Organic peanuts

After we’ve walked around the farm, we subside into comfortable chairs on the wide verandah that wraps around the house Marco and Nok live in. We’re drinking glasses of cold, fresh well water, since it’s a little early to start in on the hard stuff, and gazing out at the densely-forested rolling hills on the horizon. We’re also eating boiled peanuts, which have been grown right here on the farm. Walter, Marco’s Belgian friend, whom we’ve begun referring to among ourselves as “the Oracle”—since there seems to be nothing he’s not an expert on, including the future—is busy telling us all about the trials and tribulations of farming in rural Thailand. He and A are just renting a farm at the moment, but their plan is to buy a piece of land soon and establish their own. His partner A is off with Nok and her friends, cooking. I feel vaguely guilty because we’re not helping with dinner preparation, but it’s just so relaxing to sit and chat on the porch!

Not too fearsome. . .

But now Nick is saying he wants us to go down to the river that borders the farm. The Oracle tells us in his officious way that it would be a bad idea, since it’s getting late and we won’t be able to make it back through the rice paddies once it’s dark. He also describes the riverbank as high and steep, with no easy way to get down to the water. Nick waves his objections aside, though, so we reluctantly get up and thread our way down to the river through the rice paddies and cornfields. The Oracle does have a point about the rice paddies, because there are very narrow, raised berms of dry land between them, and you have to watch where you’re walking so as not to fall off them into knee-high water, apparently (according to Walter) inhabited by all sorts of venomous creatures: large insects, poisonous toads and snakes, fish with sharp teeth, maybe even smallish alligators!

It’s actually not all that fearsome. It only takes about ten minutes to reach the river, which, contrary to Walter’s dire predictions, has a low, sloping bank and is really more of a stream. The water’s crystal clear and only a few inches deep, with a rippled, sandy bottom that sparkles with tiny flecks of mica. We take off our sandals and wade, and it’s deliciously cool.

Nifty little bridge.

A little way up the river is a narrow bridge made of long stalks of bamboo lashed together with tire treads, and here Nick takes off all his clothes except his boxers and lies down in the water. The rest of us don’t go that far, but we roll up our shorts and shirts and try to get as much of our bodies under the water as we can. It’s so refreshing!

A mysterious worship ritual?

Go for the gusto! (as we used to say in my day)

The sun has sunk lower in the sky, so we head back to the house, and arrive safe and sound. The sky’s a beautiful wash of violet and orange, and the ponds look like rippling plates of gold, covered with  lavender water hyacinth. Marco tells us dinner’s going to be served at the house we’re staying in, a large wooden structure built on stilts like many of the rural buildings in this area.

Our sleeping quarters.

They’re built high up off the ground to provide a covered storage area below the main house for grain, and also to keep snakes and insects from getting into the house. (Yikes!) This building isn’t quite finished yet. It’s destined to be a weekend free English school for the children of the local village. Of course, this is nice, but we soon discover the down side: it has a squat toilet. Marco tells us they decided on this type of toilet because that’s what the village children are used to. The other worrisome thing is that, while we’ll be sleeping on the upper level, the squat toilet’s at ground level. In other words, it’s an outhouse. I’m devoutly hoping I won’t have to get up to use it in the middle of the night because after talking to the Oracle,  I’m convinced that the ground will be a writhing mass of venomous snakes, invisible in the darkness until I step on them.

Our sleeping quarters are in the future schoolroom, which at present has no furniture in it. Marco has hung three mosquito nets from the ceiling and put three futon-style mats on the wooden floor for us. It’s a very pleasant room, with large windows framed by blue-painted wooden shutters that open onto a lovely pastoral view of the farm and the surrounding hills. There’s a nice breeze, and the air is cooler and fresher than it’s been since we arrived in Thailand. We test out the “beds,” but unfortunately they’re only about an inch thick, and sort of washboard-y due to the many seams running across them. Luckily I’ve got my Ambien along, because there’s no other way I’m going to get any sleep tonight.

Van Gogh-ian shutters.

Camping in.

As our contribution to the dinner preparations, we spread large reed mats on the open-air balcony that makes up most of the second floor of the building. Then we lounge on them, drinking rice wine (similar to sake) and the red wine we brought, chatting, enjoying the beautiful sunset and the cool breeze and waiting for dinner to be ready.

Our dinner table.

It’s being prepared further down the balcony on a small portable stove.

The kitchen.

A is the master chef, ordering several humble sous chefs around with an imperious diamond be-ringed finger and a stream of no-nonsense Thai. At least it seems to be no-nonsense, to judge by the way his helpers are scurrying around. Walter explains that A is an expert in all the various cuisines of Thailand. Apparently, there’s a very elevated haute cuisine that’s reserved for kings and queens, and A is learned in the occult preparation of those rarefied dishes. Lucky Walter!

A meal fit for a king.

Dinner, when it arrives, is worthy of royalty. It begins with a whole, fried snakefish. We ate snakefish the other day as well, at the Riverside Restaurant when Nick proposed to Pam. This one, however, was caught only an hour or so ago in Marco’s pond. There are some whole tilapia too, also from Marco’s pond. I’m not normally a huge fish fan, but these are firm-fleshed, with delightfully crunchy skin, and a delicious, mild flavor. After the fish we eat a dish of chopped morning glory stewed in soy sauce and ginger. The Oracle informs us—AFTER we’ve already ingested it—that morning glory (that’s right, those pesky weeds you’re forever disentangling from the plants you want in your garden!) is banned by the FDA in the United States because it’s poisonous. Thanks, Walter! (I just looked it up as I was writing this post, and here are the potential results of eating it: hallucinations, dilated pupils, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, drowsiness, numbness of extremities, headache, muscle tightness and coma. Yikes!)

Walter tells us, in his jaunty, insouciant way, that everyone eats morning glory in Thailand, with no ill effects. I’m a bit nervous for the next little while, but a coma doesn’t seem to be imminent (unless it’s from the rice wine), so I continue with the next course: one of the yummiest chicken soups I’ve ever tasted. No part of the chicken has gone unused, as I find out when I dip a spoon into my bowl and come up with a foot. The two outer toes have been chopped off, leaving the middle one standing tall, giving us the finger, as it were. The chicken’s final act of defiance! Large chunks of garlic and ginger are swimming in the rich broth, making it very tasty indeed. Finally, there’s a wonderful stir-fry, with carrots, potatoes and broccoli, dressed in a tangy, delicious sauce. We eat this feast country style: the serving platters are placed in the middle of the mats and we kneel or sit cross-legged (attempting not to point our feet at anyone) around them, and help ourselves from the platters, using our little sticky-rice balls to pincer the food. There aren’t enough spoons for all of us, so we have to take turns where silverware’s a necessity, as in the case of the soups and soupy veggies. But we’ve all drunk enough wine (grape or rice) by this time that no one minds a few extra germs. We’ve just eaten morning glory, after all, and we’re still among the living, so we feel invulnerable.

So peaceful. . .

It’s dark now except for the golden glow of the old-fashioned lanterns placed around the balcony, and we lie lazily on the reed mats, propping our heads against each other’s legs. We’re full and happy, sleepy and slightly drunk.

Ahh. . .

Conversation’s at a lull now, as the frogs serenade us from the pond, the high chirping of the smaller ones blending harmoniously with the sonorous bass notes of the bullfrogs. The soft breeze is perfumed by the water hyacinths. I don’t want this lovely international evening to end!