Postcards from Thailand

In England local government imposes stupid regimes upon its subjugates. They are required to separate their refuse into various categories such as paper, food waste, metal, glass and, if they’re lucky, the authorities will arrange an occasional collection at whatever interval most successfully ensures that the food waste is thoroughly putrid and attracting a suitable number of flies and maggots. Woe betide the man or woman who fails strictly to obey its ordinances, for he or she will be deserving of the full penalty of the law.

Things in Thailand are a bit more relaxed. My maid has trained me to put my used glass bottles, cans and cardboard in a particular cupboard. She then takes this away each week to sell to supplement her modest income.

Yesterday I gave her an old computer, monitor and scanner that I no longer needed. She was pleased.

And today I needed to get rid of a couple of electric heaters. (It sounds crazy having electric heaters in Thailand, but in parts of the north they are useful for a few nights each year.) And there was an old lamp and motorcycle helmet. As soon as I’d turned my back one of the security guards (and older chap who is really friendly and smiles a lot) was approaching. He asked if I was throwing the things out. Five minutes later they’d gone.

(Normally my thrown out things disappear overnight, so it was a bit of a novelty to be asked.)

In England it’s only the tired slogans of the hair-shirted environmentalists that are efficiently recycled. Here in Thailand it’s a way of life.

[466]

I’m pretty sure that Billie Holiday had other things on her mind when she sang Strange Fruit. But then I guess she never encountered sapodilla (in Thai, ละมุด [pronounced “la-mut”] – and for my Latin readers, it’s Manilkara zapota).

The fruit, it is believed, originated in central America and was brought to SE Asia by the Portuguese.

It contains four or so inedible seeds, and the flesh is a strange brown colour. The texture is slightly sandy – rather like an over-ripe pear – and the taste is sweet with a slight hint of acid. It also has a distinctive smell, rather fermented. Some say it smells like malt, but I think it smells like liquor.

***

And lest anyone suspect that I have shown any disrespect to Billie Holiday, here are a few interesting (to me at least) facts about her song:

• The original poem was written by an American Jew who subsequently adopted two sons of the Rosenbergs, murdered (the Rosenbergs, that is) by the American establishment for disagreeing with its fascistical politics.
• Holiday had great trouble getting the song recorded, and eventually (in seach of a record company) performed an a cappella version to Billy Crystal’s uncle. He (the uncle, that is) was brought to tears by the performance. (And who wouldn’t be?) He was eventually able to arrange for a special release of the song.
• In 1999 Time magazine declared it the “song of the century”.

***

I doubt you’ll find sapodilla in a supermarket near you any time soon, but if you do, give it a try.

Durian is not the only fruit.

[464]