Why I Hate Taxis

I’ve had some misgivings about this post, nay, downright embarrassment about even sharing this in full as best I can. Since this incident occurred, I’ve found myself unable to share the story in full more than once or twice. I’ve thought no, I can’t talk about that; I can’t blog that, I shouldn’t say that…

But it has also occurred to me that if I’m too chicken to share this story, how can I hope to speak for women who have been through much, much worse? I performed in the Vagina Monologues for crying out loud, and I’m performing in Memory, Monologue, Rant and a Prayer in early June. If I’m too embarrassed to talk about the time a taxi driver decided to hold my hand and suggest we get it on and my frantic evaluations of how to get out of the situation safely, what does that say for where women stand today?

Deep breathes. So here goes.

I was running late to meet a friend for coffee/tea what have you and conversation, and I had gotten caught up talking to another friend I ran into which put me extra late. I planned to grab a motorbike taxi, however upon examining the two moto spots near me, they were both deserted. I looked to the sky. Dark. Thunder. Storm coming. I could hoof it to the boat, but I’m unsure the sky will hold, and I’ll have to walk from the boat as well. Taxis were good shelter from the water fighting of Songkran (though I was traveling with a friend in that case), why not, just take a taxi.

Allow me to interject a few things here. First and foremost, that I’m still naïvely using my American logic. Silly me.
In my first two weeks here, I sat in the back of a taxi and was hit on and given the guys’ phone number. This incident was more endearing than irritating as it was the first and involved no inappropriate touching, just a lot of ill-advised I love you’s, a fare discount and a phone number on a slip of paper. As such, the idea of sitting in the back of the taxi or the front of the taxi being a factor in such matters did not occur to me. This happens to me one way or another.
The back seats of taxis do not have seatbelts. Being a silly American girl, I had taken to sitting in the front in order to have a seatbelt. Right. My mistake, as we’ll soon see.

Back to our story. I stood at the side of the road and hailed a taxi, I refuse to patronize the guys parked near my soi that never leave me alone. Their loss. I hail a pink cab, ask about my destination (though it’s illegal to refuse passengers, it happens all the time, I have particularly notorious luck in this matter as well), hop in the front seat and buckle my seatbelt.

We get driving and things seem fine at first. The rain comes, as expected. He asks my age, which nearly every Thai person asks for their age-structured social order, so I’m not phased. Then he starts with really bad broken English to ask if I have a boyfriend. Except he basically asks if there is a man I’m having relations with, complete with a lovely hand gesture and ‘squeaky, squeaky’ sound effects. Then he asks me if I have a baby. He asks this several times. “You, baby?” Uh dude, no. No baby. No. I already said no. Weirdo.

The rain is getting heavier, and as is typical of Bangkok, rain means everyone forgets how to drive and the city becomes a near parking lot. But we’re headed the right way, what else can you do?

We talk about the Thai word for rain, and wind, and I teach him the English words. Or attempt to any way. I say I’m a teacher. And then things start to get a little weird.

I’m a bit fuzzy on the full details now, I meant to write this down sooner. But basically he starts suggesting I be his boyfriend, in Thai, and really terrible broken English that doesn’t even have the same meaning. He starts telling me he loves me, and he wants me to say it back. I do the awkward smile, giggle, pretend you don’t understand through the language barrier defense. Considering I see his temper just below the surface, the benign clueless card seems most pertinent to play.

He wants my phone number. He again makes his lovely hand gesture, this time he says “You, me, squeaky squeaky” as he makes the crude hand rendition. Oh joy. I lost count of how many times he did this during the rest of the ride.

I assess the situation. We’ve got three lanes of traffic. We’re in the middle lane. Monsoon season has come early, this is a real doozy. This guy is being inappropriate, but he’s also operating the motor vehicle I’m in and I can sense his temper. If I get out of the cab, which is an option, I’m stepping into traffic and monsoon. Ok. Deep breathes, keep playing the clueless “I don’t understand what you mean” card. Get to your destination or some place you won’t step out into traffic and possibly get hit.

The rain gets worse, the traffic gets worse, my situation in the cab gets worse.
He starts reaching, grabbing and holding my hand.
Internal dialogue: You are kidding me. This is not really happening. WTF. Well, this will be an interesting story. Now how do I get out? How do I keep from pissing this guy off?

He keeps asking “No problem? No problem?” But just like his insistent and unyielding attempts to get me to say I love you, and be his girlfriend, and ‘squeaky, squeaky,’ he doesn’t take awkward giggle/demure attempt at reclaiming hand or no for an answer.

I’m constantly reassessing the situation but this awful scenario is just on repeat as the storm rages outside. “No problem? Squeaky squeaky? You, me? Something in Thai, frustrated huffing.

He wants my phone number. I tell him actually, my phone was just stolen, this is a friend’s, so I don’t have a new number yet. Phew. He gets a piece of paper and writes his phone number and name on it. Well, he gets me to write it. He gets me to promise over and over that I will call him. He’s still got my hand. I’ve wrestled it away once or twice, if I’m more forceful I think this guys’ gonna blow his top. He’s already on the verge of that. He’s still driving.

Internal dialogue: Ok, this is really inappropriate, this is not cool. The bastard has his report me placard turned backwards too! ARG! I don’t even know how to go about reporting him, nor do I have much faith in the Thai authorities, but bastard! Also it would blow my “my phone was stolen I don’t have a number to give you” to whip out a phone. Ok, so he already saw it and I told him it was my friend’s phone. Still, I should pretend I don’t know how to use it. Who would I call right now any way? I don’t have anyone’s number. I’m not sure why this is logical. This situation sucks. Wait…he’s not even going the right way. Where are we going? Oh crap I have bigger problems – and if I bail out now, which I am very close to doing, in the middle of moving traffic and torrential rain, will I be able to get another taxi to get some place safe? Keep from getting hit by a car? He’s very close to crossed that line. And then.

He takes my hand and puts it on his leg. I’m just gonna jump out of this damn cab. Oh buddy, if we were stationary right now, you are so close to my last straw, you don’t even have another millimeter to spare…He’s just started petting my arm, and locking his fingers around mine. The nail of his pinky index finger is about an inch long. He shows it off, he’s proud of it. I feel like vomiting. He’s motioning me to kiss him on the cheek. He’s drawing hearts on the steering wheel with his fingers. I reassess the rain and traffic for the umpteenth time. No, this still doesn’t justify the odds of getting hit by a car in our current traffic pattern. And if I smack him we’ll swerve…

Ok. He’s driving the right way now, a really long asinine I want to spend time with you way, but we’re going to my destination. The broken record of inappropriate has not let up. Get me out. Get me out. Get me out. He asks if I’m going shopping. Yes, sure, I’m going shopping. It’s none of his goddamn business, but it’s an easy enough ‘yes’ answer. He wants to go shopping with me. Could this get any more surreal? I insist no. He actually listens to that. I tell him I’m late to meet a friend. A girl. This fact, that I’m meeting a female, keeps him at bay. He continues to make me promise to call. He finally drops me off a ways off from my destination; he brought me the wrong way around. He knocks at least 50 baht off the fare. Good, he took me out of the way and was a total creep. I finally get out of the cab and bound off into the rain.

I meet my friend, and proceed to rant about what just happened. She informs me that if I were to hit a guy, the fine is only 500 baht, if he’s got the balls to take it to the police. If I’m faced with such a creep who is not driving me, in the middle of moving traffic lanes and a monsoon with a temper, that might be 500 baht very, very well spent. In the mean time, I’m almost eager for another creeper to harass me, so I can give this skeezy cab driver’s number to him. Payback is sweet.

When I talked to a couple of friends about this, I received the following responses:
“Well why were you wearing a seatbelt?”
“Why did you let him do that?”
“Yeah. It sucks because you shouldn’t have to worry about it. But, we do. You learn the longer you’ve been here.”

I would like to add I’ve had plenty of perfectly acceptable taxi experiences in Bangkok as well. I’ve even had a driver pull out a Thai/English phrase book once or twice and had appropriate language exchanges. It’s too bad when one person ruins it for everybody else. Ok, I get it, you sit in the back if you’re alone and female. You don’t get a seatbelt, just try to position yourself behind one of the front seats in case of a crash. You don’t talk besides discussing the destination, whether or not to take a highway and give the driver the toll money (accepted practice) at most. You have to be quiet, maybe even slightly bitchy. Or, you can fend off molestation attempts in the front. What really gets me, is the simple fact that of global destinations, Thailand is supposed to be one of the better ones for solo female travel.
I have never been so cognizant of my race and gender as I have been these past six months in Bangkok.

Cell Phones

With the recent exodus of my cell phone on Khao Sarn Rd, I decided it might be time to address the Thai attitude towards cellular communication.

As previously mentioned, cell phone usage at my school drives me absolutely nuts. Not the least of which because I have a rather personal disdain for the things to begin with and there is absolutely no rule against them at school.

I’ve come to realize it’s not just school. I read on another expat’s blog that if you see a Thai girl without a cell phone, run because there is something wrong with her. And while I first viewed this assessment as harsh, it’s become apparent that taking out exceptions for extreme poverty (and even then, phones are much more affordable here), that pretty much every Thai person has a cell phone. And I mean everyone – the monks have cell phones. What on Earth a monk needs a cell phone for, I don’t know, but then again I have yet to figure them out, and some of the ones in Bangkok are just in it for the free ride.

Boundaries of appropriate times and frequency with which to call also seem to be open to interpretation, though I realize that is an individual thing; I’ve run into it in a variety of contexts. Can I call you every day? No. Blank stare. Can I call you every day? NO. Blank stare. Lost in Translation, even with translation.

I went to the gym today for the first time since before Songkran and as usual I noticed the high volume of people texting while on the treadmill, with eyes glued to their iPhone while lifting weights with their quadriceps, or merely sitting on various pieces of equipment, eyes glued to their phone. I think their thumbs are getting a better workout than the rest of them.

I’ve learned that, in Thai culture, what is polite is to answer your phone immediately, regardless of what you are doing, even if you are busy enough to say you have to call the person back. A colleague of mine confided that he had gone native enough to do this in a job interview back in England, realizing just a moment too late wait, This Is NOT Thailand. Yes, it cost him the job.

So while in the United States, we confiscate student phones (I am allowed some leeway in this here) and force parents to pick them up, and remind the students that an employer will not allow you to sit and play on your phone; here in Thailand, that is exactly what everyone is doing in moments of down time, students, workers, Immigration officials… Nothing can be ‘mai sanuk,’ after all. I suppose there isn’t any harm in this in moments of down time, generally speaking. I am a little leery of the motorbike taxi drivers on their phones while driving.

Aside from the complete opposite take on cell phone usage, cell phone decoration is quite lucrative, and options are many. However the moment I decide investing in rhinestone-studded accessories and/or a Hello Kitty cell phone is a great idea is the day I’ve been here too long. Though to be fair Hello Kitty has no age limit here.
So cute!

Songkran 2011

I’m hesitant to write this post, because no amount of written or spoken word can really capture Songkran. The videos on youtube, though closer, do not really do it justice either.
For I cannot convey in words how drenched I was, the sensation of the clay/chalk water smearing across my face, or the sheer elation of young and old alike, throwing buckets upon buckets of water on everyone spanning across an entire country in celebration of the Thai New Year. But I’ll try.

So for starters, it was nice that MacGyver took a break from working on Atomic Layer Deposition reactors over in Taiwan to come “play water” for Songkran. For those of you think I’m stretching it with that last sentence, I assure you I’m not.

So it was nice to have my back covered, though it made absolutely no difference in how quickly we both got soaked – notably by the elementary schoolers toting Doraemon water gun backpacks, very Ghostbuster-esque, just down my soi.

The main road between my apartment and school is frequently a traffic jam, notably when a member of the royal family wants to go somewhere and thus traffic is brought to a complete halt or the road is completely cleared for them to use it. That is certainly a new one – commute disruptions due to royal caravans.
But on the first day of Songkran, almost all shops are shuttered and everyone is on the street or sidewalk, music is blaring, old ladies are selling water guns off of tables, everyone is smiling and oh yeah, pouring buckets of water on you. Sometimes ice water. Old men have brought out power hoses, taxis are parked and blaring music, pick up trucks and motorbikes full of people ride by throwing water at each other on the road. The pickups often have entire extended families, or large groups of friends, and huge barrels of ‘ammo.’ People are riding around in tuk-tuks just to shoot water guns at each other. I’ll tell you what, being able to shoot super soakers out the sides of the tuk-tuk makes it much more fun.

MacGyver and I met up with Natalie at Central World for an attempt at breaking a Guinness World Record. I’m not sure which record we broke, because really, Songkran itself has got to be the world record for world’s largest water fight and it only grows every year, but whatever it was we hit the mark. Dance party plus world’s largest squirt gun bonanza? I think this is the best thing ever. EVER.

Aside from the water and dancing, there is the clay. I still have yet to figure out the significance of the clay/chalk stuff, but people carry the stuff around in small buckets and smile while smearing it across my cheeks with hearty “welcome to Thailand!” Cheers. The clay coats the streets, splatters cars and handprints are all over the place like cave paintings. I realize a couple of things about the chalk: one, foreign woman = higher priority target, two: you’re probably going to get it in your eyes and mouth. This wouldn’t be too big of a deal, as long as you don’t get the prickly heat powder spiked variety in your eyes. I’m wearing goggles next year, I don’t care if I look ridiculous. I already looked pretty ridiculous this year. And really, it’s not like adding some goofy accessories will make me any LESS of a high priority target.

Though most shops are shuttered and people have gone to spend the holiday with family, extra food stands and beer coolers have popped up amidst the sometimes ankle deep clay murk of the street. Sometimes people are considerate enough not to squirt you if you are eating.

I feel somewhat sorry for the poor tourists who have arrived in the middle of Songkran wholly unaware of it, trying to make their way down Khao Sarn Rd with their unprotected packs. The road is annoyingly difficult to navigate on a good day, absolutely impossible to do so now, especially without proper waterproof gear. At the same time though, Som Nam Na, grouchy old tourists that didn’t do their homework! It is kind of a big deal, Thai New Year.

Of Nightbuses, Borders, and Learning to Drive a Motorbike…

…not necessarily in that order. For the record: I know for a fact my mother is not reading this. Therefore, dear readers, those of you that communicate with my mother have a moral obligation NOT to mention the particulars of the motorbike driving. Please and thank you.

This past weekend, I took a night bus up to Mae Sot with my friend and former neighbor, Vanda. From the beginning, we weren’t sure we were going to make it. Her Thai family here warned her that all the seats would be sold, as it is Songkran time, and she called to say we might be out of luck. However, I was not deterred, in fact, I was determined that we would find a way, and it turns out so was she.
I haphazardly packed a weekend pack, grabbed the large bag of donations for the Orphanage and hailed a cab to the BTS (Skytrain). From there I took the SkyTrain to the end of the line, then caught a moto taxi to the bus station and met up with Vanda. We tried three different ticket counters, outside and inside. No go. We were approached by a van driver (common way to get around Thailand) waiting to fill his van before taking off; and out of options we accepted. Shortly thereafter, van guy says he’s not going after all, try that counter – and Vanda and I bought the last two tickets to Mae Sot for Friday night, eleven minutes before departure. Score.

On the second class bus we wedged ourselves in with our packs, Vanda’s backpacking to Laos after this so she’s got more than I’ve got, but I’ve also got the donations bag. And then naturally, my travel seat karma kicked in and the guy in front of me leaned his seat onto my knees, into my lap, and proceeded to awkwardly flail his hands in my face while coughing up his emphysema. The people that sit in front of me on buses or airplanes almost always manage to be special like that. At least my seat leaned back to counter this a little. Somehow I managed some sleep.
Around seven hours in, the bus stopped at an Immigration Check point, one of many in the Thai provinces bordering Burma. Everyone hands over their ID for inspection. No problems on our bus.
We arrived in Mae Sot around 5 am and call Kim, then take a tuk-tuk (which looks much different from the variety I’ve seen in Bangkok), to the guest house she is at and are able to get a room at this ridiculous hour of the night. We settle in and collapse.

We meet for breakfast a couple of hours later, taking motos over to an Indian place with more of the volunteers. Indian breakfast of curry and naan is delicious. Afterwards we split up, and Shea, Kim, Vanda and I set off on our next mission: learning to drive motorbikes.
We rent one moto from the guest house, Shea has already rented one. Vanda practices a little in the parking lot, then Kim and I hop on Shea’s bike and Vanda braves the main road out to the bus station so we can practice. We practice for an hour, maybe two, taking turns without any passengers and then carrying one other person and head back to town for lunch.
We are getting close to the hour of meeting at the Orphanage, and one of us has to drive on the main highway to get there. I volunteer. Vanda gets on behind me, Shea leads the way and we are off. Saturday morning: driving around the bus station parking lot. Saturday afternoon: driving on the high way, with a passenger. Do I have a permit? A license? Any previous experience? Allow me to remind you: This is Thailand. Also, this is not driving in Bangkok. Also, don’t tell my mother.

We make it out there, about 7 kilometers, just fine – though Shea makes fun of how slowly I’m driving. This is my first time visiting the Orphanage/Half way house that I’ve been hoping to get to for months now. We park our bikes and walk around. The kids are mostly inside the living house watching Burmese karaoke or an English dubbed made for TV Chinese movie. It’s Saturday, it’s a rest day. Two of the youngest boys are running around completely pants less. I’m told they are not yet toilet trained and will not keep diapers on. I suppose I don’t blame them, especially in this climate. The kids range in age from infant to 14, and though we refer to this place as ‘the orphanage,’ not everyone is an orphan. Many of the kids have one or both parents just across the border in Burma. Some of the kids truly are orphans, to the extreme of simply being found and brought here by word of mouth. All of the kids here are Burmese, and though it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out, it’s a detail best left out when discussing the Orphanage elsewhere; it’s a very touchy subject in Thailand. Some of the kids’ families have been able to come back for them, so the number that live here has fluctuated, but that’s the exception and not the rule. During the school year, the kids have been able to begin attending the Thai school just down the road – though when their Thai skills are lacking they get stuck in first grade regardless of age. The alternatives in Burma only go up through fourth grade, and that’s if the family can support it. It’s currently summer break, so the long stay volunteers and the ‘House Parents’ have organized a summer camp to keep some structure going.

For three hours of Saturday afternoon we tour the grounds, hear the stories of the buildings that have just been built (the kitchen counters and sink are a mere week old), mostly by hand, and the plans for what is next. Vanda and I climb the jungle gym and watch some of the boys scale far up into the trees to knock mangoes down. And naturally, we become human jungle gyms. All the kids learn my name immediately – “Jenny Two! Jenny Three!” Depending on which child you ask. One of the biggest contributors to the Orphanage, if not THE reason the place is still running, is also named Jennifer. Apparently every third foreign woman in Thailand is named some variation of Jennifer, Jen, Jenna, Gen…Bah. At least if I do something stupid I can blame some other Jenny.

Saturday night we left as the kids were sitting down for dinner. It was near sunset and thunder and lightning were clapping in the distance, getting antsy to get on the road. Vanda hops on the moto behind me, but she’s already spooked because I’ve had difficulty starting it. This drive was the rockiest of the weekend, and though we all have helmets, Vanda is done riding with me. Kim hasn’t written me off yet.

We have dinner at what becomes our favorite haunt, and is a favorite of the many foreigners here doing NGO work – Casa Mia. The place has Thai, Burmese, Italian, American breakfast; and at a fraction of what it costs in Bangkok. I’m a fan.

Sunday morning we explore the local market, the kids are at church so we have a lazy start to the morning. In the market it’s pedestrians, bicycles, motorbikes, the typical assemblage of motorbike/ice cream cart or bicycle + motor + push cart. The Thai ability to take things and make them into all sorts of mobile contraptions that they will drive on the road or the sidewalk continues to amaze me. I’ve realized the concepts of road, sidewalk and vendor and what constitutes the rules of those things are all relative and subject to much variation. Aside from the usual jumble we spot bags of live toads for sale, something resembling cockroaches or locusts dusted in rock salt, and fish the size of corpulent toddlers under large blocks of ice.

In the afternoon we check out a place called Borderline – a Burmese Tea House, Fair Trade Shop and Art Gallery. I feel quite at home here. And the paper cranes hanging from the rafters for Japan add a lot of perspective – people fighting for Burmese freedom, or at least to help those displaced, still made cranes for Japan.
The adolescent chicken wandering the grounds and hopping up on tables bothers Kim but I think he provides ambience. After a long time in the gallery and shop I drive the two of us back to the Orphanage on the motorbike, and I do pretty well driving if I do say so myself. Kim concurs and is not too easily spooked.
Since it is another weekend day, it is still just a short time and the volunteers convince me to call in sick on Monday so I can help teach one actual camp day. I feel very little guilt calling in for this purpose, especially because it’s a sit in the trophy room and ‘play’ workday. If anyone from work asks, I had bad seafood.

Monday is a longer day – we get up early, check out of the guest house and throw our stuff in Kim’s room and move breakfast up an hour. I drive Kim and I and Vanda rides with another volunteer. The first lessons are art and English. The older kids are drawing from life, and the younger kids are learning ‘I, my, me,’ and ‘they, their, them.’ After the English lesson, the younger kids have art and we’re up to help.
I have to work very, very hard to tell my art teacher training to shut up, I am not in charge I am just assisting, and neither their artwork nor the teaching is being graded in this case. Though I’m not entirely surprised when ‘according to plan’ train wrecks. It doesn’t really matter, the kids still get to paint, cut, trace – that’s more important than following the rules of the project.

After art it’s lunch time, the kids eat first, and the volunteers are served after the kids eat. Burmese food is not as spicy as Thai food and I’m fine with that. Shea and the House Dad have been working on mixing cement by hand and building a rain water collection housing. The younger kids have nap time and the older kids are learning the lyrics to a Justin Bieber song they always attempt to sing without knowing them. I help another volunteer start to make homemade twister boards with donated black sweatshirt material – much cheaper than buying the real thing. We stop when it’s time for the younger kids to have more lessons – and somehow Kim, Vanda and I end up in charge of the last lesson for the younger ones over the course of five minutes. We tried our best with ‘eating, drinking, cooking’ and then drawing food – but it was too much art time for one day. We tried singing “Apples and Bananas,” that worked for about, two and a half minutes. We tried but if you don’t speak Burmese the last class of the day is somewhat of an impossibility to begin with. Really I think the last hour of the day regardless of age group and language barrier is the worst when trying to do anything in a classroom.

Lesson time ends and we sit down and resume being human jungle gyms, or simply hug givers or someone to sit upon. We finish one of the two twister boards with acrylic paint at my suggestion. One of the creative minded older girls helps. She’s crocheting animal finger puppets to sell; she’s already got almost ten. She’s amazing.

We have to say our final goodbyes, though most of the kids don’t realize this trio of women will not be back tomorrow. It’s the part that tears me up most – how much does it help if we walk back out of their lives? But what can you do. All three of us hope to be back at some point. Shea and I drive to dinner, I’m feeling pretty good about driving on my third day. Though I freak Kim out when we come up on a checkpoint too quickly. I said I’ve got it; I’ve just got a long braking distance. We don’t know what this checkpoint is for, but, as white girls we get waved through. I’m sure the officers get a kick out of two white girls on a moto. We drove through an Immigration check point each time we went to the orphanage, simply waving at the guards. To be clear, we remained in Thailand, but we were a quarter kilometer from the border. We could have walked down to the river and seen if it we wanted to. The kids often go there to swim.

We enjoyed our last dinner at Casa Mia, of course, and I had to excuse myself in time to return the motorbike to the guest house (Kim and Vanda have decided driving motorbikes is not their thing) and catch my bus. I’m really cutting it close, and when I ask the guesthouse to call a motorbike taxi, there is some issue and one of the family members that owns the guest house says “I’ll drive you!” Since I’ve got ten minutes, I graciously thank her and hop on her lime green moto to the bus stop, and we make it, realizing yet again I’m one lucky white girl.

One Semester Down

I feel like I’m supposed to deliver some sort of epiphany about my experience teaching in a Thai school for a semester. The semester has been over for several weeks now, and such revelations are not particularly forthcoming. So here is what you get instead.

Many, many people have been here much, much longer than I have. My observations only carry as much weight as my time here, and are really only relevant to Bangkok and not Thailand as a whole. Even then, every school here is very different.

Take 97.5% of what you know about education through methods courses and experience in America, box it up and put it on a mental shelf.

Some schools have 6th year students (seniors) that will stare at you and say “arrai na?” (what?) when you ask where their book is, three times slowly. However, the students in my program know A LOT more than that. Especially if they spend their summers in Malaysia.

Be thankful for the cards you have been dealt, even when the racial, gender and aesthetic privilege makes you feel sick. These things also equate to job security in Thailand, especially the gender card.

Be thankful the circumstances at your school regarding pay, legal residency and student ability/behavior are not worse; many places are much worse.

The most pointless question you will ever ask in Thailand is “why?”

If ever there was a place for the saying “rules are made to be broken,” it is Thailand. Trying to follow all the rules is worse than breaking all of them. You will not always be given a choice as to what rules you break. Choose wisely when you do have a choice. Try not to freak out when you don’t.

Laugh when you realize you spent three weeks telling people you are allergic to water.

Get on motorbikes from the left.

It is completely appropriate to wear the “I’m on a mission death stare” and ignore all persons who try to approach you when walking around the Khao Sarn Rd area; though this will not serve nearly any other place in Thailand. Portions of Siam are also acceptable for this scowl. Don’t wear it to work.

Spatial awareness is not part of Thai culture. More on that another time.

Try not to get mad when your boss constantly focuses on your weight, your barely noticeable scars (OMG your arm isn’t completely white! What’s wrong!?) and other such maddening physicalities.

You might be surprised to experience more culture shock with fellow ‘westerners’ than with Thais.

Age is very important to the Thai social hierarchy. You will constantly be asked, and disbelieved, in my case. And then the dating setups will begin…

Heavy shampoo bottles are great for killing roaches.

Your battles with Immigration are not necessarily over; do not be lulled into a false sense of security.

Do not give Thai guys your phone number until at least a second date. You dropped your phone in the toilet or it was stolen or something. Trust me.

Get out of teaching computers. No really, get out of it. Find a way.

Remember that despite these maddening times of sitting at a desk, with no students, no idea of what curriculum to plan, seemingly no direction and little more to go on than sit here and act professional – the students will return, and that is why you are still doing this.

Today some of the students were at school to pickup transcripts, first time I’d seen them in two weeks; and some of them asked me if I would be returning. They seemed genuinely distraught that I might not return, as at least two teachers from this year are leaving or already gone. And that folks, is the reason I’m still hacking it.

Som Nam Na, or Operation License Renewal

This phrase has come to mind a lot lately. “Som Nam Na,” is a Thai phrase that loosely translates to “Serves you right,” though the pronoun is flexible, so you can say “Som Nam Na,’ to another person, about yourself, a group or whatever. While there are many reasons this phrase has come to mind a lot lately, I will only highlight a couple of them, especially as point two turned into a tangent all its own.

1) Some of you may know that I have no aspirations of ever joining the Peace Corps. I did, at one time, but I will never make the cut. Why? Medical Clearance, which is one of the top reasons people do not go through with Peace Corps.
Try as I might to pretend I have a cast iron stomach, I really do not. Allow us to add to the list of things Jenny’s stomach doesn’t like: palm oil. Oh well that’s not a big problem, palm oil is terrible for you any way, so just avoid things cooked with palm oil. Except that palm oil is added to so many Thai dishes I couldn’t even begin to list them. While possible to avoid, it’s not easy, and it takes way more Thai language than I currently grasp. Conundrum indeed. So som nam na on me for not doing my homework on Thai cooking more thoroughly. To be fair, I hadn’t made this health connection previously, and I’m just thankful I don’t have a full attack reaction such as ‘getting glutened,’ for someone with celiac – because full avoidance of palm oil in Thailand would mean I would lose a lot more weight.

2) I’ve recently been frustrated with the state of affairs that is coming to work to do nothing (though I’m getting much better at filling the hours), especially because I know there are things I need to do to prepare for my week of summer school teaching and next semester, but I do not have the information I need to begin those preparations. This is Thailand; you can do that at the drop of a hat right? You’re a foreigner, you know the ins and outs of computer science right?
It’s even better when I actually arrive at work semi-on time and the offices are still locked; yet another reason I’m not inspired to be punctual.

But Som Nam Na on me for being ungrateful for unstructured office time, I will need a lot more of it for several undertakings in the coming months; and it will be sorely lacking when I truly have to get to them.

It has recently come to my attention that my school has decided (maybe) to comply with recent Thai Ministry of Education, or Thai Teacher’s Council, (who knows who says what), legislative changes for foreign teachers. Do I know this information definitely? Of course not, I’ll say it again. This is Thailand.

The gist being: within a two year grace period, a foreign teacher will prove their qualification either by obtaining a Thai teacher’s license, or showing equivalent certification in their home country. Which is completely different from ‘native speaker with a degree,’ which is the criteria that has mostly been the law of the land for years. And while I’m sure that will continue, I’m not sure it will continue and also provide a work permit or conditions I’m willing to teach in.

Oh, but you have your teaching license and degree, so no problem!
Not so fast.
My Indiana license expires June 3, 2011. For my non-education major friends to understand: As an Initial Practitioner, you receive a two-year probationary teaching license, you’re supposed to go out and get your teaching job, wherein you will be assigned a mentor teacher and will undergo a portfolio, observation/evaluation process that I don’t know all the details of. After successful completion of this, abbreviated IMAP in Indiana, you can apply for a more permanent license. Oh wait…what was step one? Obtain teaching job in your subject area in Indiana.

I did not work on renewing my teaching license because I’d been holding out hope for an art classroom in the Great Hoosier State, which would then have put me in IMAP, and then when I made the leap to move to another country, where my having a teaching license was kind of a bonus for my school in the usual terms, this seemed like something that did not require attention. Until now.

So, realizing that I need to renew the license to continue teaching in Thailand OR to come back and teach in the United States, or come up with a completely different career path and plan entirely, enter Operation Renew Indiana Teacher’s License. We can call it Operation License Renewal, or OLR for short.

The path to do this as an Indiana Initial Practitioner (the nice way of saying your license comes with training wheels) that has not found employment in the two years since obtaining the license, and thus not undergone IMAP, is to take 6 credit hours of Graduate coursework (INDOE says undergrad can count, good luck finding that option in distance learning) in education or your subject area, compose a paragraph explaining why you have not completed IMAP, and then fill out a bunch of paperwork and pay the $35 for the license.
Yeah, because every education graduate that can’t find a job has change to spare to take MORE college classes, as do employed teachers with their exorbitant salaries. I realize this legislation was enacted with the best intentions, to keep teachers studying their field and aware of changes that affect their students. In practice, we will reap what we sow and the mass exodus of bright education graduates flocking away from teaching will only get worse.
I’m trying very, very hard not to be among the jaded leaving in droves. But that doesn’t get any easier each year that goes by, or any time I follow the education politics situations back home across many states. I’m still passionate about education, but honestly, how much do I want to do this?

For now, I’ve commenced the process to enroll for online distance learning at IUPUI to obtain 6 credit hours before the end of 2011. I will renew my license well within the Thai two-year grace period, and it will leave more options open for me to consider beyond teaching English for the next school year. So really, I should just be thankful for a good kick in the pants. Mostly I’m annoyed that I’m being pushed into graduate coursework before I feel I’m ready for it, non-degree or not.

A few other things:
A Thai teacher’s license is rather expensive to obtain, and valid in no other country. So, as I can renew certification in Indiana and have that count in Thailand, the Thai license alone seems rather foolish to undertake.

It is not entirely clear that an Art Certification will suffice to teach English. I’m weighing my TEFL certification options, but that’s a little farther back on the burner right now.

And here’s the rub:
Even though I can renew my Indiana license for another two year, Initial Practitioner period – I’m still stuck in Educator limbo. I have yet to gain experience in a stateside classroom that would allow me to complete IMAP, or whatever equivalent other states have enacted in the wake of NCLB. I cannot indefinitely take a graduate course online annually to renew an Indiana license to teach in Thailand (not the least of which financially speaking, which I have yet to figure out for the current OLR); at some point I still need stateside teaching experience, or some other plan entirely. The sheer number of plans I’ve come up with since graduating from Purdue have run out of alphabet to describe them by. I thought I was going to take a break from that, but I guess not. I have to re-examine the idea of goal setting and figure something out.

Which, more than anything is the most infuriating part – back to square one and the insane planning ahead for years and life mapping instead of just having some time to fly by the seat of my pants and be happy with that. But, som nam na.

School’s Out for the Summer…ish

I have at least three rough drafts currently sitting in blog post purgatory, and much more I’ve written in various notebooks. And none of them seem right to post right now. So I’m going back to off the cuff today.

Summer ‘break’ is an interesting concept in Thai government schools. And let me preface by saying every school is slightly different, so the details of this account do not necessarily reflect other Thai schools. Standardization is not a large part of Thai culture, even though they sometimes try. Also of note – schools in Bangkok and schools outside of Bangkok are different species entirely.

Teachers are still required to come and sign in Monday-Friday during all school holidays (we are at least exempt on National holidays), and hang around for appearances, whether or not there is any work to do. The level of flexibility in this matter varies from school to school. At my school so far, actual hours at school can be adjusted since there is no class, no students, and paltry work to do if any for the time being. Foreign teachers are allowed 30 days ‘exemption’ from the daily sign in during school holidays without penalty in salary for each calendar school year, which restarts October 1st for some odd reason. Paperwork must be submitted well in advance for these pre-arranged absences from ‘work.’

I’m told other schools are not so flexible, and missing the sign in will incur loss of pay. Other schools are also stricter about actually staying the full 8 hours every day even in these weeks of sheer nothingness. I’ve been fortunate to fudge the sign in by 8AM rule quite a bit; though I’ll need to get back in gear when the students return in June. My German colleague and I also fudge the afternoon hours and leave early. We are often the only ones here besides the secretaries in the front room, as the foreigners have our own separate office. The others are currently using their 30 days, sick or signing in and bugging out entirely as they will not work here next year. Seems even continuing on you can get away with a day of sign in, bug out sometimes. I did on Wednesday.

As it seems the level of rigidity with the sign-in varies on a daily, weekly and annual (with the change of school directors) basis, I will not claim any of this is definitive. But then again, nothing in Thailand is definitive.
Over the course of this semester, I’ve found that if I’m sick, but I come in to teach my classes and sign my name, there isn’t a fuss about missing the other time I’m supposed to be in the office, whether morning or afternoon. But in such cases it was fairly obvious I was quite sick. This also hasn’t counted as a sick day, which thankfully my school allows many of, with the proper paperwork of course. Three days in a row requires a doctor’s note stating what was wrong. You will be told this in the most diplomatic way possible.

As great as it is to basically get paid to sit on facebook, it is kind of maddening when you are in a city that begs exploring and have to forgo opportunities to volunteer up north because you’re stuck playing school. I think I’ll finally make a dent in my reading list at least. Eventually I will be lesson planning for next school year, but of course deciding who is teaching which courses is not a priority right now, and I’m not lesson planning for a class I will not end up teaching, with 6 grade levels and at least four possible subjects, that’s a bit of a jump. Something tells me I will receive this information the day before classes resume.

Most every day I have some sort of reminder of how new I still am in Thailand. I’m still surprised by the racial whitewashing, the blatant anti-black sentiments and the pressure to be skinny that is 100 times worse than in the states, living in a fish bowl and being a walking photo-op.

For the record, a better answer to “you come Thailand alone?” is No. Come up with something. Some people that ask this will be impressed that you’ve moved abroad on your own. Most of them are asking if you are single. As I’ve stopped counting the number of taxi driver’s I’ve gotten this from, I’m quite fond of trying to decipher as many bus routes as possible.