There are many ways you can feel the differences in a place. The sights, the smells and the sounds are ever pervading here and differentiate one culture from another. Its true that the sights here are amazingly gorgeous and often sad. Its true that the smells of the nation are often wonderful and putrid. But, for me, its the sounds here that fill my soul and remind me how different it really is here. The sounds here percolate through the smells and sights and hit your heart where it counts-- at the very depth of your soul.
Its the sounds of gongs and twelve foot teak drums at rice festivals in small village towns in the country that speak to my soul-- the sounds of chanting as old as time contrasting against then the sounds of thai music piped from a CD over loud speakers that reverberates in your heart. The old sounds mixed with the new is everywhere.
Heading down the walking street market on a Sunday afternoon in Chiang Mai you can hear people setting up their wares and old friends, who have been selling next to each other for years, shout greeting and help each other set up for the night of hawking their wares. I understand a bit of what they're saying and I hear them saying hello and teasing each other. The speakers on the street play horrible thai music that is crackly and out of tune and a band of blind musicians play old thai instruments in the middle of the street looking for cash offerings. The community of sellers, beggers and musicians will be in full swing in just a few hours-- its in the afternoon that I really enjoy the street. Its uncrowded and the people are in their own element before the foreign tourists come out to play. I hear one comment about the fat farang as she giggles.. as I'm the only one walking by I assume she's referencing me. I make no sign that i understand amused by the fact that I know what she's saying.
As I walk to the bus station a couple of white people walk past and I hear them speaking in German, two people behind me chatter in Japanese and the people on my songtow (a red bus like taxi) are speaking in low British accents-- they're pondering where they can pick up some ganja which only surprises me because is 8:30 in the morning. And as I get off my taxi I hear two people yelling at each other in Thai over the price of flowers from the market and a car honks as my taxi slows to drop me off. Motorbikes speed past me with little concern and the laughter of the girls working in the shop next to the station hits my ears. The sounds are overwhelming when you're not used to them and comfort when you've been immersed in them for as long as I have.
Waiting at the bus station to head up to Phrao two novice monks talk and laugh quietly. They eye me warily and continue on... they're speaking in Lanna and while I can't understand the bulk of it I can tell the difference now between Lanna Thai and Middle Thai often spoken in Bangkok and Chiang Mai. The woman next to me can't be much more than 20 and her little girls who looks about five stands next to her eating noodles and shyly smiles at me. She comes up to me and asks me my name which I obligingly giver her and ask her hers. She speaks too softly for me to understand but she giggles and runs away. The store keeper behind us has her TV on the Thai news which she blasts loudly, the Chinese temple down the street is playing some kind of music with chimes and the flower market is bustling.
The noise of the city and the country vary considerably but it is consistent in its other worldliness. They are the kind of sounds that make you turn your head and look to see whats going on. They are the kind of sounds that now make me feel like I'm home.
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