Winter Adventures: Surviving the Cold

I remember walking into our bedroom a few months ago in Thailand and shivering, "Brrr!  What did you set the AC to?" I accused my husband, who was comfortably snug in bed under our thin comforter.  "Hon, it's only 24," he responded.  Twenty-four degrees Celsius equates to roughly 75 degrees Farenheight.  As I stood shivering in our room, it hit me:  In only a few months we would be moving to Kyiv, Ukraine, in the middle of winter.  I was going to die.

Our last family picture in December in Chiang Mai, the week before we headed to Utah.  Palm trees, sunny skies, short sleeves . . . December in Thailand is paradise.

Fast-forward to today.

We haven't gotten to Kyiv yet, but we left Thailand a few weeks ago and landed in Utah for a brief visit with family, and baby it's cold out here!  This morning My Man and I went snow shoeing in the mountains (he spent the night in a snow cave--I wimped out and hiked out the same day).

It was -15 C when we left (5 F), and there was deep snow.  I didn't die.  I loved it!  In fact, after a few minutes, I had to take off my hat and gloves and by the end I'd even taken off my jacket.

Turns out, the Scandinavian proverb is correct:  "There is no bad weather, only bad clothes."  Well, at least in Utah.  In Thailand, when the sun was out and the weather was 40 C (104 F) with 90 percent humidity, I don't think there are any clothes that can fix that weather.  Maybe I was made for Kyiv afterall.

As for the kids, they haven't taken long to adjust either.  Between building snow caves, sledding, shooting, snow shoveling, taking sunrise pics and getting stuck in the snow, and hiking we've all spent lots of time playing outside.  Granted, our first stop was the store to hook everyone up with pants, gloves, and close-toed shoes!

Our first big snow was in Idaho where we spent Christmas with my family.  The kids were excited to build a snow fort, sled, and play outside with the dogs for hours.

The cold temps weren't enough to deter these kiddos from hours of sledding in Eagle Mountain at Silver Lakes Amphitheater.  After the sun went down, this mama had to finally coerce them to leave with promises of Stephen's hot cocoa.

The family that shoots together, stays together, or something like that.  The shooting was fun, but really just the excuse to get out and enjoy a gorgeous winter day was enough for me!

Getting out to walk and enjoy the beautiful lake and mountain views was a highlight of our stay with My Man's parents in Saratoga Springs.

My Man and I snuck out early one morning to watch the sunrise.  It was awesome.  We got stuck.  Less awesome.  Turns out salt and cat litter are a magical combination when it comes to getting out of deep snow, in case you were wondering.  You're welcome. :)  

We headed south to enjoy a day of sledding with friends, ending the day with a picnic of chili and cornbread.

We aren't wearing flip-flops and shorts any more, but I think we're going to be just fine.  And there is something absolutely beautiful about snow.

Big Springs, up Provo Canyon

Provo Canyon

Sunset from Provo East Bench

Camping in Paradise: Last Trip To Doi Pui

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" I asked, eyebrow raised as My Man announced a plan to go camping just days before our final pack-out.  I made a mental checklist of things we still needed to do before our move.  Adding in the prep and then cleanup of a campout seemed crazy.  But then again . . . I really love camping up at Doi Pui.  I grinned, "OK, let's do it!"

We invited friends, prepped food, gathered the last of our s'mores ingredients and hit the road.  One of the best parts about Doi Pui is that it is less than mile an hour from our house.  The road is steep and windy but boasts sweeping vistas and Buddhist temples and (in December) bright red poinsettias in bloom.  The last mile or so is a twisting one-lane road that requires some creative driving, but the end result is worth it:  a beautiful terraced campsite with stunning views of Chiang Mai.

Just five minutes in camp was enough to assure me that we'd made the right choice choosing camping over packout prep this weekend.

We set up tents (Young Man preferring to set up his camping hammock), built a fire, then got busy relaxing while we waited for the rest of our friends to show up.  I spent more than an hour in a hammock reading, uninterrupted!  Young Man searched for (and found) several scorpions.  Darling Daughter and Funny Guy kept the fire well-stocked, and My Man seronaded us all on his guitar.

And then friends began to arrive and the fun really began.  We enjoyed a potluck dinner, music, a puppy, games, and s'mores.  We laughed, we talked, I may have gotten a little nostalgic thinking of leaving and shed a few discreet tears.  Mostly I just tried to soak it all in, loving every moment.

The next morning, we watched a beautiful sunrise, enjoyed a fantastic breakfast, then soaked in the soul-freeing beauty of the mountain until it was finally time to pack up and head back to a few more days of real life before packing up to leave all of this behind.

Camping is great.  Camping with friends is unbeatable.  In fact, we had so much fun that we seriously contemplated coming back the next weekend (our last weekend in Thailand!) but at last decided that there was no way to improve upon this trip and to try would risk disappointment.  Besides, at some point we really would need to pack. . . just not today.

Walking Home in Paradise

Each time I start walking home, I pick a songtaew then try to beat it to the Superhighway.  Each time I do, I feel an almost guilty pleasure, like I've cheated life and secreted away a few minutes that I can spend any way I choose because really, they should have been sucked away stuck in traffic.

Instead, by ditching convention and booking it home on my own two feet, not only did I sweat away the stress of the day, burn off those lunch calories, and dance a little to the hip-hop blaring in my ears, but I also beat the songtaew.

It didn't start off this way.  Last week our car was in the shop.  That meant my normal ride home, playing Pokeman for my husband and venting about my day, was not an option.  I'd planned on catching a ride home with a colleague, but that day, none of my normal carpool options worked out.  I figured I'd try catching a songtaew as far as it'd go (Chiang Mai's main form of public transportation; kind of a mix between a bus and a pick-up truck) and then walk the rest of the way.

My Thai isn't as good as it probably should be after 1 1/2 years in Thailand, but still, I thought I could negotiate a ride on a set route.  Stymied, however, not once but twice, by wrinkled, smelly old men who couldn't deign to try to decipher my farang accent and instead waved me away from their nearly empty ride, I started to walk.  At first, I still thought I'd catch another ride, but as I went along, I passed the two songtaews I'd unsuccessfully hailed.  Ha! I thought spitefully, serves them right.  Then the light turned green and they passed me again.  I turned my music up and kept walking, sweating through my blouse, aware that my work shoes were not the most sensible for a nearly 5-mile walk home.

I nearly lost my leg from not paying attention to the "sidewalk," so I stopped looking for a ride home and started focusing on my walk.  A great song came on and I started skipping along, leaping the random sidewalk junk and crevices as if it were a game.

I passed the songtaews again and thought, hmmm, I wonder if it would have even been worth the ride.  Maybe I can beat them to the Superhighway (the big intersection where I would have gotten off to turn toward home if I had gotten a ride, about 3 miles from work).  I noticed a group of school kids in the back of another songtaew as I walked past.  One smiled at me.  I smiled back.  I noticed that I felt lighter, happier than when I'd left work, in spite of my tender feet and the nearly suffocating heat and exhaust fumes.  Interesting.  The songtaews passed me again.  The little girl who had smiled before waved at me.  How strange the joy that can come from the kindness of a stranger.  I smiled goofily and jumped over another break in the sidewalk, then shimmied past some vendors who'd taken up the path.

The Superhighway came into view in the distance and traffic piled up again.  I looked up to see the girl in school uniform with long braids, almost daring me to catch up again.  And then I was past her, past the songtaew that had turned me down and then past the first disappointing No.  And then the light turned green and I hurried across the vast asphalt road, swept up in a sea of motorcycles and scooters and cars and trucks, all hurrying home to their families.  And I had won.

The next day I brought better shoes and workout clothes to work, just in case I needed to walk again.  I kind of hoped I would.  I picked a songtaew to race and set off.  That day, I stopped at 7-11 to pay my phone bill and grabbed a bunch of bananas from a sidewalk market and still beat the songtaew.

The next day, I could have begged a ride home from a neighbor, but lingered just a bit too long at my desk.  I didn't even think of asking for a ride from the songtaew who passed that time, but I did note the writing on the side, tucking the details in the back of my mind so that I'd be able to pick it out as we leap-frogged the pathway home, so that I'd know if I beat him to the Superhighway.  I did.

Although walking home takes a bit more time than driving, it's negligible (about 15 extra minutes).  It's hot and sweaty and dirty, but I think it's worth it.  It gives me time to think.  It gives me time to see, to soak up everything that is Chiang Mai, Thailand: the good, the bad, the ugly, the miraculous.
I weave nervously between ferral dogs rooting in the trash scattered around.

I see beautiful babies and toddlers smiling as they zip between cars on scooters, held by their tired but committed parents.  No helmets.

I see gnarled vendors selling strange meats or tires or flowers or beetles hanging on sticks?!

I see so much Thai script that I wish I could read more easily.  I smell rotting carcasses and sewage.  I smell jasmine flowers.  I see monks in bright orange robes and butterflies as big as birds.  I am overwhelmed by Thailand.  I feel like it is an integral part of my soul.  My home.  I feel like I am a foreigner and will never belong.  I see people bundled in coats and sweaters as I sweat in the humid 90+ degree air and I laugh in amusement.

I watch the sunset light up the sky and watch bats dart and swoop over puddles, catching mosquitos with graceful skill.  I see flowers that light up my soul.

I hold my breath as I run through the narrow tunnel and into The Land of Wisdom,

then sneak through forgotten shortcuts, dodging spider webs and praying the snakes are all elsewhere,

and climb over locked gates (it's either that or battle the 8-lanes of traffic zipping by on the ring road!).

I wonder when the construction will be done and what it will be.

And then I am home, and it feels like an oasis, a refuge.

And there are my kids, amazed, "You really walked home again Mom?  Really?!" and, "Yuck, you stink!  Go take a shower." And hugs and laughing and homework and dinner and high/lows.  And I am standing in the entryway marveling at how strange and how wonderful my life is.  How ordinary and how extraordinary all wrapped up together.  And I am so happy to be alive, and for the old men who said no so that I could discover the thrill of walking home from work.

A few more pictures from my walk home today:

So much garbage, everywhere.

So many wires, everywhere.

Thai flag behind the pond at Payap University where I cut through.

Payap walkers/scooter (blurry because I still feel self-conscious taking people's pictures; kept because it makes me smile)

The lake at the edge of Payap with trees heavy with golden flowers--a sight I've seen a million times.

Carpooling, Thai-style.

There may be garbage on the ground, but there are flowers too.

Barely room for a car and a person.

Dead palm fronds, the most common sidewalk detritus in our neighborhood.

Coconut palm.