My Thai Times

The blog has moved

2007-11-04T16:44:00.000-08:00

New address is www.continuedmythaitimes.blogspot.com

Bangkok Studio

2007-09-30T18:23:00.000-07:00

Moving downtown has had its advantages and disadvantages. I am MUCH closer to the good restaurants, shopping, and flower markets. I walk by a wine shop on my way home from school. The grocery stores have a larger selection of Western foods. On the downside, I see way more rats than I would like to see. What can you expect in a city with a population of ten million? I walk by three garbage cans clustered together at the end of my soi, and since the time I saw the garbage moving, I have given that corner wide berth. I also pay more rent for a smaller apartment. Think: location, location, location.
The apartment isn’t so bad, if you don’t count the fact that all of the rooms, all three of them, are lopsided. The walls all meet each other at odd angles, one at forty five degrees, another at one hundred degrees. Not a ninety degree angle in the place. It makes arranging furniture somewhat difficult.
It is also kind of, how shall I put this, ugly. Lots of brown. Peach mini blinds. A bed with one of those built in bookshelves, cubbies with glass doors, and a shell shaped reading lamp wired into the headboard. Tacky. Assorted bamboo end tables. A nondescript wardrobe. Parquet wood laminate in one room, pine laminate in the other. Just lovely.
I did what I could with the living room and bathroom, but the bedroom is a lost cause (that is why I did not post a pic of that room). I went with a modern look, which is something I didn’t think I would ever do. It is so different from my shabby chic 1940’s house in the country. Nevertheless, I am liking the space much better since I bought some art and sprinkled some color around the place. For now anyway, it is home.

Tea at the Oriental

2007-09-30T18:22:00.001-07:00

I scream, you scream...

2007-09-30T18:20:00.000-07:00

We all scream for ice cream, right? Well, maybe not. One of the things about living in Thailand is that I am constantly discovering that my assumptions about etiquette and other things are challenged daily. For example, it is common practice here to pick your nose in public. Not just in the car when you think nobody is looking or in the privacy of your bathroom, but everywhere. It is as common as breathing. Another thing, cutting in line seems to be the norm; whether you are queuing up to use the bathroom or waiting to pay for something, it is very likely that some Thai person will just make there way in front of you like they were there first. Lastly, urinating in public (at least for the men) does not seem to be illegal. Makes you very cautious of your footing around puddles.
Besides the unique Thai etiquette, food pairing can often be surprising as well. A few weeks ago, I was at my stylist’s studio getting my hair done. Kang, my hair dresser’s boyfriend and the prettiest little Thai man I have ever seen, asked me if I wanted some ice cream. It’s that kind of salon. They make you coffee, toast, bring you pastries, whatever. This particular day, Kang was dishing out some cookies and cream. When he asked me if I wanted some, I said sure. How can you say no to ice cream? After a few minutes, he brought me a sundae. I said thank you and graciously accepted it. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that in addition to the ice cream and chocolate syrup, there was corn and what looked like potatoes sprinkled on top of the cookies and cream. That’s right, corn and potatoes.
This posed a problem. To eat or not to eat? Yes, there have been times in my life when I have remarked that corn is like candy, especially when it is sweet summer corn right off the cob and bathed in butter. But even then, I would not think to pair it with ice cream. Likewise, sweet potatoes are definitely a dessert when they are in a casserole with brown sugar and marshmallows but these were not sweet potatoes.
I thought maybe I was wrong about the potatoes. Kang couldn’t have possible put potatoes on my ice cream, could he? Maybe it was some of that tasteless, waxy candy that the Thai’s like so much and it just looked like a potato. I knew I had to eat it; not eating it would have just been rude. I took a bite of the might-be-potato first. A cube of solid starch. Next came a few kernels of corn with some cookies and cream. Much to my dismay, this was not sweet summer corn. Instead it was fibrous and hard, like the corn you feed the ducks at the park.
Kang walked by, smiling. “Good isn’t it?”
“Mmmmmm,” I nodded with my mouth around the spoon.
I kept on at a steady pace until I finished every last creamy and starchy bite of the odd creation. This would count as a time that I was thankful for Thai-sized portions. If that had been a massive sundae like my dad used to make for himself in the orange Tupperware bowl, I don’t think I would have been able to finish it.

Final Destination--Jomtien

2007-09-30T18:15:00.001-07:00

I must say, the preamble to the misadventure was more interesting that the final destination. Since we were five hours from the desired location and it was already noon time on Saturday afternoon, we regrouped and decided to go to one of the nearby beaches. Well, the rest of the assembly regrouped…I was busy getting over my little temper tantrum. When I returned from the washroom and had purchased some liquid refreshment, I was told that we would be going to Jomtien. I was grateful that everyone else was amenable to the change of plans, much more than I was anyway. Sunny called the two families that were driving separately and told them of our mishap. I was glad she was the one making the calls.
We had to backtrack a bit and then head out to the shore but before too long we arrived in Jomtien. One of the families in the group, Oscar, Michelle and Trinity, recommended a place they had stayed a few times before so we had the driver take us there. Birds and Bees (yes, as in the birds and bees) is a fabulous resort that is run by the same people who operate Cabbages and Condoms (remember that blog from last year?). In fact, there is a Cabbages and Condoms restaurant at this resort, too. All the profits from the resort go to PDA (Population and Community Development Association of Thailand) which helps the rural poor in this country.
This is a pretty luxurious place (check out the above pic of the infinity pool that seems to just melt away into the seaside). I had to adjust my mindset a bit because I had planned on staying at a $10 a night bungalow on the river and here we were at a very nice oceanside resort that was considerably more expensive than $10 a night. But it was worth it. Jomtien is a neighboring beach to Pattaya, a beach famous for its thriving red light district. Actually, it’s not really a district. All of Pattaya seems to be fit for the red light moniker. Fortunately, the best part of Birds and Bees is that you really didn’t have to leave the resort once you arrived so you could avoid the seediness of Pattaya.
Sunny, Daylin, Courtney and I shared a two room suite that was phenomenal. One room had bunk beds and two overstuffed hot pink couches. The other room had a huge bed, a couch, and a bathroom that resembled a rainforest (sans the pythons and poisonous tree frogs). When you stepped outside, you were surrounded by tropical vegetation, a fountain, a bridge over a pond that had many huge fish swimming about in it (koi?). We also had a spacious patio with a place to lie down and read a book and a picnic table, too.
The rest of the grounds are equally lush and tropical. Two huge pools. Verdant walkways full of flowers and random live animals—chickens, squirrels, and bunnies. A family of adorable, fuzzy bunnies lived in the open clearing by the pool.
I spent most of my time at the pool. I didn’t even go down to the beach. I took my meals at Cabbages and Condoms which was open air and faced the sea. Very relaxing.
Even though the original plans for the weekend changed drastically, it was still enjoyable. It could have been worse. I could have been in my apartment grading papers all weekend. Yuck!

Misadventure

2007-09-23T20:49:00.000-07:00

At the end of last year, my friend Sunny had the brilliant idea of planning a girls’ weekend getaway to Kanchanaburi at the start of the school year, kind of a small group bonding trip for her team since she would be working closely with three different teachers this year (two returning and one new teacher). The other three members of her team are all married so Courtney and I were invited along [in part] to ensure that talk of marriage and children did not dominate the whole weekend. Martha (names have been changed to protect the guilty parties), another new married teacher who lives in Sunny’s complex, was also invited.

The projected date for the trip turned out to be the first weekend in September. The weekend was rapidly approaching and nothing had been planned yet so I took it upon myself to do some of the organizing. I sent out an email to the ladies inviting them to a girls weekend away to Kanchanaburi for a rejuvenating day swimming in the seven-tiered Erawan waterfalls and then luxuriating for a day at a quaint spa run by a British woman where you can get a six hour pampering package for $75 (massage, facial, body scrub, hair treatment, steam room, and more massage with lunch included). I myself was damn excited about spending a day at the waterfalls and another day at the spa. And after the initial hectic month of school, this kind of break was much needed.

Well, what I had not anticipated is that there are mothers and wives who cannot spend any time away from their children or spouses. What originally started out as a girls’ weekend away quickly morphed into a mega-family extravaganza. First off, Molly insisted that her husband and two year old son tag along. She hardly gets to see little Joe enough as it is during the week so she couldn’t bear to be away from him for even a weekend. And if the baby comes, so must the husband. Who else is going to watch the baby while she is at the spa? Okay, whatever. We can make it so that papa bear and baby bear are otherwise engaged at, say, the tiger temple or on a boat ride down the river Kwai. No problem.

Martha, another espoused parental unit, gets wind of this and does the same. Add another husband and a four year old daughter.

Then one of the other marrieds, Marilyn, sends an email saying that she heard Molly’s and Martha’s husbands were going and if it wasn’t stepping on anyone’s toes, she would like her husband to come as well.

Let me pause here for a minute and count to ten. No, better count to fifty. I need to explain to the reader that for whatever reason there seems to be a surplus of couples this year at my school. Now, despite the short-lived-but-often-recurrent “love sucks” mindset I have endured at different stages in my life, I have nothing against couples who still manage to preserve their own identities as well as wield the identity within a matrimonial union, but I have little tolerance for the people who cannot function unless their partner is at their side. And we seem to have an abundance of these super-glued-together-type couples this year. More often than not at the numerous beginning of the year social gatherings, I found myself surrounded by blissfully happy, hand holding couples that made me want to throw up (yes, that is a bit of adolescent regression…my apologies).

So, back to the main thread of this narrative—I get this email from Marilyn and I’m feeling slightly miffed. What part of girls’ weekend do you not understand? Do I need to send out an addendum email to clarify NO PENISES are to be in attendance for girls’ weekend? Actually, I did just that. I put my heart on the table and addressed a message to Marilyn that explained my insecurities, how when I am surrounded by couples I feel like my aloneness is magnified, that it is nice to get to know couples away from each other as individuals, that this is supposed to be a no testosterone weekend, and the men who are coming are coming to tend after the children. How much more clear can I get? Being that she specifically said that she wanted to invite her husband only if it wasn’t stepping on anyone’s toes, I thought that she would understand.

I was wrong. Her explanation: since she already invited him, she couldn’t uninvite him. Ha! In case you got lost in all my minutia and ramblings I may need to remind you that we are talking about her husband here—not the prime minister. So the tally for the “girls’ weekend away” has climbed from seven to twelve, the last four additions being of the male variety.

Turns out, Sunny can’t get a sitter for the weekend so her ten year old son is to come along, too. She decides to ask Mark, another new teacher, if his son, Dave, would like to come along, more or less to keep Daylin occupied. (Dave is here alone with his fourteen year old son until his wife and ten year old son can come in January.) Sunny was thinking that the father would jump at the opportunity to have a weekend to himself. Wrong again. Mark invites himself. So now we are up to fourteen people, nearly as many guys as girls. Alas, the weekend before we are supposed to leave, another couple invites themselves along with their two daughters who are in kindergarten and first grade. Grand total: nineteen.

But, I’m a flexible person. I understand that plans change. I told myself that this would still be an enjoyable getaway. I like all the kids that were going (except maybe the toddler who is in that two year old megalomaniac phase) and no matter what, I would soon be relaxing at the waterfalls and getting the royal treatment at the spa. It was going to be a fantastic weekend.

Sunny gave me the number for a driver that she hired when she went to Lopburi for the monkey festival last year. Two of the families would be driving up separately so we needed a fifteen passenger van. I called the driver and encountered a minor stumbling block: neither of us was proficient enough in the other’s language to communicate effectively. It felt like I was just hanging up on him even though I had explained that I was going to find someone who speaks Thai so we could make arrangements. Headed out the door to do just that, the phone rang and it was an English speaking friend of the driver. He was Thai, but his English was pretty good. I explained to him that I would like a van and a driver to take a group to Kanchanaburi the following weekend. We arranged a price and a place for pick up and all was well.

I also called the spa to make sure that there were openings for appointments and that there would be enough staff working to handle the group I was bringing. It was difficult setting this up because I wasn’t sure who of the thirteen adults wanted to go to the spa, when they wanted to go or what they wanted to have done. I couldn’t assume that only the girls would be going to the spa, or even if all the girls would be going to the spa since so many kids were coming. I also didn’t know which husbands were amenable to watching the kids while wifey received a much needed spa treatment. I sent out an email that asked who wanted what when but it did not garner much response since everyone (but me it seems) was busy teaching class or working. I understood too, that people may not want to commit to anything since you never know how the day will turn out, especially when kids are involved. Having the group size nearly triple had definitely complicated things. Fortunately, the owner of the spa was very kind and had plenty of experience with this sort of thing. I was able to give her tentative numbers and she would make sure there were enough people there and that she had enough food to feed us since more than one of us would be taking advantage of the half day treatments.

Phew. The hard part was over. Everyone would be able to find their own accommodations when they arrived in Kanchanaburi since there are plenty of guest houses along the river and booking ahead is not necessary.

Everyone showed up at meeting place at the appointed time and we were on our way. Our destination was two and a half to three hours away. Once the whole crew was settled in the van with the driver, I realized that none of the passengers were fluent in Thai. Not a good move. I did have my Thai dictionary with me and the phone number of the driver’s friend, which for the moment appeased me.

When I went to Kanchanaburi by buss last year to see the tiger temple and floating market, I collected some travel information on the area to share with people who visited me. Revonna had picked up some brochures from the spa when she went there in May so I had those to share, too. In the van, I passed the information around and everyone was excited about the upcoming adventure.

I felt like a virtual tour guide, despite the fact that I am geographically disadvantaged. Stefanie is the one with a geography minor and who has experience working at AAA as a trip planner. I, on the other hand, do not enjoy maps in the least. Sure, I passed ninth grade geography class, but that was because I had a crush on Mr. Perry and I didn’t want him to think I was an imbecile.

About the time Martha’s four year old daughter started up with the “are we there yet” mantra, I started to be aware of my surroundings. We had been trucking along for the better part of three hours, and I began to look for some signage that would alert us to how much further we had to go. The signs were in English as well as Thai, but much to my dismay, I did not see anything reporting the distance to Kanchanaburi. I did, however, see several signs marking the way to Chanaburi. The dawn of understanding was reluctant to arrive but soon enough it did. Oh no. Oh no no no no no!

Oh yes. After consulting a map I discovered the little town of Chanaburi. A seemingly nothing town, landlocked, no waterfalls in sight. Chanaburi…a place I had never heard of before, a name I have never before spoken. The map beautifully illustrated that Chanaburi is due south of Bangkok whereas Kanchanaburi is due west of Bangkok. I learned enough in Mr. Perry’s class to know that we were indeed screwed.

I did not yet make my revelation known to my fellow travelers who had blindly trusted me to lead them to Kanchanaburi. Instead, I wiggled my way around to the front of the van with a brochure for the tiger temple that was written in Thai and English. I pointedly underscored the Thai writing with my finger, Kanchanaburi. I wasn’t getting very far in making my concerns known to the driver. I crawled back to my seat and called the translator. When I told him the situation, he laughed. HE LAUGHED! (This might be a good place to add that I was suffering from my monthly hormonal issues; oh yes, they are real.) I asked the amused translator how long it would take to get to Kanchanaburi from where we currently were. His reply—five hours. Somehow I was able to end the call in a civil tone. Seconds later, the driver took a call from the translator as we pulled into a gas station.

The tears started to prick their way into existence from behind my eyelids. The rest of the crew knew by now that we were not on the proper course. The mothers and fathers, wives and husbands, even the children were taking everything very well, laughing, tossing around the ubiquitous phrase “mai ben rai” which translates into it doesn’t matter, everything works out; e.g. shit happens. And normally, I am a proponent of this attitude. But not this time.

We all climbed out of the van and my mind was swimming. What about the people who drove separately? What about the spa staff that is showing up to work a crowd of ten guests? Are we still going to get charged for this royal mishap? Are my colleagues going to be upset that our plans were rapidly changing course?

I walked around the back of the van, not that this was exactly a private place, but it seemed more private than anywhere else at the time, and I just started sobbing. Body wrenching, shaking sobs. The kind of crying where your chest heaves and the rapid intake of air sucks in your bottom lip, making it shudder either violently or comically, depending on if you are the one crying or the one watching. I was aware that this was a very un-Thai display of emotion, but at that moment, I really didn’t care. I knew that the intensity of my reaction was not proportionate to the reason for my distress, but I could not stop. “I just want to go to the spa!” I wailed into the open.

Not one of my finer moments, to be sure.

More interesting names

2007-08-23T17:55:00.000-07:00

A new year brings a whole new batch of students and the funny names that go with them. This year I have Benz and Porche which I guess aren't so strange. But then there is Top, You, Paint, Earth, Nook, Warm, Great, Win, Can, and Grammy. I could write a whole sentence with that, something along the lines of "Oh, warm great earth with the paint can in the nook you win the top grammy." It's kind of like that refrigerator magnet poetry. Not very good but interesting anyway.

And then there's Bob, which just isn't an asian name now is it?

De ja vu

2007-08-22T07:57:00.001-07:00

I am officially back in the swing of things here in Bangkok. However, along with all the niceties of life in this grand city—cheap manicures and pedicures, public transportation, super cheap travel—there are a few not so nice aspects of living in Bangkok. Top of the list: food poisoning. Yes, I have been fully re-introduced back into south-east Asia with nine days of diarrhea. You may remember my hospital adventure from last October. Same thing, but this year it was much worse. I spent the night before the first day of school on the toilet, to the point that I even considered making my bed in the bathtub for the night (who ever heard of fecal incontinence?). I didn’t feel bad; I just couldn’t keep my shit together, so to speak. I decided to let it run its course, keep myself hydrated and all that. I thought for sure it would go away. It seemed like it was on the way out the door and then BAM. It came back with a vengeance.
I had gone to school the other day thinking all was well. I was sitting at my desk grading papers when I began to feel like there was a poisonous gas expanding in my belly. Lucky for me, I have planning first period so I went to lie down in the nurse’s office. Sweet Ms. Peach always looks so sympathetic to whatever is ailing me. She let me lay down on a bed and I curled up in the fetal position because somehow I thought this would help. It didn’t. Besides, I mainly wanted to be close to the handy little bathroom that is in the nurse’s office. Good thing too because I made four trips in an hour.
I can’t explain how wretched I felt. I began to feel clammy and nauseous. I really didn’t want to miss school the second week of classes but I couldn’t picture staying there the way I felt either. So I made arrangements to leave. A substitute came to my room and I was free to go to the hospital. Of course I don’t have a car. And our school is not on a main road so taxis don’t frequent our soi very often. I was beginning to feel somewhat panicky. I didn’t want to have to explain to anyone what was going on with my gastrointestinal track and didn’t know if it would be proper if I asked someone to call a taxi for me. And I don’t know any numbers for taxis. I could feel the tears starting to come, the trickle of vulnerability rolling down my cheeks as I started the hike to the main road. Once I was away from the school I started bawling. Picture it, thirty something female in dress clothes trudging along a poverty stricken street in ninety degree heat crying her eyes out. Humiliating. And all I could think was I hope I don’t have to make an emergency squat around here.
Before I made it to the main street, a taxi did come along. Thank you, God. I think a very nice Thai man called one for me. He spoke to me (as I was ambling along, crying, clenching my butt cheeks together to prevent further humiliation) and asked me in very broken English if I needed a taxi. I looked around thinking maybe he was a taxi driver but I did not see a car. He motioned for me to wait nearby; I think he was going to call a taxi for me but I wasn’t sure. And I couldn’t wait. Unfortunately, my Thai has not advanced enough to say that I was suffering from explosive diarrhea and must get to the hospital ASAP. So, I kept walking.
I made it to the hospital without any incidents. The waterworks stopped (from one end anyway) and, as an added bonus, the nurse who checked my vitals did not have to bring out the special blood pressure cuff (the non-Thai sized one). I was beginning to feel at ease. The doctor was very kind as she told me I had food poisoning. She prescribed a shot of antibiotic and then five more days of oral antibiotics to fix me up. I was then led to the injection room. Doesn’t that sound horrible—injection room? I was thinking (hoping against hope rather) that they would be able to just give me the shot in my arm and be done with it. Ha! I can add delusional to the list of ails that were troubling me. The little Thai nurse came in and said that the shot would be in my buttocks. That would mean that I would have to bare my bottom to this little lady whose upper thigh is as big around as my upper arm. She made a gesture that meant I should disrobe and she disappeared behind the curtain. I was sick, but not sick enough to have this thought make me feel even more ill that I already was. I had just recently been told by a Muay Thai boxer from Holland that I had the biggest ass he’s ever seen (I personally think he’s been punched ten too many times in his little Dutch head which has thus skewed his vision, but still) so I wasn’t about to get naked in front of this little slip of a thing. She came back in and there I was, fully clothed. Maybe she can give it to me through my skirt? I laid down on my belly, pulled my skirt down a bit and proffered her an ample patch of the upper hip region which seemed to satisfy her. Another saving grace.
It wasn’t over though. I made it back to my apartment only to vomit violently two hours later. I never vomit when I am sick. Still later, I had a fever. What was this? I thought I was supposed to be getting better. Wasn’t that shot in the derrière worth anything? I began to panic. I couldn’t call anyone because I was out of minutes on my cell phone (I had called Stefanie to convert my Celsius temperature to Fahrenheit for me and to get a little bit of familial sympathy). Should I go back to the doctor? Maybe I was misdiagnosed? What if I die in the middle of the night, alone in my apartment?
About this time, the academic director called to make sure I was okay. She is the sweetest, most maternal person I have ever met. She offered to bring me some congee (rice soup) because that is one of the two things the doctor said I could eat (the other was clear soup—yum). I spoke with her husband, who is also my principal, and asked if I should take some Tylenol. “Why wouldn’t you take some Tylenol?” Huh, good question. Why does perspective and common sense go out the window when you don’t feel well? He suggested I take the next day off as well. I guess if I’m asking stupid questions like that, I wouldn’t be of much use in the classroom.
Anyway, I woke up feeling much better. No fever. No nausea. Not much of the other stuff either. I spent the day watching borrowed movies (Family Man, French Kiss, Great Expectations—I always forget how much I love that movie). So tomorrow, it’s back to the grind.

Here I go again

2007-08-13T04:43:00.000-07:00

The whirlwind has finally settled down, or perhaps it’s just the calm before the storm. Either way, I am currently enjoying a brief period of relative inactivity which is quite blissful. Coming back to Bangkok has been exhausting, crazy, frenetic—and loud. In some ways I feel like the mute button was on for the five weeks that I was home in Virginia. I think at times I could literally hear the grass growing it was so quiet in Williamsburg (yes, even living with Stefanie, Diesel, Daniel, and Lizam) but now the volume is back on at full blast.
My first day and a half back in Thailand I spent adjusting to the time change and schlepping my stuff to my new apartment downtown. Then the new teachers arrived. We have about thirty new teachers this year and most of them had to find housing. For two days, four other returning teachers and I showed the newbies various housing options. This was a bigger task than I had imagined. When I arrived last year, I had already picked out a place on-line and moved right in. I knew that I did not want to have to haggle with a Thai landlord about whether or not they would replace a brown plaid couch with a solid green one before I moved in while at the same time fighting jet lag, acclimating to the intense heat, and struggling with the language. There were a few teachers who made this same decision but it still left twenty five or so people who needed new pads and fast.
Since we are not real estate agents, all we could do was show the new teachers the places that we know about. Places that we live, places where our friends live, that sort of thing. The housing possibilities in Bangkok are endless, but the affordable housing options with all the western amenities are a little more finite. We get a 13,000 baht housing allowance (about $370) which is plenty for a modest Thai studio or one bedroom apartment near school or downtown. Some of our teachers even pay as little as $171 a month for an apartment.
I guess I had imagined that most of the new teachers would just be ready to settle in anywhere, figured that many of them would be flexible and understand that living in Thailand is not going to be like living stateside. This would probably explain my surprise-which-quickly-turned-to-annoyance when I heard a myriad of complaints and demands. I want something bigger. There isn’t a pool. I need a bathtub. There isn’t enough light. I want a separate living area. They don’t allow pets. There isn’t an oven. We want two bedrooms for when guests come and visit. This is too far from the skytrain. This place is really noisy. This one feels too much like a hotel. I want to live in a brand new apartment because I don’t like other people’s germs (believe it or not, I’m not making this up). After two days of this, I decided they didn’t need my services anymore.
The next week was spent in meetings and setting up my classroom by day and dinners catching up with old friends and making new friends by night. It has been fascinating meeting the new teachers, hearing their stories, listening to their initial reactions about life in Bangkok. I have enjoyed being the semi-seasoned expat and giving helpful hints to the new residents on where to eat, where to shop, what to try, what not to try. Another benefit to helping with the new teacher orientation is that now I know all of their names.
Tomorrow is the first day of school for the students. I think I am ready (or will be after a few more hours of planning at home this evening). Wish me luck!

In a strange place

2007-06-15T09:06:00.001-07:00

Two days before my flight leaves for home, I find myself in a strange place mentally. My brain is discombobulated. I have been exceptionally weepy--weepy like the fourth grader I was in Mrs. Richardson's class, back when a sarcastic remark or unkind look sent me into hysterics. I spent the better part of this morning crying at the immigration office. A man in a very large blue turban would not stop looking at me as I was sobbing wrecklessly, irrationally. Last night at a bar I hugged a friend goodbye, a teacher who will not be back next year, and I started to cry. And once I started, I couldn't stop. I had to abandon my mango daquiri and go home because this human faucet was stuck on full blast. (I think it was the violent, chest-heaving sobs coupled with the hickups that caused me to vomit out the taxi window on the ride home and not the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed.)

Normally, I can keep my head together. It's only on the precipice of big changes that I fall apart. The summer before I started teaching I had a spell. The October after Michael went back to Indiana I was in a similar place. Last July before I left for Thailand I lost it temporarily.

I recognize this as fear. The paralyzing fear of being in a new situation and not knowing the outcome. Will I be able to do it, will I do it with grace, and will I be successful?

Koh Samet

2007-06-15T09:01:00.000-07:00

About thirty teachers travelled to Koh Samet for the end of the year beach trip. I took it really easy and indulged in several pineapple shakes and a foot massage on the beach. I think I could live on an island for a summer. Anyone want to join me?

Salsa...hot hot hot!

2007-06-04T06:41:00.000-07:00

Gina, the birthday girl, dancing with the very talented Carlos.
Revonna and me after a few cocktails and a spin or two on the dance floor.
Jen Davies and another salsa dancer.

Birthdays are such a great excuse to get a little crazy. Gina, the southern belle among us, celebrated her 29th (again?) a couple weeks ago and we went salsa dancing at Fogo Vivo's. I don't know how I have made it this far in life and never been salsa dancing. I imagine a big part of it might have to do with the fact that I grew up in "little Poland" instead of "little Havana." And I'm sorry, I never really got into doing the polka. Of course that's probably because I was dancing with seventy year old Vic Karzmoski and not a twenty something Antonio Garcia.

Five of us arrived early for lessons before the serious salsa dancers took over the dance floor. Even though the place was empty when we arrived, Gina and Sunny were reluctant to dance-- even in slow-mo. They both claimed to have two left feet. Fortunately Carlos, the instructor, was quite convinicing and he had all five of us out there doing the salsa in no time. It is unbelievable what a difference a strong lead can make. I have taken dance lessons before but my partner was not a very strong lead. Carlos was amazing.

After a few more drinks and the passing of a little time, the dance floor was packed. Five more of the teachers I work with showed up so we had quite a party going. I was a bit worried that we would just be wallflowers but we were all asked to dance at different points though the night. And we danced with each other. Jen Davies and Courtney have both had lessons before and you could tell by the easy, confident way they moved. And Brisa, a Columbia co-worker, could have made the pope convert with the way she was moving. Dios Mio!

This is going to sound horrible, but I didn't know Asians could dance. I was proved wrong. I met up with Ignatius, a Catholic Singaporean in town on IT business, who is a fabulous dancer. He even had special salsa shoes. We danced to a few songs and not just salsa either. I have never had a merengue lesson, but he was leading so well, I found myself doing the merengue. I was twirling and praying to god that he would not try to do one of those dip numbers because I didn't know if my back would be able to take it.

I will definitely be at the salsa club again but I might have to watch Dirty Dancing first.

Bangkok Sky

2007-06-04T06:14:00.000-07:00

I thought we had some serious thunderstorms in Virginia but that was nothing compared to some of the storms we have been experiencing here in Bangkok. I know I am 32 years old but I nearly jumped to the other side of the bed and hung on to Revonna for dear life one night while she was here and we had a particularly violent storm. After the raucous thunder woke me up and then the near constant flash of the lightning kept me awake, I had to remind myself that the lightling would not come through the window, that there were no trees near my building that would come crashing through the glass. Scary stuff. The picture of the lightning was taken by one of the teachers at school from his balcony.

Equally impressive in a quieter way are the sunsets. One night we went to dinner with some of my colleagues to celebrate two birthdays. We ate dinner at the top of the tallest building in Bangkok, Baiyoke Tower II (about 250 feet shorter than the Empire States Building). We enjoyed a fabulous Chinese buffet and a beautiful sunset. The picture of Revonna and me was taken in those few golden moments when the sun goes to bed. Afterwards, we went to the very top of the building for the revolving view of the city at night. Trying to get my bearings of the city up there proved to be a challenge.

Orchids

2007-06-04T06:06:00.000-07:00

While Revonna was still here, we stumbled upon a fantstic orchid show at the Siam Paragon Mall. We could only take a quick stroll through the exhibition because we were on our way to dinner. The sheer number of orchids contained in the exhibit was amazing but coupled with the striking colors, it was breathtaking. Stef, you would have had a fit.

Crickets are kinda tasty

2007-05-13T08:23:00.000-07:00

I didn't think I would ever do this, but I snacked on some crickets with lunch this afternoon. While we were having our afternoon repast, some Thai people sitting behind us offered us some crickets and a couple shots of rum. Since they were being so nice, I didn't want to seem ungrateful and decline such a generous offer. After the initial cricket (salty, kind of crunchy) I had several more with my fried chicken. Hey, don't knock it till you try it!

The Rocket Festival

2007-05-13T08:15:00.000-07:00

This weekend Revonna and I travelled with sixteen other people from my school to Northern Thailand for the Rocket Festival. It was just like the Crab Carnival or Bay Days or the Oyster Festival except that everything is centered around the rockets. There was a long parade, lots of music, good food, and rockets of all sizes. Thailand is preparing for the rainy season and as kind of a tribute to the rain gods, rockets are launched. Of course, every farmer wants to have the biggest and best rocket. The missles themselves looked pretty primitive but boy could they fly. Luckily, none of them landed on us.

Northern Thailand

2007-05-13T08:12:00.000-07:00

Little girl looking at one of the rockets shooting off into the sky.

A man selling lotus seeds.

Nothing like a little mud wrestling.

Koh Chang

2007-05-08T07:56:00.000-07:00

For those of you who don’t know, my friend Revonna arrived in Bangkok last Wednesday for a three week stay. After she had more or less recovered from jetlag, I whisked her away to Koh Chang, a mellow island in the Gulf of Thailand, not too far from Cambodia. I had Monday off from school so we had a nice three day weekend to relax. We traveled with Courtney (I went to elephant camp with her) and Sunny, Daylin, and Mike (my Tiger Temple travel companions). Friday afternoon right after school we caught a bus down to Trad (a five hour ride) where we spent the night at Pop’s Guest house before taking the ferry over to Koh Chang in the morning.
Saturday we awoke to a beautiful and bright sun, which was a nice gift after nearly a full week of rain and clouds. (The rainy season doesn’t officially start until June, but for whatever reason, we have been plagued with rain.) We arrived in Koh Chang (the second largest island in Thailand) and Sunny had us delivered to White Sands beach. This stretch of beach is the most unpretentious and relaxed place I have ever been. I took my shoes off when we got there and didn’t put them back on until we left. Everything we needed was right on the beach or just a short walk away to the main street.
Along the beach there is a quaint string of slightly ramshackle guest houses and restaurants. We passed up the expensive place ($28/night) for one of the cheaper places ($12/night). This simple little bungalow is right on the beach, although I don’t know how much longer it will be there. At high tide, the water reached the bottom of the stairs to our little room and literally washed away the bottom step Saturday night. We had one room and a small bathroom. Quite rustic. In addition to the bed, the only other furnishing in the room was a complicated looking mosquito net piled up above the bed that we didn’t bother with. The two windows did not have screens or glass, they were just big rectangular openings through which to view and hear the sea. The shutter type enclosures stayed open the whole time we were there, mocking the padlock on the door. These open windows also allowed a fairly large lizard to sneak in and greet me when I woke up Monday morning.

There was something magical about the weekend. The way time seemed to be irrelevant while on the island. I felt totally removed from the rest of the world. No cars, no distressing news, no obligations—just the crashing waves, the ocean breeze, the busy sand crabs. The way the mist hung above the surf and framed the islands in the distance. I had planned on reading (I had packed three books) but I didn’t read much. I was perfectly content to lie on the bed and listen to the eternal rhythm of the sea. Happy to sit on the porch and watch the tide go out. I did get a massage one day and a foot scrub the next which was probably the extent of my productivity while on the island. I took naps, walked on the beach with Daylin, watched other travelers playing in the surf. After we were both wakened in the wee hours of Sunday morning by a terrific thunderstorm, Revonna and I stayed up and caught up on some lost time. The slow pace coupled with the beauty of the ocean, the way the colors changed from blue to green to gray, was simply sublime.

Henna anyone?

2007-05-08T07:50:00.000-07:00

Sunday was a wash, but only weather wise. The thunderstorm that raged throughout the night was supplanted by a slow and steady rain for most of the day. We had originally planned on renting scooters and exploring the islands but the rain kind of nixed that idea. The torrential downpour also ruined any dreams we had of snorkeling. So Mike went to an internet café and worked on his online course. The rest of us floated in and out of Pen’s Bungalow throughout the day, an open air restaurant and bar that had rooms to rent and a tattoo parlor upstairs. A handsome blue-eyed Australian was often working and he was always amenable to our requests. We sat around, some of us read, some of us chatted with fellow travelers: the French law student and her English boyfriend or the couple from the Yukon. As I sipped on a coconut shake or snacked on some tempura vegetables, I furtively read the spines of other people’s books as they were cradled in their hands, hoping to glean some information about them (for those interested, the various titles included Globalization, Blink, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close).
Since I wasn’t in the mood for reading, I made my way over to the corner where the tattoo artist had some pictures of his work displayed along with related materials, sample designs and such. I had seen this guy around the place on Saturday but had not talked to him. He seemed to be a very eccentric fellow for a Thai man. He might have been all of five feet tall, somewhere near forty years old, tattoos all over his body, several piercings (both nipples, chin, tongue, and eyebrow; one ear had a short pencil through the earring hole and the other one had a spiral wooden ornament through it). His nails were painted black and he usually had something on his head, either a wrap of sorts or a funky hat. He looked like someone you could have an interesting conversation with.
I flipped through magazines and through photo albums. Daylin came over before long to take look, too. We were joined by the tattoo artist, Sam (pronounced sahm) who told Daylin that he could get a henna tattoo done. Henna would wash off in about three to four weeks, something that perhaps his mother would appreciate. Of course, Day was pretty taken by the idea. He picked out a nice dragon pattern and had Sam put it on his upper arm. It took about an hour. Sam sketched it on Daylin’s arm first with some kind of pen. It was a pretty detailed dragon and I was impressed with Sam’s detail. Once the sketch was complete, he mixed a powdered solution with some liquid to create the henna ink. With a small brush, he painted the ink on. I sat across from Daylin for a while and just watched. He looked like a young soldier who was getting his first tattoo, his shirt off, his chin tucked to his shoulder as he watched the picture emerge.
Once the dragon was done, Daylin had to sit for thirty minutes. As the henna dried, it started to flake. I could tell he wanted to pull it off right away, kind of like the way some kids just itch to pick at a scab. When it was all dry, Sunny helped him wash the flaky part away and revealed a pretty bad ass henna tattoo.
Courtney was so impressed, she got one too. She chose a nice flower pattern and had it painted on her left hand. Very elegant.

Indelible passion

2007-05-08T07:43:00.000-07:00

Passion—adjective
4 a (1) : EMOTION (2) plural : the emotions as distinguished from reason b : intense, driving, or overmastering feeling or conviction

5 a : ardent affection : LOVE b : a strong liking or desire for or devotion to some activity, object, or concept c : sexual desire d : an object of desire or deep interest

What is it about a tattoo that intrigues me? I think the idea of the flesh being used as a canvas is fascinating. The notion of permanence is both foreboding and enticing. John Irving’s latest novel is about the tattoo culture and I think that has played a large part in piquing my interest. When I worked at Baker’s Crust in Richmond last year, many people had tattoos and I always wanted to strip them down and examine their ink, study the pictures, read the stories painted on their skin.
I can’t exactly tell you why I did it, but I did it. I picked out a Japanese character and took the plunge. I got inked. Sunny offered to stay with me, to hold my hand in a sense, but I said no. My main reason for declining was I didn’t want her to see me if I chickened out. If, after the first touch of the needle, I started screaming, I did not want her to witness it. So, everyone else went to dinner and I went upstairs to the very makeshift tattoo parlor.
Sam asked me to sit on the floor so he could sketch the character on my back. He suggested I have a drink or five because it was going to hurt pretty bad. He said he was joking but I got the feeling he wasn’t. So I ordered some wine. I didn’t think you were supposed to drink during tattoos because it thins your blood or something? After he sketched the outline, I laid on my belly and let him begin his work. It came down to the moment of truth. How much is it going to hurt? Will it bleed? Will I cry?
It only took an hour. The pain was not nearly as bad as I had anticipated. It was more annoying than it was painful. Like a scratching or a slight burning. I did grab on to the pillow a few times and had to focus on the colors in the painting that was propped up against the wall next to me. No tears though and no screaming. And then before I knew it, I was inked.

The hot springs

2007-04-19T01:14:00.000-07:00

“So, I just take my clothes off now?” I knew that this was a stupid question but it was all I could do to delay the inevitable.

Noriko nonchalantly said yes and began undressing. We were in something like a locker room at a hotel which features natural hot springs. I had walked into this adventure knowing full well what had to be done. Luckily, we had the place to ourselves; it was a weekday so we were conveniently missing out on the crowds.

We undressed, placing every stitch of clothing in the basket provided. I watched as Noriko fitted the full-sized towel she brought with her over the basket once it had her clothes in it. That’s strange, I thought to myself. How is she going to walk out to the hot spring without the…oh…slowly the realization dawned on me as she picked up the little hand towel and headed for the door. Trying not to balk at such an absurdity (what—no robe, no towel, no clothes), I did the same and followed her out the door.

We stepped out into the brisk fifty degree air. I continued to keep a close eye on Noriko as this whole scene was new to me. She walked over, ever so casually, to the faucets that were a few paces away from the hot spring and picked up a bowl. She filled it with warm water and poured it over her hands and feet. Then she turned, walked a few paces and stepped into the water.
Mutely, I did the same. I tried taking my mind off how strange all of this felt by noting my surroundings. We were kind of in an alcove, the open side giving way to a fantastic view of the sparse forest. Besides the wall to the hotel, there were bamboo type constructions for the other two enclosing walls. Besides that, we were more or less outside.

I was taking all of this in—trying to act like I hang out naked with my college girlfriends all the time—as I stepped into the scalding water. Now, I was kind of in a difficult spot because I had been telling myself that I would feel better (less exposed anyway) once I reached the water and hid myself in the depths. But submerging oneself into ninety degree water is not the same as diving into a swimming pool on a hot day. No, this required easing in slowly.

And I was in some seriously hot water. I couldn’t believe how hot it was, and that the water comes out of the earth that hot. My feet were gradually acclimating to the heat and I began to inch the rest of myself down into the sweltering pool. I watched clouds of steam billow out towards the trees as I ever so slowly slid down into the hot spring, finally submerged up to my shoulders and sitting on an underwater stone.

Out of nowhere, I heard a man laugh. I froze, as much as that is possible in a hot spring. Where the hell did that come from? Apparently, the men’s hot spring was on the other side of one of the bamboo walls. It was strange having them so close but out of view. How could we be sure that they could not see us?

After that, somehow I allowed myself to relax. The heat kind of melts away everything else. I stopped fretting over how I looked next to the 110 pound sliver of a girl sitting next to me. I stilled that voice in my head that kept saying oh-my-god-I-can’t believe-I’m-doing-this. I sat back and just delighted in the heat suffusing my every feature, drenching my senses. I listened to the water pouring into the pool, felt the moisture kissing my skin as I enjoyed the Zen-like peace.

Of course, you can only take that kind of heat for so long. I was glad to see Noriko climb out and sit on one of the rocks next to the springs. I lifted myself out of the water and took refuge on the edge of the pool as well. That felt amazing. The cool stones pressed up against my bare, pinked flesh. After letting ourselves cool down, we slipped back in for another round. We repeated this cycle about three more times before getting out, making the short trek back to the locker room, toweling off, and going to a different hot spring, one that overlooked the river. Hot spring hopping, a popular past time in Japan.

By that time, it was old hat. I didn’t even mind that we had company in the second one.

Sendai, Japan

2007-04-14T18:42:00.000-07:00

Oishi

2007-04-14T18:13:00.000-07:00

From the pictures, you might think that I spent the whole week eating. Well, eating was a big part of the trip. When Noriko had asked me what I want to do while I was in Japan, I more or less said shop, go to the Kabuki theater, and eat. Noriko is great, especially since she is always hungry. One of her favorite saying is "how about a snack?" From rice crackers to sushi, noodles or cake, a snack could be found anywhere and everywhere in Japan.

Presentation is a huge thing in Japan. Everything must look just perfect. We went to a fast food sushi restaurant where the sushi comes around on a conveyor belt next to the booths and you just pick up what you want. One hundred yen per plate (about a dollar). Each little plate had two pieces of sushi placed just so on the center of the plate. And the dishes! I loved looking at all the different little plates, bowls, and platters everything was served on.

I learned that slurping is something that you are SUPPOSED to do in Japan, especially when eating soup. That took some getting used to. I would slurp hestitantly and then look around, thinking my mom would somehow appear and give me that look, that what-the-hell-do-you-think-you're-doing scowl. It was explained to me that you more fully taste the soup when you slurp it. Men, don't try that at home or on your next date at a fancy restaurant (unless you want to get smacked upside the head). I also attempted to eat noodle soup with chopsticks. More slurping. Lots of it.

The first picture in this entry is of sake, Japanese rice wine. When a glass of sake is poured, the common practice is to fill the glass until the cup runneth over, literally. So a little lacquered box is placed under the glass to catch the overflow. Now that's my kind of pour (I wish they would do that with the wine in Thailand).

Some commentary

2007-04-12T07:17:00.000-07:00

Writing about this adventure will require a different technique. I do not feel comfortable writing about a country as complex and elusive as this one, especially after only being here for a few days. I cannot seem to unlock the intricate golden treasure chest that is Japan. I imagine that there are foreigners who study the Japanese culture their whole lives and still feel like a child looking through a glass window with awe, admiring an exquisitely crafted and beautiful antiquity.

So instead of my verbose and lengthy prose, I will just list the random notes I have hastily tucked away in my mind as I have wandered around Tokyo and Sendai since Saturday.

The cherry blossoms are amazing. It was past the peak time in Tokyo but hasn’t quite reached the peak here in Sendai, but all of it has been beautiful. Like someone went around with a paint brush and painted little dabs of pink everywhere. The cherry blossom season is a special time here, a celebration of sorts. People spread out large tarps and feast around and under the trees—drinking, eating, laughing.

When it is springtime in the states, people can’t wait to break out their new spring clothes and throw open the windows. It’s not that way here. Currently it is springtime in Japan, the flowers are blooming, but people are still dressed in their drab winter colors, still bundled up in their coats, scarves, and hats. Heaters are still running. Windows shut tight.

The varying fashions can be quite surprising. Those pictures I posted were of everyday dress for some of the kids in the city. I admire their ability to ditch conventionality for what they really want to do. I’m glad that if you really want to be Pikachu, in Tokyo you can.

If you saw Babel, yes, there are girls who wear their little plaid skirts that short. No pictures because I didn’t want anyone to think I was a lesbian pedophile.

The food. Lots of raw fish (but not many fish eyes over here—thank you God). Lots of vegetables. Cabbage that I always considered garnish is actually eaten over here. Everything is beautifully displayed on lots of little dishes. Tea several times a day. In Noriko’s house, the dining room table is one of the low ones where you sit on the floor. I tried sitting on my feet with my knees bent. Ha! That was funny. I sat Indian style for a while, then stretched my feel out, then sat with my feet to the side. All of this while I’m trying to eat. It’s kind of hard to get comfortable sitting on the floor if you aren’t used to it. The second day, Noriko’s mom removed part of the tatami mat floor that exposed a heated well area and set up a low square table over it, that way you have a place to put your legs and feet down into. Much better.

I have finally learned how to use chopsticks. It was that or go hungry.

Noriko’s mom is an amazing cook. Last night we had tempura—eggplant, scallops, onions and baby shrimp, sweet potato, a yellow flower and some greens—all lightly battered and fried. Along with that we had rice, salad with fresh vegetables from the garden, and soup. For breakfast we had eggs, toast, salad, and soup. Yes, salad and soup for breakfast. Oishi (that means yummy in Japanese).

Japan is pretty damn efficient and eco-friendly. Small cars everywhere. Many people ride bicycles to work in their suits. They ride bikes when it rains, carrying an umbrella. They cart their trash to the trash pick-up areas on their bikes. I saw several bike parking lots—not bike racks, whole lots for bikes. Recycling is everywhere. Public transportation is amazing. In Tokyo there is an extensive subway, train, monorail, and bus system. And I didn’t see any of the smog and plumes of smoke from buses that I see in Bangkok.

There is little noise pollution. Tokyo is a huge city; I was expecting lots of noise. Not so. Very quiet. Strangely quiet.

Kimonos are not a thing of the past. I wouldn’t say they are everywhere, but they are definitely around. I bought a cotton one, a yukata.

I think I might have to bring an Asian baby home with me when I decide to settle down in one place.

The trains are always on time.

Japanese television is really quite comical. Lots of comedians. The people on the streets seem very reserved and proper but on television, everyone seems so outgoing and friendly and funny as hell.

Kabuki theater was interesting. Only male performers. People shout from the audience at certain times which seemed odd to me.

I just experienced my first earthquake. A small tremor anyway. Level two or three. The house shook briefly.

Baseball is huge over here. Have you checked out Ichiro?

Tomorrow, we will go to the hot springs. Ooh la la...

Out and about in the city

2007-04-11T05:47:00.000-07:00

Springtime in Tokyo

2007-04-11T05:43:00.000-07:00

Has this hit stateside yet?

2007-04-11T05:41:00.000-07:00

Interesting.

No, it's not Halloween

2007-04-11T05:34:00.000-07:00

These are just ｓｏｍｅ　ｏｆ　ｔｈｅ　ｍｏｒｅ　ｅｃｃｅｎｔｒｉｃ characters in Tokyo.

So long sheepdog hair and other disjointed ramblings

2007-04-02T04:39:00.000-07:00

Hmmmm...I'm beginning to see a family resemblance...

Walking into school the morning after a dramatic haircut is sometimes a foreboding experience. As most of you know, middle school kids tend to lack the ability to give a proper compliment, so this morning I heard a healthy sprinkling of declarative statements along the lines of “you cut your hair” or just a fragment of a thought, as in “so short.” Notice how these comments are devoid of those adjectives that we really like to hear, the ones that let us know that we do not look like a freak or an alien (eg. great, beautiful, nice—hell, I’d even take better). I guess those neutral statements are more polite than the student who told me I look like a man (that was a teachable moment—if I looked like a man, it would be a man suffering from some serious hormonal imbalances, if you know what I mean). Another one of my students looked at me with a puzzled, exaggeratedly frightened look and said, “Who are you?” Meet the new and improved Michelle Stillwell.

On a totally unrelated note…

Last weekend I went to the beach, a local beach, not one of the big, fancy-schmancy, white, sandy beaches with multi-million dollar hotels and obnoxious foreigners. No, Bang Saen is about half an hour away by bus and it is a very Thai beach. I tagged along with Sunny (she did all the leg work for the trip) and her son Daylin for the trip. It was crazy cheap and just a nice getaway for the weekend.

Besides the ocean breeze and the sound of the water lapping on the sand (a welcome trade for the smoggy blast of exhaust fumes and the roar of the skytrain), what I enjoyed most was seeing how the Thai people relax. The beach and boardwalk were packed full of Thai families—from the nearly-newborn to the octogenarian grandparents and everyone in between. I’ve been to crowded beaches before, but there was a different feel to this one, perhaps because instead of the measly triangles of fabric that may or may not cover various body parts stateside, the beach go-ers in Bang Saen were swimming in their clothes. Fully decked out in shirts, shorts, and all the necessary underclothes, soaked from head to toe. The modesty lent a kind of Coney Island circa 1920s air to it all.

Along the boardwalk, vendors were selling more fresh seafood than I’ve ever seen in one place before. Who knew that horseshoe crabs are edible? I watched people digging for clams which were later sold by the bucketful. Sea urchins, star fish, mussels, and crabs were scattered along the shoreline, too. I was collecting sea shells with Daylin, and we had to be careful as to not collect any of the shells that were currently occupied.

Little nests of chairs, tables and umbrellas were set up along the whole length of the boardwalk. Rainbow-colored chairs, the kind that sit low to the ground and recline into a perfect nap-taking position, were arranged back-to-back in groups of four with a table in between them. Beach umbrellas created a solid canopy over the endless rows of chairs, a virtual tunnel by the beach in which to sit under, shielded from the tropical sun, but still romanced by the ocean breeze. Needless to say, I parked myself in one of those chairs and didn’t move for hours at a time. Reading, sipping my rum and coke (rum and whiskey are sold by the bottle all along the boardwalk), and watching the festivities. Every now and then, people would walk by offering massages. They had a kit slung over their shoulders with the necessary massage tools. I figured the people were just offering foot massages, but one lady carried around a mat for customers to sprawl out on and get the works—butt massage and all—right there on the boardwalk. Only in Thailand.

I was up early on Sunday so I witnessed the families coming in droves to the sea side. There were coolers, rice cookers, little pots in which to build a fire, and a large straw mat for everyone to sit on. It was almost like camping or like traveling anywhere with the Kalaskas family. The thing I noticed the most was that none of the Thais did anything special to relax. I read. Daylin collected shells. Sunny read and had a two hour massage. The Thai people, on the other hand, just sat and talked to each other, played with their kids, ate and drank. No card playing or flipping through glossy magazines. No mind diverting activities that seem essential to relaxing in America. They were clearly happy to just be around their friends and family, to just sit and enjoy the day. That is pretty remarkable to me.

Fast forward to the following weekend…

My mind has taken a couple of days to settle down from the information overload of the past weekend. I spent Thursday, Friday and Saturday at the annual meeting of the East Asia Regional Conference of Overseas Schools. There were thousands of teachers there from all over Asia. Our school was closed for two days so that teachers could attend all the workshops. The theme was One World: One Future. We had three key note speakers; Jean-Francois Rischard (author of High Noon), Ian Jukes, and Mechai Viravaidya (Thai philanthropist who is behind Cabbages and Condoms). Sometimes these events can be dreadfully boring but luckily, this was not the case last weekend.

I went to nearly a dozen different workshops and learned all sorts of useful information, from teaching vocabulary effectively to how to be a global citizen to using blogs in the classroom. My favorite speaker was Jack Gantos, author of the Joey Pigza and Jack Henry books. He was more or less a stand up comedian (I had many laugh-out-loud moments) but also very informative in passing on information on how to get kids excited about writing. I went to two of his workshops because he was so entertaining. He has published several books, from picture books to young adult fiction to general adult fiction. I schemed momentarily to figure out how I could possibly brush shoulders with him, maybe have some of his ambition and brilliance rub off on me. The great thing about Gantos is that he writes about normal everyday stuff, the same things I think about writing but then think, no that will be too boring. He does it and he makes it work. There is hope.

An over-arching theme to the whole weekend was the importance of global citizenship. Three international high school students (all three female) gave speeches addressing global citizenship. We also listened to J. F. Rischard talk about twenty issues that need to be dealt with in the next twenty years (which is what his book High Noon is about). In his speech, he mentioned “An Inconvenient Truth” (if you haven’t seen it yet, rent it—very important and accessible information about global warming for everyone; it’s unbelievable). We heard Dr. Mechai talk about the importance of thinking outside of the box to solve problems (like having a vascectomy van travel around and give the little snip snip in order to help population control).

The part that really hit home for me was what Ian Jukes said. A very animated and energetic speaker, Jukes shared with us the idea that the current generation of students is what he calls “digital as a first language speakers” and that their teachers are “digital as a second language speakers.” One of his main points is that teachers are slow learners if we keep trying to teach kids by using the same methods that were used to teach us. He stressed that our brains work differently from the students today. There were MRIs and all sorts of other data to prove his point; not that it needed much proving. You only need to say take out your textbook to a class of students and you can see all traces of enthusiasm drain away from their faces. He said we need to speak the same language as our students. If we don’t know anything about skype, youtube, wiki, mp3, ipod, podcasts, myspace, mtvn, and blogs, then as a teacher, we need to catch up with the times. For me, that’s a whole lot of catching up to do. Maybe I should just ask my students for a tutorial.

Inside my head

2007-03-18T07:41:00.000-07:00

I love being over here, don’t get me wrong. There are pages in my mind on the virtues of living abroad. However, there are some yearnings that I know will never be satisfied by living the life of a gypsy. Of course, the thing I miss most is spending time with my family and friends, partaking in birthday and holiday celebrations, knowing exactly where I can go when I need a pep talk or a laugh, someone to commiserate with me or just let me lounge on their couch with them—not entertain me, just let me sit and be a part of their world. Those are the things I miss above everything else.

But every now and again I will be walking along the crowded streets in Bangkok and a memory of home will just amble across the landscape of my mind, insinuating itself amongst the flotsam and jetsam of daily living. I might be carefully watching my step so I don’t twist an ankle on the always-under-construction sidewalks or pausing to let a healthy rat scamper under a pile of nearby trash, and an image clear as day will present itself like a mirage. The honeysuckle that blooms in the front yard at my mom’s house, tangled in with the poison ivy. An afternoon on Duke of Gloucester Street—the clippety cloppety of the horse and carriage, the buzz of colonial and modern commerce, the tree I love in front of the Bowden-Armistead House. The smell of hops while driving down Route 143.

Other times I am reminded of standing upstairs in Grandma Gracie’s house. The quiet. The suffocating heat in the summer when all the windows are closed. The pretty vintage floor cloth that covers the wooden floors in the bedroom at the top of the stairs.

I find myself traveling down the five-minute road in New Kent County, passing the fields of corn and the deer standing just off the road, ready to dart into my path at any moment. The fields of red clover. The full moon rising over the shorn fields in the fall, its dazzling light palpable on crisp nights.

The forsythia also blazes in my mind, the yellow and rampant herald of early spring, sprouting out like fireworks in all directions. Hedges of them creating walls of color in the formerly bleak terrain.

Flashing through my mind occasionally are the lights of hundreds of cars speeding down I64 at night around Jefferson Avenue, approaching the now-more-often-than-not bottleneck of Hampton Roads. The twinkling tail lights, shiny and red, always make me think of Christmas shopping and crowded shopping malls.

At first I thought that it was strange that I so often recall a mere scenic snapshot of Virginia. I would have thought, instead, that little movies would be playing and re-playing themselves inside my head, reminding me of the people I know and love. Rocking Daniel on the swing on Wood Duck Lane. Walking through Waller Mill Park with Christina and Abby, waiting for Hannah to be born. Tea with the girls at the Painted Lady in Norfolk. Sitting on Grandma’s lap in her green rocking chair on 79th Street when I was five years old. Doing the tango with Justin at Buckroe Beach. Skinny dipping in the Chesapeake Bay with friends, surrounded by and scared to death of the luminescent comb jellies.

Yes, these things come back to me but not with the bittersweet potency of the Virginia scenic stills. After these reminders of home, I am left with a longing, one that I don’t get when I reminisce about all the fun gatherings and memorable times with my loved ones. Maybe it is because with computers and the telephone, letters and care packages, I am still in touch with everyone. There are still tangible reminders, emails and conversations.

But I cannot touch or see, cannot smell or hear Virginia. And that, strangely, feels like a loss.

The beach...continued

2007-02-22T08:51:00.000-08:00

On Tuesday morning, my friend Linda went back to Bangkok to be part of the real world again and to get some work done. I continued lounging, napping, and reading. My student, Pat, arrived the same morning with her mother who had come to discuss the hotel business with the family. Wednesday during breakfast they invited me to go out on a dolphin watching expedition. We waded out into the aquamarine water and climbed into a wooden boat that had a huge motor on the end of it. The ocean air, the weathered boatmen, the sun--all of it reminded me of my dear friend Mickey and I found myself wishing he could be there with me to enjoy it. Sigh. Pat's uncle handed me a sun hat (I had neglected to pack my big floppy hat so I had to sport the baseball cap) along with the snazzy life vest. I watched Pat put on her life vest like she was already drowning and I asked her if she could swim. She said she could but not well.

On our trek, we saw about five dolphins. They weren't exactly jumping out of the water the way you see at Sea World, more like skimming the surface with their backsides. I saw squid floating in the water and schools of shrimp jumping on top of the waves along with hundreds of other little fish flying through the air. Actually, a couple dozen of them flew right into the boat. They were small, no longer than three inches each, but there were so many of them it was like it was raining fish for a few moments. They floundered on the floor of the boat and we scooped them out and into the water, laughing the whole time.

Before we had gone out on the boat, Pat's family ordered lunch for us so when we made it back to the shore, a feast was waiting for us. Neptune's bounty was brought out to us several dishes at a time. It is pretty common in Asia for everyone to eat family style. This is bad juju for the picky eater but it allows me to try all sorts of entrees I would never order. I was a little nervous because I have only recently expanded my diet to include seafood other than hush puppies. I can do shrimp (although I prefer it already peeled), I like crab (but I usually buy it already picked for cheesy crab dips), and I only eat fish that I know the name of. This was going to be a challenge. Laid out before me was a crab curry with glass noodles (whole crabs), fish head soup (don't know what kind of fish), the biggest grilled shrimp I have ever seen (with the head and eyes still on), a fried fish in a pepper honey sauce (more fish eyes), a salad with fried shrimp and cuttlefish tossed in a tasty hot hot hot lime pepper dressing, and fried battered squid. I tried everything, even the fish head soup which was...different. I loved the salad although it 'bout near set my mouth on fire. The part that amazed me most was that all the seafood came right out of that glittering body of water a few paces off to my right. I don't think I had to eat for the rest of the day.

Now, I don't want you to think that my vacation was perfect in every way. It almost was, but there were a couple of creatures that marred the experience. Just a tad. If you don't know already, there are lizards everywhere in Thailand. I see them at school all the time--running and scurrying or stuck to the walls, waiting. I understand that lizards are a part of nature and they have their place. But I don't think that place should be in in my hotel room or anywhere near my canopy bed. I never saw a lizard in my room but I saw evidence of them in more places than I would like. And I heard them. Often. Geckos are loud little buggers. In the middle of the night I would be awakened by the loud sound of "gecko gecko gecko gecko gecko." Ugh.

The other creature was a little more traumatizing. Remember the Brady Bunch episode when one of the Brady boys wakes up and there is a tarantula on his chest? I used to not be able to go to sleep if that image even crossed my mind. So, here I am, in my cozy little lizard infested resort, taking a shower, and something large and dark lands on my face. ON MY FACE! My first thought was that it was a clump of hair, the kind you find on your drain after the shower. I don't know if I was thinking that the shower head was spitting up hairballs or what; that was just the first thing that crossed my mind. I casually batted it away and then looked at the floor to see that it was a humongous spider! HUGE! It reminded me of George that used to live in Jessica's bathtub in New Kent County. It was probably five inches in diameter. Paralyzed with fear, nekkid, in the shower with an arachnid that has obviously had a steady diet of miracle grow, I didn't know what to do. Times like this a strapping young man would come in handy. Or a lizard. A Gecko. "Here gecko gecko gecko..."

The beach

2007-02-20T02:53:00.000-08:00

I don’t really know much about the Chinese New Year. I know that the Chinese/Taiwanese population wears red. It is the year of the pig. Kids get red envelopes with money in them. And most importantly, I am out of school for a week. Over a week, really. At 3:10pm Thursday afternoon, I was a free woman for ten days. God bless Thailand.

For this respite, I chose to have a genuine rest. A no sightseeing adventure. Fly in, check in, and vegetate. One of my students recommended her family’s resort, Rachakiri, down south on the Kha-nom beach. First question: do I get a discount? Actually, that was the only question after she gave me an affirmative answer. The luxury of a resort and the benefit of a discount—what more can a teacher ask for?

I invited a non-teacher, female friend to join me (a further guarantee that I could rest without being mired in work related conversation). Linda is an expat over here; she ventured over here twelve years ago with her husband’s business and had expected to only be here for two years. How quickly two years becomes five, ten, twelve. Her daughter, Karen, attends VCU and I believe she and Justin are in the same program (though Karen is studying in London this semester and has an internship as a fashion forecaster). It is a small world.

I wish there was more to report, but there isn’t. Kha-nom is a relatively quiet place which is like a mist of refreshingly cool, jasmine scented water on your face after living in Bangkok. Mainly European families and couples vacation here. They are taciturn (unlike their neighbors across the pond) and the femme counterparts don’t give a second thought to going topless. Believe it or not, this is a very UN-Thai thing to do, despite the flourishing flesh trade.

We arrived Saturday afternoon and spent some time at the pool. Sunday morning after breakfast we walked up the beach and took the road back to scope out the local scenery. It couldn’t have been an hour total and my back and shoulders were burnt. Crispy. Red. Infernal. I hadn’t thought to put on sunscreen because we were just going for a short sea shell searching expedition along the sand. (I found four small but unbroken conch shells.) It is two days later and I still haven’t dared go out uncovered.

Don’t worry though; there are plenty of places I can sit and enjoy the shady breeze. I go swimming after the sun goes down. I read during the day, talk with Linda, take naps. We discovered a nearby restaurant/travel place/bungalow rental/internet café called One More Beer, named after a joint in Dallas, Texas. The owner, Boyd Butch, is from Las Vegas and before that Chicago, an interesting guy who seemed starved for conversation with fellow Americans. He took us for a night time tour of the nearby “towns.” Yesterday we had massages at his place. There is a spa at Rachakiri but a massage there is six times as much as what I pay in the city. I had my first oil massage. Holy moly. I thought my first massage here was somewhat…intrusive, but the oil massage is way more intrusive. Maybe because you strip down to your panties and get baby oil slathered all over your body while the lithe little Thai lady straddles you. Once I got over the fact that I was more or less naked on a bed with a woman and a bottle of baby oil, I supremely enjoyed myself.

Linda left this morning; back to the city to do some work. I finished my book yesterday and started a new one today. I’m on a memoir kick. Tender Bar by J.R. Moeringher was AMAZING; read it if you get the chance. Today I started The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls. I was going to grade a set of papers before I began a new book but I AM on vacation…

It's all Greek to me

2007-02-08T06:17:00.000-08:00

Hera and Zeus, the life of the party

Ares, god of war
Athena
A nymph
A Ruben's-version of Aphrodite posed with Posiedon, or is it Dionysos?
Echo, a nymph (her maid stitched up those awesome wings)

Oceanus (those are lobster claws on his head; ingenious)
Eros, a.k.a. Cupid
Hermes, the messenger god
Apollo, god of the sun, standing with a Greek citizen

Thanotos, god of death, making the peace sign; ironic?

Ahtena (check out her cool arrow-carrying case)
Goddessess of Ancient Greece
Hercules--check out his six pack
Hades, god of the underworld, looking more like the grim reaper

For the first time in my teaching career, I had the opportunity to teach Greek mythology. Boy, did I learn a lot. I didn’t know that Aphrodite was born of sea foam and the cut up body parts of some man thrown in the ocean. Or that Athena was born from the cracked open head of Zeus. Such violence and chaos; maybe that’s why my seventh graders loved it so much.

In order to impress upon them the legacy of the Greeks, we had a Greek Festival complete with the gods, goddesses, Olympic games, and Greek food (well, kind of). The students brought the food which means we had Kraft-like singles for cheese; apparently this is the only cheese my students are familiar with. While shopping, they had looked at the cheese I suggested (cheddar namely) and they all said the same thing—cheese is expensive! I ended up bringing some cheddar and brie (I couldn’t spring feta on them at such a tender age) and by day’s end, it was all gone. As I was slicing it up, they asked me what it was. I do love educating children about CHEESE! I imagine the rest of their lives they will have to think of their lives in two parts—before cheese and after cheese.

PS-I must thank Mr. Massey and Ms. Robinson for having a medieval banquet when I was in the 6th grade. Without that, I don’t know if I would have thought of doing something like this.

A birthday picture

2007-02-08T06:12:00.000-08:00

Way back in December, my students threw a birthday party for me. This is a picture from the party, back when I had hair. Sigh.

Wonderful Tonight

2007-01-18T07:19:00.000-08:00

As luck would have it, one of the teachers had an extra ticket to see Eric Clapton Monday night. I might add that it was a free ticket (free to me anyway; $100 for the bloke who was giving it away). I went with Sunny Cooper, the super talented and funny Canadian who teaches third grade at my school.

The concert was across town at IMPACT Arena, which is just like the Norfolk Scope or the Hampton Colisseum. We arrived about twenty minutes into the show (we had lingered too long over our passion fruit and lemon sherbet at dinner). The first thing that struck me as odd was that the floor was filled with chairs. I can’t recall having been to a rock concert where there were chairs set out on the center part of the arena. And what was more surprising is that people were using them. This was the most sedate concert I’ve ever been too. M-e-l-l-o-w. Not that I was expecting a mosh pit or people rushing the stage, but a little more…um…excitement perhaps.

I guess the man is getting old. He reminded me of my dad (sorry, Pops). Somewhere etched in my mind I still have the younger version of Eric Clapton, with longer hair and not so many wrinkles, and definitely not sporting the turkey neck action. The man can still jam though. He ended with some of the zippier tunes. The Geritol was paying off by then and people were actually out of their seats and some had ventured down the aisle closer to the stage. You just can’t be seated for “Layla.”

I’m getting old too because I suggested that we leave before the encore was over so that we wouldn’t have to fight with the crowd. I used to hate it when my parents gave me that line but I totally see the sense in it now, especially on a school night. Finding a taxi was a chore; I haven’t gotten used to the idea of needing to find transportation after an event, especially a late event across town. Sunny and I walked around for quite a while in search of a taxi to no avail. I ended up taking my shoes off (I had worn feminine shoes with a wedge heel instead of my Birks since I was wearing jeans and a black tee shirt, and combined with my short hair, Birks would have been a surefire brand of a butch lesbian).

Anyway, after walking in circles for a while, I stopped by a little restaurant to ask where to get a taxi. I was talking to a few older Thai people, shoes in hand, when I see something out of the corner of my eye. Scurrying. Many things scurrying. Many large things scurrying in close proximity to my bare feet. In the middle of my “where can I get a taxi” schpeil my voice jumped up a few octaves—I may have screamed—as I realized that those were the biggest cockroaches I have ever seen. We’re talking a good four inches each. A good dozen or so of four inch cockroaches scavenging near my perfectly manicured toes.

I tried to keep my composure because the Thai’s were nonplussed by the whole thing. Totally unphased. I didn’t want to come across as some hoighty toity privileged American who has never been around bugs before. I looked over at Sunny who was managing very nicely considering she hates cockroaches more than ANYTHING in the whole world. She took a step or two back, had an expression of sheer terror on her face, but she did not spew forth the number of expletives I have heard her expel before when we have encountered said pests.

Good to know that not EVERYTHING in Thailand is Thai sized. Well, kinda.

The Philippines

2007-01-01T23:28:00.000-08:00

At Pastor Pete's wedding.

The river in Boklaoan.

Baguio City from up high.

The house in the country and the house in town.

Christmas in town and country

2007-01-01T23:10:00.000-08:00

While in the Philippines, I read An Assembly Such as This which is the first part of Pride and Prejudice written from Mr. Darcy’s perspective. He states very clearly that he abhors the folks and mannerisms of the country and much prefers the culture and civilization of the town. While I do not share Mr. Darcy’s sentiments on town being better than country, I do recognize the extreme differences between the two, which were apparent while I was in the Philippines.

The time I spent in Baguio City was like being at a wealthy English manor. The house was huge: four stories of stone, grand windows, and hand carved crown molding. Cathedral ceiling in the great room. Two kitchens. At least five bathrooms. Landscaped grounds with climbing roses and hundreds of orchids. The maid, Millie, lived downstairs and cooked all the meals, washed the laundry by hand, and cleaned. A couple college-aged boys were always around to do manual labor, feed the dogs, and run errands. At first it was awkward being served. I felt a little guilty but before long it was pretty nice having my morning coffee brought to me, sitting down to a full meal and not having to help with dishes, giving my dirty clothes to someone else and having them returned to me cleaned and pressed.

In addition to staying at a full service residence, there were many gatherings in the town. One night Albert and Shirley hosted a caroling dinner party at the house. About twenty people came over and we sang Christmas carols and then sat down to a wonderful dinner. We attended a Christmas luncheon at a judge’s house in a nearby town. Another lunch was hosted at the Marcello’s house, where we were privileged to hear a nineteen year old child prodigy play Chopin on the piano. I attended a beautiful wedding for one of the pastor’s at the Methodist church in Baguio City. A birthday celebration was held on another night for one of the church members where there were over twelve different dishes of food, several cakes and three different types of wine.

Now, the country proved to be much more rustic. I had the pleasure of going to Boklaoan, where Albert and Shirley have built a church and their retirement home, and to Anchingching, home to Shirley’s eldest sister and the Ibaloi people. Both afforded me with unique experiences quite different from the town.

Baklaoan is a two and a half hour trek up into the mountains, reached only by a gravel and dirt road boasting treacherously sharp turns. The kind of road where you have to honk your horn before rounding a corner. A slow journey but beautiful. Poinsettia trees growing in the wild. Terraced rice fields could be spotted in the valley. Trees heavy with bananas, jack fruit, and mangoes graced the roadside. I thought I saw grapes running rampant along the hillsides—a vineyard, perhaps? Turns out it is sayote, a common vegetable in the Philippines that I had already tasted at more than one meal.

As we wound our way into the uplands, I saw a few houses. Small corrugated tin dwellings. Occasionally a cement building. There were hardly any personal vehicles up there, only jeepnees—jeep type buses with long beds and benches used as taxis. People also ride on top of the jeepnees or stand on the back holding handlebars. Sometimes you would see people sleeping on top of them. I wonder how they manage to stay on up there?

Once we reached the church and the house, all you could hear was the river rushing by far far below. Perfect serenity. As for country events…

I attended a wedding at the church Al’s parents built. It was very much like weddings I have been too before, except that it started one hour late and lasted an hour and a half. Remember, this was not a Catholic wedding but a Methodist one. The flowers were beautiful (calla lilies, bougainvillea, statice, and alstromeria—locally grown?), there were bridesmaids, groomsmen, and all that jazz. Only one or two people in the congregation were dressed up. It was crowded though, standing room only. The groom’s family all walked over from the other side of the mountain to attend the ceremony. Afterwards, there was a reception down the road (we walked) at what I guess constitutes their gathering place. It was more or less a picnic shelter, but not as sturdy, attached to a building made out of the corrugated tin. There was way more people at the reception than there were in church. I think everyone from ten miles around came to eat the boiled pork, pancit, adobo, and rice which was being cooked right next to some tables amidst all the guests. We sat at one of the few tables and were served locally made rice wine. This is different from sake in that it is sweeter and there is still rice in it. When you are poured a cup of rice wine you get a nice helping of rice at the bottom of your cup, which I couldn’t bring myself to drink (or eat?).

The other gathering I attended in Boklaoan was Christmas Eve service at the church and a feast afterwards with lechon (roasted pig), red rice, and pancit. We were late to the church service because we had attended a two hour, “Nine Carols and Nine Readings” service in town. On the way to the mountains, we listened to Miss Davis’s CD of out-of-the-way Christmas music which included “Go Tell the Congregation” by The Black Crowes and a biblical reading that was a longer version of one of the nine readings we had heard earlier in church that morning. (By the way, Albert and Shirley liked it all, especially the reading.) By the time we made it to Boklaoan, we had missed the readings and the sermon which was fine by be. As we arrived, the games were starting. The games were supposed to be for the children but they were too shy to play at first, so the adults had to demonstrate. They were mostly boys against girls, relay type games (which Mr. Darcy would have frowned upon but I found most entertaining). There was make the longest line (which was unfair because the guys were taking off their clothes), knock down the coke bottle with an eggplant tied on a string between your legs (imagine that one), and which couple can eat the apple tied on the string the fastest (the nineteen year old pastor was better than I thought he would be at this one). Most amusing.

My other adventure in the country was the Grand Canao in Anchingching, the highlight of my visit to the Philippines probably because it was the most foreign to me. From Baguio, we drove an hour and a half into different mountains and then parked the car and waited for a boat. The parking area was by the spillway for a huge dam. The little thirty person boat, a cross between a canoe and a john boat with a small motor, arrived after a while. We all piled in with our accoutrements for an overnight stay and made our way to the other side, about a twenty five minute boat ride away. When Stefanie attended the Grand Canao, the boat dropped them off right next to the village. However, due to low water levels and the dam, we were dropped off a mile and a half from the village.

As we were trekking through the valley, wading through river streams and padding across mud flats, I was reminded of A River Runs Through It. Crystal clear streams rushing over brightly colored stones, surrounded by mountains and trees. Walking on the dry mud flats was easy, but some of the not-so-dry mud flats were an obstacle. Only for me though. None of my traveling companions were plagued by the quagmires the way I was (the reason for my difficulty was later pointed out to me, as if I didn’t know already!). At different points in the crossing, I would just sink. Knee deep in mud I went down like a stone in the water. I would try to gain some leverage with my other foot and pull out my sunken one, only to find the situation reversed—the other leg now buried in the mud with the opposite one gaining purchase. And it went on like that, a vicious cycle. I was so glad to have to wade through the thigh deep, ice cold river in my jeans because it washed off all of the mud.

The river crossing was pretty exciting and not just because the men took off their pants in order to cross. Standing alone in the middle of the swiftly moving current, amidst the glittering stones, was thrilling. It almost made up for the humiliation of my public mud bath.

We eventually made it to the village which seemed more like a camp site to me. There were only three houses; crude structures made out of wood and/or tin up on stilts with only ladders to gain access. The large house was enclosed in a fenced in area and that is where all the action took place. The dancing, music, slaughtering, eating, and washing. Past the man-made gate comprised of branches and bamboo there was another smaller house, this one lower to the ground with steps instead of a ladder. And Shirley’s ancestral home was a little distance off surrounded by another rustic fence. These buildings were all simple in design and only the ancestral home had any furniture to speak of. The one bathroom was located near the main house, a shed with a squatter and huge vat of water for flushing purposes. The one shower was about ten paces from the toilet, pieces of tin lashed together to create an enclosure with a spigot about chest high (for me anyway). The bath was a few meters away…in the river. I skipped the bath and shower and opted to employ the largest tree I could find in the woods for my rest area.

The celebration centered around dancing and music to rouse the ancestral spirits, to invite them to come and dance and bless the village in the future. The music was created by what at first I thought were merely pans, but turned out to be copper gongs. There were two of those and one guy hit together two pieces of metal to create a rhythm. These men walked around in a circle with the dancers, while two other men sat nearby playing long, cylindrical, ceremonial drums.

There were always two people dancing. The lead dancer was draped with two swaths of fabric, one on each shoulder and he represented the eagle. He danced with his hands alternately waving above his head and then outstretched down by his waist, knees bent like he was coasting through the air. The second person had a swath of fabric tied draped over her and tied in a knot on one shoulder. She represented the carabou (water buffalo) and danced with her fingers fanned out and pointing towards her temples, palms facing outwards. Musicians and dancers circled around a certain number of times, all the while the gongs, drums, and tin instruments were going. The crowd would collectively call out something like “ooooh eeeeee”. Then a pause. And then “ahhhhhh ooooo.” This showed their appreciation for the people dancing. After the group called out, the eagle and the caribou would switch their drapes and their symbolic roles and do it again. The noise making and the dancing was to rouse the spirits of the ancestors and to ask for their blessings. Dancing went on all night, except for when we were eating the slaughtered animals.

Yes, I danced—after I’d had my share of rice wine.

More meat than I can handle

2007-01-01T23:03:00.000-08:00

I had been forewarned by my sister Stefanie that there would be a sacrificial pig at the Grand Canao. I was prepared for this (or thought I was) and figured that I would observe the ritual to gain some insight for the next time I have to teach Lord of the Flies. I was up at the ancestral home with Albert and Shirley after our afternoon nap when the pig started squealing. Albert said it was time for us to go and watch the festivities. When we walked down to the main camp area, the pig was hog tied and people were dancing and playing the music. Over in the corner I saw a guy sharpening a short wooden stake; they don’t just slit the pig’s throat—they put the stake through the heart so that the pig will make more noise, enough for the ancestral spirits to hear. I kept telling myself that I will be able to watch it, will be able to view the slaughter as an educational experience. That all changed when the man approached the pig with knife and stake in hand and the pig started squealing bloody murder. Much to the amusement of the natives, I high tailed it out of there before any blood was spilled.

I did eat the pig though. The first one that was killed was boiled in a cauldron and served with rice. I ate on the floor of one of the three houses. It was late and I’d had my fair share of rice wine and rum and coke, otherwise I would have felt very self conscious eating fresh cooked pig and rice on the floor with my fingers. Your hands get pretty darn greasy that way. While I was eating, one of the men placed one of the “tastier” delicacies on my plate, pig intestines. It looked like black sausage. I didn’t want to appear rude so I ate it, and actually, it was quite tasty. Salty but good. I’m glad, though, that the liver wasn’t put on my plate. I don’t think I could stomach that.

Later in the evening, another pig was killed and roasted over the fire through the night. That was served for breakfast. A water buffalo and (don’t read this Abby) a horse was also killed, butchered and served. Again, I absented myself from the slaughter. I tried the water buffalo which was more or less like beef but passed on the horse. I thought horses were used to make glue at the knackery?

On a separate occasion in town, more pig was served along with goat. I had tried goat in Mexico so that was old hat to me. Something totally bizarre and unappetizing though was offered to me on the way to the highlands. Eggs were being passed out; I figured they were just hard boiled eggs, which I like in egg salad or crumbled on a green salad but not plain, so I declined. Turns out they weren’t plain boiled eggs after all but balut, a favorite snack in the mountains. Balut is an almost hatched duck egg, complete with the baby duck inside. It’s like eating a formed embryo. I will not vomit…I will not vomit…

After this holiday, I can understand why some people are vegetarians.

Anchingching

2007-01-01T22:33:00.000-08:00

Can we say Pat Benatar?

2007-01-01T22:24:00.000-08:00

I have resolved-firmly-not to get another haircut while I am here in Asia. It just keeps getting shorter! I am beginning to think that “just a trim” translates into “cut off as much as you would like.” As I have been vain about my hair in years past, perhaps this is my payback.

I nearly cried when I was getting my hair cut in the Philippines. Since it had gotten so shaggy and I was nearly a month overdue for a cut, I decided to get a trim. Ha!!! Shirley took me to the place she usually goes. I looked at the hair dresser’s hair; tolerable. I tried to psyche myself out, “This won’t be so bad.” The hairdresser didn’t use scissors or thinning shears. She used layered straight edged razors fixed into something like a box cutter. That should have been my first clue. She grazed the straight edge tool against a length of hair and down fell a hefty chunk of hair. It was okay I thought, just thinning it out. But then, before I knew it, it was all gone. Gone. Finito. Naked. The tears were itching to be released. I blinked, furiously. And blinked some more. I was able to more or less hold it together as long as I didn’t look in the mirror.

Despite my wretched, now-I-look-like-a-lesbian haircut, I still have received some male attention (I think the cup size helps). When I told Stef some men had hit on me over here in the Philippines, she asked if it was before or after the haircut. After. That was her way of ascertaining that the haircut wasn’t as bad as I said it was. I don’t think she is taking into consideration that the men who were hitting on me where mostly toothless old men who have not seen any potentially new endeavors since the baby goats were running around in the springtime.

It amazes me how even though I am on the other side of the world, the same tactics are used for catching the eye of a female. That come hither look really doesn’t change. The winking of an eye is the same. Sending a messenger over to express interest from a young man across the room still happens over here, too. Many mountain men were posturing themselves as merely practicing their English in order to talk to me. It’s funny how their limited English included the infamous three words, “I love you.” I managed to get away with only one or maybe two marriage proposals.

A widower forestry professor impressed me the most, even though he was probably four inches shorter than me. Despite the height deficit, Mel had all his teeth. Bonus. I’m guessing that he was fifty-ish. Intelligent and funny. Not swilling gin at the rate some of the younger men were. We were talking about my mud adventures and he said that I sank in the mud because I was big.

“Thank you,” I replied, trying to belie the sarcasm that wanted to seep through. Why does stating the obvious have to be so hurtful sometimes?

He quickly tried to amend his error, “I’m sorry; how would I say that in English without being offensive?” he queried in earnest.

“You wouldn’t say it, you just wouldn’t mention it.” I should have gone into a lesson on how being blunt or honest is often impolite.

He thought about this but didn’t buy it. There had to be a way to say what he meant. He finally came up with “You’re big but you’re sexy.”

I guess that’s better than saying you’re sexy but you’re big. Men are funny.

L.I.G.H.T.

2007-01-01T22:13:00.000-08:00

I have had the most gracious hosts while I have been here in the Philippines. I was trying to think of how I would describe my sister’s in-laws, Albert and Shirley Kalaskas, but most of what I came up with sounded paltry in comparison to the magnitude with which I consider these amazing people. Fortunately, I heard someone else give the perfect description. On my last night in Baguio City, we were invited to Momma Karing’s 76th birthday celebration. I met her at a wedding earlier during my stay. She plays the piano and taught music for many years. We arrived at her residence and were greeted with a display of all the yummy food laid out for the feasting, and I thought we would be eating soon. No—out came the hymnals (what do you expect with four ministers and two retired ministers in the mix). We had a little birthday celebration church service complete with readings, hymns, homily and all.

Pastor Pete started speaking in the local dialect, paused, and apologized before shifting to English. I am glad that he switched because his words were beautiful. He described Momma Karing as a light bringer. As I listened to his homily, I realized he was also describing Albert and Shirley. He had come up with an acronym for light: light bearers are a depiction of love, integrity, generosity, humility, and trustworthiness. That summed it up for me. Albert and Shirley are all of those things and much more. Spending the holidays with them has been a blessing as it is rare to find two people who have been married for nearly forty years who share so much happiness; who move together fluidly, laugh often, and have accomplished so much—raised two children, built four churches and plan to build sixteen more, put their own children through college as well as half a dozen other young adults. The way they love each other and those around them is extraordinary.

Holy wat, Batman!

2006-12-11T07:11:00.000-08:00

After my birthday celebration, I stole away for a birthday retreat. Upon the recommendation of a friend, I went to Sukhothia, one of the original capitals of Thailand which dates back to 1238AD. An enchanted place if there ever was one. From the time I stepped off the plane onto the tarmac I felt like I was in another era. The luggage was unloaded off of the puddle jumper into a truck and it was handed to me once we taxied over to the quaintest airport I have ever seen—not quaint like the airport in Newport News (that’s just small)—no, this was quaint like bed and breakfast quaint. No hassle with baggage claim here. Later, on my morning walk, I saw a man getting his water from a nearby pond. Here I was speed walking to burn a few calories with my MP3 player and my Saucony cross trainers, and there was a man burning the first of many calories in order to survive. Build a fire, fetch the water, wash the laundry by hand, take the cows out to pasture…I was in another world.

I stayed at a little guest house run by Paulo, a hospitable Italian. This oasis was just what I needed to get through the next week and a half of school before Christmas break. Lush, green, flowers everywhere. Tropical birds adorned the grounds—including a real, live Toucan. The best part though was the stock of chilled wine waiting just for me (or so it seemed).

The first day, I walked around the historical park. There were a few tourists but not that many so it felt like I was all by myself walking through the grounds. Ponds were at every turn with a stunning display of fuchsia water lilies. Huge old trees provided the canopy of their shade for respite. Ancient ruins were sprinkled throughout. It was like walking through a dream.

This morning I had my own tuk tuk driver for three hours. I felt like a rich lady with my own car and personal chauffeur. He took me out to see some ancient Khmer ruins and then to see the big Buddha. I have seen pictures of this particular Buddha before, but seeing it in person put all pictures to shame. Situated back off the road on an estate all its own, sits Wat Sri Chum. Circumscribed by a stone room that boasts a key hole opening, a 50 foot Buddha sits in the “touching earth” position. This was the most impressive wat I have seen so far. Something magical, magnificent, mystical pervaded the space around this tremendous stone sculpture. Just thinking about the logistics of making a Buddha this huge and entrapping it in a walled area boggled my mind. The fingers alone on the elegant, slender hand were at least twice as tall as me. I found myself awe struck, mouth agape, staring at this serene image.

On the way back to the airport at four o’clock in the afternoon, I watched as kilometer after kilometer of farmland passed by out the window. Farmers were working the land, hoes in tow, watering by hand. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve read about it in books (thank you, Steinbeck) but to be in such close proximity to this type of exhausting toil kind of numbed me and made me reflect on my daily complaints (why won’t the stupid internet work? I don’t want to wash the dishes and the trash has to go out again!). It also made my work ethic look quite shabby (let’s all read silently for twenty minutes, look, I’ll even read with you). Thinking back to my tuk tuk driver who drove me around, dropped me off for my hour massage, waited for me while I ordered and ate spring rolls, I realized I didn’t just feel like a rich lady; I am a rich lady.

Strange how perspective is both liberating and discomfiting.

You say it's your birthday...

2006-12-11T05:42:00.000-08:00

It’s my birthday, too! Friday night some of my teacher friends took me out for my birthday. I had been worried that my birthday would be a non-event, the way it was my freshman year in college, but Monica made sure it wasn’t. We all met for dinner at a fabulous Thai restaurant. The Parkland crew (four of us from my apartment complex) was an hour late due to crazy traffic; it took an hour and forty five minutes to get downtown when it usually takes forty. I was trying not to get frustrated, and having great company in the cab helped. My mood was assuaged when upon entering Anna’s Cafe the manager asked me if I was a star. I was taken aback but said, “Not yet.” He laughed, pleased with my answer. Perhaps he says this to all the ladies, but I was flattered nonetheless.

We had a savory dinner replete with the birthday song sung by the wait staff at the end and a slice of yummy carrot cake. I had heard that Anna’s Cafe had good cake, but I imagined the praise was relative to other Thai cake. But this carrot cake rivaled many I have had at home. After I made a wish, blew out the candle, and took a bite, I passed it around the table.

Even though we were an hour late for dinner, we made it in time to get a downstairs table at O’Reilly’s Pub before the Thai Beatle’s started playing. This place was packed with quite a mix of people. A lot of old white guys with their young and not so young Thai beauties. Some single farangs in the mix. Some Thai’s (including an old one that played air guitar all night—most entertaining). Some Indians. I surveyed our group and asked them what their favorite Beatle’s song is and everyone had a different answer; however some people revised their selections as different songs were played. There are just too many fabulous songs.

And the band was impressive. I’ve heard a couple Thai bands by now and more often than not, the Thai accent is quite obtrusive, to the point of sometimes being comic. But I could not detect an accent when the Thai Beatles sang. It was amazing. We were singing along, being obnoxious. At one point, I got up and danced with an old man who I am sure is the proud owner of a Viagra prescription, but he had amazing energy. He danced all night. As far as dancing goes, it is difficult for me to follow sometimes (imagine that), but I did my best; since he was a strong lead, it wasn’t too hard. He did the turns and all that; I was just waiting for him to dip me and for my back to go out, revealing to all my soon to be rickety age of thirty two. Luckily, that didn’t happen. He was very grateful for the dance and kept wai-ing to me once the dance was over I wanted to tell him I wasn’t Thai, nor was he, so he didn’t need to do the whole hands-folded-in-prayer-and-bowing thing to show gratitude, but I feared the alternative would be far worse so I let him bow until his heart’s content.

The inevitable came rather early in the evening. Monica, the gem, had told the band it was my birthday. They sang Happy Birthday and then, well, you know the drill. So now I have been serenaded in three different countries. It was fun. And much better than anyone else who has sung “Michelle, ma belle…” to me before.

I really do work at a school over here...

2006-11-30T17:23:00.000-08:00

I finally figured out how to access all of the pictures on the network (actually, I just asked a student to show me). The teacher who takes the pictures is a lower school teacher, so there are many more pictures available of the little kids. Besides, the lower school kids tend to be more spirited anyway.

Halloween was a big hit over here, although most of the students feel like you have to be dressed up as something scary. Lots of witches, vampires and such. My students took issue with my butterfly costume because it wasn't scary. The other pictures are of my team. Afro man is Mr. Darryl on 70's day; Mr. David sporting his fake injury (more 7th graders participated in fake injury day than any other day--I hated seeing them all wrapped up, fake blood seeping through gauze, very realistic bruises applied in just the right places; it made me want to cry); Mr. Curt and Ms. Freda dressed up for Christmas Day. The last couple of pictures are from the Wai Kru ceremony a few months back.

Monkey mania

2006-11-26T05:08:00.000-08:00

Feast for the monkeys

2006-11-26T04:56:00.000-08:00

Monkey Town

2006-11-26T04:13:00.000-08:00

Last week my friend Monica said, “Do you want to go see the monkeys this weekend?” Because we had recently been talking about going to hear the Thai Beatles, my brain was in music mode. I found myself thinking the Monkees are still alive…together…and touring? It took me a minute to switch gears and realize she was talking about the Monkey Festival in Lopburi. For those of you who watched “The Amazing Race” when the hippies came to Thailand, this was one of the towns featured on that episode.

In Lopburi, the monkeys have free reign. Apparently, they were given as a gift to the town some time ago and have never left. Because these creatures bring tourism to the small town, which also boasts several old Khmer ruins, the people offer a feast for the monkeys once a year. People bring food as an offer of thanks to the monkeys for the prosperity they bring to the town.

I was traveling with some serious back-packing children of authentic hippies. We rode a bus out to the town ($2.70) Saturday afternoon so that we could be there early for the festivities on Sunday. I was up before the sun this morning. Part of this was due to the fact that I had rented a room in a hotel for $4. And let me tell you, I didn’t get a penny over $4 worth of comfort. The left bottom corner of the door and the door jamb had serious water rot from the adjacent squatter toilet/bathroom. There was a measly ceiling fan that made a horrendous noise and did little to stir the air. If I had paid $10, I could have had an air conditioner and toilet paper, but payday was still five days away. At least the only bugs were these itty bitty little things I could easily brush off of my arm or squish on the bathroom sink.

I was out of that hovel and walking around by 7am. A cool morning walk through the quiet town. People were already out and setting up for the big day. I followed the music and easily found the Khmer temple with the three prangs which I had seen on television. I saw what I thought was a dog and I was reflecting that it had an odd tail for a dog. It was actually the first monkey I saw in town. After I had spotted my first one, there was no shortage thereafter. Wow. Monkeys, monkeys everywhere! On the telephone wires, stop sign, motorcycles, sidewalks, buildings—everywhere. For the most part they were just minding their own business: scratching themselves, foraging, grooming each other. I only had one monkey jump on me; I was taking a picture and not paying attention to what was behind me. A little critter jumped on my skirt and quickly jumped off when I whirled around and screamed. I’m glad that was early and there weren’t too many people about.

It was fun to just sit and watch them jump and climb all over. And these are some randy little fellows. They shed new light on the meaning of a quickie. Picture a female monkey minding her own business, sipping on a juice box, and a male monkey swings in from behind (in ‘n out, in ‘n out for about five to seven seconds) and then pops back out. Strange business on a Sunday morning.

I was glad that I had the opportunity to walk around early in the morning because once all the people came out to watch, the gated area was much too crowded. The food was set up beautifully but I left the temple before the monkeys really started to chow down. We rode home on an unconditioned train for $1. Upon arrival in Bangkok, I climbed into a very air conditioned taxi to take me home from the train station.

Back up a little…Saturday night when we arrived in Lopburi, we immediately took a makeshift vehicle (cross between a minibus and a small truck) out to a temple that had a bat cave. We drove up a small mountain and walked through a temple that was built into and around the mountain. We climbed some stairs and came out on the side of the mountain by a cave where we smelled serious bat funk and heard the high pitched whirring of thousands of bats. I walked into the mouth of the cave and saw them flitting about, preparing for the evening hunt. I would have walked further but there were what seemed like hundreds of cockroaches directly below all those bats (I wonder if there is a symbiotic relationship here?) Further reasoning for arresting my steps was that I was barefoot—you always take your shoes off when you walk into a temple.

The sun starts to set around 6pm here; it is dark every night by 6:30, year around. Like clockwork, the bats emerged from the cave at 6pm. There were so many it looked like the mountain was just spewing them out in a poltergeist fashion. Thousands of bats. The high pitched crying which accompanied them never ceased. A steady stream of hungry bats flying out into the valley. We watched for nearly ten minutes and there were still hordes of bats emerging into the new night. By that time, we couldn’t take the smell any more and we headed back down to town.

I think that will be it for my animal adventures for a while. I’m feeling the need to morph into a gym rat myself.

This and that

2006-11-16T17:27:00.000-08:00

November is an awfully long month here in Thailand. I think about how everyone in the states is getting ready for the big turkey dinner. All the men have been crowded around the television screens for weeks now watching football games. The yards need to be raked and raked again. And as if there isn't enough to do, I know some of you are already starting to think about Christmas festivities. Well, over here, November seems to go on forever with no climax at the end. No family gathering to kick off the holiday season. No buildup for anything. Just another month. What makes it even worse is that I know I only have to work eleven days in December. So if November would just hurry up and END ALREADY, I will be most happy.

Since I have been here for over three months, I decided it was time to buy some kitchen supplies. A wok, a saucepan, a rice cooker, a frying pan, measuring cups--all that jazz. I bought one batch of stuff, but then I realized that I needed a cutting board, a colander, knives, storage containers for rice. It is hard to believe that I have not done any cooking since I was in Virginia. Eating out is just too easy here and can be pretty economical, also (unless you go for Italian and have wine). But there are times when I don't want to go out and try to decipher the menu. Or when I want a particular dish that isn't served anywhere nearby. Then there are times when I just want to eat dinner in my pajamas. So, I am now equipped and ready to cook. My first meal was fragrant brown rice with chicken (a recipe from my Thai cookbook that Momma gave me). Fresh ginger, garlic, lime...my little apartment smelled quite scrumptious. I had forgotten how nice it is to make something at home. I'm already thinking about who I can invite over for my next dish of stir fried rice with pineapple and shrimp.

School continues to go well. My school is under new administration this year and we are doing a lot with curriculum development and formulating assessments. This is the first time I've really been involved in anything like this. Up until now, I have just been handed a curruiculum and been told to teach it. As far as assessments go, tests and compositions have done the job in the past. However, this year there are buzz words and jargon flying around my head like a pack of flies. It's kind of making me dizzy.

My quiet little Asian students are a bit louder now. I still have one or two students that I have to stand right next to in order to hear them, but for the most part, they have come out of their shells. I laugh on a daily basis at their shenanigans. We are doing a poetry unit now and I am impressed with their insight, the way they craft words together...
"The book is a generous god that takes us away into the world of dreams."
~Kanit
"The theif's hand is a key that can unlock and steal almost anything."
~Mint
"Her smile is as beautiful as the ocean when the sulight shines on it."
~ Kai Mook
My wonderful kids.

I have bought my plane ticket to the Philippines for Christmas break. My brother-in-law's parents are kindly hosting me for the holidays. I need to decide where I want to go in February, though, for Chinese New Year. I'm thinking somewhere tropical--Loas, Malaysia, Burma. I had planned on going to Vietnam in April for the Songkran break, but I have been toying with the idea of taking a graduate program in education over here. It is through a stateside college and classes are offered for ten days in April and ten days in June, two classes each time. I would have my masters in two years with (what sounds like) minimal time. The best part is that I would not be working while I was taking the classes, just have ten class-intensive days. And the total cost for the whole degree is only $4500. Having a master's degree will make me more marketable for some of the more competitive international schools...Italy, for example.

I am making friends and have settled into a little group of people that I hang out with. We went to tea at The Oriental Hotel last weekend. Very posh and tasty. Monica is planning a ladies night out for my birthday. She is going to try and find out if the Thai Beatles are playing anywhere the weekend of my birthday.

I am going to a conference Saturday and Sunday (8am-4pm) on authentic assessment. Since I am not really getting a weekend to rest, I may need to fit in an evening at the spa. Pedicure, manicure, back and neck massage, and a facial. Sounds like a plan.

Pratida and me

2006-10-29T05:52:00.000-08:00

Within thirty minutes of arriving at the Elephant Conservation Center (aka elephant camp) I was sitting atop an elephant. I was briefly introduced to Pratida, which means princess, and then told to get on. We were to spend the morning learning by doing and in the afternoon we would be given a list of the commands to learn. There are a few ways to mount an elephant. You ask the elephant to bend her leg so you can stand on her knee, grab on to her ear and a chunk of her rather callous skin, and throw your leg over her immense backside. I did this the first time, with the help of two maybe three mahouts pushing my backside up and over. In this moment I realized that there are times when I am glad that I don’t understand the Thai language.

Another even more humiliating way to approach an elephant is to ask her to kneel down on her two front legs. With a running start you jump up and straddle the patient beast, landing so that your face is down and your butt is up in the air. Once the elephant is in its full and upright position, you sit up and while balancing on the spine, swing your feet around and do a 180. I didn’t even attempt this feat as I don’t get much air when I jump. My brave friend Courtney, however, mastered this tactic by the end of the week. Quite beautifully actually; much to her dismay, there are pictures to prove it.

The way I preferred to mount was to ask Pratida to lie down on her side. This way I could easily swing my leg over her neck and hold on tight while she stood up. I wasn’t always positioned properly and more than once I thought I was going to fall off. Luckily that did not happen. We were pretty far from a hospital, and I don’t know if they even have a medivac over here.

Having mastered mounting, I was able to focus on “finding my seat.” At first I was very rigid and held on for dear life. Not that elephants move very fast, but when you are up that high and the elephant swings her head around to sniff the sugar cane in the air, it feels like you could easily topple off. With my knees tucked up behind her ears and squeezing my thighs together (you don’t need Suzanne Somers if you ride an elephant everyday), I was eventually able to let go and learn how to move with Pratida. To rock and sway with her movements, to lean back when we were going down a hill. Eventually, it got so that I wasn’t grasping at the sparse black hairs on her head to save me from a fall but sitting pretty with my hands resting on my knees.

Elephant Camp

2006-10-29T05:36:00.000-08:00

Day One
8:30am Check in at information center
9:00am Training program at the show ground
9:45am Elephant bathing
Yeah, even though I had showered in the morning I got to take another bath. The bell rang and all the elephants piled up in the water. The mahout scrubbed her down and I helped by splashing water on her head. I was more or less immersed in the pond; I had to get over my dislike for non-chlorinated water really fast. Note: there is a group of paying tourists watching us on the bleachers. Hear the shutters clicking rapidly.
10:00am See the elephant show
Did you know that elephants paint? They are pretty good at it, too. For about $14 you can by a masterpiece which helps support the elephants. They also play the xylophone and ring bells. On a more practical note, though, they are an invaluable source of labor. We watched how the elephants move and stack logs, which is what they did before logging was outlawed a few years ago. My favorite part though was watching the elephants curtsy or bow when their names were called.
11:00am Check in at accommodations
Our rooms for the length of our stay resembled the inside of a snake charmer’s basket. It was indeed a basket—woven walls with a thatched roof arched above it to keep the rain off. There was electricity and an attached bathroom with running water. Three rooms were all right next to each other and a mahout lived full time in the one at the end. Down the steps and to the right, picnic tables were set up next to a small kitchen where a couple of Thai ladies made our meals. It was all very homey.
12:00pm Lunch time
1:00pm Elephant taxi rides
Different elephants gave taxi rides. We walked up a wooden stand and climbed into a carriage type thing fixed on the elephant’s back. There is a quite a bit of sway in these things and Courtney and I held on for dear life. I had heard about one of these carriages slipping off before which added to my fear.
2:00pm Training program at the show ground
This is when we practiced the commands and improved our mounting and dismounting techniques. The best way to dismount was to slide off the front.
3:00pm Take the elephant to the forest
Over the hills and through the jungle to the elephant’s habitat we go. The elephants are taken to the jungle at night so they can feed since they eat all the time and it is too expensive to feed them around the clock. Each night they are taken to a different place so they have more to eat. As the elephant was doing all the work climbing up the mountain with John and me on her backside, I was already thinking about the morning when I would be walking up the mountain on my own two feet. Riding like this also afforded John the opportunity to practice Thai massage on me. I thought only the women over here give massages; I was wrong. It also gave him the chance to, unbeknownst to me, make a monkey tail out of leaves and vines and tie it to the back of my shirt. Courtney told me about it later, after she took a picture.
6:00pm Cooking time
7:00pm Dinner
Of the rice variety. And fruit for dessert.
8:00pm Sleeping time
Before we went to bed, we played cards, drank Thai whiskey and beer, and sat around and visited with the other elephant camp participants. Ruut and San (a semi retired anesthesiologist and his wife) from Holland, Andrew and his two sons (Harry, 12 and Michael, 14 from England), and Rich and Katin (a San Fran computer guy and his Thai girlfriend who spoke very little English and spent most of the time talking to the people who worked at the camp). A couple of the mahouts ate and played cards with us, too, which was very entertaining.

Day Two
6:30am Go to the jungle to bring the elephant to the center
Daybreak, climbing a mountain. Need I say more? Pratida, my elephant, was very excited to see us in the morning. She was flapping her ears and rocking back and forth, her trunk all curled up. It was adorable. We also had to pass through a small body of water so this was the first bath of the day.
8:00am Breakfast
Western style. Fried eggs, toast, fresh pineapple. Tasty.
9:00am Training program at the show ground
9:45am Elephant bathing
Second bath of the day. By this time, we had learned the command which means to spray water. If you were able to grab the trunk, you could direct the spray wherever you wanted it to go. This was better than any dunking booth. I actually fell off when Pratida went all the way under the water. I guess I could have stayed on and gone under, too, but those cameras were close by and I don’t do the drowned-rat-look very well. Besides, I had seen a snake in the water a little earlier so I didn’t mind getting out.
10:00am See the elephant show
10:50am Visit the elephant hospital
Did you know that elephants get constipated? That would explain all the bottles of vegetable oil around the place. A couple elephants had injured their feet by stepping on land mines. I didn’t know that there are still land mines around. I’ll remember that next time I try to sneak off into a deserted field in the middle of the night.
12:00pm Lunch time
2:00pm Training program
3:00pm Take the elephants back to the forest
We took them even further into the jungle, further up the mountain. I had more or less decided that I would not be making the trek up the following morning. That decision was solidified when I fell, not once but twice, on the way down the mountain. The decision was for my safety and the safety of others (those people walking behind me when my knees gave out and I tumbled down the mountain taking everyone in my path with me). My mahout didn’t know much English, but he knew enough to call me “baby” as in neophyte. However, if I had climbed in the morning, I’m almost certain I would have lived up to my childhood “cry-baby” nickname. I had reached a level of exhaustion where tears were imminent.
6:00pm Cooking time
7:00pm Dinner
Some of the best stir fry chicken I’ve had since I’ve been here and fried chicken which was damn tasty. Some vegetables and then fruit for dessert.
8:00pm Sleeping time
More card playing, whiskey and beer. I don’t know much about cards but they were playing something like Jokers Wild and Spoons. Much laughter all around.

Day Three
6:30am Go to the jungle to bring the elephant to the center
I slept in and met the crew for the first bath of the day at the foot of the mountain.
8:00am Breakfast
9:00am Training program at the show
9:45am Elephant bathing
10:00am Join in the show with the elephants
As we paraded into the show ground riding on top of the elephants, they played this music that has Thai children singing in Thai about elephants. I almost lost it (children singing always makes me cry) but I quickly composed myself and smiled for the tourists who were viewing the show. Pratida was asked to raise the flag for the show.
11:00am Get certificate of completion and say goodbye to the elephant
It was a sad moment. Bye-bye Pratida and John. After we left camp, I looked at my pictures several times the rest of the week. I don’t think I ever want a dog, but I do think I could keep an elephant.

To have fun while working

2006-10-28T19:48:00.000-07:00

In Thailand, the prevailing work ethic is to have fun while working which was definitely evident during elephant camp.

The mahouts are the elephants' masters. In the not-so-old days when elephants were used in the logging industry, mahout (pronounced ma-hoot) meant elephant driver. Now instead of driving the elephants, these men train them and (for the most part) just love them.

My mahout's nickname was John. He has worked with elephants since he was twenty years old, the last four years with Pratida and the first seven with her mother. All of 5'1" tall, John is thirty one years old and kind of reminded me of one of my 7th graders. He loved to laugh and to play. The mahouts in general were a playful bunch. They would sneak up on unsuspecting individuals and grab them, hide in the bushes and jump out at passerbys. While we were taking the elephants into the jungle one afternoon, one of the guys broke out a harmonica. Another one jammed along with a beat box using his water bottle on the elephant's backside. John was dancing behind me on the elephant's back. And another one whistled along. It was like a moving party.

At night we played cards with a couple of the mahouts. It was interesting playing cards with two Thai guys who speak very little English, a British boy of twelve, and a fifty year old Dutch lady. Somehow we figured out how to play and had one hell of a time. The most entertaining part was listening to John laugh. He has this crazy cackle that he employs often, which in turn made everyone else just break out laughing. All of this in a days work.

June Cleaver lives...in Thailand

2006-10-17T05:50:00.000-07:00

Now, I don’t want you to think that I spend an inordinate amount of time over here sitting in my studio apartment overanalyzing male/female relations in Bangkok. It’s just that when you are constantly reminded of it—driving by the Champagne Room, massage parlors on every block, seeing a 70 year old man with his arm around a 25 year old Thai girl, reading personals for men seeking an Asian wife—it’s hard not to think about it.

I have pretty much decided that the men who come over here shopping for wives are men who want life in America to revert back to the 1950’s. When wives were more like June Cleaver and less like Hilary Clinton. “Can I get you a drink dear after your hard day’s work? Can I make something for you tonight besides pot roast, you left some on your plate the other night? Oh, I understand if you come home from work after midnight every day of the week including Saturdays; work must be hard for you.” I think the men who shop for wives in Asia are looking for that kind of life.

You might think I am exaggerating so here are a couple of personal ads posted on Craigslist by American men. Note: I couldn’t resist adding my commentary.

1
Hi. my name is Mario. I'm still trying to find the right girl for marriage. I need a woman who is dedicated and loving, with no drama or attitude (read: I don’t want a woman who will tell me that she needs more from me, that she wants me to share my feelings with her, that she doesn’t understand why I can’t be faithful to her). If interested, go a head and email me with a pic and some info about you.

Me, Hard working, loving, fun (im just a teddybear). My hobbies are BBQ's karake, motorcycle riding, disneyland... You wont be disappointed :) (read: I don’t ever want to grow up; btw—did he mean karate or karaoke?)

Looking for good Thai woman for friendship and perhaps marriage. Prefer 20 years to 30 years. Anywhere in Thailand. I'm a good and decent man who has spent alot of his life in southeast asia (particularly Thailand). Go ahead and respond, take a chance. Hope to hear from you ladies.

2
Hi, I am interested in finding a thai. girl that is pretty and petit.wants a long term re-lationship.I have traveled to thailand a few times and love the counrty and culture (read: submissive women because I know he isn’t talking about the pollution and lack of toilet paper). Maybe I can meet this girl when I get over there? To share each others cultures and to have a special romance (do I really need to interpret “special romance” for you?). If you are interested send a pic. and I will respond back Paul (What’s he trying to do with his bizarre usage of the period? Poetic license?)

3
27 year old male, 5’9 185lbs, blonde hair, blue eyes, average build. I can pretty much have fun doing anything. I’m want to find a woman that desires to come to the U.S. and would enjoy being married to an American (read: even living in an air-conditioned trailer in Jersey is better than making $2 a day in Thailand). I value family and friends; there's nothing better in life than spending time with the ones you love (especially when the ones you love jump at your every command because you are their life blood and their only relative half way across the world from their home). In particular I’m looking for a woman not originally from the U.S. I have been to Thailand before and fell absolutely in love with the country, it's culture, and it's people. If you can cook it's definitely a plus in my book (I’m wondering how many books this guy has in his house…)as I absolutely love Thai food. If you are looking to become a U.S. citizen and find the love of your life...I’m your man. I am looking for a beautiful Thai wife to spend my life with. Send a picture if you have one and I’ll send mine.

Notice the common denominators seem to be pretty, Thai, and willing to marry. Just like that. I can’t even shop for a pair of shoes that easily. There is not a line anywhere that says “must speak English.” I mention this because there are many men who are married to Thai girls who speaks very little English. How do couples like that communicate? Or maybe that is what the men want—the absence of communication. The absence of questions and demands. If the women can’t speak English, then they can’t ask anything of the man.

I’m assuming when men say "I love Thailand, the culture and it’s people," they mean they love that people always smile (even though they may not be happy), that all the women are about 100 pounds, and that the women really don’t ask for much in the way of what they want or need . American women, on the other hand, tend to want a guy with social skills, education, dependability, lack of addictions, a decent job that they have worked at for a while, a tolerable face and a respect for women’s independence and personal well-being. I also know a fair number of women who, in addition to all these difficult qualifications, would like a guy to be able to spell correctly and be able to write well. Comparatively, I guess that is asking a lot.

Now here is a smattering of what the Thai women are looking for.

1
My name is meaw 24 year old,I live in Nhongbualumphu north east of thailand.I hope to meet a good man for read my marry.If you you are a good man and honest you can write me at ma_meaw@#$%^&* .I am looking forward from you. Take care.

2
Hello, I'm Nattaya. I'm a nice lady looking for my prince. He doesn't need to be perfect but only he's nice and can take care of me. I'm sweet, loyal, helpful, easy going and sincere. I want to have someone to complete my life, taking care of each other forever. I'll treat him very well and we will build a happy family together.

3
Hello, I'm a nice lady from Thailand. I'm sweet, easy going, sincere, loyal and friendly. I like to smile. I know how to treat a man. I'm serious to find someone to complete my life. I prefer to live simple and cozy. Much differece in age is not a problem for me. If you're a nice man, please write to me.

Notice the simplicity in the ladies' personals. All the women want is a husband that is Western (although that is not stated, it is implicit; Thai men generally don't use this site) and makes some money. It doesn’t really matter what else they are like. Get me out of my daddy’s house, keep a roof over my head, and feed me. It helps if you are honest and want children. Sounds very much like the women who went to college to find husbands back in the day. My favorite ad, though, had a last line which read “I am still learning english, so my friend helped me write this” (read: you won’t be able to talk to me until our firstborn is three years old but I can still clean your house, cook your meals, and keep your bed warm).

Now don’t think I am criticizing the women here. I know they have it hard. A third of the population in Thailand lives on less than two dollars a day; a sixth of the population lives on half that. I can understand that when people are that desperate, when the poverty is that severe, people will do whatever they can to escape it. Prostitution is the oldest profession for women (I believe teaching comes next; what does that say?) and it’s still going strong. I’m not really writing about the women selling themselves for money...but that’s what the women in these ads are doing, isn’t it? They are essentially saying, “I will sacrifice my family and my home country to live with a man who will support me (and more often than not, my family, too). And that’s not saying anything about the thousands of women (and lady boys) who sell themselves daily at the bars, massage parlors, dance clubs, and the streets of Bangkok. The flesh trade accounts for 2% of the GDP in Thailand. A whole lot of women are out there working, praying (literally praying before they go on-stage wearing only shaving cream) for a farang to pick them up and carry them away from the life of poverty.

No, what disturbs me is the men who come over here in droves searching for their little lotus flower. I know more than one woman in the States who is looking for a husband (some more actively than others--cha cha cha) and here are all these men coming to Asia to find a wife. And we thought they were scared of commitment. No, it seems more like they are scared of commitment with a woman who is strong willed, independent, educated, and earns her own money.

I know I am making sweeping generalizations and apologize to the men who are not this way (including Scott Becker, Matt Kite, Al Kalaskas, Nick and Daniel, Cris and Jose, John Lucier, David Pickett and KC Woller). I, myself, have found my fair share of men in Bangkok who enjoy the company of a woman who is educated, outspoken and weighs more than a bag of golf clubs. But it sure as hell isn’t the majority.

A complaint...or two

2006-10-10T05:00:00.000-07:00

The honeymoon is over. I am now entering whatever
stage comes after that; the part where I
become cognizant all the annoying little things about Bangkok that I was too busy to notice when I was trying to figure out how to get on the bus or how to decipher the laundry detergent from the fabric softener at the Big C. They say this stage, too, will pass. I hope so because I don't want to be one of those foreigners who is always complaining. But for now, it is part of the acclimation process. So, here goes...

There are no dryers over here. Notice I did not write, "a dryer is hard to find"; they are non-existent. Hang everything to dry--sheets, towels, all of it--all over your apartment so it looks like tent city.

Toilet paper at many public places is located outside of the stall, if it is there at all. Sometimes you have to pay for it. Other times, it just isn't there.

In lieu of a Western (read normal) toilet, there are often squatters. Yup, try that in heels and a pair of dress slacks with hose on. I'm sorry, my knees just don't work that well.

There are no paper towels and napkins are the consistency of toilet tissue (the cheap toilet tissue).

There are mangy, stray dogs everywhere, which means there are piles of stray dog poop everywhere, too. I'm surprised I have not stepped in it yet.

You cannot buy alcohol at the grocery store between the hours of 3pm and 6pm. I've been told the rationale behind this, but since it made no sense to me, I chose not to remember it.

When you eat at a restaurant, the waiter hands you the menu and then stands there and waits for you to order. After you order, the food and drinks come in no particular order. You very often get your food before your drink. Plates are not cleared away when you are finished and you always have to ask for the check.

Drinks are often served in a small plastic bag with handles (as opposed to a cup). Of course, it does come with a straw.

The pollution is terrible. When I have spent a lot of time outside in the city, I feel like I am a shade or two darker just from the smog that has settled on my skin. I'm waiting for someone to come up to me and write "wash me" on my forehead.

I can't touch the monks. It's not that I want to rub all over them, but when you tell me I can't do something, it just makes me want to do it all the more. What would happen anyway...?

There is a 400% markup on wine.

Something always smells. Bus fumes, smoke from a make-shift grill cooking various types of meat, stagnant canal water, sewers, fish frying, over ripe fruit...(I think I was particularly sensitive to this last week with my stomach out of wack).

Wet trash must always be separated from dry trash. I didn't know trash was so picky about what else it shares a can with.

These people don't know what cheese is.

Apparently, the Thai men have never seen breasts before. They stare at my chest (only my chest) with utter fascination. I think they really believe I am hiding torpedoes under my shirt, and I will let them loose at any minute. Run! Duck for cover!

Going to the doctor...

2006-10-04T04:38:00.000-07:00

Well, it only took me two months to get one of the food-born illnesses commonly associated with third world countries. I don't know if it was the chicken curry I ate in Chinatown or the Kingfish Carpaccio I had at my favorite Italian restaurant--either way the onslaught of tummy trouble, fever, achiness, and headaches started Monday evening. I felt terrible all day at work on Tuesday (I was just waiting for one of the kids to realize why I kept leaving the classroom and then announce it to the class) and after having a fever again that night, I called in sick for Wednesday.

I went to the hospital up the street, Thai Nakarin Hospital. I was a bit nervous because I (still) do not speak much Thai and I was worried they might misconstrue my malady (say, perhaps, think I was pregnant and going into premature labor, have me in stirrups before I could blink an eye). Turns out I had nothing to fear. I asked at information about seeing a doctor; the very nice English-speaking receptionist led me over to registration, where I filled out a minimal amount of paperwork, before she guided me over to have my vitals taken. Did you know that blood pressure cuffs come in different sizes? Thai size did not work for me. Go figure. This was slightly humiliating because the little Thai nurse had to reach down into a drawer and pull out a special box that contained an extra-large-not-very-often-used blood pressure cuff (the tears didn't come until after I was seated and waiting for the doctor; it's funny how vulnerable you are when you are sick). Then I got to climb onto the dreaded scale. Note: the good thing about kilograms is that it doesn't sound as horrendous as pounds.

During the ten minutes I waited for the doctor, I dried my eyes and then noticed the nurses. I was surprised at their 1940's uniforms--white, fitted, knee-length shirtdresses, those funny little hats, and heels. Where were the pajama-looking scrubs and thick soled nurse's shoes? I must say, the feminist in me was appalled but the aesthetic in me was quite pleased. That whole doctor nurse thing began to make some sense...

I was only in with the doctor for five minutes. He spoke English and knew exactly what I had, asked me what I had eaten. I was then sent out to the cashier and pharmacy, where I was given six different medications (I had heard they are kind of pill-happy over here). There was an antibiotic, Immodium, Tylenol 500, an anti-nausea med, another one for stomach pain, and some powder to restore electrolytes. All of these were placed in a nifty little gift bag with handles. The gift bag seemed so quaint and out of place in a hospital. The grand total for all of this--doctor's visit included--was a whopping $16. Not that I had to pay anything; my insurance covered it.

But it gets better. I decided to go ahead to the dentist office since I was out and about on my sick day off. I loaded up on my meds and hailed a taxi. I went to a dental hospital downtown which was a pretty impressive, ultra modern building with lots of glass. Apparently you don't need appointments at these places. I walked in and again had a minimal wait. (The dental assistants and female dentists dressed more or less the same as the nurses, heels and dresses, but without the hats.) Since it was my first visit, I had x-rays done first and then had a cleaning. I was very surprised to learn that I did not have any cavities since I usually have two or three. I do not have dental insurance so I had to pay full price for everything which came to $75. Not bad. If I'd had a cavity, it would have only cost me $27. Those of you who have a small fortune sitting in your mouths can appreciate the moderate pricing.

So, all this cheap cheap cheap stuff gets me wondering; how much does the average Thai person make per month. After doing a little research and talking to some locals, it sounds like $270 per month is standard, sometimes more but more often less. Yep, I said per month. Wow. Geeze. Holy crap. I make seven times that as a teacher. This might explain why I actually had money left over last month, something that NEVER happened in the states.

I took eighty five pictures Saturday...

2006-10-01T09:02:00.000-07:00

An aerial view of a temple
I love all this ornamentation
A view of Bangkok from the top of the Golden Mount
Two cool cats from Michigan--Josh and Monica; aren't they a beautiful couple?
You can never have enough of Buddha

The Local Scenery

2006-09-30T19:57:00.000-07:00

A view from the river taxi
A wat (monastary and temple)
The best view I could get of the Grand Palace; notice the Khmer-style Prang (the obvious phalluses in the picture) and the Stupa (the golden spires which seem to be everywhere in Bangkok)
Part of a wat
Buddha in the meditation pose (Dhyanamudra)

Wai Kru

2006-09-29T19:46:00.000-07:00

I don't think my tone will quite portray the awe I feel regarding this topic.

Thursday morning at school we had a Wai Kru ceremony which is held every year at schools in Thailand. The Wai Kru ceremony is when the students pay respect to their teachers. They do this partly to thank their teachers for teaching them well in the past, but also to gain merit and good fortune for the future.

Unlike teacher appreciation day/week in the states (which usually seems to be run by the PTA), the students organized and planned this assembly in their Thai and Chinese classes, where they made a power point presentation explaining Wai Kru and made the flower arrangements that were given to the teachers.

During the ceremony, all the students must stay lower than the teachers to show respect. The whole student body, preK through 12, sat on the floor in the assembly hall/gym and the teachers sat in chairs. Teachers were called up front where they were given an apple by the administrator (reflecting Western culture), flowers from the students (Thai culture), and teachers gave crackers to the students (which represented Confucius and the Chinese culture).

The part that was most impressive was the presentation of the flowers. Student representatives from each of the homerooms presented the flowers. To the left of the teachers, students were grouped and waited in a kneeling position to bring the flowers forward. A few students at a time scooted forward on their knees with the flower arrangement in their hands. Once they formed a line in front of the teachers, they set the flowers down and wai'd to us. A wai (pronounced why) is when people place their hands together in front of their chest or forehead and bow their heads to show respect. The placement of the hands shows varying degrees of respect. This special wai at the ceremony is the highest form of respect. Students sat on their bottoms with their feet splayed behind them, arranged their hands in the folded position and bowed forward, prostrate on the ground with their arms extended out in front of them. They stayed like this for a moment before getting back up on their knees and scooting forward to give us the flowers. This is one of the ways the young are taught humility in Thailand.

Needless to say, this gesture left an indelible impression on me.

The flowers used in the arrangements are symbolic. Dok Ma Khue (eggplant flower) stands for respect because when the tree is blooming its branches bend down in the same way a student pays respect to their teacher. Ya Praek (Bermuda grass) stands for patience or perseverance because although the grass looks wilted it is still very much alive. Khao Tok (popped rice) stands for discipline because the rice is placed in a pan together and heated up to become popped rice. The Dok Kem has the same name as the Thai word for needle. So it means the student will be sharp-witted and brainy.

I kinda like the symbolism.

Kanchanaburi

2006-09-26T00:56:00.000-07:00

the view

the elephant massage
Sunny, Daylin, and their new friend
Bridge over the River Kwai
water lily

Venturing out of the city...

2006-09-25T20:18:00.000-07:00

Our little hut.

This weekend was the unofficial staff bonding trip. I had planned on attending, but then I reconsidered. Even though Koh Samet used to be a really cheap place to travel, it isn’t as cheap anymore. The island is beautiful, but I didn’t feel like lounging in the tropics (without a boy to really enjoy it with—beach, sand, and sun do strange things to me) so I opted to go to Kanchanaburi with Mike, Sunny, and Daylin (her nine year old son). I miss my nieces and nephews and was looking forward to being silly with a kid for a weekend. Sunny and Daylin are from Canada and Mike is from California. The last two years they all lived in Taiwan and two years before that they were in Guatemala. Listening to them talk about where they have lived before was entertaining.

Thursday after school we hopped on a bus to Kanchanaburi, which is about two hours north east of Bangkok, cozily nestled on the River Kwai. A relatively small town, Kanchanaburi is very different from the hustle and bustle of Bangkok. Much quieter and very relaxing. We found a little guest house on the river and crashed. After a good night’s rest, Daylin was the first to wake up and on his way out the door to explore his surroundings, he spied a lizard in the room. Of course this roused the adults out of bed and caused a rearrange-the-room search for the little rascal. We looked all over the place but could not find it. (Mike eventually found him in his pants pocket Sunday after he had returned home! It was still alive, biding its time eating pocket lint.)

At breakfast, we were deciding what to do and we met B, one of the ubiquitous tour guides in Thailand. I had heard about the tour guides but this was my first experience with a real, live one. They are kind of like a blood tick; once they latch on to you, they are difficult to remove. She was actually very nice, but her persistence went beyond irritating. The first time you hear, “Special price, just for you,” it sounds pretty sweet, but the tenth time you hear it, you want to scream. Especially when she was trying to sell us something we didn’t want. We arranged a long-tailed boat ride on the River Kwai. B took us to the boat in what I would call a Thai golf cart; a motorcycle with a side cart that had a floor, a roof, and an L shaped bench attached to it. It was kind of rickety; she told me where to sit to ensure even weight distribution.

The boat ride was a mellow trip along the river. We saw the famous Bridge over the River Kwai (you may have seen or heard about the movie http://imdb.com/title/tt0050212/) and passed several floating party boats. At nine-thirty in the morning, the passengers on the party boats (more or less pontoons the size of a dance hall) were rocking and rolling with dance music and beers in hand.

We went to the Koapoon Cave Temple by boat. This was an interesting concept. A cave, complete with stalagmites and stalactites and a golden reclining Buddha. I don’t know how they fit the Buddha into the cave because there were times when squeezing through the tiny apertures throughout the cave were quite an ordeal. Duck, squeeze, squat down, crawl…it was a workout. Our Thai tour guide, who was about fifteen years old, seemed to put his hands on me every chance he had. He was the most tactile Thai I have met since I’ve been here. At one point, he was trying to situate me on a ledge next to an alligator rock formation and he tried to lift me up under the arms and scoot me to where he thought I should be for a photo op. I laughed at his feeble attempt. Sunny thought it was pretty funny, too. Being in a country where the absence of human touch is the norm, it was especially awkward to be manhandled by an adolescent.

After our trek through the cave, we headed back to our guest house for a little nap. Later in the afternoon, B picked us up again in her little Thai golf cart and took us to a songtow (a truck with benches along the bed and a roof—not an enclosed cab, just a roof). I do believe this kind of travel is illegal in Virginia. But so is riding a motorcycle without a helmet. Anyway, the tiger temple was only about twenty minutes away. This is actually a forest monastery. The monks take in orphaned tigers and other animals that are in need of nurturing. There are about eleven tigers in the canyon, a large rock formation that encircles the tigers that are just hanging out, chained to posts but not in cages. Huge tigers. Many more attendants were present than there were tigers, which I guess was supposed to make us feel safe. As I was waiting my turn, I watched each person being fed…I mean led to the tigers. Only once did I hear a tiger roar, immediately after which Mike was led to that very tiger to pose for a picture with him; I think he was a wee bit frightened. As I was being led by the hand to the tigers, I found myself thinking that at any moment one of these seemingly tame cats could decide to maul me. Jump right up and tear me to pieces. I tentatively knelt next to a big kitty for a picture; do I need to say that I was scared to death? Despite this fear, I dared to put my hand out and laid it on the feline’s rump, but only briefly. I caught a glimpse of one the cat’s rather large teeth…the better to eat me with. My heart beat ratcheted up a notch or ten while I was in such close proximity with these beautiful but monstrous creatures. Daylin even posed for a picture sitting on top of a tiger. His mom couldn’t watch for fear.

After everyone had his or her pictures taken with the tigers in the canyon, all but one of the potentially ferocious beasts were led out by the attendants. The last one was led by the monk. We then had the option of walking with the tiger. This was a rather imposing task as the tiger was no longer chained, just walking calmly beside you like a golden retriever or some other ambling domestic animal. We were given three rules to follow: no loud noises, lay one hand on the tiger’s rump so it knows you are there, and ladies, do not touch the monk. This struck me as slightly comical—touch the tiger but don’t lay a finger on the monk.

I thought this was the end of our adventure at the tiger temple but I was mistaken. After the tigers were put into cages a fair distance away from the canyon, some men came along with large rucksacks of corn on the cob. They threw the bags down on the ground so hard that they split open and then the men whistled. All of a sudden animals were running from every direction. A virtual stampede, pigs, horses, cows, roosters, peacocks, water buffalo, goats, and deer all made their way to the corn. While they were feasting, we walked casually through the animals as if they were merely people milling about a train station. I’ve visited farms before and been to parks with animals, but this was a totally different experience. Perhaps the lack of fences made it unique to me. All I could think about was how I wish Daniel, Hannah, Lizam, and Abby (especially Abby with her penchant for animals) could be there with me to see it.

Later in the evening, after a delicious Thai dinner complete with wine, we all had hour long massages, even little Daylin. I had a neck and back massage while everyone else opted for foot massages. This was the best massage I have had so far in Thailand. Not painful and not intrusive. Just out and out wonderful. Afterwards, we were all served a cup of tea. And then I went to bed and slept soundly.

Saturday morning we headed out to the floating market. We were under the impression that the floating market was nearby. So when we climbed into the back of the songtow, we were not expecting a ninety minute ride in the bed of a truck. My hair was a mess at the end of it all and felt like hay right out of a pig sty, gritty and gross. We had paid B for the outing before we left which was 490 baht per person. When we arrived at the klong to get on the boat, we were asked for another 500 baht per person. We were not in the best of moods, as we had just spent an hour and a half riding in the bed of a pickup truck, and we felt scammed. Big time. B could tell we were upset and somehow the price of the boat ride was miraculously slashed to 250 baht per person, but we still felt like we had been had. The brochure said that the price of the trip included the boat ride and B had made it all “special price.” Yeah, a real special price. But since we had traveled all that way, and we had a nine year old with us who had been pretty patient during the ride up, we went ahead with the boat ride anyway. Riding in the boat was the best part—it reminded me of Venice; Angelo steering us through the canals on the gondola. That was where the similarity ended though. The shopping was actually pretty useless and touristy. I have seen much nicer crafts and better quality items at the street markets.

We headed back to Kanchanaburi, but only after being taken to a couple different places. We really just wanted to head back, but B tried to tempt us to spend more money on a visit to an elephant show and a woodworking shop. It was easier to just submit and do as she said. We did not pay the entrance fee into the elephant place, but there was an elephant by the parking lot that Daylin was able to play with. The elephant did all sorts of tricks and even gave Daylin a massage. If given the chance, would you lay down for an elephant to massage your back with its immense trunk?

After another ninety minute ride in the truck, I was ready for a treat. Back in Kanchanaburi, I treated myself to a facial. I lay on the table and had all sorts of lotions, soaps, exfoliants, and powder lavished all over my face. Afterwards, my face felt baby smooth and I was refreshed.

We returned to Bangkok and had dinner at Senor Picos. Muy deliciouso. I enjoyed some sangria and enchiladas. For all I knew, I could have been at La Tolteca in Williamsburg. There was also a Cuban band playing which helped create a festive atmosphere. This was a fabulous ending to a wonderful weekend excursion.
Scratching under the chin is always a good gesture
The floating party boats
The elephant massage
Not one but two!

Pictures

2006-09-25T20:12:00.000-07:00

Long-tailed boat
Keeping an eye on that tiger...
Getting eats from the floating market
Feeding the stampede
In the cave

More Pictures

2006-09-25T20:05:00.000-07:00

Huge water buffalo (I think)
The floating market
The Thai version of a gold cart
Good kitty
Floating market

Big Brother

2006-09-20T04:41:00.000-07:00

For me, today was further justification for not watching television. I was sound asleep in my bed, safe and comfortable, when the news hit America that a coup had ousted the current prime minister in Thailand. Clips were shown on CNN of tanks rolling in the streets of Bangkok. A single clip or two of some tanks and soldiers in a part of town far removed from me. Down by the river, a part of town I haven't even been to yet. All at once, relatives throughout the Western Hemisphere were anxious and worried about their sons and daughters, brothers and sisters teaching abroad in Thailand.

The media once again distorted the truth by exaggerating it. Yes, schools, banks, and the stockmarket were shut down today (how do you close the stockmarket?) but everything will resume tomorrow. The prime minister is not revered like the king is; now if something had happened to the king, then all hell would probably break loose.

Today was like a snow day, without the snow. A coup day, if you will.

The thing that affected me the most, though, is how controlled communication is in Thailand. The phone tree was enacted at 1:30 in the morning because in the past (I'm guessing before everyone had cell phones) telephone lines have been cut to deter communication. CNN and BBC were pulled from the television this morning. The local news channels were not reporting the situation either, instead they were displaying pictures of the king and queen, playing the national anthem. The government in the past has also blocked certain sites on the internet from everyone in the country. Big brother is definitely watching.

Fortunately, I could get on line today and read the news on CNN. When I went to the restaurant in my building, the news was on the television and some of the military officials were speaking. Albeit they were speaking in Thai, but the coverage was being aired and that in itself was comforting.

I don't condone the over-reporting that goes on in America, but I do have a greater appreciation now for the freedom of speech and the (seeming) lack of censorship.

Cabbages and Condoms

2006-09-16T19:56:00.000-07:00

Late afternoon on Saturday, I called Courtney, the librarian at my school, and asked her if she wanted to go to dinner. She said sure. I asked her if she wanted a simple dinner or if she was up for an adventure. "How big of an adventure?" was her skeptical reply (she knows me too well, and so soon). Previously we had talked before about trying out Cabbages and Condoms and since I knew where it was, getting there at least would not be the adventuresome part of the evening.

Some of you may have heard of this restaurant before, as I hear it has been featured on different travel television shows. It is a unique experience, and if any of you happen to visit, plan on dining here during your stay in Thailand!

I'm not exactly sure where the cabbages fit into this moniker, but there is no doubt about the condoms. The profits made by the restaurant go to support AIDS awareness and family planning. The location of Cabbages and Condoms is on a quiet soi (side street) nestled in a rather large garden, which is more like a small jungle. Large palm fronds strung with white Christmas lights envelop the eatery. Walking down the path, we were greeted by a (much) larger than life penis made out of condoms. It was hanging for the rafters and reminded me of a Zeppelin floating in the sky. Before we made it to the hostess stand, there were some villagers from up north who were selling handmade jewelry; profits went to help women in need. Jewelry and supporting a good cause? You didn't have to ask me twice.

After shopping, we were seated upstairs at an outdoor table. Courtney ordered a Blue Condom; it was adorned with a purple orchid, a cherry, and a pineapple wedge. Almost too pretty to drink. From the way she relished each sip, I'm guessing that it did not have that unpleasant rubber aftertaste. Dinner was tasty, Thai food with an American slant. And very affordable. Garlic minced chicken with roasted corn in waffle cups with a leaf of cilantro for appetizer ($2.50). Chicken and potato sweet curry with rice ($6). Grilled salmon with sweet chili sauce and spicy papaya salad ($8). When the bill came, instead of a mint, we each received, yes, a condom. A very nice touch.

And for dessert, a fifteen minute foot massage ($1.60). I think that this was the best part. We had to move to the Captain Condom Lounge downstairs, where we were met by some very pleasant ladies from Issan (Northern Thailand, I think) who sat us in cozy chairs and began to work. It seemed like much longer than fifteen minutes. After a quick wash in warm water, our feet and calves were slathered in a scented lotion and then rubbed, kneaded, stretched, slapped, and pulled. Very relaxing.

I've decided that getting a foot massage after dinner might be better that any confection I could eat. And fewer calories, too.

Traffic laws...what traffic laws?

2006-09-10T05:47:00.000-07:00

Why there aren't more fatalities on the streets in Bangkok is an enigma to me. I took my first motorcycle ride the other day. Even though this is the fastest and cheapest way to get anywhere, I have been avoiding the moto scene because quite frankly, I had my doubts about whether these little scooters could hold my weight. I imagined climbing on the back of one and having it upended, throwing the petite Thai man into the air to crash somewhere behind me. You think I'm exaggerating? Well, in two different fiction novels, Son of a Circus and Bangkok 8, I read accounts of large Americans (although most farangs could be considered large over here) taking motorcycles and the descriptions make it sound like the centripetal force is compromised when the weight distribution is so top heavy. My fears seemed to be confirmed when the first time I tried to hail a moto, there was a spattering of laughter amongst the many drivers, all crowded around their money-making machines, joking in Thai, and pointing at me, at each other. I imagined them saying, "No, you take her. I want to keep my bike in one piece!" I turned around, shamefaced, and walked quickly in the other direction.

I mustered up enough courage the other day when I had to go to the mall, which is about two miles away. There were only a couple of drivers out front by the entrance to my apartment, so the laughter wasn't as formidable. I climbed on and held on, tight. He sped off and as he turned onto the main road going against the one-way traffic, I had to bury my face in his back. (Feel free to insert your expletive of choice here, because at the time, there was a litany of them going through my mind.) The driver paid no attention to my arms wrapped around his waist or to my knees pressing into his thighs with surprising force, holding on for dear life. I had been warned to keep my knees in because when the dare-devil drivers weave through cars and squeeze through narrow spots, they don't always take your long legs into consideration. The rule of thumb seemed to be don't stop for any reason. Being that we were traveling into the traffic instead of with it, this involved erratic swerving, driving on the sidewalk, turning down side streets and making u-turns. Over speed bumps, through cars stopped at intersections, traversing uneven pavement (this scared me the most...I was reminded of my Baypoint three speed biking accidents, sliding on gravel and crashing). All the while, I held on to this man the way my nephew clings to his mother when meeting strangers. I was told later by a seasoned farang that you aren't supposed to touch the driver; there is a metal bar behind the seat that you are supposed to hold onto. What the hell! NOT hold on? I'm crazy, but not that crazy. Besides, he didn't seem to mind.

After such a harrowing experience, I was most surprised to be delivered safely to my destination. I might even do it again. Maybe.
Or I could just take the bus. The wooden floors are quite charming. Whenever I am on the bus, I keep expecting to see chickens clucking around and somehow magically being transported to Cartagena.

From the teacher's perspective...

2006-09-05T08:34:00.000-07:00

My students are voracious readers, a fact that automatically earns my respect. Sometimes, they ask if they can read for the whole period and it pains me to have to say no to them. (My principal told me that twice she was going to come into my classroom, but the students were reading so quietly she didn’t want to disturb the class…hmmm, this could be useful). In addition to reading a novel written in English, many of them are also reading a book in Thai or Chinese. I am amazed by their capacity to sit there and just read, a feat in itself for many adults.

I devote much time in class to word acquisition. Since I am a word nerd, some would say I over estimate the importance of learning new words. Of course this priority is not mine alone; it part of the overall objectives that some retired administrator somewhere with a PhD in education prescribed. What impresses me is how hard the students work to actually learn the words.

Many of the students have “talking dics”—picture my face when I heard that one in class.
Student: I can’t find my talking dic.
Me: Can’t find your WHAT?
I understand that change is inevitable, but I am old fashioned in that I prefer the paper kind of dictionaries where you turn pages instead of punch in letters and read the results off of a screen. Times are a’changing. Anyway, whatever works for the little scholars. The thing is, they use these little computers all the time. Their faces are glued to this miniscule contraption that quickly finds English, Thai and Chinese definitions for them. If they still don’t understand the definition after consulting their talking friend, they ask a classmate. Oftentimes, students explain definitions to each other in their mother tongue. I am supposed to take off points for talking in another language, but for the sake of comprehension, I let that one slide. If they still don’t understand, then they ask me.

If you are not a teacher, this might seem normal to you. In your own life, if you don’t have a handle on something, you find a way to grasp the new concept. What you don’t understand is that I am used to a vast majority of kids who don’t really care to comprehend, they just want to complete. Get through, be done with it, finish. Watching this struggle to actually understand something as simple as a new word is kind of novel. It is a conscientiousness I am unaccustomed to (except for a few cases, like Kara Drechsel).

The students internalize the words and use them in their writing without being prompted. Of course, that is the whole point. I just appreciate that this is actually realized. I don’t know if you can imagine how happy it makes me to hear a 7th grade, non-native English speaker in the company of his or her peers say, “Something is amiss in the classroom” or “I can’t stop doing it because it’s habitual” (note: reprimanding him further for his actions was nearly impossible because he had so expertly used a new vocabulary word; word acquisition could totally undermine my classroom management…but it might be worth it).

I don’t want to paint a perfect picture here. I do have some kids who struggle; but they are actually struggling—not sitting their passively waiting for failure. For some, the level of comprehension is greatly reduced because of the language barrier. But they still try. They question and search until they find a way to make it theirs. They want to earn it. That is what impresses me the most.

Etcetera...

2006-09-04T08:16:00.000-07:00

Thursday afternoon, I came home from school and noticed that I had no power. The usual glacial breeze that greets me when I open the door to my apartment was not there. This did not bode well as I had a ton of things to do before I went away for the weekend, and I was supposed to go on a date later in the evening. I tried to figure out why my power was out; I hadn't even been in the apartment a month so I didn't think it was because I hadn't paid the bill. Then I vaguely recalled a piece of paper that I found in my mailbox. It looked like junk mail, a piece of paper written in Thai, folded over and stapled; I had put it in my teacher bag (read: black hole) to take to school for one of the teachers-who-know-Thai to read for me, just to make sure it wasn't a bill. That was two weeks ago and I forgot all about it.

So, I called my landlady. She called the security guard downstairs to check on things. When she called me back, she told me that I must have not paid the bill. I was instructed to take 350 Baht (about $10) downstairs to the security guard, and he would find someone to take care of it for me. This sounded pretty strange to me; just go downstairs and hand this guy some money. How would he know how to pay Dominion Power...I mean whatever the electric company is here? All I know is that ten minutes later, my power was restored. Another lesson learned: don't be late with the power bill. There is no month grace period like in the states.
I went to buy a few things today since I was paid on Thursday. I needed some more beverage glasses, end tables, a kitchen table and chairs. This was an interesting experience since my Thai has not progressed any further than hello and thank you. Making purchases that need to be delivered offers a whole other set of problems. The first lady spoke some English so that worked okay. The next lady spoke zero English. Picture it: me, speaking slow and plain English, using hand gestures that seem obvious and her speaking Thai as clear as a bell. We spoke as if the other person would miraculously understand the other. She had no idea that I needed to have the two end tables delivered and I couldn't figure out a hand gesture. I wonder if giddy-up would have worked? Fingers walking didn't work. I showed her my address, but it was written in English so that wasn't much help. I ended up going back to the other store and asking the other sales lady how to say "delivery." She couldn't tell me, but she did give me the order form where she took my order and it had Thai and English on it so I was able to take it to the other place and let her see what I needed. It was all clear after that. I should have all my purchases within the week.
This past weekend we went on a staff-bonding trip to Rayong beach. This is not one of the more opulent beaches in Thailand; it kind of had a Hotel California feel to it. The beach looked man-made with rocks that were obviously placed there piled up at regular intervals. Not much of a beach. The great part about the weekend was that it was absolutely free, so I can't really complain. We took a two hour bus ride Friday right after school. There was a quiet bus for teachers with children (isn't this an oxymoron?) and a noisy bus, I guess for the drinkers. I took the quiet bus because I wanted to read and because I felt bad for the teachers with kids who seemed to be banned to solitude, as if parents with kids don't have any fun? Anyway, we had a relaxing weekend with a lot of free time. There were some "staff bonding" activities Saturday morning, and a dinner with a variety show afterwards that was highly entertaining.

I spent a lot of time poolside, reading, and two hours at a massage parlor across the street. I wanted to try it a second time some where different to see if there were any new techniques. There were a couple. This was the kind of place where the women sit behind a window and you pick which one you want to massage you. Seems a little sketchy, huh? I saw something similar on an A&E special on red light districts. Despite the sketchy setup, the massage was more or less just like the other one; this woman walked on my back a lot more though. Even though there were slight variations, it was still pretty invasive. I could do without the inner thigh action. From now on, I am going to stick to foot, back and shoulder massages.

A book recommendation for those of you interested in Thailand: Bangkok 8 is a murder mystery by John Burdette that has bunches of cultural information about the area. The main character is a Thai cop whose mother is a prostitute who was impregnated by an American solider during the Vietnam war. A female American FBI agent comes over to help solve the case and there is some culture crash between her and the Buddhist cop. An interesting read with quite a lot about Buddhism and the sex trade in it, too.

Last night for dinner I went to Crepe & Co. Fabulous. I had a Norwegian crepe--cubed salmon with sour cream and chives. Dinner was served with both a knife and fork (as opposed to the usual Thai setting of a spoon and fork). I had a Nutella crepe for dessert and a nice glass of chardonnay. The place is run by a Greek guy. I am enjoying all of these swishy and chic little restaurants. A food lover's paradise.

Delicacies

2006-08-24T08:15:00.000-07:00

Last night I was strolling along Soi Cowboy to see what all the fuss is about (for those interested in one of the more popular reasons to visit Bangkok, check out the Soi Cowboy details at http://www.bangkokbob.net/cowboy.htm; be warned: you might have to go to confession afterwards). Minding my own business, I came across a food cart that sold some of the more interesting regional delicacies. (Fortunately, my sister Stefanie shared with me the "Amazing Race" episode that was filmed in Thailand, so I was somewhat prepared for what I saw.) Hundreds of crispy fried grasshoppers and waterbugs were all arranged on the food cart for your snacking pleasure. When I saw the hippies devouring a bowl of fried crickets to get ahead on the show, I had thought to myself I could probably eat one, just to see what it tastes like. Now, I'm having second thoughts. I think it was displaying the waterbugs (you know, those bugs that look like huge cockroaches) right next to the crickets that made me reconsider. Waterbugs for a snack--disgusting!

The Thai Massage

2006-08-24T06:54:00.000-07:00

I would like to start by saying that this is a perfectly G-rated recount of a perfectly G-rated experience (sorry boys). Although at times my narrative may sound like it is headed down a slightly salacious path, this was not a happy ending massage.

That being said, after school today I decided to get one of these famous Thai massages I keep hearing about. There is a legitimate massage parlor in my apartment building and the price is unbelievable. Since I neglected to say I wanted an hour massage, I received the two hour traditional Thai massage for $8. That's right--$8.

My masseuse, a petite Thai woman, directed me over to a bench with some spigots and washed my feet. Afterwards, she gave me a pair of slippers and some baggy pajamas. She then led me down a row of curtained areas. She opened the curtains to reveal a small space with a twin mattress on the floor and a pillow. There was also a small table but that was it. She told me to change my clothes.

This whole thing seemed a little illicit to me. It would have been different if I was in a room with solid walls but instead I was in an area that was only separated by curtains on both sides. In addition, there was a man getting a massage five feet from me behind a measly curtain, so if he was getting a happy ending massage, I would definitely hear all about it. I felt a little strange disrobing in such conditions. And then, the "baggy" pajama top wasn't so baggy. The shirt was definitely Thai-sized (a term that applies to most things in this country). When the woman came back, I asked her for a larger shirt. I think she laughed when she saw how ill-fitting the shirt was.

Once I was all outfitted for my two hours of massage, I laid down. The mattress was on top of a padded mat directly on the floor, which is different from the tables you lay down on in the States. Even so, I was still expecting this to be similar to the massages I received state side; maybe a little different technique but more or less the same. Boy, was I wrong. To get a good idea of what a Thai massage is like, think of a medium sized child taking slow and deliberate steps all over your body. Or imagine a butcher tenderizing a (large) piece of beef. Or of the contortionists you see at the circus. Or yoga. Or of a masochistic person who asks people to torture him (the last one is a slight exaggeration, but not by much). The massage I experienced was a combination of all these activities. As I lay there, being pulverized by this waif of a woman, I surmised that tomorrow I will resemble a water color painting with fresh bruises all over my body. A symphony of blue, brown, and purple.

Not that all of these shenanigans were unbearable. The strange thing about this is that in addition to being physical painful at times, it also felt incredibly good. The even stranger thing is that she put me in positions I have never dreamed of (and I have a pretty vivid imagination).
Now, the proximity of this strong but little woman was a bit disconcerting. I know massages are a fairly intimate activity, but this went beyond intimate. Normally, when someone gets as close to me as she did, I am in a relationship with that person that at least involves some kissing (if you catch my drift). She did not just use her hands to massage me either; she used her forearms, elbows, knees, thighs, and feet. At times, my foot would be positioned between her legs. That is an awkward place to be; a toe wiggle can totally be misconstrued. Another time she was behind me pressing down with her forearms on my shoulders, and pressing forward with her knees into my back. The next position felt really good but it was bizarre--I was laying on my back and she parted my legs from each other. She sat inbetween my feet and bent one of my legs at the knee so that it pointed out. Holding on to that foot, she put both of her feet on my inner thigh, held my other leg at the knee with her other hand, leaned back and pushed on my thigh with her feet to stretch my leg. At another point, she was standing on my butt and did something that resembled a jig (she definitely wasn't lacking a proper foothold in that position). Another time she had straddled my backside while she worked on my back and shoulders. I felt like I should at least be meeting her parents or something.

The event ended with me on my back, my head nestled on a pillow in her lap. She gave me a gentle facial massage, applying small amounts of pressure to my temples and forehead. She ran her hands all over my face. Then she put her hands in my hair and gave my scalp a massage, alternating between relaxing and invigorating (I would have paid $8 just for that part). Based on the previous exertions, I thought she might pull my hair, but that didn't happen. I sat up and she worked on my neck and back a little bit more before sending me on my way.

Afterwards, I felt like a rag doll that had been thrown around a little bit. I didn't really want to get up and get dressed. I think they should dress you after something like that or just let you fall asleep on the mattress for a little while. Next time I go, I think I will opt for the hour foot massage. I don't think I will feel as spent afterwards.

Vegetation, monks, and other random information

2006-08-20T00:16:00.000-07:00

Granted, I am living in a tropical area; maybe because it is so urban I did not anticipate all of the lush greenery. Plants and flowers are everywhere. It doesn't look like people had to expend much energy to make such beautiful landscape, either; it is almost as if the flowers and huge green plants just appear, the way wisteria and kudzu grow in Virginia. The picture of the little pond and falling fountain is the backyard of one of the teachers at my school. She and her husband are currently housesitting for another couple who is away for the year. The house has one of those outdoor kitchens, where the burners and all are on the back patio, next to this verdant landscaping. I think I would be more inclined to cook in such a setting. The other picture of plants and the fountain up against a building is at my school--I get to walk by it everyday!

Another picture taken at school is the one of the miniature temple which is located inside the front gate. I'm not sure exactly what it is called, but it is a place where people make offerings to ensure that the school comes to no harm. People light insence and leave fruit or water for offerings. These mini temples can be see all over Thailand.

So can monks. They are easy to spot because they are usually bald and wear a large orange cloth tied about them, almost in a toga-like fashion. They do not wear shoes and they have religious tattoos on their bodies. Apparently, they wake up very early and go to bed very early. They do not eat after 11am, so they must eat all their food in the morning. They are not allowed to buy or prepare their own food; they must ask for food and accept it from generous people. Many people provide for them because they believe in karma (what goes around, comes around). There is a monk that walks by our bus stop most mornings, a very solemn sight. One of the Thai ladies I work with bows to him with her hands folded together and held up to her forehead when he walks by. Buddism is prevelant everyway; it is not a religion but a way of life.

I tried to take some pictures of my students but was met with much hiding of faces behind books and moving to get out of the camera's path. I thought they were just extremely shy; it was explained to me that because of spiritual beliefs, some people think if you take a picture of them, you take a part of their soul. I will refrain from taking pictures of the locals.

I have spoken with a few expats (people from other countries living in Thailand) and inevitably they ask me about America. These have been people from England, India, Italy. They ask me what is it like to be an American, how do I feel about American politics, the president, Bushisms. I laugh before I give a short answer (you all know me so you can imagine what I said).

The subservience, in women especially, is something I am having a hard time adjusting to. At a luncheon held at Dr. Lalima's and Dr. John's apartment, the lady who cleans and cooks for them was passing around a tray of food. In doing this, she would kneel down next to you as she waited for you to take what you wanted. I went downtown to the Royal Orchid Sheraton for drinks on Friday and in the bar, the beautiful waitress, wearing an off the shoulder silk number, kneeled next to me while she poured my wine. I think my first impulse was to ask her to get up off her knees. What are you doing down there? It's almost embarrassing. I know that it is merely a gesture of respect; your head is not supposed to be higher than anyone you are showing respect too. I would never be able to waitress over here; up down, up down--my knees would just give out after an hour of pouring wine and serving food. Snap-crackle- pop, oops, that was just my knees. Sorry to disturb your meal...

The food has been fabulous. Of course you have to over look the fact that eggs are not refrigerated here. Not even at the grocery store. The food stalls are quick, easy, and cheap. So far I have not been sick. It helps that I do not have a sensitive stomach, unlike some people I know...Eating at first was a challenge in that knives are not an option. At every meal, a spoon and fork are provided. It is considered rude to put the fork to your mouth, so you more or less use the fork along with the spoon to pull your food apart and then push the food with the fork onto the spoon for the quick trip up to the mouth. This was awkward at first, but now it is more or less habit. Some Westerners always use a fork, but I don't want to appear gauche.

Large bills are hard to change here. A 1000 Baht (about $27) cannot usually be changed at a food stall or a taxi. This can be awfully inconvenient. I took a taxi downtown last week and was charged 81 Baht (about $2) and all I had was a 1000 Baht. The taxi driver could not change it and I didn't speak Thai so he didn't understand me when I said to wait while I went into McDonalds to change it (sidenote: they have pineapple pies here instead of apple; yummy!). When I came back out, he was gone. I was afraid he would hunt me down and be very upset with me. However, when I was walking up the drive to my apartment after school a couple days later, there he was. He was just smiling and nodding his head as I smiled back. When I realized who he was I walked over and asked him if he was the one I didn't pay. He smiled, pointed to his car, and said BTS, which is where he had dropped me off. I paid him and felt really silly. Always carry small bills.

The First Day of School

2006-08-10T03:03:00.000-07:00

I survived the first day of school. It always seems to be a crazy rush at the end to get ready, but then everything falls into place and goes well. I have 56 students which is amazing! A little explanation: we are on an alternating block schedule which means classes meet every other day for ninety minutes. There are separate Literature and Language Arts classes (I teach both) so I end up seeing all of the 7th graders every day. The other teachers on my team teach 7th and 8th grade and have twice as many students. I kind of like my set-up.

At my school, the teachers go by their first names because the last names are too difficult for the students, most of them English as a second language learners. So I am Ms. Michelle. That is going to take a little getting used to. And since the students' names are too difficult for the Western teachers, the students all go by nicknames that their parents picked for them. How difficult are their names? Some of the first names are Tanakorn, Tsun-Hong, Kuo-wei; a sample of the last names includes Phongsiripornchai, Ruangrattanathavorn, Sricharaonpong. Needless to say, I am thankful for the nick names. However, the nicknames pose a problem, too. Some of the names just make me laugh: Puh-ting, Ting Ting, Ping Ping, CoCo, M, Mini, Tong, Kanit, Fon (pronounced phone), New, Aim, Boss, Jell, Mint. I'm kind of glad Titi didn't show up today as I don't know how I will be able to say that one with a straight face.

Even though the students are in uniforms and they are all Asian, they are still 7th grade students. All the boys sat together and all the girls sat together. I guess boys still have cooties in the 7th grade? There is a lot of energy in the hallways between bells. They definitely smell like 7th graders (maybe more so because of the humidity and unaircondioned hallways). What struck me most about my new students is how quiet they are. Soft spoken is an understatement. I hope this will change some because I know they will get sick and tired of having me ask them to repeat themselves over and over again.

There are two circumstances I will have a hard time adjusting to. One: there are six floors in the building. We had to climb five flights of stairs to get to the morning assembly in the new gym. This was fine for the kids; it probably took me five minutes to get my breath back once we were arrived. (Luckily, my classroom is on the second floor.) Two: we have to drop off what we want copied. This is a good and bad thing; good because I don't have to do it but bad because I have to get better about planning ahead. Not always my best quality.

Lunch time makes up for both of those small inconveniences. Everyone gets a 45 minute lunch. Yes, 45 minutes. This is insane, and I feel a little guilty about having that much time to consume my food. It almost feels unnatural to take my time and enjoy what I am eating. Not to mention, eating in the cafeteria is like being at the food court. I had Japanese food for lunch. I ordered (by pointing) at a rolled rice concoction of some sort, the kind with meat in the middle and rice rolled around it. The lunch lady took the rolled up rice thing, sliced it into smaller pieces, placed it on a plate, and put a drop of sauce on each slice. I also ordered crispy pork with rice. She sliced up my pork, drizzled it with a yummy sauce and handed me the plate. And then I went over and ordered a Thai tea, but I could have had limeade, Chai tea, or iced coffee. All of this for $1.62. I would recommend my school to anyone on the cafeteria and lunch break alone.

I think a nap is in order.

The Chatuchak Weekend Market

2006-08-07T04:02:00.000-07:00

Saturday morning, some of the returning teachers, took us on a field trip to the largest market in Bangkok. We took taxis down to the Sky Train station (more or less an above ground subway) and then took the train to the last stop by Chatuchak Park.
This market is over 28 acres of little stalls with people selling their wares, a serious sensory overload. I walked around for three hours and at the end I felt like I would literally drop. It is this crazy maze of everything you could possibly imagine. At one point, I didn't know if I would be able to find my way out from the middle of it. There were books, baskets, animals, glass, clothes, furniture, purses and jewelry, fabric, art, antiques, silk flowers, shoes, plants, food, dishes, wall hangings...endless amounts of merchandise. You are supposed to bargain, but I didn't do very well at that. I think I need to improve my language skills before I am confident enough to really haggle. I will probably be spending quite a bit of time at the market.

For lunch I ordered a fried spicy shrimp and mango salad, with rice of course. The shrimp was fried with the shells on. I couldn't imagine sacrificing all of the yummy fried part to peel off the shells. And I didn't know if I would look like a stupid farang (foreigner) if I peeled them, so I ate the whole thing. It was tasty, but I was pulling shells out of my teeth and gums for much of the afternoon.

Driving down on the train, I had my first look at downtown Bangkok. Wow. It is quite a city. I am looking forward to exploring everything. Eventually.

My Groovy Studio Apartment

2006-08-07T03:40:00.000-07:00

My apartment here is much nicer than the one in Richmond, and it's only $300 a month. It was a good idea to choose an apartment before I arrived because it freed up my time the first week so that I could rest and recover from the flight. Unlike some of my colleagues, my apartment had everything I needed. The landladies, Nat and Baby (they are sisters) are incredibly nice. Moving in was like taking over an apartment that someone just left--there was toilet paper, paper towels, sheets, pillows, bedspread, phone and electricity connected, silk flower arrangements, rugs, towels, soap, milk, coffee, sugar, noodles. Everything I needed was here.

Park Land, the apartment complex, is pretty large. There are at least thirteen towers which are built around a huge pool, courtyard with walking paths, and a basketball court. There are two restaraunts, post office, pharmacy, convenience store, coffee shop, massage parlor, hair dresser, gym, and laundry facilities. When I walk out of the gate, there are taxis lined up and motos for hire. Also, right outside of the gate there is a line of vendors that sell beverages, fresh fruit, sausages, rice dishes, beer, and other food that I haven't figured out yet.

Reality: Bangkok

2006-08-07T02:42:00.000-07:00

I am now a resident of Bangkok. I arrived in the wee hours of the morning a week ago, and the picture to the left was my first glimps of my surroundings from the hotel balcony. The past week has been a whirlwind of activity--from getting settled in my apartment, learning essential Thai phrases, recognizing different foods and learning about new ones, buying a cell phone from someone who only speaks Thai, navigating public transportation, and meeting dozens of Western teachers, both new and returning. The returning teachers have been fabulous about orienting the newbies to Thailand. Last week we had dinner together most nights at different places around town. Many of the places are similar to courtyards without walls surrounding it. There is usually a ceiling of sorts but everything else is very open. Eating at Anna Garden was like being in a jungle, plants all around.

I want to take a Thai class so that I can speak to people beyond "hello" and "thank you." However, speaking Thai is not mandatory as most of the time you can get by with a Thai word or two, gestures, and pointing. I don't like communicating this way though. I walk to really talk with people, ask them how they are, what their name is, how old their children are.

Time

2006-07-03T08:02:00.000-07:00

July, which once seemed so far away, has arrived. Now the crunch time begins. I have sold my car to my brother in exchange for a lap top computer. I have the two suitcases that I am going to have to squeeze all my clothes, shoes, etc. into, a more difficult task that it originally appeared. I have my work visa in my possession and all other necessary papers.

I have yet to seriously begin my Thai lessons, so I can only say hello as of yet.

The days do dwindle away quickly.

Departure date finalized

2006-05-09T18:08:00.000-07:00

I will be leaving RIC on July 30, 2006 at 7:40am and arrive in Bangkok at 1:05am August 1, 2006.

"Why on earth do you want to go to Thailand?"

2006-05-07T19:04:00.000-07:00

It has been interesting fielding the reactions of my friends and family when they hear that I am choosing to leave the glorious U.S. of A. to live in Thailand. The most commonly asked question: “Why would you go and do a thing like that?”
Well, why not?
For the past few years, I have toyed with the idea of living and teaching abroad. I love America (my older sister says I’ll love it even more after living elsewhere) but there is a gnawing curiosity to step out of my comfort zone. For 29 of my 31 years of life I have lived within a 150 mile stretch of land from Richmond to Norfolk. I’ve traveled some but that isn’t the same as living in another country. I want to stretch my knowledge and flexibility, realize that the things I take for granted—air conditioning, toilet paper, finding my size shoes, French fries—are not universal. I want to see how the Thai people treat each other, what they value, witness their work ethic, see why students still respect their teachers. I want to be able to come back and say with confidence that the American way is not always the best way.
In short, I want to experience. Is that such a foreign concept?
The second most commonly asked question: “Aren’t you scared?”
Not yet.

Preparing for the big adventure

2006-04-25T13:35:00.000-07:00

I passed my physical and was deemed healthy by my physician. My passport has been renewed. All my paperwork has been sent to my new school. I should be getting my flight information soon. Relocating to Thailand is quickly becoming a reality.

Check out the school by visiting https://www.edline.net/pages/Thai_Chinese_IS

The Thai Chinese International School (TCIS) is a private, non-profit, day school for boys and girls founded in 1995 for the purpose of providing English language education for the Taiwanese community of Bangkok, as well as Thai and other communities. I will be teaching 7th Grade Language Arts.

The apartment complex where I will probably live is Thana City which consists of six buildings and include swimming pools, three restaurants, three mini marts, a Thai massage parlor, a salon, and three bars. The apartment is close to school but not so close to downtown. I will have to save my trips downtown for the weekend.

Stay tuned for next time when I answer the question that I have heard repeatedly since accepting this job, "Why do you want to go to Thailand?"