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As printed in Hearing Health, volume 19:2,
Summer 2003
By Paula Bonillas
It has now been over seven months since I sold Hearing
Health to Deafness Research Foundation. I’m happy
to report that most of my closets are now organized,
parts of the garden are weeded and I’ve actually
cooked a few meals for my family. And in January, for
the first time in almost 20 years, I returned from a
trip deadlineless.
Having cast publishing schedules to the wind, I traveled
to Thailand on a consulting trip, touring Bangkok, Pattaya
and Chiang Mai. This is the fourth such journey I have
embarked upon with Laurel Van Horn, an international
accessibility consultant. We have trekked together through
Alaska, Peru, Egypt and now the “Land of Smiles,”
seeking ways to increase and promote access and awareness
for travelers with disabilities.
It was Sethaphan Buddhani, the North American Director
of the Tourism Authority of Thailand, who tapped Laurel
to gather a team to advise his nation’s travel
industry and governmental officials on accessibility
issues. She assembled a motley crew of 10 dynamic and
quite outspoken personalities.
Three of us had obvious disabilities: my deafness,
for which I use a cochlear implant, and the impaired
mobility of our two wheelchair users. At least two others
had hearing impairments. One of them wears two hearing
aids and the second, who is entirely deaf in one ear,
doesn’t consider it a real problem. (I beg to
differ!)
Most of the participants were tour operators from
the U.S. and Canada who are well acquainted with the
special needs of people with mobility impairments. They
are less familiar with the requirements of hard-of-hearing
and deaf travelers -- one of the reasons I was along
in the first place.
Two of my colleagues had ultra-long mustaches that
made it hard to read their lips. Both of the wheelchair
users had soft voices and spoke from a distance below
my face, making it especially difficult to hear them
at times. Add to that the accents of our Thai companions
and you get the picture.
By the end of the trip, however, almost every member
of our team had become more sensitive to hearing disorders
and were interpreting and repeating as needed. Sethaphan,
among other communication techniques, learned to make
his announcements while standing so that I could see
his face. And one of my mustachioed cohorts showed up
for breakfast on our last day with a neatly trimmed
face so I could finally read his lips.
One of the first things I noticed and embraced about
Thailand was “quiet,” a tranquility that
emanated throughout the society, making communication
in restaurants and markets easier. A calmness permeates
the people and their surroundings. A perfect example
is traffic; although it can get quite heavy in Bangkok
during rush hour, absent is the impatient honking of
horns, the jockeying to gain a few inches of forward
progress.
The serenity of the setting aside, our agenda was
as varied as it was fast-paced. At meetings with governmental
dignitaries and travel agents, we were greeted with
warm smiles, generous offerings of delectable refreshments
and an eagerness to learn.
As is typical for these trips, the primary focus was
on wheelchair users. Other disabilities tend to be an
afterthought, similar to the painfully slow evolution
of access for people with sensory disabilities in the
U.S. Obviously, the more visible the disability, the
easier it is for others to grasp its inherent hardships.
In most meetings, our hosts were somewhat taken aback
when I announced my deafness and posed questions about
programs for their deaf and hard-of-hearing population.
It came as no surprise that little consideration has
been given to this disability, although response to
my queries was open-minded and sincere.
Despite our hectic schedule, we visited splendidly
decorated, golden-spired Buddhist temples and shrines,
took in cabaret and cultural shows, rode elephants along
a jungle trail and toured silk, umbrella and teak factories.
Some of us enjoyed Thai massages, including one that
took place in a community salon where five of us shared
one room. My deafness proved to be a real asset, I later
discovered; Laurel’s “disability,”
the others learned that day, is an inability to deal
with any degree of pain without making verbal note of
it!
No story about this exotic nation would be complete
without mentioning the food. Thailand possesses an abundance
of vegetables, fruits, herbs and spices that season
succulent seafood and fresh farm produce. There seemed
no end to the variety and harmonious blending of flavors
as dishes flowed to our table at every meal. The food
is, in a word, exquisite. How else can cuisine delivered
with such care and artistic detail be described? Culinary
art?
The Thai environs serve up a feast for the eyes as
well, a great advantage for people who are visually
oriented and capture the essence of settings through
sights rather than sounds. As our vans shuttled us to
and from meetings and tourist destinations, we passed
street markets exploding with color, proffering everything
from silk scarves, purses and suits to multicolored
orchids and fanciful hand-carved soaps and fruits. At
times I was so distracted by the sheer beauty and splendor
that I had difficulty focusing on our tour guide, who
was doing everything possible to ensure that I could
hear.
Of the three cities we toured, I liked Chiang Mai best.
Popularly known as the “Rose of the North,”
it is the principal city in that region of the country.
Surrounded by high mountain ranges, the area is absolutely
stunning with its jungles and plentiful fauna and flora,
crowned with orchids of every imaginable color. The
pace here also seems slower and the Thai culture a bit
more preserved than in the metropolis of Bangkok.
During the wee hours one morning, Laurel and I accompanied
Sethaphan to observe some Buddhist customs. By the time
the sun rose, we had fed the young saffron-robed monks
who were making their morning rounds for alms; purchased
a cage of finches and set them free, symbolizing freedom;
and released fish on the banks of the Mae Ping River,
signifying restraint. Following that, we made our way
to a traditional street cafe for breakfast, far different
from the extravagant buffets in the hotels nearby. This
impromptu outing in lovely Chiang Mai is one of my most
cherished memories of the trip.
It was in Chiang Mai that I finally relaxed about having
left home without an FM or infrared system. Basking
in the richness of some of my soundless experiences,
I can’t imagine how hearing would have enhanced
them. Certainly, there were times when a boost from
assistive listening technology would have been nice.
And at other times, simply paying closer attention would
have been helpful.
Because I sometimes have a “listening”
problem, as opposed to a “hearing” problem,
I know I should have paid more attention to our guides.
However, no matter where I travel, I always take books
that spell out the history and significance of points
of interest and read at night or when traveling from
point to point (when the scene outside isn’t beckoning!).
Through the six years we have been traveling together,
Laurel and I have established simple remedies for “unaccommodating”
or even dangerous situations, like the absence of visual
smoke detectors in our hotel rooms. She takes a spare
key to my room along with responsibility for my safety.
Is this accommodation ... access? My immediate safety
and communication concerns were in fact met but there
is great need to begin the process of creating true
access for travelers who are hearing-impaired. In each
city we visited, we toured numerous hotels for “inspections,”
finding some degree of access for people with mobility
impairments but none for deaf or hard-of-hearing people.
Actually, based on our earlier trips, I would have been
quite surprised to find anything in place to accommodate
guests with hearing loss.
During these excursions, I typically visit with each
hotel manager for a few minutes and try to paint one
startling picture: What would they do if a fire broke
out in their hotel and they had no way of notifying
deaf guests? At the very least, I tell them, they must
install visual alerting systems. The well-intentioned
managers are usually caught off-guard and then realize
the practicality of what I am saying. I tell them that
hearing loss is the most common disability and that,
right now, they have a number of guests who are hearing-impaired.
And then attention usually flows back to concerns about
mobility impairment as one of the wheelchair “inspectors”
rolls back in.
No, the hotels do not have the bells and whistles
we now find in some, but not all, American hotels. Tour
guides aren’t knowledgeable about infrared and
FM systems and other assistive listening technology.
But, unlike any country I’ve ever visited, the
people in Thailand have the patience and will to foster
communication. Perhaps it’s part of the Buddhist
upbringing, the acceptance of the way things are. Rather
than disregarding or becoming impatient with me, they
continued communicating in various ways until they got
their thoughts across, delivered with a smile and willingness
to try again if that didn’t work. To me, that’s
accommodation.
The people are truly what sets Thailand apart. In
this land of smiles, they are gracious, warm and concerned
for others’ welfare and comfort. This was never
more evident than on the day we were strolling on the
newly built boardwalk alongside Pattaya’s pristine
beach when one of the wheelchair users unexpectedly
needed extra assistance a couple of times. Out of the
blue, Thai beachgoers rushed to help, staying just long
enough to make sure all was well until we were rolling
again.
One day, as we ambled about the Wat Chedi Luang Temple
in Chiang Mai, Sethaphan turned to me and said, “Paula,
tell me what you need to communicate and I will do that.
How can I help you and others with hearing loss?”
Those simple words captured the general philosophy
of the Thai people. Yet, to share with Sethaphan the
many idiosyncrasies of communicating with hard-of-hearing
and deaf people would have overwhelmed him. I have learned
through these accessibility missions that it is best
not to go into the myriad types of technology and techniques.
Instead, I try first to open our hosts’ eyes,
to plant the seedlings of awareness as they begin the
slow process of developing access.
My response to Sethaphan was that he was doing everything
right. By then he was well-versed in how best to help
me understand. Still, there were situations where I
had difficulty despite using my repertoire of coping
strategies. I sensed that he was a bit frustrated because
he knew there were times when I wasn’t really
included. And, truth be told, nothing can be done to
change that. There will always be situations where communication
barriers are too great to overcome. When I told him
this, he responded, “What is it you are trying
to teach me?”
I smiled and left it at that. The sun was beginning
to set and it was time to load our group back into the
vans. Just before I boarded, I noticed one of the many
Buddhist teachings posted along the walkway: “Speech
is silver; silence is golden.”
Paula Bonillas is the founder and
former publisher and editor of Hearing Health magazine.
Readers may reach her at pbonillas@cableone.net
and contact the host agency for her tour of Thailand
at www.tourismthailand.org.
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