When you find yourself living on the other side of the world, visitors are a rarity. You’ll hear any number of excuses including – the flight is too expensive; I’m scared to travel alone; I don’t have the time; the flight is too long; or my personal favorite, I’m afraid I’ll shit my pants after a week of spicy Thai food. You can write out personal invitations until your hand falls off, I can guarantee you that almost everyone of those RSVP’s will say something like, “I regret to inform you that my digestive track can’t handle the trip half-way around the world because it’s too expensive and I don’t have the time.” That is why I am so thrilled that my brother will be coming to visit me at the beginning of October.
As some of you know, my first semester of school is finished at the end of this week. It’s odd because I feel as though I’ve just started to get the hang of some of my classes, students, and curricula, but alas, it’s time to end. Either way, I am finished teaching until the beginning of next semester, which starts November 3rd. The past few weeks have been nothing but finals, grading, finals, grading, and more finals and more grading. My official vacation begins on Tuesday, October 7, when I will be traveling via train to Bangkok International Airport. Here is where I will meet up with my brother, and we will begin National Lampoon’s Thailand Vacation – only this time, there will be no Beverly D’Angelo.
During this time, I will find myself almost entirely disconnected from the world. I will attempt to update my Blog, but given that I will not have my laptop, I am limited to Internet cafés and my desire to leave the white sandy beaches of Thailand (forewarning – I don’t leave the beach for much of anything). Not to worry though, I plan to bring my old fashion writing tools – a notebook and a pen. This should prove useful for journaling, which can transfer to Blogging upon my return. Should it be an emergency, you can always reach me on my mobile. In any case, I bid you a fond farewell as I depart for my much-needed vacation; in the words of Wyclef Jean, “I’ll be gone til November.”
About Me
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Going Green Vs. Granola Gay
It wasn’t until the other day that it finally hit me – it was the simplest of activities, but my reactions have completely changed since being here. I was getting ready to go on a run, and grabbed the last banana that was sitting on the top of my fridge. The yellow fruit was purchased from the market but a few days ago. As you can imagine, the heat of Thailand helps to ripen things at an exponential rate. The once-ripe banana was beginning to soften, and I knew that if I didn’t eat it soon, I’d be taking it to the smoothie lady to make into a shake. As I was beginning to peel it, I noticed an ant crawling on the side. After peeling the top half of the banana, I noticed about a half dozen or so ants inside the peel and on the banana. Nothing is safe from the ants here – nothing! Wouldn’t you know it, right then my banana splits in two and the peeled top half falls to the floor. I scoop it up. Giving it a glance, I am pleased to find that most of the ants have since fallen off. What’s more, the banana has not accumulated any noticeable debris from the floor – I popped it in my mouth. That’s right – I ate from the floor of my apartment! That’s not the worst of it – this whole process took only a matter of seconds to happen. Not once did I think, “oh, my banana is ruined!” It wasn’t ruined when it hit the floor, and it wasn’t ruined because it had ants on it. I was not keen on eating the ants, but they would have been disguised by the overwhelming taste of the banana. It was at this point that I truly began to think about my status of “granola gay” here in Thailand, and I began to look back at the other things I’ve started to do that would seem uncharacteristic of me.
Since my arrival in Thailand, I have found myself “going green;” not necessarily for the sake of saving the environment, but to save myself some green – Baht, that is. We all know the term “going green.” It’s a huge part of popular western culture, which includes recycling, hybrid SUV’s, and my personal favorite, the reduction of plastic bags by using canvas totes.
In today’s western culture, the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and trans-gendered (LGBT) community has been stereotyped as being obsessed with image, physique, partying, and of course, labels, labels, labels! To be fair, this is the stereotype that can be widely associated with gay men. A “granola gay” is a very small sub-set of the gay culture. A “granola gay” is someone who thinks cotton is a label; insists that the greatest scent ever invented is lavender or patchouli; has hair that is either wildly disheveled or way too simple; and their choice of foot apparel is something that is function over fashion – ideally made by Merrell, Birkenstock, or Chaco. To over simplify the definition, it will suffice to say that a “granola gay” is a modern day gay hippie – the counter-culture of mainstream Gay USA.
After my first month of being here, I received my monthly “bill” for living in the BS Apartments. I use the term “bill” rather loosely, as my monthly statement is the equivalent of someone writing their telephone number down on a napkin at a bar, and you referring to this as your “phone book.” In any case, I received my bill for the month and was nearly blown away. My monthly rent is 3,500 Baht ($100). Sounds like a bargain when you’re making upwards of 40-50K US Dollars each year. Take a moment to remember that I am living and working on the Thai Baht. My expense for rent each month is about 15% of my income. Has this changed your perspective any? Fine, 15% -- I can swing that, just let me know who I need to pay. Oh, I wish it were that easy. Instead, I am also charged for water and electricity, as well as the price of laundry. With these additional expenditures, my monthly bill has increased to 5,400 Baht ($156). I’m told there is a “system” to calculating electricity and water for apartment buildings, but that it is at a much higher rate than single family homes in Thailand. Not sure why, but this is what I’m told by fellow Ferrang and Thais alike. With that, no one can tell me the specifics of how they calculate these raping rates – it’s anyone’s guess, really.
After paying the previous month’s staggering bill, I decided I needed to make some serious life changes. First thing to go – the Air Conditioning. For the first few months of living here, I was using my AC like a hooker uses red rouge. It ran day and night, keeping my apartment so cold that I could have rented it out during the day as a meat locker. Come to think of it, that would have been a great way to supplement my rent. But alas, I decided to forego the modern amenity and have since discontinued using my AC. That’s right, I have learned to sleep in the Thailand heat with nothing more than two open windows and an electric osolating fan. The only solace I find is that I have screens which do a relatively good job of keeping most bugs and wild life outside. I have the usual nighttime guests at my inn, including an occasional cockroach, ants galore, and geckos. We usually sleep in our separate quarters, except for the ants who seem to always want to curl up with me in bed. You read that correctly, I’ve learned to have ants and other small bugs crawl on me while I’m sleeping. Going green or granola gay?
With my electricity bill declining at an exponential rate, my next goal was to decrease my amount of water usage. This is where I had to become a little bit more creative. Adopting an old camping term, I learned – “if it’s yellow, let it mellow; if it’s brown, flush it down!” That’s right, one of the ways I have learned to reduce the my amount of water is by not flushing my toilet after each use. It can become a bit gamey in there, and I usually flush the toilet at the end of each day. However, I have learned to get creative even when flushing my toilet. Remember the bucket that I use to cover the drain in my shower, so as to avoid water bugs and cockroaches from joining me and my rubber ducky for bath time? Well, I have learned to collect the water I use from my shower in the bucket, and then I reuse that cleverly collected shower water to flush the toilet. I think you can adequately say that my bathroom has a unique odor all its own. Going green or granola gay?
Finally there was the issue of laundry, and how to bring this cost down. I brought this topic to a few of my fellow expats one evening while sitting at the Riverside. An older gent from London began to tell me about his first few years here in Thailand and how he washed his clothes by hand in the sink of his bathroom. He began to explain the simplicity of it, at which point I stopped him mid-sentence. I began to tell him about my obsession with laundry. I will mark my life’s success when I have in-unit washer and dryer. Until then, I hinge my daily cleanliness on the fact that I do not watch the laundry ladies wash my clothes here at BS Apartments. I’m positive they aren’t using the Kenmore Elite front-loading washing machine that can handle 400 pairs of size 22 denim jeans, on the super-duper sanitary cycle. However, I simply ignore this aspect of my life. Upon the return of my laundry, I don’t ask questions like, why my pants still have stains on them, or why my ‘whites’ are more of a tan. I receive my clothes back from the laundry lady, and I assume they are ‘clean’. If I had to actually do my own laundry in the sink of my bathroom, I would know my clothes weren’t clean. And if that happens, I wouldn’t be able to live with nightly guests in my apartment, while sleeping without air conditioning and covered in bugs. I would sooner make my own clothes from scratch, textile weave and all, before I hand wash my clothes. I would sooner go commando, as opposed to being stooped over a bucket, beating my calvins with a stick. A granola gay has to draw the line somewhere – my line includes the laundry line.
I came home today and received my September bill for PS Apartments. I almost fell off my Flip-Flops! The bill was surprisingly only 4,030 Baht. That’s only 530 Baht more than it’s supposed to be – all because of the laundry I had them wash during the month. I guess all of my dedication to going green or being granola gay, has finally paid off. I saved myself nearly 1,000 Baht ($29.25). I immediately went upstairs, turned on the AirCon and flushed the toilet – I deserved it!
Since my arrival in Thailand, I have found myself “going green;” not necessarily for the sake of saving the environment, but to save myself some green – Baht, that is. We all know the term “going green.” It’s a huge part of popular western culture, which includes recycling, hybrid SUV’s, and my personal favorite, the reduction of plastic bags by using canvas totes.
In today’s western culture, the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and trans-gendered (LGBT) community has been stereotyped as being obsessed with image, physique, partying, and of course, labels, labels, labels! To be fair, this is the stereotype that can be widely associated with gay men. A “granola gay” is a very small sub-set of the gay culture. A “granola gay” is someone who thinks cotton is a label; insists that the greatest scent ever invented is lavender or patchouli; has hair that is either wildly disheveled or way too simple; and their choice of foot apparel is something that is function over fashion – ideally made by Merrell, Birkenstock, or Chaco. To over simplify the definition, it will suffice to say that a “granola gay” is a modern day gay hippie – the counter-culture of mainstream Gay USA.
After my first month of being here, I received my monthly “bill” for living in the BS Apartments. I use the term “bill” rather loosely, as my monthly statement is the equivalent of someone writing their telephone number down on a napkin at a bar, and you referring to this as your “phone book.” In any case, I received my bill for the month and was nearly blown away. My monthly rent is 3,500 Baht ($100). Sounds like a bargain when you’re making upwards of 40-50K US Dollars each year. Take a moment to remember that I am living and working on the Thai Baht. My expense for rent each month is about 15% of my income. Has this changed your perspective any? Fine, 15% -- I can swing that, just let me know who I need to pay. Oh, I wish it were that easy. Instead, I am also charged for water and electricity, as well as the price of laundry. With these additional expenditures, my monthly bill has increased to 5,400 Baht ($156). I’m told there is a “system” to calculating electricity and water for apartment buildings, but that it is at a much higher rate than single family homes in Thailand. Not sure why, but this is what I’m told by fellow Ferrang and Thais alike. With that, no one can tell me the specifics of how they calculate these raping rates – it’s anyone’s guess, really.
After paying the previous month’s staggering bill, I decided I needed to make some serious life changes. First thing to go – the Air Conditioning. For the first few months of living here, I was using my AC like a hooker uses red rouge. It ran day and night, keeping my apartment so cold that I could have rented it out during the day as a meat locker. Come to think of it, that would have been a great way to supplement my rent. But alas, I decided to forego the modern amenity and have since discontinued using my AC. That’s right, I have learned to sleep in the Thailand heat with nothing more than two open windows and an electric osolating fan. The only solace I find is that I have screens which do a relatively good job of keeping most bugs and wild life outside. I have the usual nighttime guests at my inn, including an occasional cockroach, ants galore, and geckos. We usually sleep in our separate quarters, except for the ants who seem to always want to curl up with me in bed. You read that correctly, I’ve learned to have ants and other small bugs crawl on me while I’m sleeping. Going green or granola gay?
With my electricity bill declining at an exponential rate, my next goal was to decrease my amount of water usage. This is where I had to become a little bit more creative. Adopting an old camping term, I learned – “if it’s yellow, let it mellow; if it’s brown, flush it down!” That’s right, one of the ways I have learned to reduce the my amount of water is by not flushing my toilet after each use. It can become a bit gamey in there, and I usually flush the toilet at the end of each day. However, I have learned to get creative even when flushing my toilet. Remember the bucket that I use to cover the drain in my shower, so as to avoid water bugs and cockroaches from joining me and my rubber ducky for bath time? Well, I have learned to collect the water I use from my shower in the bucket, and then I reuse that cleverly collected shower water to flush the toilet. I think you can adequately say that my bathroom has a unique odor all its own. Going green or granola gay?
Finally there was the issue of laundry, and how to bring this cost down. I brought this topic to a few of my fellow expats one evening while sitting at the Riverside. An older gent from London began to tell me about his first few years here in Thailand and how he washed his clothes by hand in the sink of his bathroom. He began to explain the simplicity of it, at which point I stopped him mid-sentence. I began to tell him about my obsession with laundry. I will mark my life’s success when I have in-unit washer and dryer. Until then, I hinge my daily cleanliness on the fact that I do not watch the laundry ladies wash my clothes here at BS Apartments. I’m positive they aren’t using the Kenmore Elite front-loading washing machine that can handle 400 pairs of size 22 denim jeans, on the super-duper sanitary cycle. However, I simply ignore this aspect of my life. Upon the return of my laundry, I don’t ask questions like, why my pants still have stains on them, or why my ‘whites’ are more of a tan. I receive my clothes back from the laundry lady, and I assume they are ‘clean’. If I had to actually do my own laundry in the sink of my bathroom, I would know my clothes weren’t clean. And if that happens, I wouldn’t be able to live with nightly guests in my apartment, while sleeping without air conditioning and covered in bugs. I would sooner make my own clothes from scratch, textile weave and all, before I hand wash my clothes. I would sooner go commando, as opposed to being stooped over a bucket, beating my calvins with a stick. A granola gay has to draw the line somewhere – my line includes the laundry line.
I came home today and received my September bill for PS Apartments. I almost fell off my Flip-Flops! The bill was surprisingly only 4,030 Baht. That’s only 530 Baht more than it’s supposed to be – all because of the laundry I had them wash during the month. I guess all of my dedication to going green or being granola gay, has finally paid off. I saved myself nearly 1,000 Baht ($29.25). I immediately went upstairs, turned on the AirCon and flushed the toilet – I deserved it!
Friday, September 19, 2008
Letters from Lambs
When I was in Junior High School, I remember the cool thing was passing notes between classes. The notes would inevitably be written during a class that bored you to tears, and you decided to take the time and get caught up with your friends. Whether the note detailed your plans for after school, or the latest drama from your first of many devastating break-ups; it was always written in long hand on notebook paper and intricately folded and passed between classes. This trend continued into high school. Once I reached college and at the height of the technological boom, note passing quickly became replaced with email exchange and instant messaging. Years after finishing college, and even with a recent masters degree under my belt, I am continuing to see that even email and instant messaging are becoming archaic forms of communication; replaced with text messaging and personalized websites like facespace and sit-on-my-face. I can’t help but take a moment and wonder – whatever happened to writing a letter, placing a stamp on it, and mailing it to the person? Has technology really become so advanced that we don’t need this form of communication any more, or have we become so obsessed with doing things as quickly as possible, in order to move on to the next thing that we’ve forgotten how to take a few minutes from our busy day and compose a letter?
I’m not sure when it began, but I’d guess it started shortly after I arrived at college my freshman year. I began to receive letters from my Grandma, who I affectionately refer to as LAMBS. Seems like an odd nickname for a grandmother, until you find out that her initials actually spell out L-A-M-B-S, and that her license plate is LAMBS 2. During the first few years of my college career, I would receive letters from LAMBS, and in all honesty – I never really appreciated them at the time. It was simply another piece of mail that served as a reminder that I should call my grandmother – whom I hadn’t spoken with since the last major holiday. The correspondence would usually be something as simple as letting me know what was happening with her; any recent trips she’d taken; who she ran into at the bizarre at St. Joe’s; or my personal favorite, who’s recently died. It wasn’t until I finally left college, and started living in the “real world,” that I finally began to appreciate the letters and notes that she would mail to me. Her letters were something simple that reminded me that she loves me and was thinking about me.
During my ambiguous years of life post-college and pre-graduate school, I began to reply to LAMBS’ letters. I was not nearly as dedicated as she was, but I made it a point to try and send a letter out at least monthly – regardless if I’d seen or spoken with her in that time. Like my days of writing notes in high school, I wrote my notes long hand on notebook paper. That’s right, in the new millennia I used archaic things like paper, a pen, and a stamp. After I began doing it, I realized how cathartic this process was, and thus I began to journal as well. With journaling, I began to explore myself deeper – thoughts, feelings, emotions, rational, irrational, mundane or profound. I started to write down whatever was on my mind that seemed to be bothering me – and now I love it!
I know it sounds tripe and a bit corny, but I love sending postcards when I travel. I remember driving across the country with my brother when he moved to Los Angeles, California. My family and friends all got random postcards from places like Oklahoma, or the Texas panhandle. We would buy them in bulk when we’d stop to gas up early in the day, and mail them out when we stopped for lodging in the evening. This trend continues as I live in Thailand. I have been sending out postcards to friends and family. Though I’m not traveling, who doesn’t like receiving a postcard from Lampang, Thailand?
Being on the other side of the world has revived my love for writing. I continue to journal online, and I also stay dedicated to my personal journal. However, what I’ve truly learned to appreciate while living far from my family and friends and everything else that is familiar – postal mail. Since being here, I have received weekly letters from LAMBS, and staying true to my original commitment, I have continued to write to LAMBS on a weekly basis – usually Sundays. I have also started to write more letters to my friends and family members back home. Additionally, I have also received a few parcels from both my mom, my brother, and a very dear friend, which included among other things, a quick note reminding me that I was on their mind and that they loved me.
Today, I received another such parcel, only this time – it was an entire shoebox filled with handwritten letters from former students and colleagues back in Chicago. I am connected with most of these people on facespace, so the fact that they took the time to write letters – well, this was one of the most touching gestures I could have ever received. This simple act reminded me how truly blessed I am, and how lucky I’ve been to share in the lives of all these different people. I was actually speechless when I opened the box to discover the abundant amount of notes – it’s like I was back in Junior High School. In true form, I immediately drafted a note in response.
I’m not sure where my dedication to postal mail comes from. Is it genetic, and simply passed down from LAMBS? Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I hate to see the English language, or any language for that matter, boil down to the point of text messaging, instant messaging, and email communication. Whatever happened to words like “dearest” and “thou?” Have these beautifully written words really become replaced with “C U @ 7 ;)” or “R U Going?” Maybe I was simply born about 100 years too late, and I really belong in a simpler time when letter writing was your only option for communicating with people. Whatever happened to the days of knowing your postman by name? Maybe I’m just a simple Midwestern boy who will always be swooned by a love letter verse a fancy gift – though the gift is always appreciated. Whatever happened to writing love letters – is text messaging the beginning of the end of romance? Well, this is one individual who promises to continue to take the time out of his day to write letters and postcards to his family and friends – even if it is only LAMBS who replies. That’ll be enough to keep me writing.
I’m not sure when it began, but I’d guess it started shortly after I arrived at college my freshman year. I began to receive letters from my Grandma, who I affectionately refer to as LAMBS. Seems like an odd nickname for a grandmother, until you find out that her initials actually spell out L-A-M-B-S, and that her license plate is LAMBS 2. During the first few years of my college career, I would receive letters from LAMBS, and in all honesty – I never really appreciated them at the time. It was simply another piece of mail that served as a reminder that I should call my grandmother – whom I hadn’t spoken with since the last major holiday. The correspondence would usually be something as simple as letting me know what was happening with her; any recent trips she’d taken; who she ran into at the bizarre at St. Joe’s; or my personal favorite, who’s recently died. It wasn’t until I finally left college, and started living in the “real world,” that I finally began to appreciate the letters and notes that she would mail to me. Her letters were something simple that reminded me that she loves me and was thinking about me.
During my ambiguous years of life post-college and pre-graduate school, I began to reply to LAMBS’ letters. I was not nearly as dedicated as she was, but I made it a point to try and send a letter out at least monthly – regardless if I’d seen or spoken with her in that time. Like my days of writing notes in high school, I wrote my notes long hand on notebook paper. That’s right, in the new millennia I used archaic things like paper, a pen, and a stamp. After I began doing it, I realized how cathartic this process was, and thus I began to journal as well. With journaling, I began to explore myself deeper – thoughts, feelings, emotions, rational, irrational, mundane or profound. I started to write down whatever was on my mind that seemed to be bothering me – and now I love it!
I know it sounds tripe and a bit corny, but I love sending postcards when I travel. I remember driving across the country with my brother when he moved to Los Angeles, California. My family and friends all got random postcards from places like Oklahoma, or the Texas panhandle. We would buy them in bulk when we’d stop to gas up early in the day, and mail them out when we stopped for lodging in the evening. This trend continues as I live in Thailand. I have been sending out postcards to friends and family. Though I’m not traveling, who doesn’t like receiving a postcard from Lampang, Thailand?
Being on the other side of the world has revived my love for writing. I continue to journal online, and I also stay dedicated to my personal journal. However, what I’ve truly learned to appreciate while living far from my family and friends and everything else that is familiar – postal mail. Since being here, I have received weekly letters from LAMBS, and staying true to my original commitment, I have continued to write to LAMBS on a weekly basis – usually Sundays. I have also started to write more letters to my friends and family members back home. Additionally, I have also received a few parcels from both my mom, my brother, and a very dear friend, which included among other things, a quick note reminding me that I was on their mind and that they loved me.
Today, I received another such parcel, only this time – it was an entire shoebox filled with handwritten letters from former students and colleagues back in Chicago. I am connected with most of these people on facespace, so the fact that they took the time to write letters – well, this was one of the most touching gestures I could have ever received. This simple act reminded me how truly blessed I am, and how lucky I’ve been to share in the lives of all these different people. I was actually speechless when I opened the box to discover the abundant amount of notes – it’s like I was back in Junior High School. In true form, I immediately drafted a note in response.
I’m not sure where my dedication to postal mail comes from. Is it genetic, and simply passed down from LAMBS? Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I hate to see the English language, or any language for that matter, boil down to the point of text messaging, instant messaging, and email communication. Whatever happened to words like “dearest” and “thou?” Have these beautifully written words really become replaced with “C U @ 7 ;)” or “R U Going?” Maybe I was simply born about 100 years too late, and I really belong in a simpler time when letter writing was your only option for communicating with people. Whatever happened to the days of knowing your postman by name? Maybe I’m just a simple Midwestern boy who will always be swooned by a love letter verse a fancy gift – though the gift is always appreciated. Whatever happened to writing love letters – is text messaging the beginning of the end of romance? Well, this is one individual who promises to continue to take the time out of his day to write letters and postcards to his family and friends – even if it is only LAMBS who replies. That’ll be enough to keep me writing.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
The First Trimester
I like to think about this experience in Thailand similar to that of giving birth or being pregnant. My contract with the school is about 9 months. I started the experience with excitement, jubilation, and glee – similar to that of an expecting mother (assuming it was a planned pregnancy, of course). That was me before I left Chicago; finishing up my graduate program and preparing to leave for Thailand. I couldn’t have been more excited. My new opening line with strangers was, “Hi, I’m Josh and I’m leaving for Thailand in a week! What was your name again?” As if I was going to actually remember it – puh-leeze! Let’s focus the conversation back on me, and Thailand. Did I mention I would be living there for a year? All the pre-Thailand excitement kicked in. I was shopping for stuff I wasn’t sure I’d need. Picking up travel books, and doing Internet research about my new life-altering topic. Packing cloths for a culture I could only imagine, and buying toiletries for a climate I had never experienced. After all, I’m sure they don’t have things like toothpaste or lotion in Thailand. I’d better pack a year supply. It was all glamour and glitz the first month or so, that was, until the morning sickness kicked in.
The period of morning sickness is what I equate to becoming acclimated in my newfound culture. Everything is different, my sleep patterns, my eating habits, my cravings, my sense of smell, clothes began to fit differently, and I pray that my gestation period of throwing up – or in this case, diarrhea – is short lived. In combination with that, I begin to feel that no one truly understands me, or what I am going through – similar to that of a newly impregnated woman. No one understands why I begin to cry when watching a Thai television commercial, or how the 7-11 clerk causes me to blush with a simple look. Never mind the outbursts of anger at the random market woman. They never saw it coming when they simply asked if I wanted sticky or plain rice.
As I continue on in my cycle, I hit the end of the first trimester. Three months done, and I strangely find myself in a new emotional state. This usually entails talking about the baby with real names, as opposed to calling it just ‘the baby’. In my case, I begin to talk about places in Thailand, and refer to my city with a sense of community and ownership. “I can’t believe they want to open a Starbucks! Do they really think we’ll go there?” As though I can speak for the whole of Lampang because I now live here – I am a member of the community. Heck, I should be the mayor! Additionally, the shopping begins. Normally it includes an androgynous onesie with a cute hat and matching bib. The pattern is usually something fit for both sexes, like clowns or ducks. God forbid we put a girl in an outfit with trucks – it’s sure to brand her a lesbian for life. The John Goodman-flannel-wearing type at that! For me, it is the reverse – trying to fit people with gifts from Thailand. Let’s see, will my father enjoy the ceramic statue of an Afghan man holding a gun, or would he prefer an opium pipe made of corn? And my mother – will she want a pair of knock-off “Gucci” flip-flops with a gold “C” instead of the standard “G”, or will she want a poster of the Queen of Thailand, framed with golden paint? Maybe I’ll simply buy a box of flip-flops from the street vendor, and allow my family to fight over it once I get home. But I’m still curious – who would come out with the “Gucci” flip-flops?
Having survived 3 months of living abroad, I would like to say I’ve learned a thing or two. In this short time, I’ve discovered that Thai is not a language you just “pick-up,” like a carton of milk from the grocery store. I am going to downplay other westernized languages by saying – at least you are using the same, or similar, alphabets in your foreign language. With Thai, it’s anyone’s uneducated guess at the alphabet. Never mind that the difference from one letter to the next is a simple curly-cue french-fry looking thing on the end. And the English translations here are a nightmare! My favorite is a billboard that has the slogan, “Experience Miracle Lampang Since 1,378.” I’m still confused about what this miracle is they speak of, and are they saying they have been around since the year 1378 or have they been around for 1,378 years. If it’s the latter, that is going to be one expensive billboard to replace EVERY year. Oh, 2008 is over – better replace the billboard to say 1,379 years. Furthermore, is this 1378 based on the Gregorian calendar, or the Buddhist calendar? I mean, during high-season there are enough backpackers roaming through the city. Would it have been so difficult to grab one of them off the street and ask two questions – 1) are you a native speaker of English? 2) If yes, does this billboard make sense?
The past three months have been an exercise in patience, but if there is one thing I’ve reverted back to in my every day life, it is my affection for sarcasm. Upon my arrival, I would get frustrated with people walking slowly, stopping mid-stride, or simply not following any sort of pedestrian code of conduct. After a few short weeks of habitually walking through the market in search of food or on my way through town, I quickly learned to smile, be patient, and not be bothered by it. I figured, over time I would understand the pedestrian walking patterns and make sense of the sub-culture that was the market in Lampang. Three months later, I can tell you that there are no social or cultural norms that are adhered to when walking through the market – and I am still bothered by it. In the first few months, if a woman would stop in front of me for no apparent reason while walking through the market – just stop; I would politely duck by her and continue on my way. Lately, I have found myself stating the obvious – something like, “Great place to stop and stand lady!” Or, “Yeah, I understand why you wouldn’t move out of the way – it’s important that you stand in that specific grease stain.” If they really catch me on an off day, I’ll throw in some words of the four-lettered-variety – but you can bet your ass that each passing comment is accompanied by a roll of the eyes. After all, they don’t understand what I’m saying – and it makes me feel better, so why not? And smiling has ceased to exist on my face when walking through the market. I smile at no one for any reason, even if I am buying something. Maybe it’s my inner kraut shinning through – I can hear the Thai vendors now, “Oh, he’s not American – he must be German because he never smiles and he has that shaved head.”
If there is one thing I’ve learned in Thai culture, it is that everyone likes to stare at tall whitey walking through the city. They stare, sometimes point, there is always a laugh or snicker, and occasionally a random “hello!” shouted at me from passing motorbikes. I’ve learned to ignore the “cat-calls” – I am not a prostitute, street-walker, call-boy, or houseboy and this is certainly not Hollywood Boulevard, or even the North Avenue Bridge. Additionally, I’ve learned to stare back. You will be amazed at how many people will back down when you put a stern look on your face and stare at them directly in the eye. And if there’s laughter, I simply stare more intently, until they turn their backs to me. I suppose it’s my inner hard-ass coming out to play in the streets of Lampang. I’m sure I’ll learn my lesson when I’m stabbed with a rusty, sawed off pipe. Until then, I’m teaching them about my culture – staring is rude!
In the end, I continue to acclimate myself to the rigors of Thailand, and I’ve done some minor adjustments to the cultural assimilation – akin to when you buy maternity clothes. The abroad experience is about learning to fit in, but not lose yourself in the process. I’ve simply taken my Thai cultural clothes and bought them a little big, realizing that over the course of the next 6 months, I’ll need a little room to grow into them.
The period of morning sickness is what I equate to becoming acclimated in my newfound culture. Everything is different, my sleep patterns, my eating habits, my cravings, my sense of smell, clothes began to fit differently, and I pray that my gestation period of throwing up – or in this case, diarrhea – is short lived. In combination with that, I begin to feel that no one truly understands me, or what I am going through – similar to that of a newly impregnated woman. No one understands why I begin to cry when watching a Thai television commercial, or how the 7-11 clerk causes me to blush with a simple look. Never mind the outbursts of anger at the random market woman. They never saw it coming when they simply asked if I wanted sticky or plain rice.
As I continue on in my cycle, I hit the end of the first trimester. Three months done, and I strangely find myself in a new emotional state. This usually entails talking about the baby with real names, as opposed to calling it just ‘the baby’. In my case, I begin to talk about places in Thailand, and refer to my city with a sense of community and ownership. “I can’t believe they want to open a Starbucks! Do they really think we’ll go there?” As though I can speak for the whole of Lampang because I now live here – I am a member of the community. Heck, I should be the mayor! Additionally, the shopping begins. Normally it includes an androgynous onesie with a cute hat and matching bib. The pattern is usually something fit for both sexes, like clowns or ducks. God forbid we put a girl in an outfit with trucks – it’s sure to brand her a lesbian for life. The John Goodman-flannel-wearing type at that! For me, it is the reverse – trying to fit people with gifts from Thailand. Let’s see, will my father enjoy the ceramic statue of an Afghan man holding a gun, or would he prefer an opium pipe made of corn? And my mother – will she want a pair of knock-off “Gucci” flip-flops with a gold “C” instead of the standard “G”, or will she want a poster of the Queen of Thailand, framed with golden paint? Maybe I’ll simply buy a box of flip-flops from the street vendor, and allow my family to fight over it once I get home. But I’m still curious – who would come out with the “Gucci” flip-flops?
Having survived 3 months of living abroad, I would like to say I’ve learned a thing or two. In this short time, I’ve discovered that Thai is not a language you just “pick-up,” like a carton of milk from the grocery store. I am going to downplay other westernized languages by saying – at least you are using the same, or similar, alphabets in your foreign language. With Thai, it’s anyone’s uneducated guess at the alphabet. Never mind that the difference from one letter to the next is a simple curly-cue french-fry looking thing on the end. And the English translations here are a nightmare! My favorite is a billboard that has the slogan, “Experience Miracle Lampang Since 1,378.” I’m still confused about what this miracle is they speak of, and are they saying they have been around since the year 1378 or have they been around for 1,378 years. If it’s the latter, that is going to be one expensive billboard to replace EVERY year. Oh, 2008 is over – better replace the billboard to say 1,379 years. Furthermore, is this 1378 based on the Gregorian calendar, or the Buddhist calendar? I mean, during high-season there are enough backpackers roaming through the city. Would it have been so difficult to grab one of them off the street and ask two questions – 1) are you a native speaker of English? 2) If yes, does this billboard make sense?
The past three months have been an exercise in patience, but if there is one thing I’ve reverted back to in my every day life, it is my affection for sarcasm. Upon my arrival, I would get frustrated with people walking slowly, stopping mid-stride, or simply not following any sort of pedestrian code of conduct. After a few short weeks of habitually walking through the market in search of food or on my way through town, I quickly learned to smile, be patient, and not be bothered by it. I figured, over time I would understand the pedestrian walking patterns and make sense of the sub-culture that was the market in Lampang. Three months later, I can tell you that there are no social or cultural norms that are adhered to when walking through the market – and I am still bothered by it. In the first few months, if a woman would stop in front of me for no apparent reason while walking through the market – just stop; I would politely duck by her and continue on my way. Lately, I have found myself stating the obvious – something like, “Great place to stop and stand lady!” Or, “Yeah, I understand why you wouldn’t move out of the way – it’s important that you stand in that specific grease stain.” If they really catch me on an off day, I’ll throw in some words of the four-lettered-variety – but you can bet your ass that each passing comment is accompanied by a roll of the eyes. After all, they don’t understand what I’m saying – and it makes me feel better, so why not? And smiling has ceased to exist on my face when walking through the market. I smile at no one for any reason, even if I am buying something. Maybe it’s my inner kraut shinning through – I can hear the Thai vendors now, “Oh, he’s not American – he must be German because he never smiles and he has that shaved head.”
If there is one thing I’ve learned in Thai culture, it is that everyone likes to stare at tall whitey walking through the city. They stare, sometimes point, there is always a laugh or snicker, and occasionally a random “hello!” shouted at me from passing motorbikes. I’ve learned to ignore the “cat-calls” – I am not a prostitute, street-walker, call-boy, or houseboy and this is certainly not Hollywood Boulevard, or even the North Avenue Bridge. Additionally, I’ve learned to stare back. You will be amazed at how many people will back down when you put a stern look on your face and stare at them directly in the eye. And if there’s laughter, I simply stare more intently, until they turn their backs to me. I suppose it’s my inner hard-ass coming out to play in the streets of Lampang. I’m sure I’ll learn my lesson when I’m stabbed with a rusty, sawed off pipe. Until then, I’m teaching them about my culture – staring is rude!
In the end, I continue to acclimate myself to the rigors of Thailand, and I’ve done some minor adjustments to the cultural assimilation – akin to when you buy maternity clothes. The abroad experience is about learning to fit in, but not lose yourself in the process. I’ve simply taken my Thai cultural clothes and bought them a little big, realizing that over the course of the next 6 months, I’ll need a little room to grow into them.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Another Year of Yui
In addition to the other excitement I had to endure on Monday, it was also Yui’s birthday. As you may recall, Yui is the owner of “I Love Coffee,” here in Lampang. It really is a great little coffee shop that serves breakfast – if you consider toast with condensed milk breakfast; as well as lunch, smoothies, and a wide array of coffee & tea beverages. And the place is almost always open. I think the only day that Yui has abbreviated hours is on Sunday, when she opens at 11:00AM and closes at 17:00PM. We joke around that Yui hasn’t left the shop in over 7 years, as her house is above the shop and connected via a stairway in the back by the shop’s kitchen. I’m not sure about you, but I come from the school of thought that my birthday is the most special day of the year, and therefore, I shouldn’t have to work. I think I adopted this in combination with my 21st birthday, when I took a week-long recess from both school and work, full of black-outs, vomiting, and nursing headaches. Oh, what a way to spend a week!
Yui, on the other hand, doesn’t close her shop for nothing. I’ve talked with a few veterans of Lampang, and they claim the only time they remember her closing the shop was during the family days of “Songkran” (Thai New Year & Water Festival). Otherwise, it is business as usual – including her birthday. The kicker of it all is that Yui is very young – late twenties, early thirties. If you ask me, that is one dedicated businesswoman.
Upon arriving at the coffee shop that dreadful Monday evening, I hadn’t planned to stay very long. I thought there’d be some cake, a quick happy birthday sing-a-long, and then I’d be free to go have dinner and relax with my latest book. When I arrived this seemed to be the case, because the shop was only occupied by Yui and another Westerner. Shortly after I arrived, the place slowly began to fill-up. After about an hour or so, we had a small group of mostly Westerners – all of whom were devoted coffee drinkers and loyal patrons to the java jamboree.
As I began to unwind from the shit-ass day I had, I decided I should order some dinner. Nothing will make you feel more guilty or gluttonous than having to make someone work on their birthday – especially when they are the one who has to cook. That is the ultimate act of selfishness! My guilt lasted for, but a mere moment, before I grabbed the menu and pointed out my requests. If you want to work on your birthday, I’ll surely help you accomplish that goal. It’s amazing how quickly guilt will take a backseat to the pangs of hunger.
The evening continued, in which we feasted on a pineapple-cheese-gelatin concoction. Sounds bizarre, but it was rather quite tasty. We were also entertained with some fried meat of sorts, that was dipped in a sweet and sour sauce. In addition to that, Yui decided to start making slushies spiked with some type of whiskey. I had to kindly decline my portion of the slushy and explain to Yui that I do not drink alcohol. However, this only inspired her to make me my very own slushy – a cantaloupe & lime slushy, sans alcohol. Toward the end of the evening, we finally busted out the birthday cakes to sing happy birthday. Now, when I hear or even think of birthday cake, I am immediately transported to a place of insatiability. A candy land of sorts, where the cake is inevitably moist chocolate, and covered with the most delectable frosting. A diabetic’s nightmare, but definitely worth the risk. Needless to say, I haven’t met a chocolate cake I don’t like – that is, until this evening. Part of me thought for a moment that the cake was made from a box – and the box was actually part of the ingredients. And the frosting – don’t even get me started on the frosting. Like candle wax mixed with Pilsbury’s Frosting from the jar. Don’t get me wrong, I ate the piece that was dolled out to me, but I definitely had to decline the effort on Yui’s part to serve me seconds.
At the end of the evening, I attempted to pay for my dinner and the food I had eaten. Yui quickly told me that there was no charge this evening – it was her birthday. In the United States, we typically go out for our birthdays, and it’s the one night a year when we can grab nothing but our ID and head out to the bar – knowing full-well that our consumption will be covered for the remainder of the evening. In Thai culture, it is the complete opposite. In Thailand, on your birthday you pay for everything. It’s the one night a year when you dole out for everyone else to drink, eat and celebrate your birthday with you – as opposed to repeated times throughout the year. I know a particular friend who would appreciate it if birthdays were celebrated Thai-style during the month of October. He claims that’s when every homo was born in Chicago. Believing in Karma, I simply slipped my refused money into Yui’s tip jar, and headed out for the evening. Besides, she’ll need it come October when I fully intend to celebrate my birthday US Style. “Bitch it’s my birthday – pay up!”
Just Another Manic Monday
It’s universal – Mondays are the worst day! Not surprising, even on the other side of the world, Mondays are typically my worst day of the week. Which is why I was so surprised to discover that today was jimmied with optimism. I arrived to work this morning in record time – not because I was speeding, but because I managed to catch every green light on the way to work. For my non-drivers in the room, it’s the equivalent of getting to the train platform right as the train has pulled into the station – timing is everything! And what a great feeling – it’s like you won the karmic lottery. It can instantly put you in a stellar mood for the rest of the day – especially on a Monday.
Upon my arrival at school, I had a few hours before my first class. I used this time to catch up on some grading, plan curricula, as well as check my email. As I finished these tasks, I received word from a colleague that our Friday afternoon class will be canceled this week. This is great news because I usually teach periods 1, 2, and 8. Eighth period is the one that was canceled for later this week. What’s more – I actually found out about the cancellation a full 4 days in advance! This might not seem that extraordinary, but in Thailand, there seems to be a lack any foresight or future planning. Four days advanced notice in Thailand is the Stateside equivalent of finding out about a project at work a month in advance. I usually hate Mondays, but today was proving to be a superlative day!
Still having some time before my first class at 10:00AM, I decided I would get some coffee. With limited options near school, I decided to suck it up and go to the 7-11 for some good old fashioned Nescafe. I have learned to loathe instant coffee, as well as iced coffee. Nonetheless, I decided iced Nescafe coffee in a can is better than no coffee at all. I make it back to school with plenty of time to spare.
I gyrated to my first class of the day, where my students were attentive, cooperative, and excited to be working on the activities I had planned for the day. Because we were talking about traveling and travel documents, I decided to pass around my United States Passport for my students to see. As you can imagine, the nearly 10 year old photo has captured me in the prime of my life and with hair – a faux-hawk, to be exact. Needless to say, several students shouted, “jup-jup” (kiss, kiss), as well as proclaiming, “Ajarn Joshua, you so handsome!” Even though it was coming from a high school student – everyone loves to be adorned with compliments.
After I finished teaching, I had about an hour and a half in which to grab lunch. Having had such a great day thus far, the only thing that would make it better is an Americano and lunch at Grandma’s. Still buzzed from my Nescafe narcotics, I head out to Bixby. As I’m revving him up, I notice something seems to be wrong with the accelerator. No big deal, Grandma’s is near the bike shop. I can get lunch, while Bixby has a quick check-up with the mechanic. Apparently the optimism from the day had effected my logical thinking because it is often difficult to drive somewhere when the accelerator, the thing that propels your vehicle forward, is not working. Again, for my non-drivers back home, it’s the equivalent of being on the CTA and hearing, “beep-beep-beep – your attention please. We are being delayed due to crew working on the tracks ahead. We expect to be moving shortly.” And as you all know – text whom ever you’re meeting to tell them you’ll be late, and bust out a book or crank up the iPod – you’re going to be there a while.
My true Monday had caught up with me, and why I didn’t see it coming is beyond me. Mondays never go this well, and this one would prove to be the worst one I’ve had in a while.
I return to the office and begin to contemplate my situation. How was I going to get Bixby from school to the bike shop in his current condition? What could be wrong with Bixby? Was it major damage? I had driven him to 7-11 only a few hours prior – what damage could I have caused in that short ride? My mind was racing with questions, and possible answers. Completely lost in the current situation, I missed my opportunity to have lunch. Hungry and irritable, I then had to teach my least favorite class for two hours. At 16:00PM, I was finally done teaching for the day, but the problem still existed – how would I get a broken Bixby to the bike shop? Better question – where was the nearest bike shop? This was not going to be fun, I could already tell.
A little background on the situation. There are two entrances to our school – the main entrance which is on a busy local road, and the back entrance that is adjacent to the highway. I take the highway to school because it’s quicker and the back entrance is closer to my office. There is no “parking lot” per say – at least not by the standards of the western world. What you have is a gravel shoulder along the highway, which functions as a parking lot for the students and faculty. My favorite part of the day is playing Thailand Roulette with my life as I walk from where I’ve parked Bixby, to the back entrance of the school. Nothing will wake you in the morning quite like the feeling of having your whole body shake as cars, trucks and buses alike whiz by you at various speeds – kicking up dust, debris, and smog. It truly is an exhilarating experience!
Here is where I find myself along with Bixby – on the back entrance of the school with the start of rush-hour traffic buzzing by at speeds equivalent to The Indy 500. And just like the autobahn, there are no posted speed limits. I kick start Bixby, and to my astonishment he stays running. I rev his engine a bit, but realize there is still some issue with the accelerator. Not sure what my best course of action is, I decide to take my chances and try to make it to the nearest bike shop. I slip Bixby into first gear and begin, what will be the most painstaking portion of my day. The only way to describe how Bixby is accelerating is to compare it to a car that is about to run out of gas. With each turn of the handlebar, Bixby wanes out a quick spurt of energy, and then begins to coast. I attempt this for a few meters, but realize that it’s nearly worthless. It took me nearly 30 minutes to travel only about 20 meters from the school. At this rate, I’d find a bike shop sometime during the day on Tuesday. What else does one do when they have a broken down Bixby?
I did the only thing I knew would work – I slipped Bixby into neutral, hopped off and pushed him down the highway. Please take a moment to imagine this sight. Here I am in my usual teaching garb; khaki trousers, white short-sleeved button down shirt, and of course, flip-flops. Add to that, my watermelon green helmet, my laptop messenger bag slung around my shoulder, and my queer as a $3 bill “DePaul Cares” tote bag up in Bixby’s front basket. This was me at 16:00PM, pushing Bixby by the handle bars down the highway. I left the helmet on, with the fear of being run down by the passing motorists. My favorite part of the expedition was not only the fact that I had to cross very major intersections, but also the fact that I was seen by several of my students as I pushed my bike. Where was my “jup-jup” now? Oh, what a great Monday this was turning out to be.
After what felt like miles – though it was only about a kilometer, I stumble across a bike shop. Having sweat through my white shirt and producing some serious sweat around the waist of my khakis, I push Bixby into the shop. The shop owner disengages from the bike his is currently working on and comes to inspect my situation. I greet him in Thai, and point to my accelerator. He gives it a once see and immediately realizes the issue. Reluctantly, I hand him the keys to Bixby and find a seat at a near-by table. I bust out my latest book, but like any concerned parent, I am too pre-occupied to read. What was wrong with Bixby? Would he be alright? As those thoughts were running through my mind, I watch with horror as the shop owner strips the plastic molding from Bixby – only to reveal his private parts. Bixby looked like a little kid who had to get naked at the doctor’s office for his physical exam. And wouldn’t you know it – not even a paper gown to cover him. Bixby looked so pathetic! It was so sad to watch, but like the good father that I am, I kept my eye on him the whole time.
When it was all finished, Bixby looked as good as new. As I was working out prices with the shop owner, I learned a very valuable lesson in Thai economics. Always agree on a price before someone begins to work on your bike. With that, never let them see how much money you are carrying with you. After the mechanic finished, he told me, “nueng roi” Baht (100). As I pulled out my money to pay him, he saw that I was concealing a 1,000 as well as several other large bills. I handed him 100 Baht, and he quickly said, “ha-sieb … nueng-roi-ha-sieb” (150). Not in the mood to argue, I hand him an additional 50 Baht, and head home. I chalked it up to “supply and demand.” I needed to be supplied with someone who knew how to fix Bixby, and that person was in high demand. I’m still unsure what was wrong with Bixby, or what caused his dilapidated state. But, while we were driving home, Bixby rode like a dream – a Honda Dream!
Upon my arrival at school, I had a few hours before my first class. I used this time to catch up on some grading, plan curricula, as well as check my email. As I finished these tasks, I received word from a colleague that our Friday afternoon class will be canceled this week. This is great news because I usually teach periods 1, 2, and 8. Eighth period is the one that was canceled for later this week. What’s more – I actually found out about the cancellation a full 4 days in advance! This might not seem that extraordinary, but in Thailand, there seems to be a lack any foresight or future planning. Four days advanced notice in Thailand is the Stateside equivalent of finding out about a project at work a month in advance. I usually hate Mondays, but today was proving to be a superlative day!
Still having some time before my first class at 10:00AM, I decided I would get some coffee. With limited options near school, I decided to suck it up and go to the 7-11 for some good old fashioned Nescafe. I have learned to loathe instant coffee, as well as iced coffee. Nonetheless, I decided iced Nescafe coffee in a can is better than no coffee at all. I make it back to school with plenty of time to spare.
I gyrated to my first class of the day, where my students were attentive, cooperative, and excited to be working on the activities I had planned for the day. Because we were talking about traveling and travel documents, I decided to pass around my United States Passport for my students to see. As you can imagine, the nearly 10 year old photo has captured me in the prime of my life and with hair – a faux-hawk, to be exact. Needless to say, several students shouted, “jup-jup” (kiss, kiss), as well as proclaiming, “Ajarn Joshua, you so handsome!” Even though it was coming from a high school student – everyone loves to be adorned with compliments.
After I finished teaching, I had about an hour and a half in which to grab lunch. Having had such a great day thus far, the only thing that would make it better is an Americano and lunch at Grandma’s. Still buzzed from my Nescafe narcotics, I head out to Bixby. As I’m revving him up, I notice something seems to be wrong with the accelerator. No big deal, Grandma’s is near the bike shop. I can get lunch, while Bixby has a quick check-up with the mechanic. Apparently the optimism from the day had effected my logical thinking because it is often difficult to drive somewhere when the accelerator, the thing that propels your vehicle forward, is not working. Again, for my non-drivers back home, it’s the equivalent of being on the CTA and hearing, “beep-beep-beep – your attention please. We are being delayed due to crew working on the tracks ahead. We expect to be moving shortly.” And as you all know – text whom ever you’re meeting to tell them you’ll be late, and bust out a book or crank up the iPod – you’re going to be there a while.
My true Monday had caught up with me, and why I didn’t see it coming is beyond me. Mondays never go this well, and this one would prove to be the worst one I’ve had in a while.
I return to the office and begin to contemplate my situation. How was I going to get Bixby from school to the bike shop in his current condition? What could be wrong with Bixby? Was it major damage? I had driven him to 7-11 only a few hours prior – what damage could I have caused in that short ride? My mind was racing with questions, and possible answers. Completely lost in the current situation, I missed my opportunity to have lunch. Hungry and irritable, I then had to teach my least favorite class for two hours. At 16:00PM, I was finally done teaching for the day, but the problem still existed – how would I get a broken Bixby to the bike shop? Better question – where was the nearest bike shop? This was not going to be fun, I could already tell.
A little background on the situation. There are two entrances to our school – the main entrance which is on a busy local road, and the back entrance that is adjacent to the highway. I take the highway to school because it’s quicker and the back entrance is closer to my office. There is no “parking lot” per say – at least not by the standards of the western world. What you have is a gravel shoulder along the highway, which functions as a parking lot for the students and faculty. My favorite part of the day is playing Thailand Roulette with my life as I walk from where I’ve parked Bixby, to the back entrance of the school. Nothing will wake you in the morning quite like the feeling of having your whole body shake as cars, trucks and buses alike whiz by you at various speeds – kicking up dust, debris, and smog. It truly is an exhilarating experience!
Here is where I find myself along with Bixby – on the back entrance of the school with the start of rush-hour traffic buzzing by at speeds equivalent to The Indy 500. And just like the autobahn, there are no posted speed limits. I kick start Bixby, and to my astonishment he stays running. I rev his engine a bit, but realize there is still some issue with the accelerator. Not sure what my best course of action is, I decide to take my chances and try to make it to the nearest bike shop. I slip Bixby into first gear and begin, what will be the most painstaking portion of my day. The only way to describe how Bixby is accelerating is to compare it to a car that is about to run out of gas. With each turn of the handlebar, Bixby wanes out a quick spurt of energy, and then begins to coast. I attempt this for a few meters, but realize that it’s nearly worthless. It took me nearly 30 minutes to travel only about 20 meters from the school. At this rate, I’d find a bike shop sometime during the day on Tuesday. What else does one do when they have a broken down Bixby?
I did the only thing I knew would work – I slipped Bixby into neutral, hopped off and pushed him down the highway. Please take a moment to imagine this sight. Here I am in my usual teaching garb; khaki trousers, white short-sleeved button down shirt, and of course, flip-flops. Add to that, my watermelon green helmet, my laptop messenger bag slung around my shoulder, and my queer as a $3 bill “DePaul Cares” tote bag up in Bixby’s front basket. This was me at 16:00PM, pushing Bixby by the handle bars down the highway. I left the helmet on, with the fear of being run down by the passing motorists. My favorite part of the expedition was not only the fact that I had to cross very major intersections, but also the fact that I was seen by several of my students as I pushed my bike. Where was my “jup-jup” now? Oh, what a great Monday this was turning out to be.
After what felt like miles – though it was only about a kilometer, I stumble across a bike shop. Having sweat through my white shirt and producing some serious sweat around the waist of my khakis, I push Bixby into the shop. The shop owner disengages from the bike his is currently working on and comes to inspect my situation. I greet him in Thai, and point to my accelerator. He gives it a once see and immediately realizes the issue. Reluctantly, I hand him the keys to Bixby and find a seat at a near-by table. I bust out my latest book, but like any concerned parent, I am too pre-occupied to read. What was wrong with Bixby? Would he be alright? As those thoughts were running through my mind, I watch with horror as the shop owner strips the plastic molding from Bixby – only to reveal his private parts. Bixby looked like a little kid who had to get naked at the doctor’s office for his physical exam. And wouldn’t you know it – not even a paper gown to cover him. Bixby looked so pathetic! It was so sad to watch, but like the good father that I am, I kept my eye on him the whole time.
When it was all finished, Bixby looked as good as new. As I was working out prices with the shop owner, I learned a very valuable lesson in Thai economics. Always agree on a price before someone begins to work on your bike. With that, never let them see how much money you are carrying with you. After the mechanic finished, he told me, “nueng roi” Baht (100). As I pulled out my money to pay him, he saw that I was concealing a 1,000 as well as several other large bills. I handed him 100 Baht, and he quickly said, “ha-sieb … nueng-roi-ha-sieb” (150). Not in the mood to argue, I hand him an additional 50 Baht, and head home. I chalked it up to “supply and demand.” I needed to be supplied with someone who knew how to fix Bixby, and that person was in high demand. I’m still unsure what was wrong with Bixby, or what caused his dilapidated state. But, while we were driving home, Bixby rode like a dream – a Honda Dream!
The Martyr in Me
I want to apologize to those of you who are avid readers and subscribers of my blog. Lately, I have been lacking the motivation, creativity, and experiences that usually prompt me to write about my new found existence in this strange side of the world. I’d like to say I’ve been too busy to write, but I highly doubt that will ever be the case. If there is one thing I have here in Thailand – it’s time, and plenty of it! I guess my only excuse lies in the fact that I have been very focused on finishing this semester, and all energy has been exerted in that direction. To date, I have exactly 2 weeks left of classroom teaching. After I finish classroom teaching, I have a week of speaking and listening exams, followed by a week of final exams. Once that concludes, I will be off for a month – the whole month of October, to be exact!
I began to think about this upcoming break in October. At first, I thought I was a bad teacher because I have the same level of excitement for the break, as I did for the start of the school year. As I thought about it more, a few things dawned on me. For starters, I thought about my new position as an English teacher here in Thailand. I won’t lie, my job is not difficult. I probably work an average of 30-35 hours per week, which includes about 20 hours of classroom time. What makes my job difficult, is the fact that I am in a constant state of “on” when I have to teach. You want to be exhausted, try engaging a group of students in activities where you are the only one in the room who fully comprehends what you are trying to convey. Jokes only sometimes translate, but for the most part the students only laugh at your ability to be animated. God-bless my ability to speak with my face! The students don’t know what you’re saying, they simply find you entertaining. As if that wasn’t draining enough, I have to constantly search for ways to present different concepts. There is nothing worse than standing in front of a class full of students with a lesson plan that has FAILED! Which is exactly what will happen with your students on the final if you don’t think of a new way to explain the information. What also adds to that frustration, is when you have to think of different words in order to explain the same concept, idea, principle, word, instructions, or thing. Add to that, the cultural differences between me and my students, and it has the ability to become a waking nightmare. I have probably lost you, so let me provide you with a bit of an example. I am teaching colors – Red, the color of an apple. Well, imagine a culture where an apple isn’t a predominant fruit, and the apples aren’t usually red. Needless to say, I am standing in front of my students grasping for various fruits that they readily identify with from their culture. Over the course of the semester I have learned to think on my toes, and turn on a dime with my lesson plans. However, that still doesn’t make it any less mentally draining.
Another thing that lessened my pangs of guilt over my joy for the October break, was the idea that I have not had a vacation in close to 3 years – and when I did, it was nowhere close to a full month. My last vacation was with my brother in December, 2005, when we went to the Bahamas for a week. That was nearly 3 years ago. I will have the entire month to do with as I please. A whole month of paid vacation, in which to travel and do whatever my heart desires. That is nearly 3 pent-up years of no time off; writing papers, conducting research, reflecting, reading texts on theory and practice, reflecting, practicum, reflecting, and internship. Did I mention reflecting? I’m so lost on the concept of a month with nothing to do, that I am actually unsure of what I will do with my vacation time in October.
At the moment I have planned to pack nothing but my NorthFace backpack, and head south. I know that I am in desperate need of a beach. Imagine living in a country where it feels like you’re at the beach every day – the sun beats down on you, you are constantly wearing flip-flops, you can be guaranteed to find a drink any time of the day, but there’s not an ocean, sand, or large body of water to be found for miles. It’s quite a perplexing paradox. I will keep you posted on my travel plans for the month of October, but in all honesty, it will probably be even a surprise to me. I’m headed South, that’s the only definitive plans I have at the moment. And for the first time in my life – I’m fine with the ambiguity, uncertainty, and freedom of it all. The only thing I know is – I won’t make myself out to be the Martyr anymore.
I began to think about this upcoming break in October. At first, I thought I was a bad teacher because I have the same level of excitement for the break, as I did for the start of the school year. As I thought about it more, a few things dawned on me. For starters, I thought about my new position as an English teacher here in Thailand. I won’t lie, my job is not difficult. I probably work an average of 30-35 hours per week, which includes about 20 hours of classroom time. What makes my job difficult, is the fact that I am in a constant state of “on” when I have to teach. You want to be exhausted, try engaging a group of students in activities where you are the only one in the room who fully comprehends what you are trying to convey. Jokes only sometimes translate, but for the most part the students only laugh at your ability to be animated. God-bless my ability to speak with my face! The students don’t know what you’re saying, they simply find you entertaining. As if that wasn’t draining enough, I have to constantly search for ways to present different concepts. There is nothing worse than standing in front of a class full of students with a lesson plan that has FAILED! Which is exactly what will happen with your students on the final if you don’t think of a new way to explain the information. What also adds to that frustration, is when you have to think of different words in order to explain the same concept, idea, principle, word, instructions, or thing. Add to that, the cultural differences between me and my students, and it has the ability to become a waking nightmare. I have probably lost you, so let me provide you with a bit of an example. I am teaching colors – Red, the color of an apple. Well, imagine a culture where an apple isn’t a predominant fruit, and the apples aren’t usually red. Needless to say, I am standing in front of my students grasping for various fruits that they readily identify with from their culture. Over the course of the semester I have learned to think on my toes, and turn on a dime with my lesson plans. However, that still doesn’t make it any less mentally draining.
Another thing that lessened my pangs of guilt over my joy for the October break, was the idea that I have not had a vacation in close to 3 years – and when I did, it was nowhere close to a full month. My last vacation was with my brother in December, 2005, when we went to the Bahamas for a week. That was nearly 3 years ago. I will have the entire month to do with as I please. A whole month of paid vacation, in which to travel and do whatever my heart desires. That is nearly 3 pent-up years of no time off; writing papers, conducting research, reflecting, reading texts on theory and practice, reflecting, practicum, reflecting, and internship. Did I mention reflecting? I’m so lost on the concept of a month with nothing to do, that I am actually unsure of what I will do with my vacation time in October.
At the moment I have planned to pack nothing but my NorthFace backpack, and head south. I know that I am in desperate need of a beach. Imagine living in a country where it feels like you’re at the beach every day – the sun beats down on you, you are constantly wearing flip-flops, you can be guaranteed to find a drink any time of the day, but there’s not an ocean, sand, or large body of water to be found for miles. It’s quite a perplexing paradox. I will keep you posted on my travel plans for the month of October, but in all honesty, it will probably be even a surprise to me. I’m headed South, that’s the only definitive plans I have at the moment. And for the first time in my life – I’m fine with the ambiguity, uncertainty, and freedom of it all. The only thing I know is – I won’t make myself out to be the Martyr anymore.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Champagne & Cocaine
The weirdest part about being in a new place, is when you become acclimated with your surroundings. You quickly discover that everything that once seemed so far away and so foreign, has slowly transformed itself to the usual and familiar. When I first arrived in Lampang and shortly after I purchased Bixby, I passed several of my weekends exploring the city and surrounding area. One such previous weekend, I found myself following signs for an allusive “waterfall.” I continued to follow the blue signs, but fearing that Bixby would run out of gas, I had to turn around before I reached my mysterious destination. This weekend, I had the opportunity to finally complete this previous trek with a few friends. We made a trip to Chae Sourn National Park.
This national park is known for it’s beautiful waterfalls, and it’s amazing hot springs. The weather was less than picturesque, as it rained most of the time we were there. It’s a bit of a catch-22, because the waterfalls are most beautiful when they have a healthy supply of water. The only time there is a healthy supply of water in Thailand, is during the rainy season. Therefore, in order to fully appreciate the beauty of the park, you have to go during the rainy season, when chances are you will be getting sprayed by the waterfalls, as well as the falling rain. Nonetheless, it was still an amazing experience!
We first arrived and immediately decided to check out the walking path to the waterfalls. I immediately dreaded my choice in footwear. Not thinking things through, I wore flip-flops. I quickly discovered that my nearly thread bare Reefs are not the best option for walking up and down paths made of stone and covered in moss. There were a few close calls, in which I almost ended up in the waterfall. Fortunately, I managed to stay on the correct side of the path.
After our walking tour of the falls, we decided that we would take in a Thai massage. I wish I could encapsulate the beauty of this experience. Imagine getting a massage, and you look out onto the mountains. There is not a sound, except that of the rushing waterfalls behind you. It was pure nirvana, and any description will surely not do it justice. To put it most simply, I could have stayed there forever!
Once we finished our massages, we decided to rent a hot springs hot tub. The park uses the hot springs as individual Jacuzzi huts, which can be rented out for your pleasure. And what a pleasure it was! The five of us rented a Jacuzzi hut, threw on our suits and enjoyed the natural relaxation of the hot springs tub. It was the perfect thing to follow up our blissful massage experience.
Before we decided to end our day of relaxation, we decided to partake in a albeit odd tradition at the park. Apparently the Thai custom is to buy eggs and hard boil them in one of the many hot springs. Well, when in Thailand, cook food any way you’d like – and so we did. We bough a basket of 5 eggs and took them to one of the near-by hot springs to boil up. The park suggests 17 minutes to boil and egg. Imagine, 17 minutes later and we still had some rather runny eggs. After an additional 10 minutes, we decided to scrap the idea and head home! It was an AMAZING day, full of peace, friendship, and fun – I will definitely be going back again!
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