Bangkok Oasis
After arriving at Hualampong Station this morning and eating a quick snack at Dunkin Doughnuts (better than some Thai pastries--a food group for which the Thais are not, in fact, known), we four hauled our bags down to the subway, then up to the sky train (both spotlessly clean, quiet, and speedy), then back down to the street where we were greeted by my intrepid Aunt L, who, with her husband, owns what has turned out to be a totally fantastic apartment in central Bangkok, fulfilling all our expectations and fondest dreams. We're on the 8th floor, level with the distant sky train (which appears regularly through the gaps between sky scrapers), and not so high that the open balconies are too scary to brave. They're *almost* too scary, but not quite. There's a gate downstairs, and a door man, and a swimming pool, and of course it's only one block from 7-Eleven (it would be a shame to come this far and have to give up my habit).

There are also four bathrooms, and they all have showers that are separate from the toilets. This is unusual.

Of course, the Thais generally don't use toilet paper--each toilet, or porcelain-lined hole in the ground, is equipped with a kitchen sprayer to take care of any clean-up (most Westerners find that the sprayer, if anything, makes matters worse)--so having the shower head on the wall directly above the TP holder (most actually *do* have a TP holder, for rather opaque purposes) doesn't matter in the least. For us, however, being able to actually contain shower water has taken on paradisical status. Between the four of us, I believe we've so far had seven showers (and it'll be eight as soon as I'm done here). Robert shared with us yesterday a fond Peace Corps "You know you're truly at PCV in Thailand when . . . " comment that went "You know you're truly a PCV in Thailand when you don't use toilet paper in the bathroom, but you do use it at every meal." Yes, it's true--toilet paper is sold all over the country, as are plastic TP tubs with holes in the middle and lids. You remove the center cardboard core, pull a few squares from the middle (be careful not to pull them off yet) and through the hole in the TP tub, pop the lid on and set the tub lid-down on the table, and Voila! Instant napkins, as large as you need. And very absorbent.

Thailand in general has been a series of episodes of culture shock. The first episode was soon after our arrival, in Petchaburi (we weren't in Hua Hin long enough to go into shock; besides, as I mentioned, we've seen our fill of beach towns crawling with European tourists. Dull, not shocking.), when the sheer density of activity--scooters racing around, block after block of narrow alleys chock-full of people selling mounds of curry pastes or teeny shrimp or
dried longan or piles of unknown fruits like rose apples or rarely seen fruits like fuschia dragon fruit, monks strolling with their shaved heads and saffron robes from market to wat and back, tuk-tuks and saeng teuws beeping to see if you want a ride somewhere--left us gasping from exhaustion, prone on our $4-per-night prison bed in the Chinese hotel we'd chosen as our home, at 3:00 in the afternoon. We'd gather our strength for an hour, then hit the maelstrom again for a few hours. But the time we met up with Robert and Kate in Ayutthaya, we were old hands at this Thailand thing.

The we went with them to Jae Hom. More about Jae Hom later, but for now, suffice it to say that our role there was "Curiosity", as in Ye Olde Curiousity Shoppe. We visited all four schools they're working in, sat for water or coffee or fruit in four principals' offices while uncomfortable speaking went on, mostly not including us because it was mostly in Thai and thank you doesn't get you far as a listener, then stood in front of several classrooms full of children who would ask us things like "Do you like Thailand?" and "Where are you staying in Thailand?" and "What is your favorite Thai food?" and "Do you like Thailand?" again because they'd either forgotten someone had already asked or they thought maybe by then we'd changed our minds (and maybe we had). We had dinner at the homes of co-workers for Kate and Robert, on two separate evenings, where we tried to understand the Thai (impossible and yet, and yet at times the paralinguistic cues--gesture, for example--and various key words: "Calin" and "Bangkok" for instance, would let me understand that Kate was explaining our current situation, visiting my aunt at her apartment in Bangkok.), and tried not to offend by eating too much or too little,
or licking our fingers (I have no idea how the Thais, particularly in the north where they eat sticky rice and therefore eat with their fingers, keep their hands clean with just a few squares of toilet paper. They must just have self-cleaning hands.) I remembered the bewildered vertigo of being in Kenya with my host family, not wanting to offend them, not understanding their customs, not really able to communicate. It reminded me that Robert and Kate had--and still
were--feeling such exhausting feelings themselves.

And then, just when we were getting the hang of being on display in a small town, suddenly we were plunged into Bangkok, where we're atoms in a crowd of millions. The Peace Corps program manager, who lives here, told Robert that "Living in Bangkok is great; it's so close to Thailand!" Indeed, Bangkok is New York, and London, and Seattle (seriously, Starbucks is all over the city), and Hong Kong, and Rio too. The sights, the sounds, the filth, the designer malls, the street vendors, the crazy traffic, the amazing food, the sudden need to be back on our toes, quick-witted, aware. By 4:30 this afternoon, all four of us, plus the Intrepid Aunt L, were prone on our beds.

But what beds they are! And tomorrow more craziness and more recovery in this lovely oasis with the quiet rooms--and the wireless internet.