think of how uncomfortable it makes my dad who’s concerned over my physical safety. I also think of my editor friend, Lauren, and how uncomfortable it makes her grammatically…)
I’ll admit I’m excited to fly Japan Airlines and see what they serve to gluten-free me. I’m sorry to be missing the Thai Canadian BBQ at my friend-of-a-friend, the Canadian ambassador’s house in Bangkok. I have an invite for the garden party, but as it’s the day before the controversial election, and the city is expecting to be shut down by protests, I figure it’s best to get to Ton Sai quickly. I’ll come back to Bangkok for cooking classes, markets, restaurants, and temples at the end of the month.
That’s after Malaysia. A nice-seeming young gentleman from Harbour Grace, Newfoundland of all places, shares a condo outside of Kuala Lumpur, and wouldn’t you know, he has a friend with an organic farm. So he’ll whisk me off to a world of guava and calamansi limes.
Did I mention the Canadian ambassador went to high school in Saskatchewan with my former voice teacher in Newfoundland?
And my mother’s former piano student has put me in touch with lovely Vietnamese ladies in Muy Ne who’ve offered to be my tour guides when I visit their city, four hours from Ho Chi Minh City (the former Saigon). That’s where I’m heading in March. You need an entry visa for Vietnam, but I got one in advance, along with all my proof of vaccines and a return ticket to prove that I do intend to leave the country). There’s also a rockclimbing gym in HCMC, which is an attraction to me, perhaps more than temples.
But less than the fish sauce plant in the Mekong Delta I hope to visit while I’m in Vietam. Most wouldn’t consider a stinking factory an ideal day, but that’s the difference between me and you. There’s also an orchard I hope to stay at for a few days. Perhaps in our love of tree-ripened fruit we’re not so different?
What else am I looking for? Mangoes. I want to eat as many kinds of mangoes as the world can throw at me (isn’t that a nice visual? Imagine, being covered in juicy mango…). Durian I can live without. Che’, we will be friends, and your herb and lychee jellies and coconut milk parfaits will fuel my city walks.
I will learn about more Thai dishes than just green curry chicken and pad thai.
I want to make boat noodles.
I want to pick green papaya and shave it into salad doused with fish sauce, sugar, chilies, and lime.
I want to see the dirty marketplaces, not just the neat tourist-friendly areas where things are stacked neatly and relatively hygienically…
And I want to meet the women and men who spend their days over fires in markets, making one dish incredibly well for crowds of hungry locals.
And then I want to write about them, and, if they’ll let me, take photos, so you can see their smiles, frowns, and jumping flames from incendiary stir-fries.
More to come…
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