Wednesday, December 14, 2005
This is actually supposed to be a picture of the company car behind me--I'm merely the decoy. I explained that the decoy doesn't even actually have to be photographed . . . anyway. These little carts are all over the place, driving down roads with their awnings flapping, stopping on corners to sell noodles or sticky rice or fish balls.
School Days
Robert and Kate are, of course, in the Peace Corps. They are teaching English, or rather, they are trying to teach Thai English teachers how to teach English with an eye toward student-centered learning. This has been a struggle for them, as Thai educational goals seem to be, for the most part, quite different from those of Robert and Kate. For instance, the schools are tidy and organized, with five different uniforms to be worn on different days of the week (government uniform, sports day, scout day, Northern garb day, and regular uniform day), marching and assemblies, and a toothbrushing song played every day after lunch while the children all clean their teeth . . . but the computer lab sits empty all the time. The science room is never used. The libraries are low on books, and kids don’t read them anyway. The principals’ offices are nice; one is the only room in the school with air conditioning. Another is the only room in the school with a mural of a forest glen and a water feature. Yes, I kid you not, there’s a fountain pouring through several jugs and down into a pond with fish and lilies—in the principal’s office. At another school, the principal informed Kate that the school had received excellents on 13 of 14 categories when the government inspectors came. “What was the 14th category?” asked Kate, expecting, perhaps, science or math. “Academics,” replied the principle. Oh. Well, if it’s only that.
Still, while it seems inappropriate to leave 25 first graders alone for an hour while the principal calls a meeting, or to have all the adult chaperones drive private cars to a field trip site while the students walk—unaccompanied—the entire way, the kids seem to handle it better than most would here. That is, they’re probably not teaching themselves, but likewise they’re not really getting into trouble.
We didn’t get to observe Kate teaching at all, but we did have two chances to see Robert. His students love him, not surprisingly, because he’s a tall, gangly guy with a great heart, a love for children, and a complete lack of self-consciousness, so he’ll jump around and sing goofy songs with the kids that have them screaming with laughter—in English.
Robert’s birthday took place while we were visiting, and we were treated to one of the sweetest displays I have seen in honor of it. First, we were invited to lunch with the teachers at Robert’s school, where we were served several excellent dishes, and a very, very densely decorated cake (the cake part of which was surprisingly good, at least in comparison). The teachers had written some short computer program that ran along a screen behind us, saying something like “Happy Birthday and Welcome Teacher Robert and Teacher Kate and Friends”, and also presented Robert with two wrapped presents. He asked “Should I open them the American way or the Thai way,” and the teachers all blushed and said “Thai way,” so Robert left them until he got home.
After lunch was English Club, where Robert led a one-hour song fest, complete with The Halloween Song, Where Are You Going, and The Alphabet Song (the last actually led by Ian and me, after one of the children asked us to sing something). At the end of English Club, one of the other teachers signaled to a group of children, and suddenly, class by class (first through sixth), the children filed up to the front of the room and started giving Robert presents. Every child had either brought a small gift or made a card, some covered with extremely painstaking English that had clearly been dragged directly out of the dictionary. The cutest was a group of five boys, about nine years old, who went in together on a large bottle of Coke. Midway through the parade, Robert half turned to me and murmured “This is surreal!” An equally amazing thing to the gifts was Robert though, who thanked every child by name. There were probably 75 or 80 students.
Robert and Kate continue to struggle with the differences in the educational system between the
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Re-entry
Jet lag has hit me harder coming home from this trip than any I remember in the past. The reasons probably include everything from the incredible levels of stress hormones in my system, brought on by the roller-coaster effect over the north Pacific (seriously, I kept being surprised that the plane wasn’t just plunging out of the sky), to the fact that it’s the holiday season which throws off my sleep schedule anyway, to the fact that it’s also winter here and so dark much of the time . . . which makes some of the cues about when to sleep and when to be awake much harder to read. This morning, for instance, I woke up at
It’s also lovely to be back with Spackle and friends and friends’ dogs and relatives and relatives’ dogs. And the fact that I woke up from a nap yesterday afternoon, looked at my decorated living room and beautiful tree (which I’d put up Sunday afternoon and evening after arriving back home—my first attempt to combat jet lag was to keep myself up until bedtime here . . .) and thought I was in Thailand dreaming about my house being decorated, and then thought no, I’m not in Thailand . . . but where the hell am I . . . only makes life more interesting.
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Last Day
Today was the perfect last day. It started with a trip for coffee this morning; mine from 7-Eleven and Kate's from Starbucks. I got Thai iced coffee, as usual, Kate chose a peppermint mocha. We enjoyed our brief stroll about the waking city, and when we returned to the oasis, Ian had cleaned a bunch of fruit and sliced up some bread and pastries and breakfast was ready. We ate leisurely, then Intrepid Aunt L decided to spend the sunny forenoon by the pool, and the rest of us, shopped and stimulated out, strolled to Loloma park and spent an hour lounging on the grass by the side of a serpentine lake, watching families paddle around in swan-shaped boats, and warily eyeing the enormous serpentine lizards--caymen? scary disgusting scaly monsters? perched on the shore or swimming slickly through the brown water. Seriously, these things were up to six feet long, and just hanging out there in the park. They didn't seem hungry for Americans, though, so I eventually relaxed. Mostly.
Roasted chestnuts were purchased on the street. The man roasting them, sitting hunched on the sidewalk, partially protected from the sun by a strip of tarp, wasn't even sweating. He leaned over a huge metal drum suspended over a fire, tirelessly stirring, with a big wooden paddle, a pile of chestnuts and hot pea gravel. And nary a drop of perspiration. Lunch was at an Indian and Thai place serving "Non and Vegetarian food", and not meaning Naan.
Around five, a Thai friend of Aunt L's and her boyfriend arrived to take us on a brief tour--which began with the about the best part of Bangkok (and, in fact, Bangkok's been quite cool in a weird, stylized, futuristic sort of way). The back of the oasis looks out over one of Bangkok's canals. There used to be many many, but slowly they've been covered over by streets and today only a few short lengths remain in much of the city, and fortunately for us, one is right at the base of the apartment building. The canal is moderately narrow, so the boats we looked down on were relatively narrow as well--but very long. And surprisingly--no, shockingly--fast for the width of the waterway. In Seattle, there are many laws and regulations, and reasons for the many laws and regulations, associated with our many bodies of water. Not so here, or the laws are just about things I can't even imagine.
Anyway, one of the many boats racing around throwing up chop is a water taxi, or maybe more accurately a water bus, which has a stop right downstairs. The seven of us, all waterbus virgins, trooped down to the low dock and waited, expectantly, for about five minutes, while one or two long boats shot past delivering evidently very important cargo. All of a sudden a long wooden boat packed with people--row by row of them like the proverbial sardines--plunged up to the dock and a deckhand wearing a purple helmet leapt off, followed by one or two passengers. While the deckhand held the boat, we threw ourselves over the gap of opaque cafe-au-lait water and into the bottom of the boat. We were barely even inside before it leapt away from the landing and we were off.
Tarps flapped along the outside over the gunwales, keeping spray off the passengers. A series of natural-fiber lines ran up and down the length of the boat overhead, for standers to hold onto. A thick canvas roof, supported by aluminum piping, kept the sun off. The, oh, 20 or so benches each ran the width of the boat--to get in or out of them, you had to climb onto the side of the boat, or just enter a row directly from shore. As we raced along, glimpses of back yards sped by. A young woman with a baby, four-story-tall bougainvilleas in coral and fuschia, hints of old canals disappearing under pavement, black liquid seeping into the water, racks of designer jeans for sale. At the second stop, everyone on the boat--100 people?--leapt off and ran to a boat up ahead. Everyone leapt onto the new boat--a sort of reverse relay--and off we went again. Suddenly, up ahead, a low bridge spanned the canal. "That's a low bridge!" I, ever observant, commented at a yell (we were perched next to the engine) to Kate. I peered again at the bridge, and suddenly felt like I was Alice in Wonderland getting very tall. No, the entire canvas roof of the boat was coming down! I ducked, Kate ducked, even the intrepid Aunt L ducked (and she's a lot closer to Thai-sized than I am). Across the boat I heard a joyous "WHOA!" from either Robert or Ian, who were thrilled, as were we, that this awesome, ridiculous, bumpy, speedy, bizarre mode of transportation existed somewhere in the world and we had found it. We went under several other low bridges, the entire boat shutting down, razor clam-like, at each bridge. We sped past five boys jumping on a small floating dock and gave them some breakers to dive into, passed the return taxi at a bumpy, splashy gallop, and pulled up, way too soon, at our destination. I will say without hestitation that the Bangkok Waterbus is the best mass transit I've ever taken.
After visiting a (somewhat anticlimactic, but then what wouldn't be) wat and palace, we strolled through a large square . . . in front of city hall, I think . . . where several groups of people were doing aerobics, led by a pretty young man on a platform in the middle of the square.
Dinner was at a riverside cafe and featured several new dishes, including my favorite: ground peanuts and pork into which you dip vegetables. And then back home to finish packing, and as a reward for our labors share the interesting pastel and/or leaf-wrapped desserts Ian, Intrepid Aunt L and I had picked out from the fancy London-like supermarket down the street. Wow. Boy were they bad. Not so bad, perhaps, as anything from the food stall I saw this evening selling an assortment of glistening, toasty grubs, roaches, and locusts, but not really the kind of thing you'd eat to reward yourself. The coconut-milk things in banana leaves were salty as well as sweet and also contained taro and maybe jicama; the sticky rice in banana leaves was stuffed with red bean paste that looked like liver and also black beans; two transparent bon bons that appeared to have cherries in the middle instead had a small, cherry-sized piece of sweet potato, and the transparent stuff, instead of being a little mushy like confectioner's glaze, was so hard as to feel like biting into cartilage (I really grossed-out Robert with that description). A green and white flower, expected to taste like coconut gelatin, tasted like coconut gelatin with a hint of seaweed. A pink rose-shaped bon bon tasted like coconut and rose, and was very bouncy to chew. There was only one thing that was good--a sort of carmelized rice ball--and I fear that it was only good in relation to the others. After that experience, we all decided to throw in the towel and went off to our separate evening rituals, to meet in the morning--only to quickly part for several months.
Fond readers of this blog, and particularly these recent stories of Thailand, never fear, there will be at least a little more coming after I return home. The density of experience here has been too great to get a handle on everything while it's happening, so I'll take a little time, gain a little perspective, and revisit this exhilerating, fascinating, and fabulous trip from my very, very different living room in Seattle. In the meantime, Bon Voyage to me.
Today was the perfect last day. It started with a trip for coffee this morning; mine from 7-Eleven and Kate's from Starbucks. I got Thai iced coffee, as usual, Kate chose a peppermint mocha. We enjoyed our brief stroll about the waking city, and when we returned to the oasis, Ian had cleaned a bunch of fruit and sliced up some bread and pastries and breakfast was ready. We ate leisurely, then Intrepid Aunt L decided to spend the sunny forenoon by the pool, and the rest of us, shopped and stimulated out, strolled to Loloma park and spent an hour lounging on the grass by the side of a serpentine lake, watching families paddle around in swan-shaped boats, and warily eyeing the enormous serpentine lizards--caymen? scary disgusting scaly monsters? perched on the shore or swimming slickly through the brown water. Seriously, these things were up to six feet long, and just hanging out there in the park. They didn't seem hungry for Americans, though, so I eventually relaxed. Mostly.
Roasted chestnuts were purchased on the street. The man roasting them, sitting hunched on the sidewalk, partially protected from the sun by a strip of tarp, wasn't even sweating. He leaned over a huge metal drum suspended over a fire, tirelessly stirring, with a big wooden paddle, a pile of chestnuts and hot pea gravel. And nary a drop of perspiration. Lunch was at an Indian and Thai place serving "Non and Vegetarian food", and not meaning Naan.
Around five, a Thai friend of Aunt L's and her boyfriend arrived to take us on a brief tour--which began with the about the best part of Bangkok (and, in fact, Bangkok's been quite cool in a weird, stylized, futuristic sort of way). The back of the oasis looks out over one of Bangkok's canals. There used to be many many, but slowly they've been covered over by streets and today only a few short lengths remain in much of the city, and fortunately for us, one is right at the base of the apartment building. The canal is moderately narrow, so the boats we looked down on were relatively narrow as well--but very long. And surprisingly--no, shockingly--fast for the width of the waterway. In Seattle, there are many laws and regulations, and reasons for the many laws and regulations, associated with our many bodies of water. Not so here, or the laws are just about things I can't even imagine.
Anyway, one of the many boats racing around throwing up chop is a water taxi, or maybe more accurately a water bus, which has a stop right downstairs. The seven of us, all waterbus virgins, trooped down to the low dock and waited, expectantly, for about five minutes, while one or two long boats shot past delivering evidently very important cargo. All of a sudden a long wooden boat packed with people--row by row of them like the proverbial sardines--plunged up to the dock and a deckhand wearing a purple helmet leapt off, followed by one or two passengers. While the deckhand held the boat, we threw ourselves over the gap of opaque cafe-au-lait water and into the bottom of the boat. We were barely even inside before it leapt away from the landing and we were off.
Tarps flapped along the outside over the gunwales, keeping spray off the passengers. A series of natural-fiber lines ran up and down the length of the boat overhead, for standers to hold onto. A thick canvas roof, supported by aluminum piping, kept the sun off. The, oh, 20 or so benches each ran the width of the boat--to get in or out of them, you had to climb onto the side of the boat, or just enter a row directly from shore. As we raced along, glimpses of back yards sped by. A young woman with a baby, four-story-tall bougainvilleas in coral and fuschia, hints of old canals disappearing under pavement, black liquid seeping into the water, racks of designer jeans for sale. At the second stop, everyone on the boat--100 people?--leapt off and ran to a boat up ahead. Everyone leapt onto the new boat--a sort of reverse relay--and off we went again. Suddenly, up ahead, a low bridge spanned the canal. "That's a low bridge!" I, ever observant, commented at a yell (we were perched next to the engine) to Kate. I peered again at the bridge, and suddenly felt like I was Alice in Wonderland getting very tall. No, the entire canvas roof of the boat was coming down! I ducked, Kate ducked, even the intrepid Aunt L ducked (and she's a lot closer to Thai-sized than I am). Across the boat I heard a joyous "WHOA!" from either Robert or Ian, who were thrilled, as were we, that this awesome, ridiculous, bumpy, speedy, bizarre mode of transportation existed somewhere in the world and we had found it. We went under several other low bridges, the entire boat shutting down, razor clam-like, at each bridge. We sped past five boys jumping on a small floating dock and gave them some breakers to dive into, passed the return taxi at a bumpy, splashy gallop, and pulled up, way too soon, at our destination. I will say without hestitation that the Bangkok Waterbus is the best mass transit I've ever taken.
After visiting a (somewhat anticlimactic, but then what wouldn't be) wat and palace, we strolled through a large square . . . in front of city hall, I think . . . where several groups of people were doing aerobics, led by a pretty young man on a platform in the middle of the square.
Dinner was at a riverside cafe and featured several new dishes, including my favorite: ground peanuts and pork into which you dip vegetables. And then back home to finish packing, and as a reward for our labors share the interesting pastel and/or leaf-wrapped desserts Ian, Intrepid Aunt L and I had picked out from the fancy London-like supermarket down the street. Wow. Boy were they bad. Not so bad, perhaps, as anything from the food stall I saw this evening selling an assortment of glistening, toasty grubs, roaches, and locusts, but not really the kind of thing you'd eat to reward yourself. The coconut-milk things in banana leaves were salty as well as sweet and also contained taro and maybe jicama; the sticky rice in banana leaves was stuffed with red bean paste that looked like liver and also black beans; two transparent bon bons that appeared to have cherries in the middle instead had a small, cherry-sized piece of sweet potato, and the transparent stuff, instead of being a little mushy like confectioner's glaze, was so hard as to feel like biting into cartilage (I really grossed-out Robert with that description). A green and white flower, expected to taste like coconut gelatin, tasted like coconut gelatin with a hint of seaweed. A pink rose-shaped bon bon tasted like coconut and rose, and was very bouncy to chew. There was only one thing that was good--a sort of carmelized rice ball--and I fear that it was only good in relation to the others. After that experience, we all decided to throw in the towel and went off to our separate evening rituals, to meet in the morning--only to quickly part for several months.
Fond readers of this blog, and particularly these recent stories of Thailand, never fear, there will be at least a little more coming after I return home. The density of experience here has been too great to get a handle on everything while it's happening, so I'll take a little time, gain a little perspective, and revisit this exhilerating, fascinating, and fabulous trip from my very, very different living room in Seattle. In the meantime, Bon Voyage to me.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
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.
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.
Night Train
Robert and Kate and Ian and I arrived in Bangkok this morning at 7:00am, twelve hours after stepping onto the night train in Lampang. Without a doubt, Thailand's second-class sleeper trains are the best second-class sleeper trains in the world. When you first get on the train, you find pairs of seats facing each other on either side of a center aisle. To make things a little interesting when walking down a lurching train car, interspersed from side to side in the aisle are luggage racks with two shelves, one close to the floor and one high up, at the level of the soon-to-appear upper bunks. After you've shared your two large Singha beers (pronounced, surprisingly, Sing, although the water bottled by the same company is pronounced Sing-ha, just like you'd expect) with your friends, the friendly train man comes down the aisle to you and asks if you'd like your beds made up. You nod, say /kap kun ka/ (if you're me or Kate), and step out of the way. The friendly train man proceeds to lift and snap various bits of your seat into place so most of it forms a bed and two parts form shelves, one on each end. Under one shelf, formerly the head rest of a seat, appears your own private reading light, which works. He then proceeds to unhook from the ceiling what hitherto appeared to be merely the curvy shape of the train, and turn it into a top bunk. From the bunk he takes a rolled foam pad and unrolls it onto the lower bunk, at the same time flourishing a crisp, clean white sheet over and around it to form the lower part of a comfortable bed. He then flourishes an equally crisp and clean pillow case aroung a pillow retrieved from the top bunk, and places a soft, lofty white blanket--still sealed in its cleaner bag--in the center of the bed. Lastly, he unfolds a long curtain and hooks it, six inches by six inches, onto a narrow curtain rail at the edge of the top bunk. Voila; bed. I slept six hours without waking once, or even changing my position. That's actually much better than I can say for general life in my bed in Seattle.
Robert and Kate and Ian and I arrived in Bangkok this morning at 7:00am, twelve hours after stepping onto the night train in Lampang. Without a doubt, Thailand's second-class sleeper trains are the best second-class sleeper trains in the world. When you first get on the train, you find pairs of seats facing each other on either side of a center aisle. To make things a little interesting when walking down a lurching train car, interspersed from side to side in the aisle are luggage racks with two shelves, one close to the floor and one high up, at the level of the soon-to-appear upper bunks. After you've shared your two large Singha beers (pronounced, surprisingly, Sing, although the water bottled by the same company is pronounced Sing-ha, just like you'd expect) with your friends, the friendly train man comes down the aisle to you and asks if you'd like your beds made up. You nod, say /kap kun ka/ (if you're me or Kate), and step out of the way. The friendly train man proceeds to lift and snap various bits of your seat into place so most of it forms a bed and two parts form shelves, one on each end. Under one shelf, formerly the head rest of a seat, appears your own private reading light, which works. He then proceeds to unhook from the ceiling what hitherto appeared to be merely the curvy shape of the train, and turn it into a top bunk. From the bunk he takes a rolled foam pad and unrolls it onto the lower bunk, at the same time flourishing a crisp, clean white sheet over and around it to form the lower part of a comfortable bed. He then flourishes an equally crisp and clean pillow case aroung a pillow retrieved from the top bunk, and places a soft, lofty white blanket--still sealed in its cleaner bag--in the center of the bed. Lastly, he unfolds a long curtain and hooks it, six inches by six inches, onto a narrow curtain rail at the edge of the top bunk. Voila; bed. I slept six hours without waking once, or even changing my position. That's actually much better than I can say for general life in my bed in Seattle.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
A Couple Pictures . . .
Sorry to say, folks, but it does take a bit too long to upload pictures from here, so I'll leave you with these two.
A group of motorcycles waiting for the train to pass. No, they didn't all just happen to be there at the head of the line; they definitely filtered in. I mean, why wait if you can squeeze by the crowd.
Sorry to say, folks, but it does take a bit too long to upload pictures from here, so I'll leave you with these two.
A group of motorcycles waiting for the train to pass. No, they didn't all just happen to be there at the head of the line; they definitely filtered in. I mean, why wait if you can squeeze by the crowd.
Sun-dried fish leather. This was our first morning in country, at Hua Hin on the coast. These fish seemed to have been ill-fated.
More pics soon, I promise!
Monday, December 05, 2005
Elephants are Cool
Yesterday the four of us had a perfect developing country-style experience. Our plan was to leave Chiang Mai late morning for Lampang, stopping at the Elephant Hospital and Sanctuary en route, then go from Lampang to Jae Hom where R&K are teaching. There are no official buses to the Elephant Hospital, but we agreed to ask if the interurban bus from Chiang Mai to Lampang could drop us off there. We decided to worry about where to deposit our giant, American-style backpacks during the elephant show once we arrived at the sanctuary.
After some discussion with both Robert and Kate speaking long minutes with the woman at the ticket counter, Ian guarding some bags, and me floating around on the edges of R&Ks conversation not doing any good at all, it became clear that we could buy tickets for the 12:00 bus, which would drop us at the sanctuary, only we would have to stand until some other people got off. This was strange, thought Robert and Kate, although it sounded very like something Kenyan to me. They asked more questions, though, and eventually figured out that we would stand for about 3 minutes until the bus went to a bus barn; there, everyone going to some destination or other would get onto a better bus, and we would get to sit on the first bus. This all went according to expectations, and we eased out of Chiang Mai and onto the highway.
Highways in Thailand are another example, along with health care, large new cars, and abundant food, of how this country is not a traditional developing country. In fact, what I surmised about the Peace Corps in Thailand is true; Peace Corps felt that Thailand did not need its services, but Thailand asked Peace Corps to stay and in fact is partially funding its presence in the country. And highways, wide, multi-laned, and in good repair, are a far cry from the pitted, or totally unpaved, highways of other parts of the world.
We rode along comfortably out of Chiang Mai and up into the first set of mountains on the way to Lampang, talking about similarities and differences between the US and Thailand (Kate claims to have forgotten, by now, what exactly the differences are), when suddenly Ian said "Hey--I think that guy is motioning to us." We peered up to the front of the bus (we were in the last two seats), and sure enough, the tout was beckoning. We quickly gathered our small bags and rushed up the lurching aisle as the bus careened down from the first pass and screeched to a halt at the side of the highway. The door swung open, the tout jumped off and lifted the luggage out of the side of the bus, and the bus careened away down the rest of the mountain pass. We were at the sanctuary, and just in time for the 1:30 show.
After buying our tickets for the show and the shuttle, and filling the small ticket booth with our backpacks, we rushed with crowds of Thais onto the open-sided shuttle and held on tight as the driver hurried the 2 km to the showplace.
I have to say, elephants are so cool. We were treated to a demonstration of elephant work--logging techniques, mainly--and elephant aesthetics. Several elephants played instruments--gongs and drums, mainly (and not surprisingly), and two elephants painted. Okay, sure, their trunks are flexible and dextrous and they're very smart, so it's not particularly surprising that they could be taught to weild a paintbrush, and one of the elephants did the expected and painted an abstract, with lots of bold brush strokes and swirls and colors. But the other elephant painted an elephant, complete with mahout (the elephant rider/trainer) on top and green grass below. Hello?
After a brief viewing of a baby elephant and a hurried lunch, we collected our bags and trekked out to the highway where we proceeded to try and flag down transportation the rest of the day to Lampang. In general, public local buses ply the route, stopping at an official-looking structure there on the road. But yesterday was the king's birthday, so lots of people were traveling and routes were perhaps of schedule. Anyway, one local bus passed us, the tout waving her hands as if it were already too full, and I feared our serendipity had run out for the day, when Robert managed to flag down a passing sawng taew (pick-up with a canopy on top and benches inside), and the four of us plus a woman who also needed the bus rushed over. The driver tossed our bags on top and completely failed to tie them down with the rope I saw coiled there, a kid maybe about twenty gave up his seat inside and stood on the back platform in the light rain holding onto the side of the truck, we shoved ourselves into the already crowded seats, and away we went at highway speeds. Every time we hit the slightest bump, I pictured my bag taking flight, hitting the kid on the back in the head and throwing him from the speeding vehicle, then bouncing into the traffic behind us and causing a multicar pile-up. But we made it to Lampang without trouble, and were dropped at the sawng taew stand for Jae Hom just in time to catch the last bus of the day (yay! Bags inside!), and we arrived at Robert and Kate's charming little two-bedroom house as the last light faded from the sky.
Yesterday the four of us had a perfect developing country-style experience. Our plan was to leave Chiang Mai late morning for Lampang, stopping at the Elephant Hospital and Sanctuary en route, then go from Lampang to Jae Hom where R&K are teaching. There are no official buses to the Elephant Hospital, but we agreed to ask if the interurban bus from Chiang Mai to Lampang could drop us off there. We decided to worry about where to deposit our giant, American-style backpacks during the elephant show once we arrived at the sanctuary.
After some discussion with both Robert and Kate speaking long minutes with the woman at the ticket counter, Ian guarding some bags, and me floating around on the edges of R&Ks conversation not doing any good at all, it became clear that we could buy tickets for the 12:00 bus, which would drop us at the sanctuary, only we would have to stand until some other people got off. This was strange, thought Robert and Kate, although it sounded very like something Kenyan to me. They asked more questions, though, and eventually figured out that we would stand for about 3 minutes until the bus went to a bus barn; there, everyone going to some destination or other would get onto a better bus, and we would get to sit on the first bus. This all went according to expectations, and we eased out of Chiang Mai and onto the highway.
Highways in Thailand are another example, along with health care, large new cars, and abundant food, of how this country is not a traditional developing country. In fact, what I surmised about the Peace Corps in Thailand is true; Peace Corps felt that Thailand did not need its services, but Thailand asked Peace Corps to stay and in fact is partially funding its presence in the country. And highways, wide, multi-laned, and in good repair, are a far cry from the pitted, or totally unpaved, highways of other parts of the world.
We rode along comfortably out of Chiang Mai and up into the first set of mountains on the way to Lampang, talking about similarities and differences between the US and Thailand (Kate claims to have forgotten, by now, what exactly the differences are), when suddenly Ian said "Hey--I think that guy is motioning to us." We peered up to the front of the bus (we were in the last two seats), and sure enough, the tout was beckoning. We quickly gathered our small bags and rushed up the lurching aisle as the bus careened down from the first pass and screeched to a halt at the side of the highway. The door swung open, the tout jumped off and lifted the luggage out of the side of the bus, and the bus careened away down the rest of the mountain pass. We were at the sanctuary, and just in time for the 1:30 show.
After buying our tickets for the show and the shuttle, and filling the small ticket booth with our backpacks, we rushed with crowds of Thais onto the open-sided shuttle and held on tight as the driver hurried the 2 km to the showplace.
I have to say, elephants are so cool. We were treated to a demonstration of elephant work--logging techniques, mainly--and elephant aesthetics. Several elephants played instruments--gongs and drums, mainly (and not surprisingly), and two elephants painted. Okay, sure, their trunks are flexible and dextrous and they're very smart, so it's not particularly surprising that they could be taught to weild a paintbrush, and one of the elephants did the expected and painted an abstract, with lots of bold brush strokes and swirls and colors. But the other elephant painted an elephant, complete with mahout (the elephant rider/trainer) on top and green grass below. Hello?
After a brief viewing of a baby elephant and a hurried lunch, we collected our bags and trekked out to the highway where we proceeded to try and flag down transportation the rest of the day to Lampang. In general, public local buses ply the route, stopping at an official-looking structure there on the road. But yesterday was the king's birthday, so lots of people were traveling and routes were perhaps of schedule. Anyway, one local bus passed us, the tout waving her hands as if it were already too full, and I feared our serendipity had run out for the day, when Robert managed to flag down a passing sawng taew (pick-up with a canopy on top and benches inside), and the four of us plus a woman who also needed the bus rushed over. The driver tossed our bags on top and completely failed to tie them down with the rope I saw coiled there, a kid maybe about twenty gave up his seat inside and stood on the back platform in the light rain holding onto the side of the truck, we shoved ourselves into the already crowded seats, and away we went at highway speeds. Every time we hit the slightest bump, I pictured my bag taking flight, hitting the kid on the back in the head and throwing him from the speeding vehicle, then bouncing into the traffic behind us and causing a multicar pile-up. But we made it to Lampang without trouble, and were dropped at the sawng taew stand for Jae Hom just in time to catch the last bus of the day (yay! Bags inside!), and we arrived at Robert and Kate's charming little two-bedroom house as the last light faded from the sky.
Insiders
First of all, let me start by wholeheartedly recommending that, if you know any Peace Corps volunteers, you do everything you can to visit them in their countries. Ian and I enjoyed our few days in Thailand before meeting up with Robert & Kate; after all, it’s a charming, safe place with excellent food and friendly people–but that’s nothing. Having fluent guides makes all the difference in the world.
Their fluency is really astounding, but I understand that part of their perceived mastery of the language is our total lack of knowledge. I’d never heard Thai before coming here, and it’s taken the first week just to start to recognize what may or may not be individual words (believe me, this is a step up from just hearing an indeterminate babble). But then we hook up with our friends, and they speak the same babble! And Thai people understand them! It's really amazing. Ian did realize yesterday that some of what we've seen as Robert's fluency is him using lots of words he knows to ask for things he doesn't know the one word for; i.e. instead of asking for matches, he asked for "little sticks that burn and make the machine work that keeps mosquitos away". Clearly this method helps him hone his skills, and is endlessly entertaining to us and any Thais who happen to be within hearing range. His cell phone rang when we were on the train the other day, and his conversation with a Thai counterpart had the teenage girls behind him in stitches.
Kate orders all our food, and writes our orders out in Thai to ease understanding. Written Thai is based on Sanscrit and has 76 letters--76 letters--and not only can Kate immediately decipher what's on the menu, she can reproduce the names of her favorite dishes. We have been awed by her, as well as thrilled to try all these things we would maybe have stumbled upon but probably not. Also, with Kate's help, we've several times eaten at little stands serving basically one thing--usually a noodle soup with tofu, boiled eggs, or meat in it--generally all for 20 Baht, or about 50 cents. We'd looked wistfully at those stands before hooking up with R&K, and we would've eventually ordered from them, but it was nice to know that the insiders could pave the way for us.
First of all, let me start by wholeheartedly recommending that, if you know any Peace Corps volunteers, you do everything you can to visit them in their countries. Ian and I enjoyed our few days in Thailand before meeting up with Robert & Kate; after all, it’s a charming, safe place with excellent food and friendly people–but that’s nothing. Having fluent guides makes all the difference in the world.
Their fluency is really astounding, but I understand that part of their perceived mastery of the language is our total lack of knowledge. I’d never heard Thai before coming here, and it’s taken the first week just to start to recognize what may or may not be individual words (believe me, this is a step up from just hearing an indeterminate babble). But then we hook up with our friends, and they speak the same babble! And Thai people understand them! It's really amazing. Ian did realize yesterday that some of what we've seen as Robert's fluency is him using lots of words he knows to ask for things he doesn't know the one word for; i.e. instead of asking for matches, he asked for "little sticks that burn and make the machine work that keeps mosquitos away". Clearly this method helps him hone his skills, and is endlessly entertaining to us and any Thais who happen to be within hearing range. His cell phone rang when we were on the train the other day, and his conversation with a Thai counterpart had the teenage girls behind him in stitches.
Kate orders all our food, and writes our orders out in Thai to ease understanding. Written Thai is based on Sanscrit and has 76 letters--76 letters--and not only can Kate immediately decipher what's on the menu, she can reproduce the names of her favorite dishes. We have been awed by her, as well as thrilled to try all these things we would maybe have stumbled upon but probably not. Also, with Kate's help, we've several times eaten at little stands serving basically one thing--usually a noodle soup with tofu, boiled eggs, or meat in it--generally all for 20 Baht, or about 50 cents. We'd looked wistfully at those stands before hooking up with R&K, and we would've eventually ordered from them, but it was nice to know that the insiders could pave the way for us.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Sniffles
Yesterday I came down with a cold. To my credit, never even for a moment did I believe it was bird flu. No, the experience was way too familiar in its irritating minorness, sneezing, and runny nose. Mind you, I'm not terribly surprised. I tried very specifically to wear myself out in the days leading up to our 3:00am departure, so I would be able to sleep more on the 13-hour trans-Pacific flight than is my wont on airplanes, and thus avoid some of the fear I've developed, of late, associated with air travel. I was successful; that is, I slept through at least half of the journey, and then stayed awake many long hours until about 10:00pm Thailand time on our first night. I have found that staying awake until bed time local time is the way to do it. I believe that the thrill of being in a new place, discovering new sights, and eating new foods kept my adrenaline up and the cold at bay for the first couple days, and I initially blamed my soreish throat and sneezing on sleeping with a fan and a mosquito coil all night our second night in Petchaburi (another classic sign of a cold: denial). But as soon as we arrived in Ayutthaya and checked into our guest house--a beautifully restored teak house with polished floors, comfortable beds, soft pillows, fans, and clean bathrooms--my body decided I was safe and the cold hit for real. I took a long nap in the afternoon, slept several extra hours last night, and seem to be about done with it, and tonight we have yet another night in the gorgeous Baan Lotus Guest House.
I'd like to say something more about travel in places, such as here, where the options for transportation are numerous. We have yet to make a reservation for anything (although R&K did make us some for trains), and really haven't seen the need. For example, yesterday morning in Petchaburi, after our trek to 7-Eleven, we packed up our bags and left our guest house to head to the bus station. We stood for a total of 17 seconds on a street corner before a little taxi truck beep-beeped at us. We clambered in, he took us to the bus station, and we bought tickets for a high-speed first class air-conditioned bus bound for Bangkok--leaving in 10 minutes. Bottled water was even included in the price of the ticket. In Bangkok, we caught a regular car taxi to the northern train station--Bahn Sue Junction--where we bought tickets for Ayutthaya, for a train leaving in--yes--ten minutes. A nice police officer led us to the right train, a charming, clattery third class vehicle with polished golden-painted wooded seats (prettier to look at than sit on, but isn't that often the case) and double-hung windows, all wide-open (we closed ours partway once we took off and feared being blown out the window and down the tracks by the force of our passage). After an hour and a half we arrived in Ayutthaya, where we left the train, avoided the taxis, walked a half block to the river, down some stairs following someone else on our train, and directly onto a ferry that disgorged passengers as we arrived. From the other side of the river, we chose to walk the mile to our hotel carrying our heavy packs, which made us feel like we're legitimate back-packers. Really, so far we've had to create any difficulties we've encountered.
Tomorrow we head up to Chiang Mai with R&K. December 5th is the King's birthday and a huge national holiday, so we're very excited to be here for it. Preparations have been intense, with lots of lights draped from trees, and decorations around huge posters of the King and Queen.
Oh, and the weather has been hot and humid. It's amazing how much difference a fan makes.
Lastly: Foods we ate yesterday
Sticky rice in saran wrap, and what turned out to be pork in separate saran wrap, bought from a vendor with a basket on the train
Fried rice with beef
Green curry with beef. The curries all have these weird green beans, or pods, or something in them. They're about the size of blueberries and kind of bitter. I kind of like them.
Watermelon from the night market. Ian was impressed at how carefully the vendor cut it--without ever touching the flesh.
Chicken and coconut milk sour soup
Glass noodles with basil
Yesterday I came down with a cold. To my credit, never even for a moment did I believe it was bird flu. No, the experience was way too familiar in its irritating minorness, sneezing, and runny nose. Mind you, I'm not terribly surprised. I tried very specifically to wear myself out in the days leading up to our 3:00am departure, so I would be able to sleep more on the 13-hour trans-Pacific flight than is my wont on airplanes, and thus avoid some of the fear I've developed, of late, associated with air travel. I was successful; that is, I slept through at least half of the journey, and then stayed awake many long hours until about 10:00pm Thailand time on our first night. I have found that staying awake until bed time local time is the way to do it. I believe that the thrill of being in a new place, discovering new sights, and eating new foods kept my adrenaline up and the cold at bay for the first couple days, and I initially blamed my soreish throat and sneezing on sleeping with a fan and a mosquito coil all night our second night in Petchaburi (another classic sign of a cold: denial). But as soon as we arrived in Ayutthaya and checked into our guest house--a beautifully restored teak house with polished floors, comfortable beds, soft pillows, fans, and clean bathrooms--my body decided I was safe and the cold hit for real. I took a long nap in the afternoon, slept several extra hours last night, and seem to be about done with it, and tonight we have yet another night in the gorgeous Baan Lotus Guest House.
I'd like to say something more about travel in places, such as here, where the options for transportation are numerous. We have yet to make a reservation for anything (although R&K did make us some for trains), and really haven't seen the need. For example, yesterday morning in Petchaburi, after our trek to 7-Eleven, we packed up our bags and left our guest house to head to the bus station. We stood for a total of 17 seconds on a street corner before a little taxi truck beep-beeped at us. We clambered in, he took us to the bus station, and we bought tickets for a high-speed first class air-conditioned bus bound for Bangkok--leaving in 10 minutes. Bottled water was even included in the price of the ticket. In Bangkok, we caught a regular car taxi to the northern train station--Bahn Sue Junction--where we bought tickets for Ayutthaya, for a train leaving in--yes--ten minutes. A nice police officer led us to the right train, a charming, clattery third class vehicle with polished golden-painted wooded seats (prettier to look at than sit on, but isn't that often the case) and double-hung windows, all wide-open (we closed ours partway once we took off and feared being blown out the window and down the tracks by the force of our passage). After an hour and a half we arrived in Ayutthaya, where we left the train, avoided the taxis, walked a half block to the river, down some stairs following someone else on our train, and directly onto a ferry that disgorged passengers as we arrived. From the other side of the river, we chose to walk the mile to our hotel carrying our heavy packs, which made us feel like we're legitimate back-packers. Really, so far we've had to create any difficulties we've encountered.
Tomorrow we head up to Chiang Mai with R&K. December 5th is the King's birthday and a huge national holiday, so we're very excited to be here for it. Preparations have been intense, with lots of lights draped from trees, and decorations around huge posters of the King and Queen.
Oh, and the weather has been hot and humid. It's amazing how much difference a fan makes.
Lastly: Foods we ate yesterday
Sticky rice in saran wrap, and what turned out to be pork in separate saran wrap, bought from a vendor with a basket on the train
Fried rice with beef
Green curry with beef. The curries all have these weird green beans, or pods, or something in them. They're about the size of blueberries and kind of bitter. I kind of like them.
Watermelon from the night market. Ian was impressed at how carefully the vendor cut it--without ever touching the flesh.
Chicken and coconut milk sour soup
Glass noodles with basil