If the most sacred part of the body is the head, then the feet are the lowest. I personally would have chosen the lu tut or asshole, but the Thais must elected the feet centuries ago.
You don't want to point with the feet or kick them up on a table to show your soles to passers-by.
Thais consider this loso or low society behavior, as I discovered, when I took off my bootleg Adidas on the Bangkok-Pattaya bus. The woman sitting before me went up to the driver, who stopped the bus and told me to put my sneakers back on.
"Smell bad."
She was right and now I wear sandals.
Thais like to eat on the floor picnic style.
In no circumstance should you shortcut by stepping over the food or someone legs. I did once and earned stern stares from the gathering.
"What?"
No one explains but their expression says, "Don't do it again."
The only thing you can pass to a Thai with your foot is a ball.
My worst foot offense came in India.
I had been walking along the ghats on Varanasi. Families were cremating the deceased on the stone platforms. Pilgrims were swimming in the Ganges. Reputedly this rite expiates all sins. None of the pilgrims seemed to be aware of the half-burnt corpses floating mid-stream. This was the Mother River.
The steps were oozing with mud. I nearly slipped into the river. The mud wouldn't come loose and I descended the steps to the river's edge. I took off my sandals and started washing them.
Silence.
Thousands of faces were glaring at me.
A Hindu saddhu grabbed my hand and led me through the hostile crowd, explaining, "This is a holy site. Wash your feet. fine. Wash your shoes and it is sacrilege."
"Oh."
The near-mob swayed indecisively until I bowed an apology.
"You should swim in the Ganges to show your penitence."
"Okay." I left the holy man and hired a boat.
"I want to swim in the Ganges, but on the other bank." A long sand beach was exposed to the sun. It looked clean. The boatman rowed across the slow-moving river and I picked out the best place to swim. A sand bar in the middle of the river far from the ghats. Not far enough, for a dog and vulture were fighting with a riverine dolphin for possession of a corpse.
Flipper eats humans.
I pointed to a swirling eddy and told the boatman to stop there.
I dove overboard holding my nose and keeping my eyes shut.
The wind and sun dried my body.
All my sins were incinerated by this act.
I was pure again.
The next day I had the runs.
Holiness has its price and it isn't money.
You don't want to point with the feet or kick them up on a table to show your soles to passers-by.
Thais consider this loso or low society behavior, as I discovered, when I took off my bootleg Adidas on the Bangkok-Pattaya bus. The woman sitting before me went up to the driver, who stopped the bus and told me to put my sneakers back on.
"Smell bad."
She was right and now I wear sandals.
Thais like to eat on the floor picnic style.
In no circumstance should you shortcut by stepping over the food or someone legs. I did once and earned stern stares from the gathering.
"What?"
No one explains but their expression says, "Don't do it again."
The only thing you can pass to a Thai with your foot is a ball.
My worst foot offense came in India.
I had been walking along the ghats on Varanasi. Families were cremating the deceased on the stone platforms. Pilgrims were swimming in the Ganges. Reputedly this rite expiates all sins. None of the pilgrims seemed to be aware of the half-burnt corpses floating mid-stream. This was the Mother River.
The steps were oozing with mud. I nearly slipped into the river. The mud wouldn't come loose and I descended the steps to the river's edge. I took off my sandals and started washing them.
Silence.
Thousands of faces were glaring at me.
A Hindu saddhu grabbed my hand and led me through the hostile crowd, explaining, "This is a holy site. Wash your feet. fine. Wash your shoes and it is sacrilege."
"Oh."
The near-mob swayed indecisively until I bowed an apology.
"You should swim in the Ganges to show your penitence."
"Okay." I left the holy man and hired a boat.
"I want to swim in the Ganges, but on the other bank." A long sand beach was exposed to the sun. It looked clean. The boatman rowed across the slow-moving river and I picked out the best place to swim. A sand bar in the middle of the river far from the ghats. Not far enough, for a dog and vulture were fighting with a riverine dolphin for possession of a corpse.
Flipper eats humans.
I pointed to a swirling eddy and told the boatman to stop there.
I dove overboard holding my nose and keeping my eyes shut.
The wind and sun dried my body.
All my sins were incinerated by this act.
I was pure again.
The next day I had the runs.
Holiness has its price and it isn't money.
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