Before I begin, I must offer readers an apology. In my last post, I referred to the roads to Mae Sot as being ‘fairly undulating’. This was a complete misrepresentation, and I am sorry for my inaccuracy. I meant, of course, that the roads were ‘fairly dreadful’. Or, in the case of one of the border villages we visited, ‘non existent’.

My weekend travails in the Burmese border region were memorable for many reasons. Chief amongst these was that I became an uncle en route. I discovered this as my head was colliding (again) with the roof of the minibus, as we hit (another) pothole at speed. Arguably, it was my sister who was experiencing more pain at the moment, but at least I will remember where I was as a piece of family history was in the making. I have been surprised at the reaction to my Twittering about my entrance to unclehood. Kind though the well-wishing was, it’s fair to say that I paid no real part in proceedings. Perish the thought.

Anyway. Congratulations to Elisabeth and Garry on the safe arrival of Imogen (pictured above). She has been born to loving and caring parents, with a suitably doting complement of grandparents. She will have everything she needs for the best start in life. She lives in one of the most prosperous parts of the world. She will enjoy a good standard of living, with clean water and excellent nutrition. She has clothes (some having been knitted by the abovementioned doting grandparents). If the necessity arises, she can call upon top quality medical care - and will not have to pay for it. As she grows up, she will have access to one of the best educational systems on the planet. She will have every opportunity to find meaningful and well-paid employment. Imogen should go far.

Just as I was getting all misty-eyed about my new role as Uncle David, the minibus careered into a chaotic and smelly cattle market adjoining a migrant village near Mae Sot. What a contrast. As the cows scattered, we picked out an almost unmarked track through a dense plantation of sugar cane. Just when we thought that we’d taken a very wrong turning, we arrived at the local school of Ah Yone Oo. To the untrained eye, this appeared to be more of a barn than a pinnacle of learning excellence. However, it would be the base of activities for the following day.

The school, despite its rustic nature, is actually one of the hubs of the migrant community. We met the teachers – many of whom live in the school building – and heard more about the challenges facing the school’s 94 students. But these are the lucky ones – they can at least go to school. Migrants who come into Thailand from across the border have very little access to facilities such as education or healthcare. They cannot be legally employed, without having navigated a maze of paperwork.

On the Friday, we ran a full programme of activities for the pupils – assisted by members of the local Mingalar Myanmar Church. I was responsible for balloon games, which accurately reflected my level of sporting prowess, I thought. Other excitement was provided in the guise of crafts, singing and games requiring rather more athletic ability. We also served up lunch, taking care to ensure that the meal included plenty of fruit and vegetables.

The highlight, though, was yet to come. We asked, through an interpreter, if anyone knew what Christmas was. A handful did. We asked if anyone had celebrated Christmas before. About three raised their hands, with a degree of uncertainty. We then gave every child a box full of Christmas presents, which they enthusiastically unwrapped en masse. Mayhem and merriment coexisted quite happily for a good hour thereafter. We had made some children very happy.

Then, it was the turn of the rest of the family. Guided by Pastor Moses and members of Mingalar Myanmar Church, we carried family care packages into the nearby community. This had to be done on foot, as the minibuses couldn’t even get close. Each box contained essential items like rice, noodles, cooking oil and soap, along with a paring knife, detergent, toothpaste and toothbrushes. Meeting the families in their self-built houses (made from bamboo, wood and dried leaves) was an emotional experience for all concerned. There’s no running water or sanitation here. Only one household had managed to plug themselves in, rather precariously we suspect, to the electrical grid. Some villagers cried as we added sufficient blankets and towels for their families. No-one had ever cared before.

Navigating the remote community was a challenge, and involved a rather hair-raising crossing of a dried-up stream. Not easy to negotiate when the ‘bridge’ is just a single narrow tree trunk to walk on, especially when you’ve got two heavy boxes to carry. As afternoon became dusk, we hurried to make sure that we would be back in the minibus before dark. 

The following day, we visited another migrant community to hand out more supplies. On arrival, a five-year-old girl called Dehmehmar latched herself on to me, and insisted that she went everywhere with me. Like many of the children in the village, she was clad in warm – but old – clothes. To me, it was far too hot for such apparel; I was quite happy to be wandering around in a T-shirt. But I was struck by how cold Dehmehmar’s little hands were. Overnight, the temperature does drop significantly in this area, and the DIY houses offer little protection from the weather. I found out that Dehmehmar lives on the other side of the border where circumstances are, if anything, even harsher. Fortunately, we had sufficient blankets for Dehmehmar’s family – even though they weren’t accounted for. But what is the outlook for children like Dehmehmar, living in such conditions? Is it realistic to expect that she will achieve in her life what Imogen has the potential of achieving in hers? 

There is much hardship here, but there is also a surprising degree of hope. And the community spirit is strong. Wherever we went, we were greeted warmly. I was invited by some lads to join in a game of Burmese-rules marbles (which, it’s safe to say, I can add to my Not Very Good At list). That doesn’t really happen back home.

Our final planned activity was to support the Mingalar Church Christmas Service on Sunday morning. When our church in Bangkok started supporting Pastor Moses and his team, the church was about twenty-strong. Two months ago, when ECB last sent a team to Mae Sot, he was delighted to report that the congregation had tripled to just over 60. Being a man of faith, he was confidently expecting 100 to the Christmas bash. What he wasn’t expecting was for villagers to be camping out at his church overnight on Saturday to be sure of getting a seat. Nor had he – or any of us – anticipated 100 people to be there a full two hours early on Sunday morning. This is Asia, after all: earlyness is not to be expected. ‘Bring extra chairs’, he told us in a frantic phone call.

We snaffled some from another nearby church, but even these proved insufficient. As the Sunday service started, we counted 250 worshippers. The crowd overflowed on to the pathway and road outside, with people having to squish together whenever a vehicle wanted to get past. The numbers swelled to over 330 by the end of proceedings. That’s a further quintupling!

Serving lunch, therefore, proved to be an exhausting but exhilirating challenge. I was on fruit juice dispensing duties, and served more people in an hour than during a busy pre-Christmas Saturday lunchtime shift at McDonald’s. Very many people who we’d seen over the preceding couple of days had come to see what all the fuss was about, and brought their friends and relations with them.

The distribution of gifts was never intended to be a church recruitment exercise – it would have been a cynical ploy if it had been – but it did serve to demonstrate that the church here is meeting people’s needs, and is growing as a result.  It was clear that this was the ‘first Christmas’ for a significant number of those present, and it was a privilege to be able to help them – even in a small way – and to wish them a heartfelt pyaw shwin thaw Christmas.

Today, I’m travelling with a twenty-strong team from church to Mae Sot. It’s a rather arduous seven hour journey, along some fairly undulating roads.

Mae Sot is on Thailand’s border with Myanmar, and that’s the reason for our visit. Rather like Sangkhlaburi, which we visited on our travels last year, Mae Sot’s population is swelled by large numbers of refugees from across the border. Once in Thailand, the migrants have little room for manoeuvre. They’re safe, but they have little in the way of rights. It can be difficult – or in many cases impossible – for them to become legally employed, or to access healthcare or education services. Many live in rudimentary shacks, exposed to the elements. And, although we’ve been whinging about the heat in Thailand, Mae Sot is in a hilly region where it can get quite cool – especially at night.

ECB, our church in Bangkok, has developed links with a Burmese church in the area and has despatched teams to help them at various times. On this occasion, we are running a fairly extensive programme, which includes the distribution of family care packs (basic products for health and sanitation) and shoeboxes full of simple Christmas presents. We’ll be taking these to the families who will most benefit from them, in the slum communities around Mae Sot and in some of the remote and rural villages nearby.

We’ll also be organising a community lunch, and putting on a Christmas presentation in the community school. And we’ll be attending the Burmese-speaking church too, helping out with some craft activities at their Sunday school.

Communication is likely to be a real challenge. Neither Thai nor English are widely spoken amongst the migrant community, and instead there are a plethora of Burmese languages. Our friend Lily has been trying to help out with some essential Burmese phrases, so sa-wat dii (hello) becomes mingalar ba. And sabai dii mai (how are you?) becomes nei kaun ye la. It’s all distinctly baffling, when I’ve only just got a working grasp of Thai. Fortunately, Lily has texted some useful sentences through, so I can consult my mobile when I need to confess hin in na ma le bu (I don’t understand).

It should be an interesting experience, and it’ll be a good chance to get to know some more people in the church. Two others from our home fellowship group are on the team – Atsuko and Maureen. The latter is herself Burmese, so I’ll be keeping in very close proximity!

Sarah’s not on this jaunt, and I will miss her loads for the time we’re apart. She will be holding the fort at CCD, and taking the aforementioned Lily along to an evening of Christmas music on Saturday evening. Please remember us as we’re involved in very different, but equally important, work over the next few days.

The postman is getting weary, methinks. Our recent postal bonanza has today reached epic proportions, and our forlorn delivery person was so overwhelmed that he just left our stash on the ground in front of our house.

Catching a glimpse of the contents of one package, I was eager to tear it open at once. However, as we were accompanied home by Jane (our agency team leader), for a tour of Chez Giles, I had to exercise an unnatural amount of self-restraint.

But the wait was worth it. After Jane’s departure (it was lovely to see her, by the way – she does read this blog!), the hot-off-the-press copy of Railway Magazine was out of its polythene wrapper faster than a toddler can say ‘no’ when presented with an unappetising piece of vegetation. I have torn myself away from said journal briefly, in order to bestow appropriate thanks on the individual responsible.

So, khorp khun maak khrap (thank you very much) to David Anderson from Norreys Evangelical Church, Wokingham. And it’s not just a single copy either – it’s a whole year’s subscription. You are wonderful, and it is marvellous to be able to keep up-to-date on the various infrastructure changes to the UK’s rail network whilst out of circulation here.

And in order to show my appreciation fully, I’m going to stop writing there and get back to my magazine…

While Mrs Giles has been ailing, I’ve had a rather busy day. As it’s been a while since we did a Day In The Life type feature, here’s a snapshot of what I’ve been up to.

6:50am Alarm goes off. I fight it.

7:00am Realise that resistance is futile, and anyway Sarah needs some TLC.

7:15am Fascinated to read in Lucas On Life Everyday Bible notes that ‘being late is theft’. Jeff Lucas quotes Horace Mann as saying ‘unfaithfulness in the keeping of an appointment is an act of clear dishonesty’, and I’m left wondering how that applies in the context of Thailand where punctuality is not considered a virtue.

7:45am We’re in the ’cool’ season at the moment, allegedly, which when coupled with a lack of water heating leads to a slightly brusque awakening in the bathroom.

8:05am Breakfast. Muffin and orange juice. We still haven’t got into the whole rice-and-curry thing which would be more ‘Thai’.

8:20am Have quick tidy up in kitchen, and make things as comfortable for Sarah as possible.

8:25am Leap on to bicycle and head officeward, glancing at watch and hoping legs will circulate fast enough to avoid being late (and, by dint, being a thief).

8:31am Almost made it in time.

8:35am Log on to computer. Deal with emails from people wanting to be removed from mailing list. Most are very polite and explain that they wholeheartedly support the ethos of CCD but currently can’t afford to give, for example. Some are rather more curt.

9:00am Unexpectedly, we have a staff prayer meeting. It’s usually on Monday mornings, but since yesterday was a public holiday in Thailand it seems to have been rescheduled. We kick off by singing an entirely unfamiliar song, which is written in Thai script with no translation. Well, ’singing’ is perhaps too strong a word.

9:45am Return to desk and finish off a press release to newspapers, radio stations and TV companies in the Darlington and Teesside area. We have a volunteer from that region who will be here for Christmas, and it should be a relatively easy story to get coverage for.

10:00am Send email.

10:01am Boss phones down to request a meeting with me in his office.

10:02am Gather up notebook, current project statuses and letters which I need boss to sign.

10:05am Boss hands over some donation receipts which have not yet been despatched to the relevant donors. Seems there’s been a problem with our bank processing foreign currency, and things became confused. Asks me to write ‘thank you’ letters which include suitably apologetic wording for tardiness. ‘Being late’ springs to mind again.

10:15am I have an opportunity to bring boss up to speed with the status of various projects I’m working on. Media coverage in the UK, permission from World Health Organisation to translate professional care documents into Thai, and various other bits and bobs. I’m also able to unveil an exciting new lead which I’m just beginning to explore. Hopefully, dear reader, I’ll be able to tell you about it soon too!

10:30am Boss outlines ideas for staff week away. We’ll be travelling over to Ubon Ratchathani province in March, and there are plans to help decorate a school, distribute stationery supplies and help the local community with English language training, etc. My primary involvement will be to find sponsors to help with the cost of paint, paper, pens, and the like. Brain starts whirring…

10:50am Return to desk and start on ‘thank you’ letters.

11:05am Sethi (a Belgian volunteer) and Vicki (the aforementioned volunteer from Darlington) descend on the office. They’ve been painting in the adjacent classroom, which is undergoing a major redecoration. They’ve decided it’s coffee time, and they’ve made me one too.

11:15am The post arrives. Unusually, there’s loads for the Gileses. Thank you to the in-laws, Tasha, Claire and Andrew.

11:25am First ‘thank you’ letter finished. Embark upon a press release to the Thai English-language media, telling them about the new soft-play area that is opening later today.

12:10pm Lunch time. On the menu today: minced pork in a tomato and sweetcorn sauce, rice and a chicken-and-vegetable green curry.

12:25pm No time to linger, but the cook slips me a banana to keep me going.

12:35pm Catch up with some other urgent correspondence.

1:25pm Sneak into the soft-play area to take some photos ahead of the official opening ceremony.

2:05pm Lyn, one of the main fundraisers for the soft-play area, has arrived. I take a couple of photos of her before it gets too frantic.

2:15pm Meet Nick, a former CCD volunteer who now heads up a similar charity in Cambodia. He’s here for the opening ceremony, and it transpires that he’s from Hampshire. We chat for a while, until we note that it’s suspiciously quiet. The opening is supposed to be at 2:30 – where is everyone?

2:27pm Nip back to my desk to fire off a quick email to a journalist I’m meant to be Skyping later in the afternoon. I try to warn of impending lateness without being too negative.

2:32pm I’m not altogether surprised to discover that the official opening ceremony time has come and gone. Initially, I was disappointed that the Thai press had not responded to their invitations to attend; now I’m rather glad that I don’t have to contend with the embarrassment of them aimlessly hanging around.

3:00pm Get computer ready for Skype call, test microphone and check speakers. Return to soft-play area.

3:45pm The opening ceremony gets underway, with a hymn (How Great Thou Art - sung bilingually), a surprisingly short speech and a ribbon-cutting.

3:50pm Bedlam ensues. There are children in chicken costumes. There are children upside down in the ball pond. There are children pretending to be frogs. There are children being rolled around inside padded hoops. There are big, BIG smiles!

4:20pm Tea time. Lyn and her chums have supplied a very nice jungle-themed chocolate cake, which we all have a chunk of. And biscuits.

4:29pm I extract Holly and Emma (volunteers from North East England) from the melee, and whisk them down to the computer room. We arrive just as the Skype call from the journalist comes in, which is a huge relief. I introduce the journo to Holly and Emma, and sit in as they answer questions about who they are and what they’re doing at CCD. They do really well.

4:55pm Clear up a couple of remaining questions for the journalist and promise to email further background information to her.

5:00pm Take more photos of Holly and Emma (with boss Wasan) for the newspaper.

5:30pm Email the journalist, and note that one of the Darlington newspapers has responded positively to my earlier prompt.

5:45pm Log off computer and cycle home before it gets dark.

5:55pm Pick up bills from our postbox, and note that they’re already overdue (grrrr!). On a more positive note – more packages from home. We are popular today!

6:00pm Check in on Sarah. She’s still not feeling well, so I leave her to download the photos I’ve taken today while I head off to the shop in order to pay the bills and pick up some dinner.

6:30pm I return, clear of debts and armed with generous quantities of tom kha gai and muu kratiam from the street stall at the end of our soi.

7:00pm Having finished eating, I select some of the best photos of the day and attach them to my previously-written press release for the Thai media. With a covering note, I send the ensemble to the Bangkok Post, The Nation, the DailyXpress and MCOT. We’ll see if they take the bait this time…

7:30pm Respond to an email which has come in from the Very Positive Lead That Currently Cannot Be Mentioned. It’s looking good though. Sorry for being irritatingly vague. I know it’s annoying.

And that’s my day so far. Now time to return to the invalid Mrs Giles and to ply her with chocolate (thanks Mike and Tricia for your timely supplies). Experience suggests that this, coupled with some British comedy, will ensure her ongoing survival. At least until tomorrow.

Hello readers.

I (Sarah) was going to blog yesterday. Then I was going to blog today. But I have a cold and sore throat and feel grotty, so am opting to stay in bed instead, while Mr Giles brings me meals and does the housework and is generally wonderful.

Normal blog-service will resume ASAP.

Yesterday evening it was necessary to don our oh-so-fetching pink shirts again. We weren’t actually going to be in the presence of royalty, but CCD was holding a party to (a) mark the king’s birthday; (b) celebrate fathers’ day (the same day in Thailand, in a symbolic king-as-father-of-country sort of way); and (c) say thank you and goodbye to Linda, a volunteer from Odiham who is returning home this weekend.

Pink shirts symbolise the wearers’ wishing good health to the king and pretty much everybody wears pink for special royal-related occasions. Until recently, the king’s colour was yellow, but since that was politicised in the whole red-shirts/yellow-shirts business, and the king was seen in a very nice pink jacket, pink has become the royal colour of choice. Sometimes both colours are seen entwined in a pleasing combination under pictures of his majesty, as evidenced in the CCD shrine: 

But enough of that.  I know you want to see our shirts, so here you are. Brace yourselves.

Nice.

So. After taking a few photos of some (also pink-shirted) volunteers to place with stories in the UK press (see the Mourne Observer and the Newcastle Evening Chronicle for starters), we settled down for the events of the evening. Some of the younger children did a dance.

 The older ones sang.

Linda had her name up in balloons and was given a floral crown (a CCD leavers’ tradition).

And then there was food, including a very nice red curry.

The whole of Thailand will be celebrating the king’s birthday this weekend. Because it falls on a Saturday this year, Monday is a national holiday. We’ll be out and about over the weekend and will share pictures of the festivities with you.

P.S. We have updated the FAQ page (click the tab above). If you have any more questions you’d like answered, please let us know.

On Saturday, while Dave was enjoying ‘new track’ on the way to Maeklong market, I experienced fifteen minutes worth of ‘new river’ – a short stretch of the Chao Phraya south of Saphan Taksin pier (where the boats up to Pakkred connect with Bangkok’s skytrain network). All our previous boat journeys had been north of Saphan Taksin, so the nip to Shrewbury International School for Ploenchit Fair was uncharted territory.

On my arrival at the fair, having waved my CCD ID at the gate for free entry, this was the scene that greeted me. It was evident that a lot of beer was being consumed, and the band on the stage was playing a medley of cover versions including Radiohead’s Creep, which I adore. 

I picked my way through the many tables of merry, slightly-too-pink farang, and went in search of the CCD stall. I passed the British Women’s Group cake stall, and their sign made me smile.

Having found my colleagues at the epicentre of proceedings, I settled down for the afternoon’s trading. This was my view for much of the following five hours.

Thankfully the time passed reasonably quickly due to having a large pile of secondhand books to peruse (I came away with a few purchases) and was made eminently more bearable when at 4.30 I decided it was time for lunch and ventured off to find the fish and chip vendors.

You have no idea how good this sign looks to a homesick Englishwoman.

I had a quick meander around some of the stalls, only finding out later (when I returned home and had time to read the programme) that I had missed the Belgian Chocolate Fountain. (The horror.) Instead, I happened upon some fairground rides and a very jolly Father Christmas. The poor man. It was another unfeasibly hot day, and he must have been distinctly uncomfortable.

Back to our stall, and I enjoyed introducing a couple of my Thai colleagues to the wonder of fish and chips. I chatted to them in Thai for a bit, despite the fact that their English is far better then my attempts at their language. Still, it felt good to have a bit of practice.

When it got dark (5.30ish) we started to pack up, and at 6.30 I went back to the riverside and jumped on the boat. Who was at the next table, telling his fellow passengers he thought he might as well wear his suit all the way home?

He was great – singing Jingle Bells with this little boy who was wide-eyed with a mixture of delight and awe.

As we all stood up to disembark, a girl asked her dad, “Is it time for Santa to get on his reindeer now?” “Not today,” said Dad. “He’s going on the Skytrain like us.” And he was right.

Obviously, this being Asia, it was one big photo opportunity for the delighted Bangkok shoppers.

At last. Siam Paragon in central Bangkok. After all that excitement, it was time to meet Mr Giles for a restorative ice cream. The huge picture of the king? That’s because it’s his birthday next weekend (a Very Big Deal in Thailand). But more of that later in the week…

We had dinner with Linda, one of the other CCD volunteers this week. Coincidentally, she’s from Odiham which is just a stone’s throw from our home in Four Marks. It was a good meal (proper Italian pizza and actual salad), but the conversation was the highlight. Sarah had interviewed her for CCD’s magazine earlier in the day, and it transpired that Linda shares our love of language. And she’s had various interesting marketing-related jobs, so we could talk ‘media’ with Someone Who Understands. We’re quite sure that no-one else here has the first idea what we’re banging on about most of the time, so it was like a breath of fresh air to be able to talk about nuances of words.

SRT, the Thai railway system, could do with some assistance from Linda. Their marketing is shocking. Which is a real shame, considering that it’s actually a pretty good network (if you disregard the fact that most of their trains are late, and more than a quarter of their track is considered to be ‘unsafe’). Even finding a station in Thailand can be something of a challenge though. In the UK, the distinctive British Rail double-arrow symbol is an instantly recognisable device which indicates a station is not far away. It’s even survived privatisation unscathed, and stands proudly outside new stations which were never part of BR. Although SRT has its own logo, it’s not really used in the same way – and stations are often nestled away where you least expect to find them – unheralded and unremarkable. Like Wong Wian Yai, the station I tried to find earlier this morning.

Here it is. Yes, it’s in a market.

 

The Mahachai short-line runs from Wong Wian Yai to Samut Sakhon. It’s entirely separate from the rest of the SRT network, and it’s something of an experience to behold. The hour-long journey is very much Thailand in a nutshell, with huge contrasts along the way. From the Wong Wian Yai market, the diesel multiple unit teeters through some of Bangkok’s poorest communities, alongside some elaborate wats and eventually out into the surreal landscape of the shrimp processing region. Photos do not really do the journey justice – it’s the smell that is the most memorable feature.

Samut Sakhon station, the end of the line, is similarly situated in the midst of a market. Alas, time did not permit me to explore as I had a tight schedule. Disembarking, I strode off in the direction of the ferry pier, for onward transport to Ban Laem station on the opposite bank of the river. Again, signage was not what it might be, and I managed to pick the wrong pier. Fortunately, the ticket vendor understood my Thai, and gestured in the unpromising direction of a fish market. Having located the correct boat, I boarded and waited. And waited. And waited some more.

Meanwhile, a fellow anorak approached, in the guise of a Japanese chap called Shoh (I could tell he was an anorak, as he had a timetable and a rather nice camera). He was clearly edgy about the passing minutes – the train we needed to catch from Ban Laem was at 10:10, and the clock was ticking. I confirmed that he was on the right ferry, and we both cheered up when the captain eventually turned up to start the engine. Not that he was in any hurry. After collecting the 5 baht (9p) fares and casting off the ropes, we left at 10:08 – almost certain that our best-laid plans had been scuppered. But as the boat approached Ban Laem station’s pier, we observed that the train was in the platform. Or so we thought.

The train was in rather better condition than our sources had led us to believe. Suspiciously so. And, even more suspiciously, no-one had boarded it. I hurriedly bought a ticket (10 baht; about 18p). My new Japanese friend, on the other hand, had been besieged by local children who were fascinated by his camera. While he was being mobbed, I noted with some alarm that the train in the platform had had its wheels wedged by blocks of wood. It wasn’t going anywhere, and neither were we.

About half an hour after the train should have left, there was a flurry of activity. The stationmaster appeared armed with flags, and motioned to us to move up the platform. Then our train arrived. Not a plush, spangly, new-looking train though. Far from it. The unit which smoked into the platform was lurching precariously and prodigiously dirty. Being ardent rail travellers, Shoh and I wangled our way into the front section of the train. A ticket check later, and the ebullient guard had invited me into the crew compartment – and I was enjoying a driver’s eye view. Mercifully, this also afforded me a cushioned seat.

Observing proceedings from the cab was fascinating, if slightly alarming. The track was in a parlous state, and the ride quality was awful. This was not helped by the presence of humpback bridges for the train to negotiate; ‘Billiard Table’ Brunel would not have been impressed. At one such bridge the train’s engines conked out, to use a technical term. The driver, secondman and guard all scurried off to examine, prod and kick the undercarriage. After a few minutes, it roared back into life but the railwaymen were still scratching their heads. It seems that the throaty growl was more bark than bite, and that the gearing was the problem. Eventually, though, we limped off down the track towards our ultimate destination: Maeklong.

The approach to Maeklong station is one of those experiences that blurs reality. The track drives its way into a densely-packed market, which appears to be entirely blocked by stalls, carts and people going about their daily shopping. It doesn’t look like the sort of place where one would expect to find a train. I had discovered this place on the internet, as Sarah posted previously, but even on the immediate perimeter I couldn’t fathom how the train was going to get through without serious damage and loss of life.

Cued by enthusiastic blasting of the horn, and with seconds to spare, the vendors lifted their awnings and rolled back their stands by just enough to allow safe passage of the train. There were literally millimetres to spare, as the DMU plunged into the depths of the market, brushing with cucumbers, chillis and catfish en route. It all seemed to work surprisingly well, despite no doubt causing apoplexy to health and safety aficionados. Just as my mind was getting used to the idea of markets and railways coexisting, the train screeched to a halt beside an old lady and her even-older sewing machine, who barely glanced up from her needlework as the fume-belching monster arrived.

I hurried back along the track, on foot this time, so that I could view the train’s journey back through the market on its return to Ban Laem. Many of the stalls are on their own improvised lengths of track, making the rolling-back process very straightforward. After all, this is a process which happens eight times a day – every day – for these vendors. It’s not remotely unusual for them. As the train retraced its route, I observed from a safe position between a greengrocer and a garlic seller. The deftness with which the market reconfiguration was handled was quite breathtaking, and the rapidity with which the railway became a market again was staggering. But it makes sense. The market entrepreneurs wouldn’t want to waste valuable seconds of sales time, after all.

Watch my short video clips of the stallholders preparing for the train’s arrival and it passing through the market for a better understanding of how this actually works!

So… Railways. Markets. Railway markets. They are unmistakably part of Thai culture, and one of the more endearing aspects, it would have to be said. I can’t see this catching on at Birmingham New Street, but having trains in such close proximity to day-to-day life does seem to foster a genuine respect for the railway that is often lacking in the UK.

Hello, reader. We hope you are having a nice Saturday. Mr Giles is. He’s off on a train trip to visit the Mae Klong market. You might have seen this video clip – or others like it – of the train’s passing through the market. It does cause the stallholders a little inconvienience, but you have to admit the location is very handy for the passengers…

And here’s another for our friends who might wish a little more from-the-train action:

Mr Giles himself will give you a full report on his return. He’s taken a camera so will doubtless be adding to the documentation of the transportation.

Meanwhile, I’m going to Ploenchit Fair. It’s billed as ‘the biggest fair in Asia’ – a huge British-run event with stalls and rides and, we’re told, very good fish and chips. Not sure how much exploring time I’ll have. I’m due to be helping on the CCD stall from 2.00 until 8.00. This is apparently the easy shift – some others left at 5.00am to set up.

You can also expect a post from me about the day’s goings on to appear here shortly.

We had some post at work this week. This is quite a novelty. Usually someone goes to the post office to empty the CCD PO box once or twice a week. They return with armfuls of letters and parcels, and they are all for the short-term volunteers. Usually it’s chocolate from their mums, cards from their friends, and they receive several items each, several times a week. And quite right too. They always have mountains of Nice Things To Open, which is as it should be. We’ve had two parcels in recent weeks, for which we’re very grateful*, but we’ve yet to experience the neverending torrent that these girls receive, week in, week out. 

As I was saying: this week at work, we had An Item Of Our Own, from some nice people we’ve never met: St Matthew’s Church in Haslington, near Crewe, who have recently become one of our supporting churches. They’ve made a 2010 calendar with photos of the church building and the various groups of people in the church. It’s great – now we can match up names and faces. We’re really enjoying getting to know them and look forward to many more communications in both directions.

*This month, we would like to thank our faithful correspondents: Sue Fitzmaurice for the much-appreciated chocolates, Helen and Howard Wright for the fab advent calendar card, Mary and Alastair Taylor for their card, and the Vine family for the parcel of as-yet-unopened-but-exciting-looking Christmas presents. And both sets of parents for their cards, Skyping and general loveliness. If anyone else would like to help fill the postal void, click here for details of how to get in touch. We do reply to everyone. Promise.