“Excuse me?” Clearly we had a translation problem. But he repeated himself. He really didn’t want us to leave town. Acting more as a self-appointed chamber of commerce than as a hustler, he proceeded to explain this was the time of year when a local species of firefly puts on a fantastic nightly show.
He recommended that we book rooms at one of the many canal-side “home stays” (bed and breakfasts), and hire a boatman to take us around after dark for a tour of the famous glittering insects. It didn’t happen that night—Joy and I both had reasons to get back to the city—but when someone at work asked if I wanted to join a group that was planning a visit to the fireflies, I remembered the station master’s advice and said yes.
These hing hoi, as they’re known in Thai, are not your American fireflies. They all hang out in trees, blinking in unison, as if they were Christmas lights. 
As our boat motored along the river, I remarked to my friends that perhaps the difference was due to cultural training—Americans being taught to value individualism, Thais preferring not to upset the social order.
They naturally treated my comments with the respect they deserved (zero). At dinner, I gave them another reason to roll their eyes. We had stopped at a nice riverside restaurant, where we ordered fish. When it looked to me as if we had picked clean the top half of the fish, I reached out to turn it over, as I had seen many Thai people do at restaurants.
Screams went up. Hands waved. Somebody patiently took me aside and enlightened me. When traveling by boat, I was told, it’s bad luck to flip a fish, for fear the same thing will happen to your vessel later. I believe this is a lesson that will stick. It has now been several days and I have not repeated the error.
