This is really a posting on what I've learned as a new teacher and not so much the socioeconomic ideas of Marx. Jokingly, Noah and I would say that we are the socialists of our respective families. "Let's all work together and share the wealth!" But we work the best we can in the society that we've been born into and I think that I'm a pretty decent capitalist kid. When one of my students called me a communist on Friday, it made me think differently.
This sudden anger arose from my terribly "high-pressured" attendance policy, one that I've recently enforced. "15 minutes late to class and you're marked absent." This was an attempt to stop the strolling into class thirty minutes late and expecting to be counted present. As we all know, that kind of tardiness is distracting for me and the rest of the students. I had to put a end to the madness and set some boundaries.
This new rule rubbed students the wrong way. Their interpretation of it was me being unyielding. "Are you saying that because I'm one minute late, you're marking me absent?!"
What they really meant to say was: Are you saying that because I'm sixteen minutes late, you're marking me absent, you dirty commie?!"
I've gotten a lot of angry students protesting it; I've gotten a lot of confused Thai teachers who think it might be too strict. And now I've got one student who thinks I'm enforcing Mother Russia's Stalinist rule upon her.
It's through my experience with the students and talking with fellow teachers, that I've learned t it wasn't a good idea to come into teaching wanting to be the student's friend. I imagine every teacher that starts off, has huge ideas. One idea being that their youth and creativity will make the children see and obey. And I imagine all students know this and take advantage of it.
Is it terribly regrettable? No not really, I don't regret the valuable lessons that I've learn from all the mistakes I've made. The time and energy lost however, is a hard pill to swallow. If I had started the semester with my attendance rule, I would have save myself some headache and I would have trained the students. As it is, most of the students take the "15 minute law" pretty seriously. I've got them running through the halls and checking their watches.
Firm is the way to start out. According to my friend and veteran teacher, Cindy, there's a saying that goes amongst teachers: "Don't let them see you smile until after Thanksgiving." It makes sense to me. I've done things in the reverse, which confused the kids, and left some feeling a little like they may have lost their pal.
I'm okay with that I suppose. I came here to do a job, not to be anyone's buddy. And with one full week of teaching left, I'm stickin' to my guns. I would suggest that the new teacher, Nick, do the same. Although he'll certainly have his own unique experience with teaching, he'll most likely have the same start. The same inner conflict of picking what kind of relationship he will want with his students.
I would invoke the words of imperialistic President Teddy Roosevelt. "Walk softly and carry a big stick."
Then he should start rationing out their meat supplies.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Sunday, September 13, 2009
All in a Day's Shopping
I just got back from my own solo Sunday Session. It was a lot less educational than Charish and Dave's Sunday Session, but still fun and relaxing all the same. I've been shopping the local markets just outside the mall and I found some great deals.
I've learned that you should never shop in the mall. Everything is as overpriced as you think and there's really no such thing as a "sale." Outside the mall is a huge market called The Pin klao Market, a tent with a thousand little stalls selling everything a woman would need to stock her walk-in closet.
*WALK-IN CLOSET* I'm talking to you Noah *WALK-IN CLOSET*
Purses, shoes, jewelry, sunglasses, underwear, dresses, school uniforms. . . like I said, everything. While shopping in Pin Klao, I've become a lot more savvy in negotiating prices.
One thing I recommend in Thailand is learning key phrases in the language before shopping. Duh. It might be an obvious one, but I've seen westerners forget this and they end up talking louder, getting frustrated, and sometimes getting scammed.
I amble. I try not to walk as fast as I would on the street. I take my time, stop every other two feet and thoughtfully touch something. I give a "hmm." That's all it takes to attract a salesperson, sometimes a lot less. They greet me and I always smile and say "sawadee kaa." They will pitch their sale to me as if I understand. I have no idea what they are saying. I nod, always thoughtfully, furrow my brow, and say "hmm" some more. When I've spotted something I think I might like, I ask, "Tow rai?" How much? When they give me their price, I nod again. By now I sound like a Campbell Soup commercial. "Hmm. . ." Right now, is their chance to talk up this product some more:
"It's hand-made!"
"It's made of genuine leather!"
"It's from Paris!"
"We have it in extra large!"
I hear that last one often. If their price isn't doing it for me, I'll slowly back away with a pensive, losing interest expression. At this point, they might start talking faster.
"Maybe discount for you!"
Oh yeah?
Sometimes there's something I really want and I have to take a more offensive approach. That's where my knowledge of Thai numbers comes in handy. They are impressed that I know that much Thai in the first place. They don't expect it. Little do they know that's all the Thai I can speak. Once I saw a shirt for 280 baht. I inspected it in front of the saleswoman and put it back on the wall. "hmm."
"240," I told her.
She frowned and shook her head. A lesser woman would back down. I looked through the other tops and saw that the one I wanted was the only grey one. "No more grey," I told her. "Plus, it's medium! 240."
She pauses and I know I've got her. "270."
We keep this up until we've reached a compromise with 250. We both feel like winners.
Then there are just magically moments that occur without my doing anything. Like today. I was able to get discounts off of two items because. . . well I don't know. Maybe it's because I'm just a nice gal. When those happen, I just smile, thank them, and make a mental note to bring my business back.
Whew, I'm a little tired from all that walking and looking and spending money. I want a caramel latte. I'm getting spoiled :(
I've learned that you should never shop in the mall. Everything is as overpriced as you think and there's really no such thing as a "sale." Outside the mall is a huge market called The Pin klao Market, a tent with a thousand little stalls selling everything a woman would need to stock her walk-in closet.
*WALK-IN CLOSET* I'm talking to you Noah *WALK-IN CLOSET*
Purses, shoes, jewelry, sunglasses, underwear, dresses, school uniforms. . . like I said, everything. While shopping in Pin Klao, I've become a lot more savvy in negotiating prices.
One thing I recommend in Thailand is learning key phrases in the language before shopping. Duh. It might be an obvious one, but I've seen westerners forget this and they end up talking louder, getting frustrated, and sometimes getting scammed.
I amble. I try not to walk as fast as I would on the street. I take my time, stop every other two feet and thoughtfully touch something. I give a "hmm." That's all it takes to attract a salesperson, sometimes a lot less. They greet me and I always smile and say "sawadee kaa." They will pitch their sale to me as if I understand. I have no idea what they are saying. I nod, always thoughtfully, furrow my brow, and say "hmm" some more. When I've spotted something I think I might like, I ask, "Tow rai?" How much? When they give me their price, I nod again. By now I sound like a Campbell Soup commercial. "Hmm. . ." Right now, is their chance to talk up this product some more:
"It's hand-made!"
"It's made of genuine leather!"
"It's from Paris!"
"We have it in extra large!"
I hear that last one often. If their price isn't doing it for me, I'll slowly back away with a pensive, losing interest expression. At this point, they might start talking faster.
"Maybe discount for you!"
Oh yeah?
Sometimes there's something I really want and I have to take a more offensive approach. That's where my knowledge of Thai numbers comes in handy. They are impressed that I know that much Thai in the first place. They don't expect it. Little do they know that's all the Thai I can speak. Once I saw a shirt for 280 baht. I inspected it in front of the saleswoman and put it back on the wall. "hmm."
"240," I told her.
She frowned and shook her head. A lesser woman would back down. I looked through the other tops and saw that the one I wanted was the only grey one. "No more grey," I told her. "Plus, it's medium! 240."
She pauses and I know I've got her. "270."
We keep this up until we've reached a compromise with 250. We both feel like winners.
Then there are just magically moments that occur without my doing anything. Like today. I was able to get discounts off of two items because. . . well I don't know. Maybe it's because I'm just a nice gal. When those happen, I just smile, thank them, and make a mental note to bring my business back.
Whew, I'm a little tired from all that walking and looking and spending money. I want a caramel latte. I'm getting spoiled :(
Friday, September 11, 2009
Brown Like Me
On my last Sunday Session with Dave, we were accosted by a Thai man who wanted to know why Dave was "so white."
While minding our own business at a riverside park, a not so subtle but very witty Thai man came strolling up to us. He stopped, with his hands held behind his back, he stared at Dave in amusement. "You are you so white," he said. "Why?"
Dave was more than a little perplexed. I watched in amazement. Could one just state the obvious like that? The Thai can. Things like race, sexuality, and often at times, weight are not at all taboo to discuss directly. I suppose we shouldn't have been too surprised that a stranger would just point that out.
Dave shrugged. "I'm English."
The man pointed at my leg. "She is brown." He pointed to his arm. "I am brown." Then he finished the circle. "You are white." Before Dave could reply, the man directed his attention to me. "Are you Thai?"
"No."
"Why are you brown?"
"I'm. . ." I was confused, that's what I was. "African American. I'm black."
And now he was confused or suspicious. I have had many Thais question my ethnicity, just like some Americans do. They know that I'm not Thai, but I'm not just black either and it must be verified.
Another color related issue took place in my classroom. The girls of my level two class are usually a rowdy bunch, but mostly cute and precocious. It was after one lesson that I was packing up my things and about to exit the room, when one of my students pointed out how brown I was. Mai compared me to another one of my students, a cute brown Thai girl named Bell.
"Mother and daughter," Mai said to us and pointed to our arms. The other students giggled about it and I cringed inwardly. They may not have realized it, but I felt like we had walked into something that was potentially awkward. I looked at Bell who gave me an unusually strained smile.
What I already know about Bell made me think twice about my response. She's the darkest in a group of light-skinned Thai girlfriends and I think she's quite aware of it. It might be the reason, she seems to identify with me. She marvels at my fashion sense (truthfully, I hate wearing my teacher's uniform. I'm glad someone appreciates it) and is always telling me how beautiful I am. I return the favor, not because I feel sorry for her, but because she really is. She's got lovely burnt sienna skin, dark expressive eyes, and such an inviting smile.
One day, I asked her if she was looking forward to our field trip to the beach (to see those sea turtles), she was not happy. "Too much sun."
"Yeah? So?"
She pointed to her arm and frowned. I didn't like hearing that.
I also didn't like it when her and her friends came to my class, with so much powder, they looked like a gaggle of geishas. It was more obvious on Bell with her being so much darker than the other girls. I don't understand how she could think she looked better with a pound of powder hiding the skin she was born with.
So as I faced the girls and Bell, I chose my words carefully. "Not mother and daughter, I'm too young for kids," I told them. "We're more like sisters."
They nodded in recognition and Bell flashed me that beautiful smile of hers. Crisis averted.
Race isn't an issue here in Thailand, but color is. There are no dark skinned models or actresses representing in the media. This isn't unusual though, many countries and cultures share this idea of beauty. I find it interesting that my experiences here have been eerily similar to the one's I've had as a kid in America. When I was younger, my mother told my sister and I not to play in the sun. She wasn't as concerned about our safety as she was our appearance.
"Do you want to get black?"
Before I could reply, "Duh, mom, I already am," I just put on a hat to her appease her.
I wonder what Bell's mom has told her.
While minding our own business at a riverside park, a not so subtle but very witty Thai man came strolling up to us. He stopped, with his hands held behind his back, he stared at Dave in amusement. "You are you so white," he said. "Why?"
Dave was more than a little perplexed. I watched in amazement. Could one just state the obvious like that? The Thai can. Things like race, sexuality, and often at times, weight are not at all taboo to discuss directly. I suppose we shouldn't have been too surprised that a stranger would just point that out.
Dave shrugged. "I'm English."
The man pointed at my leg. "She is brown." He pointed to his arm. "I am brown." Then he finished the circle. "You are white." Before Dave could reply, the man directed his attention to me. "Are you Thai?"
"No."
"Why are you brown?"
"I'm. . ." I was confused, that's what I was. "African American. I'm black."
And now he was confused or suspicious. I have had many Thais question my ethnicity, just like some Americans do. They know that I'm not Thai, but I'm not just black either and it must be verified.
Another color related issue took place in my classroom. The girls of my level two class are usually a rowdy bunch, but mostly cute and precocious. It was after one lesson that I was packing up my things and about to exit the room, when one of my students pointed out how brown I was. Mai compared me to another one of my students, a cute brown Thai girl named Bell.
"Mother and daughter," Mai said to us and pointed to our arms. The other students giggled about it and I cringed inwardly. They may not have realized it, but I felt like we had walked into something that was potentially awkward. I looked at Bell who gave me an unusually strained smile.
What I already know about Bell made me think twice about my response. She's the darkest in a group of light-skinned Thai girlfriends and I think she's quite aware of it. It might be the reason, she seems to identify with me. She marvels at my fashion sense (truthfully, I hate wearing my teacher's uniform. I'm glad someone appreciates it) and is always telling me how beautiful I am. I return the favor, not because I feel sorry for her, but because she really is. She's got lovely burnt sienna skin, dark expressive eyes, and such an inviting smile.
One day, I asked her if she was looking forward to our field trip to the beach (to see those sea turtles), she was not happy. "Too much sun."
"Yeah? So?"
She pointed to her arm and frowned. I didn't like hearing that.
I also didn't like it when her and her friends came to my class, with so much powder, they looked like a gaggle of geishas. It was more obvious on Bell with her being so much darker than the other girls. I don't understand how she could think she looked better with a pound of powder hiding the skin she was born with.
So as I faced the girls and Bell, I chose my words carefully. "Not mother and daughter, I'm too young for kids," I told them. "We're more like sisters."
They nodded in recognition and Bell flashed me that beautiful smile of hers. Crisis averted.
Race isn't an issue here in Thailand, but color is. There are no dark skinned models or actresses representing in the media. This isn't unusual though, many countries and cultures share this idea of beauty. I find it interesting that my experiences here have been eerily similar to the one's I've had as a kid in America. When I was younger, my mother told my sister and I not to play in the sun. She wasn't as concerned about our safety as she was our appearance.
"Do you want to get black?"
Before I could reply, "Duh, mom, I already am," I just put on a hat to her appease her.
I wonder what Bell's mom has told her.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
A Familiar Friend
Bright colors yellow, red, orange, swirl around me as I step through the automatic door and into a paradise full of fried potatoes and "all beef patties."
McDonalds in Bangkok is such a delight! There's a general feeling of privilege as you dine there. It is actually the most expensive meal the average Thai will eat. At a hundred and thirty baht, I could be eating eight omelets and a couple meats on sticks. I wouldn't. That's just an illustration. Potatoes might be a expensive but beef and cheese are gold!
Take just a moment to think about your local American McDonalds. Pimply sixteen year olds spitting in the quarter pounders, massive amounts of health violations. Weekly e. coli scares. "We forgot your apple pie? Okay, what about it?"
"This isn't your order? Well, can you eat it anyway? You like chicken nuggets, right?"
"You ordered twenty minutes ago? I guess we lost it. . ."
Okay, now ready yourself for this:
I walked into the restaurant and I was met with a chipper teen girl with a flouncy red apron who may or may not have said: " Sa wa dee ka, ma ha na. . . something. . . kaa!" I take it that meant: "Welcome to McDonalds, we have a promotion on the new chicken burger!" I smiled and nodded. This young woman walks around like a bird of paradise, her makeup and hair immaculate and her uniform is trendy. Her job is to greet customers, clear off tables and direct people to a table! Can you believe that? A hostess!
The bright lights and signs were begging me to shoot myself with some beefy dopamine goodness. What do I want? What do I want? I want it all! I'll have a large fry, a large nugget, a Big Mac, a large, coke and two apple pies. Simmer down, girl. We're going to get through this trip without making a fool of ourselves.
"Sa wa dee KAA!" said an equally chipper counter girl.
"KAA!" I replied, excited that I was being welcomed in a McDonald's for the first time in my life. No one looked bored or angry that I had interrupted their food fight or prank intercom shenanigans to request food!
"Can I have a double cheeseburger set, please?" Instead calling things "Big Mac Meals," they call them sets. Perhaps they think it's a little presumptuous to call a burger and fries a "meal."
The counter girl was all over it. She shouted to someone and things were happening so rapidly, I couldn't keep up. My meal was out on the counter before I could stick my hand in my pocket for money. I looked at the girl dumbly. "Is that mine?"
Her head bobbed up and down. "One hundred thirty nine baht."
My paid and noticed that my drink was a coke, I also noticed that they didn't ask me if I'd wanted a coke. Apparently it's a default drink. As I looked around the dining area for a place to sit, I found I didn't have to look long. The hostess, who had obviously been keeping an eye on me, ushered me to a table without much preamble. "Thank you," I murmured, still amazed by this treatment.
How was the meal? The fries were hot and crispy, the burger was hot and cheesy with a ton of ketchup and pickles that I'd removed no matter what country I'm in. It was calming to sit amongst the calamity of being in a new location but with an old familiar friend. Until the old familiar feeling of guilt came back. "What the hell am I doing eating this? I stopped eating this stuff when I was in America!"
When I was finished, I quickly left, pretending that I was never in there.
P.S. Some other things I found really interesting about Bangkok McDonalds:
1. The ketchup doesn't taste the same. Something about this kind is slightly sweeter and thinner consistency. Next to ketchup dispensers there are "chili sauce" dispensers. I don't dig that sauce at all.
2. There are no apple pies. Only corn and pineapple pies. I don't think I'm about that either. Corn pies?
3. I saw at least three other foreigners eating there last night. We all pretended we didn't see one another. I imagine we didn't want admit to the others that we'd sunk that low. WE ARE NOT TOURISTS!
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Weighing in With My Opinion
For one baht, you can see how much you weight in kilos! Before I filmed this today, I tried this once before and got 77 kilos. But one of my students caught me, she blabbed to nearly the entire school that I was fat. Sigh.
I know I'm not fat. For a woman my height, I'm right where I ought to be. When I'm not lazy, I might do sit ups or dance around in the evenings. That obviously constitutes a tough work-out. So what's the issue? Thailand, of course, since I've been here, all the foreign women I've come into contact with have complained about shopping for clothes or being referred to the "fat corner,"
And I am a chief complainer. Ever since I first came out here and went to the local Tesco to buy some work clothes, I noticed something was terribly wrong. According to the Thai, I'm morbidly obese. Okay, maybe not so much. And keep in mind, Asians are generally small people. So to find out that a size medium shirt you'd wear in the states is actually a size extra extra large here, is a little frustrating. And let me tell you, there are limited XXLs to go around.
And don't get me started about shoes.
Or long enough pants with enough room in the butt and hips.
Or about bras.
Or about fitting inside tuk tuks and most buses.
I'm a giant in so many ways. If I throw in the afro as well, I'll bet I'm an overwhelming sight for little children. They love to stare and I just wish I knew what they were thinking. I think they might be afraid. Well that's okay, kids are allowed some awe-inspiring sights every once in awhile. Hey! Maybe one of these days, I can get mistaken for WNBA superstar Lisa Leslie and get asked for an autograph! : )
Monday, August 31, 2009
Down to the Wire
All right then, today is the end of the August and that means I've got one more month left in the country. Or as Noah says, four weeks. Apparently we're not counting that last week due to our hectic schedules. So there we are, four weeks.
I have to admit that August was a pretty dry month. I didn't write quite as much as I should have and I placated you all with media. I hope you didn't notice. This month, however, things will change. I will have to write something nearly everyday if I want to come away from this experience totally satisfied. That means some of you will get more emails from me. That's okay, I'm assuming you read these posts and that you won't mind the clutter.
I'll get started now.
Today was payday and nothing makes teachers more giddy and more tolerant than getting their monthly salary. Students aren't quite as loud, co-workers aren't quite as annoying and there's somewhat of a bounce to your step when you walk to the ATM. The first thing I spent my hard earned money on today was a massage. The ones I like run a little expensive, about 850 baht for an hour and a half for the full body oil. I can only do a couple a month and then I have to chill. But today it was nice to lay out and have someone erase my stresses away with hands trained at Buddhist temples. Nothin' like it.
Once I left the spa, my world slowed down considerably. I walked like a local. Usually, I walk at a break neck speed, angling around pedestrians, hopping off the sidewalk to avoid running into old ladies. This evening, however, I just strolled. I grabbed a bite to eat, met up with my friend Cindy and chatted with her over a cheese danish, and then shopped.
I'd like to say that I'm roughing it out here. It's far from the truth. Living in Bangkok has it's frustrations, but very rarely could I go to the spa in America, and eat, and shop, just because I could or had the money. I'm really going to miss this part of living out here.
Okay then, I'm going to prepare for bed and tomorrow, I will continue the week as best as I can. I've got four more to go!
I have to admit that August was a pretty dry month. I didn't write quite as much as I should have and I placated you all with media. I hope you didn't notice. This month, however, things will change. I will have to write something nearly everyday if I want to come away from this experience totally satisfied. That means some of you will get more emails from me. That's okay, I'm assuming you read these posts and that you won't mind the clutter.
I'll get started now.
Today was payday and nothing makes teachers more giddy and more tolerant than getting their monthly salary. Students aren't quite as loud, co-workers aren't quite as annoying and there's somewhat of a bounce to your step when you walk to the ATM. The first thing I spent my hard earned money on today was a massage. The ones I like run a little expensive, about 850 baht for an hour and a half for the full body oil. I can only do a couple a month and then I have to chill. But today it was nice to lay out and have someone erase my stresses away with hands trained at Buddhist temples. Nothin' like it.
Once I left the spa, my world slowed down considerably. I walked like a local. Usually, I walk at a break neck speed, angling around pedestrians, hopping off the sidewalk to avoid running into old ladies. This evening, however, I just strolled. I grabbed a bite to eat, met up with my friend Cindy and chatted with her over a cheese danish, and then shopped.
I'd like to say that I'm roughing it out here. It's far from the truth. Living in Bangkok has it's frustrations, but very rarely could I go to the spa in America, and eat, and shop, just because I could or had the money. I'm really going to miss this part of living out here.
Okay then, I'm going to prepare for bed and tomorrow, I will continue the week as best as I can. I've got four more to go!
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Weekend in photos
Here's the plan:
Sunday Session four, featuring our friend Larissa.
Fish feeding frenzy at the pier!
Toilet stall sign that needed to be captured
outside of Rama 5's palace
Hanging out at the Marble Temple
Marble Temple bridgeBangin' the drum.
A quiet moment to meditate
Monday, August 10, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Dear Miss Susannah Roderick (part II)
How are you doing these days? Well, I hope. Are you taking in a lot sun and fun this summer? Things are going well on this end of the globe. It's hot, there's a lost gecko in my bathroom; but I'm fine nonetheless.
I wanted you to know that I had wonderfully accidental luck on the elephant tracking. I nearly walked into one on my way home last night. It was a very cute baby elephant being cared for by a couple of trainers. It looked healthy and pretty happy. I wanted to stop it and talk about you: "Susannah Roderick wants to know more about Thai elephants; can you tell me what it's like to be a baby elephant? Do you really like eating peanuts? Are you really afraid of mice?" I didn't get a chance though. It looked like it was in a hurry. But I did take a couple pictures for you:
I wanted you to know that I had wonderfully accidental luck on the elephant tracking. I nearly walked into one on my way home last night. It was a very cute baby elephant being cared for by a couple of trainers. It looked healthy and pretty happy. I wanted to stop it and talk about you: "Susannah Roderick wants to know more about Thai elephants; can you tell me what it's like to be a baby elephant? Do you really like eating peanuts? Are you really afraid of mice?" I didn't get a chance though. It looked like it was in a hurry. But I did take a couple pictures for you:
Friday, August 7, 2009
No Sea Turtles Were Actually Released Today.
But that's okay. I don't think the military men who stood by watching, were too trusting of us to do the right thing. And they were right to have their suspicions, because I was awfully close to pocketing one of those baby turtles. They were sooooo cute! Just splashing around, totally unaware of the arduous journey that lay before them in the cruel sea.
Sigh. Noah, I now want a rabbit and a turtle when I get home.
Here's what they look like:
I can't say that the whole trip was full of frills. The bus ride there was a little dangerous, what with the driver taking chances on a two lane highway in a double decker bus. I feel like the tip over rate in those things is incredibly high. If it wasn't the driving, it was the students and their horrible club music pumped through the buses speakers. I can't believe the driver would allow The Blackeyed Peas to be blasted in his ear while he drove. This lasted for about two hours. I got an incredible headache, the kind that seems unfathomable.
When we got to the Naval Base, we stopped to look a ship. But that's all us foreigners could do, was look. On the outside. Apparently, the military has a rule about farange being on the ship. That's okay though, I didn't come all the way to Chom-Buri to see a ship. Here are pictures and video though:
After that we saw the turtles:
That's someone's mom!
This might be why the navy men were eyeing us so suspiciously, we're not really supposed to be handling the turtles, but look at them! They're soooooo cute! I was quick.
After all the turtle watching, we went to the beach where I took a lot of pictures and chilled. It was probably the best part of the trip.
Sigh. Noah, I now want a rabbit and a turtle when I get home.
Here's what they look like:
I can't say that the whole trip was full of frills. The bus ride there was a little dangerous, what with the driver taking chances on a two lane highway in a double decker bus. I feel like the tip over rate in those things is incredibly high. If it wasn't the driving, it was the students and their horrible club music pumped through the buses speakers. I can't believe the driver would allow The Blackeyed Peas to be blasted in his ear while he drove. This lasted for about two hours. I got an incredible headache, the kind that seems unfathomable.
When we got to the Naval Base, we stopped to look a ship. But that's all us foreigners could do, was look. On the outside. Apparently, the military has a rule about farange being on the ship. That's okay though, I didn't come all the way to Chom-Buri to see a ship. Here are pictures and video though:
After that we saw the turtles:
That's someone's mom!
This might be why the navy men were eyeing us so suspiciously, we're not really supposed to be handling the turtles, but look at them! They're soooooo cute! I was quick.
After all the turtle watching, we went to the beach where I took a lot of pictures and chilled. It was probably the best part of the trip.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
Finding Music in Thailand
It's a pitiful substitute, a beer and D'angelo singing a cover of Smokey. Serving me the oldest line known,
music is made for love
It really is and I imagine music driving us, two forces with reckless steering.
I should have kissed you. . .
I've switched to something more somber
and for good reason,
it's a pitiful substitute, this song and these memories.
It's a first in a while,
listening to Bread. Of course, everything
they say is familiar and sensible
D'angelo and his gravitas is for another warm evening
I've created a useless and incredible jumbled
soundtrack to accompany this lonely night.
How hard is it to justify the placement of
Rogers and Zapp?
Damn hard. But like I said, it's a lonely night,
no need to explain it to anyone.
music is made for love
It really is and I imagine music driving us, two forces with reckless steering.
I should have kissed you. . .
I've switched to something more somber
and for good reason,
it's a pitiful substitute, this song and these memories.
It's a first in a while,
listening to Bread. Of course, everything
they say is familiar and sensible
D'angelo and his gravitas is for another warm evening
I've created a useless and incredible jumbled
soundtrack to accompany this lonely night.
How hard is it to justify the placement of
Rogers and Zapp?
Damn hard. But like I said, it's a lonely night,
no need to explain it to anyone.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
You Can Lead a Horse to the Water. . .
I yelled at my kids today, I felt terrible for it. I think it might have something to do with my air conditioning and PMS. This was the last time I'd meet with them before their midterm, so I gave them a study guide to go over in class. They begged for something to study, but then changed their minds and decided to do other things like talk, go to the toilet, start doing their make up and hair. . .
And then I yelled at them. I'm not proud of it, but I have to say that once I did it, I was on a roll. The berating took at least five minutes. I told them things like: "This isn't my test, it's your test!" "I'm not the one trying to get a job in tourism!" "You're all going to fail if you don't listen!" "Help me help you!" "I don't want to see you end up in the sex industry taking orders from a snaggle toothed pimp!"
Okay maybe not the last one, but you know where my heart was.
The room got sullen and they were quiet. To add to my point and to prevent myself from hitting one of them, I left the room. I didn't want to shout anymore and I didn't need to do anything silly. I had a headache of epic proportions and I needed a "time out."
Is this what parenting is like?
I felt like a monster for letting my temper get the best of me. When I got back the classroom, they acted a little more civilized and wanted to cooperate. In the end, I got what I wanted, but I felt terrible in the process. But these kids. . .
The majority of the students in my school are girls who are incredibly beautiful, but incredibly dumb or unmotivated or self-absorbed. I blame this on a lot of things: for one, it's their age, of course. I can't say I was all that motivated when I was sixteen, but I at least did my work. Another thing, is the commercialized pop culture that they live in, where everything revolves around clothes, makeup, hair, music, and boys. Not necessarily in that order.
The sad things is, if they don't make it in this vocational school, there's no way they are headed to college. For many this is the last stop in school anyway. Maybe I wasn't too far off when I said I didn't want them to end up in the sex industry. Because if they don't get their shit together, that is certainly where their beauty is going to lead them.
If I had it my way, they'd all become flight attendants, bankers, tour guides, hotel managers, and restaurant hostesses. That's what I'd like to see from them. But the reality is, and believe it or not, it just came to me: Students have to want it for themselves. That's the most disheartening part. I could shout at them til I'm blue in the face, but it won't help. Those who just aren't into school, just aren't. I have to remind myself to focus on the ones that are. That's just one more control issue, I have to let go of. Not everyone wants to be here; not all of them can be saved. I have to give my all to those who can be.
And then I yelled at them. I'm not proud of it, but I have to say that once I did it, I was on a roll. The berating took at least five minutes. I told them things like: "This isn't my test, it's your test!" "I'm not the one trying to get a job in tourism!" "You're all going to fail if you don't listen!" "Help me help you!" "I don't want to see you end up in the sex industry taking orders from a snaggle toothed pimp!"
Okay maybe not the last one, but you know where my heart was.
The room got sullen and they were quiet. To add to my point and to prevent myself from hitting one of them, I left the room. I didn't want to shout anymore and I didn't need to do anything silly. I had a headache of epic proportions and I needed a "time out."
Is this what parenting is like?
I felt like a monster for letting my temper get the best of me. When I got back the classroom, they acted a little more civilized and wanted to cooperate. In the end, I got what I wanted, but I felt terrible in the process. But these kids. . .
The majority of the students in my school are girls who are incredibly beautiful, but incredibly dumb or unmotivated or self-absorbed. I blame this on a lot of things: for one, it's their age, of course. I can't say I was all that motivated when I was sixteen, but I at least did my work. Another thing, is the commercialized pop culture that they live in, where everything revolves around clothes, makeup, hair, music, and boys. Not necessarily in that order.
The sad things is, if they don't make it in this vocational school, there's no way they are headed to college. For many this is the last stop in school anyway. Maybe I wasn't too far off when I said I didn't want them to end up in the sex industry. Because if they don't get their shit together, that is certainly where their beauty is going to lead them.
If I had it my way, they'd all become flight attendants, bankers, tour guides, hotel managers, and restaurant hostesses. That's what I'd like to see from them. But the reality is, and believe it or not, it just came to me: Students have to want it for themselves. That's the most disheartening part. I could shout at them til I'm blue in the face, but it won't help. Those who just aren't into school, just aren't. I have to remind myself to focus on the ones that are. That's just one more control issue, I have to let go of. Not everyone wants to be here; not all of them can be saved. I have to give my all to those who can be.
Monday, July 27, 2009
In the Heat of the Night
I'm so angry right now and I only have the heat of my bedroom fueling my rage. My air conditioning quit on me two nights ago and I'm stuck with another hot night in Bangkok. It wouldn't be so bad if my bedroom weren't on the top floor and it wasn't facing the sun everyday. I probably wouldn't be so angry if I weren't dealing with the laid back "get it done later" attitude of my school.
Mai pen rai.
I'm so past the point of "no worries" right now, I don't know what to do.
The technician that works for the school, came to my house to look at it and the conclusion was that I would need a whole new unit. There's no telling how long that will take. "Maybe tomorrow." Both of us, sweating, stare at the broken air conditioner. Him thinking that he needed to get out here, it was far too hot. Me thinking that I'm going to pull the thing out of my wall and cast it over my balcony. I might toss him right behind it.
After he broke the news to me, I calmly walked him out of my house, saying thank you as I did it, because I'm not that rude. I shut the door behind him, calmly walked back upstairs, closing the bedroom door behind me. . . and let out a blood curling scream about three times before I collapsed to the bed sobbing for relief and mercy.
Okay, so maybe I'm over reacting. But this is one those things that I'm still having a hard time with. The language barrier, yeah, of course, but there's also a conflict of attitude here. I have an attitude of "get it done YESTERDAY!" that clashes with the Thai. In the end, I always leave the table unsatisfied and frustrated. At school, the British teacher, Roger, jokes, "Did you fill out a request form for a request form yet?" Yes, it's almost that redundant.
The issue I have is that this shouldn't have happened in the first place. The air con was old as hell and everyone on the block knew it. It literally was the loudest machine on the street! Every time I turned it on, people knew I was home. It should have been replaced long ago. In fact, a technician did come out my first week here to look at it before I realized there was a problem, before I realized that it shouldn't sound like a lawn mower every time I turn it on. Why wasn't it replaced then? The same thing happened to Andy, the last American resident of this house. Only he had it worst, it was his water that got cut off and the school didn't get around to fixing until three or four days later!
Sigh. Mai pen rai.
mai pen rai
mai pen rai
mai pen. . . rai.
I think I'm okay now. I think I'll be okay. I will wait for tomorrow and see what comes. Thank you for listening to that rant. Sorry I've tainted the blog with such negativity, but I think this counts for one of those Thai experiences to remember, eh?
Before I go, I shouldn't let another moment pass without giving a shot out to my husband, newly doctored and all. I know I told him a million times that I'm super proud of him, but I don't really think it can be said quite enough. "I'm proud of you, Dr. Babe."
Mai pen rai.
I'm so past the point of "no worries" right now, I don't know what to do.
The technician that works for the school, came to my house to look at it and the conclusion was that I would need a whole new unit. There's no telling how long that will take. "Maybe tomorrow." Both of us, sweating, stare at the broken air conditioner. Him thinking that he needed to get out here, it was far too hot. Me thinking that I'm going to pull the thing out of my wall and cast it over my balcony. I might toss him right behind it.
After he broke the news to me, I calmly walked him out of my house, saying thank you as I did it, because I'm not that rude. I shut the door behind him, calmly walked back upstairs, closing the bedroom door behind me. . . and let out a blood curling scream about three times before I collapsed to the bed sobbing for relief and mercy.
Okay, so maybe I'm over reacting. But this is one those things that I'm still having a hard time with. The language barrier, yeah, of course, but there's also a conflict of attitude here. I have an attitude of "get it done YESTERDAY!" that clashes with the Thai. In the end, I always leave the table unsatisfied and frustrated. At school, the British teacher, Roger, jokes, "Did you fill out a request form for a request form yet?" Yes, it's almost that redundant.
The issue I have is that this shouldn't have happened in the first place. The air con was old as hell and everyone on the block knew it. It literally was the loudest machine on the street! Every time I turned it on, people knew I was home. It should have been replaced long ago. In fact, a technician did come out my first week here to look at it before I realized there was a problem, before I realized that it shouldn't sound like a lawn mower every time I turn it on. Why wasn't it replaced then? The same thing happened to Andy, the last American resident of this house. Only he had it worst, it was his water that got cut off and the school didn't get around to fixing until three or four days later!
Sigh. Mai pen rai.
mai pen rai
mai pen rai
mai pen. . . rai.
I think I'm okay now. I think I'll be okay. I will wait for tomorrow and see what comes. Thank you for listening to that rant. Sorry I've tainted the blog with such negativity, but I think this counts for one of those Thai experiences to remember, eh?
Before I go, I shouldn't let another moment pass without giving a shot out to my husband, newly doctored and all. I know I told him a million times that I'm super proud of him, but I don't really think it can be said quite enough. "I'm proud of you, Dr. Babe."
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Roadside Dining
She was his ward but
his attention was on a chess game
As she peppered the boy's back
with tiny fists,
he ignored her
focusing on being a little man
They slammed pieces roughly,
traded insults and talked of honor
He was only twelve or so but
laughed at the jokes that
should have gone over his head
The scene was the past
and I was the boy
and it was my younger sister
that fussed
that pushed and prodded me,
wanting me to return the favor
Our ages cursed us.
In the beginning, I tried to lose her
and couldn't---she made me tired
She resented my desire for privacy
and her instant maturity
Years later, it became apparent
that she no longer needed me
I resented her privacy and her maturity
and how she acquired them so early
I returned to watch a brother
turn his back on a girl
starved for attention
I silently begged him to turn back
before it was too late
I soon lost my appetite.
his attention was on a chess game
As she peppered the boy's back
with tiny fists,
he ignored her
focusing on being a little man
They slammed pieces roughly,
traded insults and talked of honor
He was only twelve or so but
laughed at the jokes that
should have gone over his head
The scene was the past
and I was the boy
and it was my younger sister
that fussed
that pushed and prodded me,
wanting me to return the favor
Our ages cursed us.
In the beginning, I tried to lose her
and couldn't---she made me tired
She resented my desire for privacy
and her instant maturity
Years later, it became apparent
that she no longer needed me
I resented her privacy and her maturity
and how she acquired them so early
I returned to watch a brother
turn his back on a girl
starved for attention
I silently begged him to turn back
before it was too late
I soon lost my appetite.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Birthday Weekend July 24-26
Sorry for the limited posts this month. Even though I only had about fourteen real teaching days, I still managed to be super busy. But today is Sunday, a wind down kind of day. I just finished doing a massive load of laundry and now I'm listening to Hall and Oates in a really hot bedroom. If I turn on the air con, though, I might wear it out before night time comes. That's when I really need it. Hall and Oates are complaining about a woman that's gone and I realize that I need to get out of the house. So, I'm leaving after I write this.
This year's birthday was so awesome because I spent it in a pretty awesome city, abroad. Also, it landed on a Friday. Celebration bled well into Saturday and today too, I guess. Who's going to stop me from making it a three day festival? Here are some photos:
My 3/6 Tourism students surprised me with a cake and sang "Happy Birthday" to me. It was the best English I'd ever heard out of them. Their thoughtfulness made me a little tearful. They were upset by this. "Teacha! Don't cry!" The students had reports due that day. They didn't do them. Mmh.
That's my badminton friend Nut sitting next to me. He's got the responsibility of teaching all of these new Chinese students Thai. They're all really lovely and enthusiastic about learning though. They also sang "Happy Birthday" This led to believe that this song was obviously universally know. Friday was also my scheduled cooking lesson with Nut in the cafeteria. We learned how to green curry. The girls and I sampled more than we took notes.
Friday night! These are Dave's three friends(Sarah, Lauren, and Jenny), who just flew in from England that day. They were lovely enough to come out to help celebrate. My other friends Grace and Lynda joined in as well a little later. Our first stop was Mulligans' Irish Pub.
Grace and Lynda impressed? Maybe.
This year's birthday was so awesome because I spent it in a pretty awesome city, abroad. Also, it landed on a Friday. Celebration bled well into Saturday and today too, I guess. Who's going to stop me from making it a three day festival? Here are some photos:
My 3/6 Tourism students surprised me with a cake and sang "Happy Birthday" to me. It was the best English I'd ever heard out of them. Their thoughtfulness made me a little tearful. They were upset by this. "Teacha! Don't cry!" The students had reports due that day. They didn't do them. Mmh.
That's my badminton friend Nut sitting next to me. He's got the responsibility of teaching all of these new Chinese students Thai. They're all really lovely and enthusiastic about learning though. They also sang "Happy Birthday" This led to believe that this song was obviously universally know. Friday was also my scheduled cooking lesson with Nut in the cafeteria. We learned how to green curry. The girls and I sampled more than we took notes.
Friday night! These are Dave's three friends(Sarah, Lauren, and Jenny), who just flew in from England that day. They were lovely enough to come out to help celebrate. My other friends Grace and Lynda joined in as well a little later. Our first stop was Mulligans' Irish Pub.
Grace and Lynda impressed? Maybe.
That was an extremely long night and it will be a long time before I have another. But it was really enjoyable and something to remember forever.
The next day, Saturday, was more mellow but equally fun. I met my friend Cindy at the largest and most elegant mall in the world. One could go to a Coach store, walk out of that and into a Prada store, and then into a Gucci store. Would that person buy anything? Maybe not, but this is where the more affluent Thai and rich tourists shop. On one floor you can buy a Lamborghini!
Cindy introduced me to the biggest English bookstore I'd seen in Bangkok so far. It was so exciting to sit and browse things in English! I'm definitely going back because there was a coffee shop to sit at and read too. It really reminded me sitting at Borders with Noah.
After that, we went to our friend Bo's place where he and Pak had a lovely lunch waiting for us. It was just supposed to be a birthday tea time, but when I wasn't paying attention, Pak came out of the kitchen with a cake! It was sooo nice! Here's a look at it, it says Happy Birthday Miss Gra-tai, Thailand 2009, I think.
After that, we went to our friend Bo's place where he and Pak had a lovely lunch waiting for us. It was just supposed to be a birthday tea time, but when I wasn't paying attention, Pak came out of the kitchen with a cake! It was sooo nice! Here's a look at it, it says Happy Birthday Miss Gra-tai, Thailand 2009, I think.
So that was the weekend. It has started raining right now and the clothes I just hung out to dry are getting a bit wet. I'm going to have to let you all go rescue my underwear before it flys off my balconey and then go get something to eat. But I will try to get back with you regularly, okay?
Thursday, July 16, 2009
NONE SHALL PASS
If I were a sadist, chalking my house would hours of fun. It STOPS ant in their tracks and apparently roaches too, according to the picture. This is the chalk:
I heard about the chalk from my American friend Cindy. Chalk you say? I had to see this to believe it. Trying it out tonight, I'm a believer. I followed a trail that led from my bathroom door and drew a curved line around it, cutting the ants off.
I don't know if you can see this, but there's my finger. My chipped nail polish (Hot hot Chocolate). Beside my finger is a small black dot. That's an ant. Beside the ant is a faint white line. That's the chalk. This ant cannot get past the line. IT WORKS!!! I'm going to have to cut this post short and run downstairs. The roaches don't know it, but there's a new sheriff in town. She's wielding heavy duty weaponry.
I heard about the chalk from my American friend Cindy. Chalk you say? I had to see this to believe it. Trying it out tonight, I'm a believer. I followed a trail that led from my bathroom door and drew a curved line around it, cutting the ants off.
I don't know if you can see this, but there's my finger. My chipped nail polish (Hot hot Chocolate). Beside my finger is a small black dot. That's an ant. Beside the ant is a faint white line. That's the chalk. This ant cannot get past the line. IT WORKS!!! I'm going to have to cut this post short and run downstairs. The roaches don't know it, but there's a new sheriff in town. She's wielding heavy duty weaponry.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Weekend in photos
Before I leave in the morning. . . my huuurr looks cute.
This is plan, on a notecard!
Dave in Jim Thompson's Garden
I'm at Jim's
That's an order!
Museum garden
Museum bridge
Lumpini Park
Erawan Shrine
Dave and I at the restaurant
Friday, July 10, 2009
On Thai Fashion
My mother always said, "Just because they make it in your size, doesn't mean you should buy it." That's why it is imperative that you try on clothes first! These pants are kind of the rage with young Thai women. While they look quirky and cool on them, they look kind of ridiculous on me.
That's one thing I must get used to, getting out-dressed by almost all of the women here. Their fashion sense is light years ahead of mine and some parts of Europe! I don't know where Bangkok got it from, maybe it's a mix of British, Japanese, and Korean style with a dash of American 80's flair. But I do know that the women around here don't play.
Let's further illustrate the ridiculousness of these pants.
Getting Cupped in Bangkok
Disclaimer: Before all of my former Coffeehounders start hounding me about my association with Starbucks, know that I only frequent the mass market coffee peddler because I'm desperately seeking solace in real coffee and I take it where ever I can get it. You may not realize it, but Thailand runs strictly on Nescafe. And that is not going to do the trick for me. M'kay?
So I'm getting pretty friendly with the kids of Starbucks. We've gotten to the familiar point where they've started calling me by my nickname, "Gra-tai," as soon as I hit the entrance. They know my order pretty well too: Heated almond cream croissant and medium black coffee. They're such lovely people!
This evening, while nursed my coffee and croissant, a worker with a name tag that read: "Hi my name is Ray!" promptly sat down at my table. With him, he brought a French press and two small espresso cups.
"Hello! I give you coffee tasting demonstration right now."
I was frightened by his stealth. As I lowered my mug from my lips, I supressed my confused utterances and just watched as Ray opened his package of Kenya brew. Okay. . . This young man, without preamble, was about to do a cupping demo at my table without my go ahead.
"You're doing a cupping?"
He looked delightfully surprised that I knew what was going on, as if hijacking my time would be his special secret only. "Yes! cup-Ping!" When the Thai say certain two syllable words, there's usually an rising emphasis on the last syllable. Ex: shop-Ping! pret-Ty! no-Ah!
"I will show you how to taste cof-Fee!"
I couldn't help but grin. "I worked at a coffee shop in America, you know?"
He nodded. "Okay, okay." But he tried to one-up me with: "But I teach you Thai too. I teach you how to say coffee things in Thai, okay?"
A cupping and a Thai lesson? The latter sounded more interesting, but traveling beggars can't be traveling choosers. "Okay."
"First we pour cof-Fee in press," he spooned the grounds in. "Hot water, next." He said something in Celsius, but I'm American, I don't need to know the metric system. He pressed the clip-on timer. "Now we wait four minutes."
"Okay."
"I teach you Thai, now."
"Okay."
Ray pointed to my already full coffee mug. "Cof-Fee in Thai is 'gafe.' Repeat."
"Gafe."
"Cup in Thai is 'kow.'
"Kow. Wait a second, isn't that the word for rice?"
"That's kow," Ray corrected in a mildly different tone that my ears couldn't pick up on.
"Kow?"
"Kow."
"Kow?"
"Kow."
"Okay. . ."
"Hot water in Thai is, nam row." It could have easily been nam low, with the Thai pronouncing "l" as "r", I can never be too sure.
"Nam row."
"Cold water in Thai is, nam yen."
"Nam yen."
"Very good! You speak good Thai!" Ray was thoroughly impressed with my repetition. "Where are you from?"
"America."
"Ahhh, where in America?"
I find that I can't very well say Illinois to the people here. No one knows about Illinois, hell, people in New York don't know about Illinois. I have to say Chicago. And sometimes that doesn't even do it. I could see the confusion in Ray's face. "It's where Obama is from," I clarified.
"Ahhhh, yes. Oba-Ma!" He looked down at his timer. "Okay, now we are ready."
Let the cupping begin! Ray slowly pushed down the press and poured two servings of Kenya Blend for the both of us. "Don't drink!" Ray said as I picked up my coffee. "You smell first."
I smiled. I knew my way around a cupping, but I went ahead and humored him by smelling intensely. We both smelled and nodded appreciatively. "Smells good?" Ray asked.
"Mm-hmm."
He went on to describe the fruitiness that I should be smelling. "Now you watch me taste, okay?" Ray took a long noisy sip and smacked his lips together. He stared out into space with a wistful expression. For a moment, I was by myself at the table. Then he shook himself from his reverie. "Okay, now you try."
I slurped too, just like I was taught at home by Steve and Anna, my Coffeehound bosses. I couldn't believe I was doing off-duty, out of town, out of country cupping for no reason. The location might be embarrassing, but I know they are proud of the knowledge that I took abroad.
"Taste good?"
"Yes, it's slightly acidic and maybe a little full bodied, but it's got an interesting fruit finish."
Ray nodded. "Yes," he said gravely. "I agree."
Ray stood abruptly and began clearing his things. "You may go back to reading," he told me. "Thank you for tasting cof-Fee, Gra-tai. Please drink the rest of this," he said gesturing to the nearly full French Press. I didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I was already jacked up on a caffeine high.
"Thank you, Ray."
"You will learn Thai very fast," he said thoughtfully. "Keep practicing."
"Okay, Ray."
And just as fast as he blew in, Ray disappeared, leaving me with an ample amount of coffee.
So I'm getting pretty friendly with the kids of Starbucks. We've gotten to the familiar point where they've started calling me by my nickname, "Gra-tai," as soon as I hit the entrance. They know my order pretty well too: Heated almond cream croissant and medium black coffee. They're such lovely people!
This evening, while nursed my coffee and croissant, a worker with a name tag that read: "Hi my name is Ray!" promptly sat down at my table. With him, he brought a French press and two small espresso cups.
"Hello! I give you coffee tasting demonstration right now."
I was frightened by his stealth. As I lowered my mug from my lips, I supressed my confused utterances and just watched as Ray opened his package of Kenya brew. Okay. . . This young man, without preamble, was about to do a cupping demo at my table without my go ahead.
"You're doing a cupping?"
He looked delightfully surprised that I knew what was going on, as if hijacking my time would be his special secret only. "Yes! cup-Ping!" When the Thai say certain two syllable words, there's usually an rising emphasis on the last syllable. Ex: shop-Ping! pret-Ty! no-Ah!
"I will show you how to taste cof-Fee!"
I couldn't help but grin. "I worked at a coffee shop in America, you know?"
He nodded. "Okay, okay." But he tried to one-up me with: "But I teach you Thai too. I teach you how to say coffee things in Thai, okay?"
A cupping and a Thai lesson? The latter sounded more interesting, but traveling beggars can't be traveling choosers. "Okay."
"First we pour cof-Fee in press," he spooned the grounds in. "Hot water, next." He said something in Celsius, but I'm American, I don't need to know the metric system. He pressed the clip-on timer. "Now we wait four minutes."
"Okay."
"I teach you Thai, now."
"Okay."
Ray pointed to my already full coffee mug. "Cof-Fee in Thai is 'gafe.' Repeat."
"Gafe."
"Cup in Thai is 'kow.'
"Kow. Wait a second, isn't that the word for rice?"
"That's kow," Ray corrected in a mildly different tone that my ears couldn't pick up on.
"Kow?"
"Kow."
"Kow?"
"Kow."
"Okay. . ."
"Hot water in Thai is, nam row." It could have easily been nam low, with the Thai pronouncing "l" as "r", I can never be too sure.
"Nam row."
"Cold water in Thai is, nam yen."
"Nam yen."
"Very good! You speak good Thai!" Ray was thoroughly impressed with my repetition. "Where are you from?"
"America."
"Ahhh, where in America?"
I find that I can't very well say Illinois to the people here. No one knows about Illinois, hell, people in New York don't know about Illinois. I have to say Chicago. And sometimes that doesn't even do it. I could see the confusion in Ray's face. "It's where Obama is from," I clarified.
"Ahhhh, yes. Oba-Ma!" He looked down at his timer. "Okay, now we are ready."
Let the cupping begin! Ray slowly pushed down the press and poured two servings of Kenya Blend for the both of us. "Don't drink!" Ray said as I picked up my coffee. "You smell first."
I smiled. I knew my way around a cupping, but I went ahead and humored him by smelling intensely. We both smelled and nodded appreciatively. "Smells good?" Ray asked.
"Mm-hmm."
He went on to describe the fruitiness that I should be smelling. "Now you watch me taste, okay?" Ray took a long noisy sip and smacked his lips together. He stared out into space with a wistful expression. For a moment, I was by myself at the table. Then he shook himself from his reverie. "Okay, now you try."
I slurped too, just like I was taught at home by Steve and Anna, my Coffeehound bosses. I couldn't believe I was doing off-duty, out of town, out of country cupping for no reason. The location might be embarrassing, but I know they are proud of the knowledge that I took abroad.
"Taste good?"
"Yes, it's slightly acidic and maybe a little full bodied, but it's got an interesting fruit finish."
Ray nodded. "Yes," he said gravely. "I agree."
Ray stood abruptly and began clearing his things. "You may go back to reading," he told me. "Thank you for tasting cof-Fee, Gra-tai. Please drink the rest of this," he said gesturing to the nearly full French Press. I didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I was already jacked up on a caffeine high.
"Thank you, Ray."
"You will learn Thai very fast," he said thoughtfully. "Keep practicing."
"Okay, Ray."
And just as fast as he blew in, Ray disappeared, leaving me with an ample amount of coffee.
A Close Shave
Chili Aroma Hot Balm--- a greasy balm that smells a lot like Bengay and Tiger Balm, it's warning label says "Caution: Extremely hot! Use small amount in test area." It also said that it was a heating balm for soothing sore muscles and joints. Score!
When I bought this balm at the organic Thai products store in the mall, I thought for sure I was getting a great deal. No more would I come home from school with aching muscles nor would have to limp to and from the bathroom in pain. Standing around in high heels might be cute as hell, but it's certainly hell on my ankles and knees.
When I took it home and tried a "small test area" on my ankle. I felt nothing. Dammit, what a scam! Extremely hot? I've never encountered such an indifferent balm in my life! But interestingly enough, I accidentally wiped some on a mosquito bite and felt instant cooling relief. Okay, not so indifferent, but cooling. The balm was not a total loss.
That was a couple weeks ago.
Today, I'm struggling with about eight mosquito bites on both arms. The itching is driving me mad and I'm doing all I can not to scratch, scratch, scratch. So as soon as I got home, I jumped in the shower and loofahed vigorously. Hey, it's better than fingernails, right? While I was at it, I did a quick underarm shave too. A little too much information? Ha! You've come this far with me, stick around a little while longer.
After I'd wash the day's dirt and grime off, I applied the "not-hot-chili" balm on my arms liberally. Ahh, cooling.
The point where this story takes a wrong turn is during my motorbike ride to the mall later in the day. In the heat and the humidity the chili oils from the balm started to run. The burning that the label warned me about was stinging my freshly shaved armpits like a hornet attack. And all of this took place while I was speeding through alley ways on the back of a motorbike.
I tried to bite my tongue and hold back a howl, it came out in a sharp hiss. "ahhhh!" I whispered as quietly as I could.
"A lai-nah?" What? asked the motorbike driver.
"Nothing, nothing," I told him. How do you say burning armpits in Thai? On the verge of tears, I attempted to raise my arms above my head and let the wind air them out. Oh god, please don't let me fall off the motorbike and in the middle of traffic because of "not-hot-but-yeah-kinda-chili" balm. Don't let me go out like that.
Without looking too noticeable, I pretended to scratch my head, then I pretended to stretch both arms. But my timing was poor and I hit a hanging tree branch. "Shit!" I shouted and the motorbike skidded to a stop.
My driver turned to me and said something with a concerned tone. I shook my hand and smiled. I wasn't hurt, just thoroughly embarrassed. "Kor toht, ka," I apologized. "I'm fine, I'm fine." I motioned for him to continue driving.
When I got to the mall I ran straight for the restroom and washed my arms of the balm and received some curious looks. No matter, though, I was just glad to rid myself of the burning. What spells relief? Definitely not Chili Aroma Hot Balm. That's what I get for abusing a product with bad syntax. From now on, I will stick with the "small test area."
When I bought this balm at the organic Thai products store in the mall, I thought for sure I was getting a great deal. No more would I come home from school with aching muscles nor would have to limp to and from the bathroom in pain. Standing around in high heels might be cute as hell, but it's certainly hell on my ankles and knees.
When I took it home and tried a "small test area" on my ankle. I felt nothing. Dammit, what a scam! Extremely hot? I've never encountered such an indifferent balm in my life! But interestingly enough, I accidentally wiped some on a mosquito bite and felt instant cooling relief. Okay, not so indifferent, but cooling. The balm was not a total loss.
That was a couple weeks ago.
Today, I'm struggling with about eight mosquito bites on both arms. The itching is driving me mad and I'm doing all I can not to scratch, scratch, scratch. So as soon as I got home, I jumped in the shower and loofahed vigorously. Hey, it's better than fingernails, right? While I was at it, I did a quick underarm shave too. A little too much information? Ha! You've come this far with me, stick around a little while longer.
After I'd wash the day's dirt and grime off, I applied the "not-hot-chili" balm on my arms liberally. Ahh, cooling.
The point where this story takes a wrong turn is during my motorbike ride to the mall later in the day. In the heat and the humidity the chili oils from the balm started to run. The burning that the label warned me about was stinging my freshly shaved armpits like a hornet attack. And all of this took place while I was speeding through alley ways on the back of a motorbike.
I tried to bite my tongue and hold back a howl, it came out in a sharp hiss. "ahhhh!" I whispered as quietly as I could.
"A lai-nah?" What? asked the motorbike driver.
"Nothing, nothing," I told him. How do you say burning armpits in Thai? On the verge of tears, I attempted to raise my arms above my head and let the wind air them out. Oh god, please don't let me fall off the motorbike and in the middle of traffic because of "not-hot-but-yeah-kinda-chili" balm. Don't let me go out like that.
Without looking too noticeable, I pretended to scratch my head, then I pretended to stretch both arms. But my timing was poor and I hit a hanging tree branch. "Shit!" I shouted and the motorbike skidded to a stop.
My driver turned to me and said something with a concerned tone. I shook my hand and smiled. I wasn't hurt, just thoroughly embarrassed. "Kor toht, ka," I apologized. "I'm fine, I'm fine." I motioned for him to continue driving.
When I got to the mall I ran straight for the restroom and washed my arms of the balm and received some curious looks. No matter, though, I was just glad to rid myself of the burning. What spells relief? Definitely not Chili Aroma Hot Balm. That's what I get for abusing a product with bad syntax. From now on, I will stick with the "small test area."
Monday, July 6, 2009
Boom De Ya Da
I love it whenever it starts raining. The rain in Bangkok not only cools things off, but it's the most comforting sound in my neighborhood. I was scrolling around Youtube looking for something to watch when I found this, brought to us by the Discovery channel. I think it perfectly describes how I feel at the moment.
It might sound corny or a little kitschy, but this makes me stop and remember that the world is awesome. At a time when I really miss everyone, it also makes me remember how small the world really is.
It might sound corny or a little kitschy, but this makes me stop and remember that the world is awesome. At a time when I really miss everyone, it also makes me remember how small the world really is.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Surprised that was only 40 baht. . .
It was Saturday afternoon when I walked down my gravelly street and hailed a motorbike. What I've learned while living out here, is that you don't hail vehicles (motorbikes, tuk tuks, cabs) like a New Yorker. When I hailed my first cab in Bangkok, I stood in full view of everyone on the street, and tossed my hand up in the air. It works just the same as anything else would, but it lacks the grace that the Thai have. The motion is almost coy. You hold your hand out as if you're trying to take the hand of a small child who is lagging behind you while walking down the street.
When my motorbike man came, I got my map out. I smiled and greeted him. "Pin klao Pier," I said and pointed to the map. We both looked at my finger.
"Pin klao."
"Chai" Yes. "Pin klao."
"Central?"
That's the shopping center that's located near my neighborhood. It's not where I needed to be.
"Mai Chai." No. "Pier. Pin klao Pier. I want a boat to take me," I made a snaking motion with my arm, "down river."
"Okay, okay," said the motorbike man with an air of impatience.
I climbed on and we took off. As we rode past my school, I put my earbuds in and turned on my music.
Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am; stuck in the middle with you. . .
And then we pulled over.
Just before the busy streets and highways of Bangkok, there's a 7-11 that I frequent, it's also a place for the motorbike taxis to wait for patrons. Why are we stopping?
So my driver could converse with a group of other drivers. He jerked a thumb back at me said something to the men. I knew that was my signal to pull out the map and explain myself again. I used buzzwords like: boat, pier, river, Pin klao. I made the same snaking motion, I pretend to paddle as if I were in a canoe--- It was a game of foreign language charades.
One of the drivers understood and made it clear to the others in Thai, "This feckless young woman in search of a boat, to take her downriver. You should take her to the Pin klao Pier." I'm guessing that's what he said.
And we're back on the road!
Only for a few more yards though. Traffic was absolutely awful for two in the evening. Very quickly, my driver grew impatient with sitting. As we wove around cars and buses, getting stopped every 5 seconds, I listened to the Beastie Boys and tried not to mind the fact that my driver was insistent on driving a little recklessly. I tried not to count the near misses we had with buses. I even fought the urge to tighten my helmet. Just be cool and listen to the white rappers from Queens. They are "guaranteed to my your body rock."
Fair enough.
There was a clear opening in the traffic and my driver took it, and just as it seemed like we were rising above the fray, we were stuck yet again. This time, indefinitely. We were immediately boxed in by the median, a bus and two cars, in the front and the back. My driver's shoulders sagged.
I couldn't help but think that my trip to the pier was ruining his life. What started out with the assumption that he'd take a farang girl to the mall, was probably going to turn into him charging this same farang girl sixty more baht for fare.
Finally, the light changed. Traffic lights here in Bangkok have timers on them that can be seen by drivers and pedestrians alike. It's not unusual to watch a red light count down from two minutes and forty seconds. You try not to look at them after awhile. As we took off, we covered some serious ground, going at top speeds, narrowly missing other vehicles and I felt alive. By that time, I was listening to Paul Okenfold's Ready Steady Go! It happens to be my favorite song to listen to while riding at high speeds on a motorbike ride. You can hear it in the Bourne Identity during the awesome car chase scene.
Until we hit another red light, I kinda thought this was turning into an alright excursion out of the house. My driver mumbled something under his breath. I switched songs. I hit a slow Red Hot Chili Peppers ballad and had to turn again. I wasn't in the mood. Another timer was lit in red and I tried not to stare.
By the time my driver got be the pier, I was more than a little anxious. For all of that time he spent with me would he stick to the flat rate that I was accustom to? Or would he try to milk me for more cash? And if so, what could I possibly do about it? Huh? Argue with him?
You don't argue with people, Charish. I thought to myself. You avoid confrontation with service workers so as not to let them think you're the capitalist "Man" trying to "keep them down." As I got off the bike and handed him his helmet back, I smiled and thanked him in Thai. I tried to keep the air clear of thoughts that suggested he did a terrible job of avoiding the traffic. Could I have done a better job? Of course not, it was no one's fault.
"Tow rai?" I asked. How much?
"See sip et," he told me. 40.
Okay. awesome.
I am pleasantly surprised by the Thai's patience and kindness everyday that I interact with them. It makes me feel guilty that I have doubts or suspicions that creep up every once in awhile. Part of it is out of caution. I am, after all, a female traveling alone most of the time. But it's also because I'm just not used to honest people where ever I go. I certainly not used to people wanting to help you out for no reason in the states.
Let's not kids ourselves, there are scams here just like anywhere else, but on the whole, the Thai are some of the most thoughtful and helpful people I've ever lived amongst. I shouldn't have been terribly surprised that my driver didn't stiff me. I gladly paid him for all his trouble, thanked him again and went on my way with the knowledge that I didn't have to be cynical when it came to humanity in the world.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Thank you, Michael.
I don't know what this little girl is doing, but the spirit obviously moves her. God Bless.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
The Weekend in Pictures part II
Flowers for the gods: Us. It's Wai Kru, a Buddhist holiday that give praise to teachers. The kids, otherwise indifferent to teachers any other day, were laying these flowers at our feet and kneeling with a strange reverence that made me slightly uncomfortable. The students made all of these flower arrangements so, I found that really nice that they put so much thought in the occasion.
Outside the strange Dutch (or German?) restaurant Bann Nam Kieng Din "House beside a river" is the literal translation, according to Tip. This her favorite restaurant. For someone to get to know her, they have to get to know this restaurant. It was an especially confusing experience to say the least. There's a windmill outside, but the waiting staff is wearing Bavarian inspired costumes. Milk maids and lederhosen. Inside there are ponds with ducks, and small bunny islands. . .
The Milkmaids hanging out.
Tip and her best friend Git deciding what to order. All of the seating of this restaurant is outside.
In the event of rain, there's giant umbrellas for each table.
Bunny Island!
Me and Git at dusk
Maria dancing with Pak at Bo's after dinner discotheque
Outside the strange Dutch (or German?) restaurant Bann Nam Kieng Din "House beside a river" is the literal translation, according to Tip. This her favorite restaurant. For someone to get to know her, they have to get to know this restaurant. It was an especially confusing experience to say the least. There's a windmill outside, but the waiting staff is wearing Bavarian inspired costumes. Milk maids and lederhosen. Inside there are ponds with ducks, and small bunny islands. . .
The Milkmaids hanging out.
Tip and her best friend Git deciding what to order. All of the seating of this restaurant is outside.
In the event of rain, there's giant umbrellas for each table.
Bunny Island!
Me and Git at dusk
Maria dancing with Pak at Bo's after dinner discotheque
Digital cameras are our major source of entertainment at parties
Excess Baggage
Whenever I go out, this is what I carry with me. Inside a 1'x2' plaid tote from Target, I carry the following items.-That red wallet on the side of the picture.
-A full 600ml bottle of water
-2 kinds of bug repellent, one spray, one lotion.
-an umbrella
-my mobile
-an extra pair of flip flops
-a hairbrush with clips
-2 notebooks, one small, one large
-a map of Bangkok
-my MP3 player
-some toilet paper
- a paper back "Around the World in 80 dates"
-trial size deodorant
-trial size sunscreen, SPF 50, water and sweat proof
-my passport
-my house keys
-a tube of hydrocortizone cream
-Neutrogena lip balm
- a Thai phrasebook
Everyone I come into contact with says that the bags I carry are massive. They also ask, "Do you really need everything that's in there?" And I reply, "Of course I do!" What if it's sunny, I'll need more block, what if the mosquitos are out, I'll need protection. What if I'm bored? I'll need something to read. What if I need to write a poem? I'll need pen and paper, not just any pen and paper, my SPECIAL notebook! And this comes off as weird to some people. They try lifting my bag to prove their point. Of course they struggle, but I think it's just added dramatic effect.
"How can you carry all of this extra weight? That's got to be at least 15 pounds!"
I don't think about it. I might be throwing my spine out of alignment, but at least I'm prepared. Until one day when I came home from a long day out and about and eased my bag onto my bed. My shoulder was sore, my neck was strained, and I was exhausted. The unfortunate thing was that I'd gotten a massage that day. . . only to ruin it with creating all new tension throughout my upper body. What a waste of valuable baht.
So I made the decision, on Saturday, I would pack lighter. But first, I had to ask myself what I was so afraid of that I would bring half of my possessions with me. I'm still new to this city in many ways and I'm afraid I'll be caught in a predicament. But what would be so horrible that I could justify bringing an extra pair of shoes with me? My familiar possessions were helping me cope with new experience of hacking it alone in Bangkok. Only they weren't, they were actually hindering my experience, by keeping me bogged down; physically and mentally.
I started with a new bag. I would have enabled myself if I continued to carry my tote bag, believing I could carry only half of my stuff. In my mind, purses are like Trick or Treat pillowcases, they're meant to be filled to the brim. The bag I chose was a bag I was hustled into buying on the street by a young woman who gave me a discount "because I speak good Thai." I had planned to mail it home, but I gave it second thought. It was challengingly small. There's no way, even if I were in familiar Normal, Illinois, I would carry a bag that small.
Way to be ballsy!
In the new bag, I carried:
-A map of Bangkok
-a small notebook
-my passport
-my mobile
-an ink pen
-my credit card
-some baht
-my house keys
- my camera (of course, you can't see it at the moment.)
Keep in mind that some of these items like my money, keys, and mobile were in my pants pocket. This was just in case, someone snatched my tiny purse, making a quick getaway because the damn thing's so light. I'd at least be left with my money, a way to get back into my home, and a way to call Noah and sob about how the fates have cursed my purse choices. I would sacrifice my books, I never get to read them while traveling anyway. I sacrificed all of my toiletries and trusted where ever I was heading would have toilet paper, and an insignificant amount of mosquitoes. I had to trust that nothing would happen to the shoes I was wearing on my feet. If I got sweaty, I would have to trust that I wouldn't be the only person in the city of Bangkok that smelled a little funky. I had to trust that my life wasn't going to fall apart in a day's trip around the city.
Leaving the house was a hardship. I stopped at the doorway and thought about what I was doing. Was this smart? Was I being reckless? I felt a little too naked and little too light. As I finally pulled myself way from my room, walked down the stairs and out the front door, I told myself that this was it!
How did it go?
I sat in a McDonalds eating french fries when I had a startling realization. I'm not a backpacking tourist. I've got more permanence in Thailand than I think I do. It's okay to be on familiar terms with the city. I suddenly felt a tremendous sense of pride of my ability to keep myself alive on so few items! My items weren't going to get me to and from taxis and subways, it would be my instinct and my street smarts. I now trust that I'll be fine traveling lighter.
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