The requirements for becoming a teacher vary by country, by state, by school; and they are always changing.
Some countries have illegal teachers.
Some countries have underqualified teachers.
Some countries give ‘emergency teacher’s licenses.’
Some places have IB teachers, International School teachers.
Most places have unemployed teachers.
Some places pay teachers differently based on nationality or skin color.
Some places women cannot be teachers or students.
Really, who is a teacher?
When you get up in front of a class and take the title, you are a teacher.
It doesn’t matter whether you have an education degree.
It doesn’t matter whether your license has lapsed, or whether you’re teaching your own subject area. (Which can be frustrating for someone that has studied to teach that subject to witness.)
It doesn’t matter whether you are a backpacker that ran out of money or a career teacher.
You are a teacher when you have students.
You are a teacher when you show someone how to do a simple task.
You are a teacher when you have the means to communicate information.
Sometimes you are a teacher when all you can do is jump up and down and play charades in the hopes of getting through.
You are a teacher when your students don’t get it.
You are a teacher when your students do, finally get it.
You are a teacher when you’ve done little more than give an assignment that the students rose to complete with very little guidance.
You are a teacher when class is cancelled.
You are a teacher when your students spot you at the mall.
You are a teacher when your students see you at the gym.
You are a teacher when your students see you buying groceries.
You are still a teacher long after your last class has finished.
When you are sitting at your desk, staring at a stack of unmarked papers but not correcting them, and feeling you’re not being a good teacher, that you’re teaching the wrong things, that you’re out of your element, you’re still a teacher.
We want so badly to legislate our education woes away.
We shame teachers, we tear them down.
Teacher’s aren’t perfect.
But just like students coming into their own, teachers need support and guidance to grow.
I hope we can see through this vitriol, which is not just American, and move forward.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Why don't you...?
In my time in Bangkok so far, there have been a lot of mishaps. As such, I’ve heard the following questions many times:
Why don’t you move?
Why don’t you change schools?
Is there anything GOOD about Thailand?
Why don’t you go home?
In light of these questions, and having vaguely addressed the fourth question in a nostalgic wishy-washy fashion last week, I thought I would impart some of the reasons for not leaving, moving or otherwise throwing in the towel.
Why don’t you move?
1. My landlady saves my laundry from the rain. Every time.
2. Ming. The alley cat.
3. When I’m running late to school, one of two moto taxi drivers on my soi usually sees me and drives down the soi to get me and take me to work, for 1 USD; and they take me elsewhere in the city without ripping me off.
4. Two massage parlors, and all of the workers in them on my street know me by name; they knew me before I ever walked in the door. One of the owners let me take a three-hour nap in one of her chairs when the monsoon was awful. The other owner wanted to make sure I knew about Buddhism in these troubled times, sadly I don’t read Thai as of yet, he had a book to give me and didn’t in light of the language barrier.
5. The old lady that smiles and waves to me every morning as I walk past.
6. Café corner’s banana ginger smoothie and spaghetti pesto.
7. The characters I meet at Café Corner. Besides the occasional sexpat.
8. Availability of western food in general in my area.
9. The dog lady.
10. Bus route accessibility.
11. Not too far from the khlong boat start, either.
12. I’m perfectly situated between my school and Khao Sarn Rd. Which, while sometimes difficult to deal with, is the go to place for many things.
13. The food variety on/near Khao Sarn Rd.
14. The amazing tailor situated just inside the entrance to the wat at the end of Khao Sarn Rd. Seven articles of clothing altered for 10 USD? Yes. Fix my backpack? Less than 1 USD. Awesome.
15. I have air-conditioning, and a skylight.
Why don’t you change schools?
1. Changing schools in Thailand may be as common and easy as changing your outfit. Back home, it’s not that simple, and jumping around a bunch doesn’t look so good on your resume.
2. Even for other places in Thailand, or other countries in Asia, jumping around doesn’t look so good if you’re aiming higher than a cram school. It’s about perseverance here!
3. According to my colleagues, everywhere else they’ve taught in Thailand has been a worse experience. The chaos, and beginning paperwork trouble is typical of Thai culture.
4. Most of my students are very good at English, which is a rare blessing in Thailand.
5. None of my classes have more than 35 students. Some schools have class sizes between 40 and 60 kids.
6. Once my pay, visa and work permit were finally sorted, the majority of the problem was solved. Switching reopens this Pandora’s box.
7. I got out of teaching computers. Long story, but I was in over my head.
8. I get to lead art club as of this semester.
9. I FINALLY have Thai social health insurance. Also linked to my employment.
10. My school has direct links to my home state.
11. The longer I’m at this school, the better rapport I have with my students and the better I can control each of their classes. And the more of their names I actually learn.
12. I’m no longer the newest teacher.
13. I have received a desk and a teacher’s desktop computer (getting a teacher’s computer is a rarity here indeed).
14. I’m back on the parents’ good side (no more computers), and get along with the head of the PTA.
15. The school secretary and I are tight. We’re gonna take over the world someday. Ok maybe not really. You just wait and see.
Is there anything GOOD about Thailand?
1. Cheap, accessible produce, including amazing fruit, some varieties you can’t get back home. 1 kilo of mangosteens for less than 1 USD? Yes, please.
2. I can afford to get a back massage. Frequently. 200 baht (6.57 USD).
3. I can ride a motorbike to school for 1 USD.
4. Public transportation. I don’t need to own a car; in fact it would be counterproductive.
5. I can have a smart phone AND a pay as you go plan. And switching cell phone carriers is a matter of walking into 7/11 and buying a different SIM card for something like 3 USD.
6. Green tea flavored everything. Though careful, they add milk to a lot of beverages here, you have to ask every time.
7. I can afford to go to the hospital without fretting about co-pays and going bankrupt, even if they double charge me (which they won’t any more, Thai social!).
8. If you know what you need, the pharmacy will sell it to you. Without a prescription. Doctor’s supervision only matters as far as the doctor actually does anything besides scribble out a piece of paper and charge more than the pharmacy for the same drug. I’m not being reckless, just saying.
9. Everyone tells me I’m beautiful. And I ‘look like baby.’ Can’t win them all.
10. 7/11 sells cold beer. And they open it for you. And you can drink while walking down the street.
11. Beverages are still made with real sugar and not the synthetic stuff, besides what is clearly labeled diet.
12. Most people that find out I’m a teacher immediately ratchet their level of respect up 1-5 notches. Sometimes prices are lowered for me with this information.
13. I can ride a boat to the mall for 30 cents US.
14. If I’m craving something from the west, most things I can get, for the right price.
15. Despite my trouble with it, going out to eat is cheaper than cooking, there is a lot of delicious food here, and the longer I’m here the more I figure out which things I can and cannot get away with eating. If we truly became what we eat, some days I would definitely be a bananasteen. That’s banana + mangosteen, if you didn’t catch that.
And perhaps the most important reasons not to leave:
1. I know I’m not done here.
2. I’m finally on the all downhill from here side of culture shock.
3. Now that I’ve got the hang of things, it’s actually time to do some exploring around the rest of the country, and continent! (Class, this is what we call foreshadowing).
4. I feel like I make a difference with (most of) my students, and the moments I see my students shine, in whatever country, are some of the times I am happiest.
5. I’m finally learning more about my DSLR camera, and I’ve got some of the most beautiful sites in the world to capture.
6. I’m finally closing in on getting my artist’s groove back. Almost.
7. I have time to read.
8. I have time to train for a half-marathon. There, I put it out there. Pressure’s on, lazy pants. Ugh. Grad class has been eating into this time…
9. Being this far away, I have no obligation, and really no ability to come running when anyone cries wolf. I only have to look out for myself. Sorry, see this? Yeah that’s the Pacific Ocean. I never really liked swimming that much.
10. Breathing room. I can finally work on healing at my own pace. Some may say I ran away. I say I dove in headfirst. Holding on to the past with both hands and continuing to wait for the other shoe to drop; that would be worrisome.
I’m 25. I’ve got things to do, places to see, and my own shoes to fill. Preferably green or purple shoes, but I’m flexible. Still waiting for my midget dragon sidekick though.
Why don’t you move?
Why don’t you change schools?
Is there anything GOOD about Thailand?
Why don’t you go home?
In light of these questions, and having vaguely addressed the fourth question in a nostalgic wishy-washy fashion last week, I thought I would impart some of the reasons for not leaving, moving or otherwise throwing in the towel.
Why don’t you move?
1. My landlady saves my laundry from the rain. Every time.
2. Ming. The alley cat.
3. When I’m running late to school, one of two moto taxi drivers on my soi usually sees me and drives down the soi to get me and take me to work, for 1 USD; and they take me elsewhere in the city without ripping me off.
4. Two massage parlors, and all of the workers in them on my street know me by name; they knew me before I ever walked in the door. One of the owners let me take a three-hour nap in one of her chairs when the monsoon was awful. The other owner wanted to make sure I knew about Buddhism in these troubled times, sadly I don’t read Thai as of yet, he had a book to give me and didn’t in light of the language barrier.
5. The old lady that smiles and waves to me every morning as I walk past.
6. Café corner’s banana ginger smoothie and spaghetti pesto.
7. The characters I meet at Café Corner. Besides the occasional sexpat.
8. Availability of western food in general in my area.
9. The dog lady.
10. Bus route accessibility.
11. Not too far from the khlong boat start, either.
12. I’m perfectly situated between my school and Khao Sarn Rd. Which, while sometimes difficult to deal with, is the go to place for many things.
13. The food variety on/near Khao Sarn Rd.
14. The amazing tailor situated just inside the entrance to the wat at the end of Khao Sarn Rd. Seven articles of clothing altered for 10 USD? Yes. Fix my backpack? Less than 1 USD. Awesome.
15. I have air-conditioning, and a skylight.
Why don’t you change schools?
1. Changing schools in Thailand may be as common and easy as changing your outfit. Back home, it’s not that simple, and jumping around a bunch doesn’t look so good on your resume.
2. Even for other places in Thailand, or other countries in Asia, jumping around doesn’t look so good if you’re aiming higher than a cram school. It’s about perseverance here!
3. According to my colleagues, everywhere else they’ve taught in Thailand has been a worse experience. The chaos, and beginning paperwork trouble is typical of Thai culture.
4. Most of my students are very good at English, which is a rare blessing in Thailand.
5. None of my classes have more than 35 students. Some schools have class sizes between 40 and 60 kids.
6. Once my pay, visa and work permit were finally sorted, the majority of the problem was solved. Switching reopens this Pandora’s box.
7. I got out of teaching computers. Long story, but I was in over my head.
8. I get to lead art club as of this semester.
9. I FINALLY have Thai social health insurance. Also linked to my employment.
10. My school has direct links to my home state.
11. The longer I’m at this school, the better rapport I have with my students and the better I can control each of their classes. And the more of their names I actually learn.
12. I’m no longer the newest teacher.
13. I have received a desk and a teacher’s desktop computer (getting a teacher’s computer is a rarity here indeed).
14. I’m back on the parents’ good side (no more computers), and get along with the head of the PTA.
15. The school secretary and I are tight. We’re gonna take over the world someday. Ok maybe not really. You just wait and see.
Is there anything GOOD about Thailand?
1. Cheap, accessible produce, including amazing fruit, some varieties you can’t get back home. 1 kilo of mangosteens for less than 1 USD? Yes, please.
2. I can afford to get a back massage. Frequently. 200 baht (6.57 USD).
3. I can ride a motorbike to school for 1 USD.
4. Public transportation. I don’t need to own a car; in fact it would be counterproductive.
5. I can have a smart phone AND a pay as you go plan. And switching cell phone carriers is a matter of walking into 7/11 and buying a different SIM card for something like 3 USD.
6. Green tea flavored everything. Though careful, they add milk to a lot of beverages here, you have to ask every time.
7. I can afford to go to the hospital without fretting about co-pays and going bankrupt, even if they double charge me (which they won’t any more, Thai social!).
8. If you know what you need, the pharmacy will sell it to you. Without a prescription. Doctor’s supervision only matters as far as the doctor actually does anything besides scribble out a piece of paper and charge more than the pharmacy for the same drug. I’m not being reckless, just saying.
9. Everyone tells me I’m beautiful. And I ‘look like baby.’ Can’t win them all.
10. 7/11 sells cold beer. And they open it for you. And you can drink while walking down the street.
11. Beverages are still made with real sugar and not the synthetic stuff, besides what is clearly labeled diet.
12. Most people that find out I’m a teacher immediately ratchet their level of respect up 1-5 notches. Sometimes prices are lowered for me with this information.
13. I can ride a boat to the mall for 30 cents US.
14. If I’m craving something from the west, most things I can get, for the right price.
15. Despite my trouble with it, going out to eat is cheaper than cooking, there is a lot of delicious food here, and the longer I’m here the more I figure out which things I can and cannot get away with eating. If we truly became what we eat, some days I would definitely be a bananasteen. That’s banana + mangosteen, if you didn’t catch that.
And perhaps the most important reasons not to leave:
1. I know I’m not done here.
2. I’m finally on the all downhill from here side of culture shock.
3. Now that I’ve got the hang of things, it’s actually time to do some exploring around the rest of the country, and continent! (Class, this is what we call foreshadowing).
4. I feel like I make a difference with (most of) my students, and the moments I see my students shine, in whatever country, are some of the times I am happiest.
5. I’m finally learning more about my DSLR camera, and I’ve got some of the most beautiful sites in the world to capture.
6. I’m finally closing in on getting my artist’s groove back. Almost.
7. I have time to read.
8. I have time to train for a half-marathon. There, I put it out there. Pressure’s on, lazy pants. Ugh. Grad class has been eating into this time…
9. Being this far away, I have no obligation, and really no ability to come running when anyone cries wolf. I only have to look out for myself. Sorry, see this? Yeah that’s the Pacific Ocean. I never really liked swimming that much.
10. Breathing room. I can finally work on healing at my own pace. Some may say I ran away. I say I dove in headfirst. Holding on to the past with both hands and continuing to wait for the other shoe to drop; that would be worrisome.
I’m 25. I’ve got things to do, places to see, and my own shoes to fill. Preferably green or purple shoes, but I’m flexible. Still waiting for my midget dragon sidekick though.
Monday, August 15, 2011
A Sense of Place
What is home, exactly?
For 18 years, the city of Indianapolis was home.
For 5 years, West Lafayette was home.
And right now Bangkok is home.
But what really makes any place home?
People keep asking me “will I be excited to come home?”
And I don’t know how to answer that question honestly without offending people.
The answer is supposed to be “yes! I can’t wait to come home!”
But that’s not how I feel.
What exactly do you mean by come home?
Bangkok is home now.
It may not be a permanent home, but it’s more home than any place in Indiana.
How much of a connection do you have to have with a place to call it home?
Or at least a place you care about deeply?
I’ve only spent 10 days in China. But it made enough of an impact on me to care about what’s happening in the city of my hosts. I care about the people I encountered.
I lived in Firenze for one month. And it felt more like home than any place had for the previous three years.
I’ve lived in Bangkok for 9 months. And I feel like I live in limbo. But as soon as a taxi or motosai turns down my home soi, I know I’m home free. I get to put down my backpack, turn on the aircon and sit in my own space.
I spent 3 nights on the island of Koh Chang. But the sense of peace on that pier staring up at the stars felt like home, for a little while.
Some people say home is where the heart is. Or where your family is, or pumpkin pie or Thanksgiving or the State Fair or whatever else conjures up images of comfort.
It really struck me how shaken I was by the tragedy at the Indiana State Fair and by the protests in Dalian, China this weekend. These events are so much smaller than the show-stopping headlines 2011 has brought us. But these smaller events are in places that have provided a sense of home to me at some time, however briefly. It’s harder to remain detached from it.
Home is a sense of safety and peace.
A space, however small, that is your own for a period of time.
The places that have been home are always a part of who you are.
Some people have one home their entire lives.
But not me.
I don’t know where home is.
I don’t know if home needs a location.
Unlike some of the more adventurous nomads out there, I don’t seek to be location independent. I don’t seek to rid myself of all material possession except one backpack, though I strive to accumulate less.
I’d still like a true home base somewhere, someday.
But I’m a rolling stone.
Home is where I lay my head at night.
For 18 years, the city of Indianapolis was home.
For 5 years, West Lafayette was home.
And right now Bangkok is home.
But what really makes any place home?
People keep asking me “will I be excited to come home?”
And I don’t know how to answer that question honestly without offending people.
The answer is supposed to be “yes! I can’t wait to come home!”
But that’s not how I feel.
What exactly do you mean by come home?
Bangkok is home now.
It may not be a permanent home, but it’s more home than any place in Indiana.
How much of a connection do you have to have with a place to call it home?
Or at least a place you care about deeply?
I’ve only spent 10 days in China. But it made enough of an impact on me to care about what’s happening in the city of my hosts. I care about the people I encountered.
I lived in Firenze for one month. And it felt more like home than any place had for the previous three years.
I’ve lived in Bangkok for 9 months. And I feel like I live in limbo. But as soon as a taxi or motosai turns down my home soi, I know I’m home free. I get to put down my backpack, turn on the aircon and sit in my own space.
I spent 3 nights on the island of Koh Chang. But the sense of peace on that pier staring up at the stars felt like home, for a little while.
Some people say home is where the heart is. Or where your family is, or pumpkin pie or Thanksgiving or the State Fair or whatever else conjures up images of comfort.
It really struck me how shaken I was by the tragedy at the Indiana State Fair and by the protests in Dalian, China this weekend. These events are so much smaller than the show-stopping headlines 2011 has brought us. But these smaller events are in places that have provided a sense of home to me at some time, however briefly. It’s harder to remain detached from it.
Home is a sense of safety and peace.
A space, however small, that is your own for a period of time.
The places that have been home are always a part of who you are.
Some people have one home their entire lives.
But not me.
I don’t know where home is.
I don’t know if home needs a location.
Unlike some of the more adventurous nomads out there, I don’t seek to be location independent. I don’t seek to rid myself of all material possession except one backpack, though I strive to accumulate less.
I’d still like a true home base somewhere, someday.
But I’m a rolling stone.
Home is where I lay my head at night.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
This is (Almost) The Future
For some reason, you’ve decided to take an online graduate level course from another continent. We have the internet! Anything is possible!
Before you get too excited, here are some tips for surviving this endeavor:
1. Check the online course software two weeks before the start of the class.
2. Email your instructors well in advance and explain the situation.
3. Find out about any textbooks at least one month ahead of time if possible.
4. Determine how well the online course software loads in your country of residence.
5. Scope out at least half a dozen internet café alternatives to your usual haunts. The internet will go down. Everywhere.
6. Resist the temptation to have a hissy fit on social media when none of this works properly. Do as I say, not as I do.
In depth explanations and problems you might encounter:
1. Checking the online course software 1-2 months in advance is too soon. Checking the night before is too late.
2. You are not typical. Your instructor probably does not expect someone to take a class at an American, Midwest University from somewhere in Asia, online or not. So far I know of one program specifically designed for this purpose. But it still requires a much more stable internet presence (and a LOT more tuition dollars).
3. Online class does not mean 100% online material just yet, apparently. Silly me. See, almost the future. International textbook shipping is tricky, expensive, and sometimes not even possible.
4. University course websites are labor intensive for slower internet connections. Likewise, online textbook rental (this was not Amazon, nor was that an option) is copyright hyperactive, in beta testing, and extremely buggy. Also, apparently illegal for utilization outside North America, because you know, China might want to steal our ideas about No Child Left Behind or something. I wouldn’t recommend the CourseSmart software at the present time if another option is available. See International Shipping above.
5. Dry season internet is not monsoon season internet. The internet will die just because it’s raining. They will completely redo the wiring at school rendering it impossible to access for a week. Various Thai internet companies will proclaim for the millionth time they really are upgrading to 3G this time. The Thai censorship connection slow down. Your favorite internet café will lose signal. Starbucks in Thailand will charge an arm and a leg for you to use the internet regardless of whether you buy a beverage. Your internet SIM card will be corrupt and require replacement. And when you’ve finally fought through to your material, can you focus on the coursework?
6. Self-explanatory.
Besides the basic tech specifications, it should also be noted that while a foreign teacher in Thailand has a lighter teaching load than an American teacher in the states or an International school, that doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve got that much more energy left for maintaining a compact summer course while teaching. Especially when you end up taking motosai (motorcycle) taxis all over town in search of the internet. It’s kind of exhausting. Though, an American at an International school or higher up the expat food chain would likely have access to more stable internet.
All that said, you’d think my summary would be never do this, right? Wrong. In fact, just to prove my sheer insanity, I’m starting another online graduate class shortly! Why am I doing this to myself? Some combination of renewing my teacher’s license in the long run and sheer masochism. Not the least of which, because neither my home state nor my current country of residence can pin down what on earth it is they want and expect from teachers in order to be ‘legal.’ And I’m rather partial to being legal(ish).
I will say that as far as textbook reading goes, I probably did a better job with this course than in any class throughout high school and undergrad. Progress in relation to attention span and information absorption? Maybe.
Believe you me, I’ve thought about walking down Khao Sarn Road and purchasing myself a Ph.D. in Horribleness and calling it a day.
Before you get too excited, here are some tips for surviving this endeavor:
1. Check the online course software two weeks before the start of the class.
2. Email your instructors well in advance and explain the situation.
3. Find out about any textbooks at least one month ahead of time if possible.
4. Determine how well the online course software loads in your country of residence.
5. Scope out at least half a dozen internet café alternatives to your usual haunts. The internet will go down. Everywhere.
6. Resist the temptation to have a hissy fit on social media when none of this works properly. Do as I say, not as I do.
In depth explanations and problems you might encounter:
1. Checking the online course software 1-2 months in advance is too soon. Checking the night before is too late.
2. You are not typical. Your instructor probably does not expect someone to take a class at an American, Midwest University from somewhere in Asia, online or not. So far I know of one program specifically designed for this purpose. But it still requires a much more stable internet presence (and a LOT more tuition dollars).
3. Online class does not mean 100% online material just yet, apparently. Silly me. See, almost the future. International textbook shipping is tricky, expensive, and sometimes not even possible.
4. University course websites are labor intensive for slower internet connections. Likewise, online textbook rental (this was not Amazon, nor was that an option) is copyright hyperactive, in beta testing, and extremely buggy. Also, apparently illegal for utilization outside North America, because you know, China might want to steal our ideas about No Child Left Behind or something. I wouldn’t recommend the CourseSmart software at the present time if another option is available. See International Shipping above.
5. Dry season internet is not monsoon season internet. The internet will die just because it’s raining. They will completely redo the wiring at school rendering it impossible to access for a week. Various Thai internet companies will proclaim for the millionth time they really are upgrading to 3G this time. The Thai censorship connection slow down. Your favorite internet café will lose signal. Starbucks in Thailand will charge an arm and a leg for you to use the internet regardless of whether you buy a beverage. Your internet SIM card will be corrupt and require replacement. And when you’ve finally fought through to your material, can you focus on the coursework?
6. Self-explanatory.
Besides the basic tech specifications, it should also be noted that while a foreign teacher in Thailand has a lighter teaching load than an American teacher in the states or an International school, that doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve got that much more energy left for maintaining a compact summer course while teaching. Especially when you end up taking motosai (motorcycle) taxis all over town in search of the internet. It’s kind of exhausting. Though, an American at an International school or higher up the expat food chain would likely have access to more stable internet.
All that said, you’d think my summary would be never do this, right? Wrong. In fact, just to prove my sheer insanity, I’m starting another online graduate class shortly! Why am I doing this to myself? Some combination of renewing my teacher’s license in the long run and sheer masochism. Not the least of which, because neither my home state nor my current country of residence can pin down what on earth it is they want and expect from teachers in order to be ‘legal.’ And I’m rather partial to being legal(ish).
I will say that as far as textbook reading goes, I probably did a better job with this course than in any class throughout high school and undergrad. Progress in relation to attention span and information absorption? Maybe.
Believe you me, I’ve thought about walking down Khao Sarn Road and purchasing myself a Ph.D. in Horribleness and calling it a day.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Dear Baby Brother
It’s another personal one. Bear with me, or skip it.
Baby brother, you are important enough to merit a post.
Alienating my audience, for the win!
Brother:
I can’t save you.
There. I said it.
I love you, so much.
But I can’t fix it.
And I can’t stand to look in your eyes when you keep asking me to.
Once, on a family hiking trip I was frustrated at having to constantly slow down and wait for everyone else, repeatedly for the entire hike.
I finally stormed off ahead, straight into a cave, without a flashlight.
I followed a family that did have a flashlight.
But they didn’t realize it, and they got too far ahead for me to catch up. And I was trapped in the dark.
And then I realized you’d followed me.
And I was panicked. And you were panicked. And then I was more panicked, because crap, what kind of big sister gets her little brother into her mess?
We finally found our way through to the other side, out into the glorious sunlight!
I attribute this experience to my developing claustrophobia. We were what, 9 and 7 or 8 and 6 years old? I can’t remember.
Here’s the deal, little brother.
I spent years trying to protect you.
I spent years trying to stand up for you.
I learned about IEPs long, long before any of my education peers. I became your advocate and even attended some of those meetings to speak up for you.
I forgave you for the many ways you embarrassed me as a teenage girl.
I tried to be another parent when ours couldn’t handle you. And sometimes, I was the only one you would listen to. And so I held that responsibility and took it upon myself to be my brother’s keeper.
But I can’t save you.
I haven’t been the mythical, “she can calm her brother down, she’ll know what to do” big sister in many years. You grew up. You grew taller than me. And my big sister magic, in all but the shell of its existence, faded away.
That day, long ago, when we wandered into that cave, we both had a choice.
I chose to wander off into the unknown without a flashlight.
But I didn’t expect you to follow me. And it was your choice to follow me.
I can’t fix everything for you. I never really could.
If I had an easy answer, believe me, I would have told you long ago. If I could fix it, it would already be fixed. I tried so hard to make it better. But I can’t.
Baby brother, I love you with all my heart, please don’t misunderstand.
Send me an email. Talk to me on Skype. Don’t think I never want to see you. Every time I enjoy a coconut, I think of you struggling in the driveway opening one with a hammer, or with the coconuts in Hawaii…
Ask me to buy you bootleg movies. Ask me to send you a Thai SIM card, for God knows what purpose. But most of all just talk to me.
I wish you all the best.
But you can’t follow me any more.
Especially if neither of us have a flashlight.
Baby brother, you are important enough to merit a post.
Alienating my audience, for the win!
Brother:
I can’t save you.
There. I said it.
I love you, so much.
But I can’t fix it.
And I can’t stand to look in your eyes when you keep asking me to.
Once, on a family hiking trip I was frustrated at having to constantly slow down and wait for everyone else, repeatedly for the entire hike.
I finally stormed off ahead, straight into a cave, without a flashlight.
I followed a family that did have a flashlight.
But they didn’t realize it, and they got too far ahead for me to catch up. And I was trapped in the dark.
And then I realized you’d followed me.
And I was panicked. And you were panicked. And then I was more panicked, because crap, what kind of big sister gets her little brother into her mess?
We finally found our way through to the other side, out into the glorious sunlight!
I attribute this experience to my developing claustrophobia. We were what, 9 and 7 or 8 and 6 years old? I can’t remember.
Here’s the deal, little brother.
I spent years trying to protect you.
I spent years trying to stand up for you.
I learned about IEPs long, long before any of my education peers. I became your advocate and even attended some of those meetings to speak up for you.
I forgave you for the many ways you embarrassed me as a teenage girl.
I tried to be another parent when ours couldn’t handle you. And sometimes, I was the only one you would listen to. And so I held that responsibility and took it upon myself to be my brother’s keeper.
But I can’t save you.
I haven’t been the mythical, “she can calm her brother down, she’ll know what to do” big sister in many years. You grew up. You grew taller than me. And my big sister magic, in all but the shell of its existence, faded away.
That day, long ago, when we wandered into that cave, we both had a choice.
I chose to wander off into the unknown without a flashlight.
But I didn’t expect you to follow me. And it was your choice to follow me.
I can’t fix everything for you. I never really could.
If I had an easy answer, believe me, I would have told you long ago. If I could fix it, it would already be fixed. I tried so hard to make it better. But I can’t.
Baby brother, I love you with all my heart, please don’t misunderstand.
Send me an email. Talk to me on Skype. Don’t think I never want to see you. Every time I enjoy a coconut, I think of you struggling in the driveway opening one with a hammer, or with the coconuts in Hawaii…
Ask me to buy you bootleg movies. Ask me to send you a Thai SIM card, for God knows what purpose. But most of all just talk to me.
I wish you all the best.
But you can’t follow me any more.
Especially if neither of us have a flashlight.
Monday, July 25, 2011
The Accidental Ambassador
This entry will be completed in more than one sitting, so ‘today’ will be relative, not the least of which because I’m prolific enough on this blog.
Today I was an accidental ambassador. What do I mean? Well, I mean that today I was invited to lunch with an education delegation from Indiana, just as lunch time commenced.
The meal was lovely, a simple pad thai goong (shrimp) with mangosteen and longan fruit for dessert.
The conversation was amicable as well, and it was refreshing to have a conversation relating to local Indiana topics that didn’t involve people assuming I am an Indiana Policewoman or Indiana Jones.
I was pleased to hear positive updates on the state of education in my home state, from what sounded like a positive turn in the Chinese language program (which not long ago was in danger of disappearing), the renewal of art teaching positions becoming available as one delegate’s nephew seeks an art teaching position and general plans to continue fostering international exchange.
But what struck me more than that was the implied expectation and reminder that I am here as more than an individual representative. I represent a country, a state, a city, a university, my former high school, the list continues. And while much of this was meant to be complimentary, a rather large wave of sheer anxiety washed over me. Don’t mess this up. Gulp.
When I first arrived, I tried to be very cognizant of being a good ‘ambassador.’ As time wore on, my focus shifted down to mere survival mode for a time. Later still I became more aware of the ‘expat bizarro world’ version of Bangkok that I live in as a foreigner. Some of which is simply impossible to explain without the context of having lived it.
I am more cognizant that, I am not just an ambassador; I am currently living my life abroad. So while it is important to foster cultural understanding, walking on eggshells for extended periods of time doesn’t cut it whether at home or abroad.
While I consider myself to have a decent emotional intelligence, sometimes I fail to run my observations through this filter before allowing them to exit my mouth. I can be very, very blunt. Sometimes this is exceedingly comical, and truly, I try to give my honest observations. Other times, it doesn’t turn out so well, regardless of the clarity of my perception.
I have come to the realization that I am simply not suited for large-scale diplomacy. I think this wasn’t so much of a realization as the reinforcement of a previously unconscious but obvious “dude you are so not cut out for that.”
Many things came to mind today as I was reminded of the deep interconnectivity of my current location and the place I grew up. “You were too critical of the technology situation in that one blog post…you shouldn’t have said so much about student cell phone use in class, you shouldn’t have been so open about the legality of your working conditions…”
But then I thought, no. My observations were my observations at that time and place. And while it may be advisable to alter tone, edit for brevity or leave some things unsaid, I have merely described my own experiences. That was my goal, after all, to describe “my own meandering experience,” which yes, I stole from the Sunscreen Song. So sue me.
Some days, I am accidentally an ambassador. Most days, I’m just me. Heck, sometimes I’m mistaken for Russian. I don’t know, I’ve got some Polish heritage but that’s about as close as I come.
I’m not the only American here. I don’t always leave the best impression, but I like to think I’m far from leaving the worst. I may represent the places I have come from, but besides that, I have become someone besides the labels I carry from my past. While I’m proud of my city, of being a boilermaker, and so forth, I’m more than my labels, and I am an ambassador on accident.
Oh, and I didn’t photocopy my butt and add it to my Thai Immigration 90 day report, for the record. No really I didn’t. But I really wanted to. They might not have even noticed in that huge stack of paper, including every single page of my passport. Yep, I’m a great ambassador. Yep, I let this bypass the filter.
Today I was an accidental ambassador. What do I mean? Well, I mean that today I was invited to lunch with an education delegation from Indiana, just as lunch time commenced.
The meal was lovely, a simple pad thai goong (shrimp) with mangosteen and longan fruit for dessert.
The conversation was amicable as well, and it was refreshing to have a conversation relating to local Indiana topics that didn’t involve people assuming I am an Indiana Policewoman or Indiana Jones.
I was pleased to hear positive updates on the state of education in my home state, from what sounded like a positive turn in the Chinese language program (which not long ago was in danger of disappearing), the renewal of art teaching positions becoming available as one delegate’s nephew seeks an art teaching position and general plans to continue fostering international exchange.
But what struck me more than that was the implied expectation and reminder that I am here as more than an individual representative. I represent a country, a state, a city, a university, my former high school, the list continues. And while much of this was meant to be complimentary, a rather large wave of sheer anxiety washed over me. Don’t mess this up. Gulp.
When I first arrived, I tried to be very cognizant of being a good ‘ambassador.’ As time wore on, my focus shifted down to mere survival mode for a time. Later still I became more aware of the ‘expat bizarro world’ version of Bangkok that I live in as a foreigner. Some of which is simply impossible to explain without the context of having lived it.
I am more cognizant that, I am not just an ambassador; I am currently living my life abroad. So while it is important to foster cultural understanding, walking on eggshells for extended periods of time doesn’t cut it whether at home or abroad.
While I consider myself to have a decent emotional intelligence, sometimes I fail to run my observations through this filter before allowing them to exit my mouth. I can be very, very blunt. Sometimes this is exceedingly comical, and truly, I try to give my honest observations. Other times, it doesn’t turn out so well, regardless of the clarity of my perception.
I have come to the realization that I am simply not suited for large-scale diplomacy. I think this wasn’t so much of a realization as the reinforcement of a previously unconscious but obvious “dude you are so not cut out for that.”
Many things came to mind today as I was reminded of the deep interconnectivity of my current location and the place I grew up. “You were too critical of the technology situation in that one blog post…you shouldn’t have said so much about student cell phone use in class, you shouldn’t have been so open about the legality of your working conditions…”
But then I thought, no. My observations were my observations at that time and place. And while it may be advisable to alter tone, edit for brevity or leave some things unsaid, I have merely described my own experiences. That was my goal, after all, to describe “my own meandering experience,” which yes, I stole from the Sunscreen Song. So sue me.
Some days, I am accidentally an ambassador. Most days, I’m just me. Heck, sometimes I’m mistaken for Russian. I don’t know, I’ve got some Polish heritage but that’s about as close as I come.
I’m not the only American here. I don’t always leave the best impression, but I like to think I’m far from leaving the worst. I may represent the places I have come from, but besides that, I have become someone besides the labels I carry from my past. While I’m proud of my city, of being a boilermaker, and so forth, I’m more than my labels, and I am an ambassador on accident.
Oh, and I didn’t photocopy my butt and add it to my Thai Immigration 90 day report, for the record. No really I didn’t. But I really wanted to. They might not have even noticed in that huge stack of paper, including every single page of my passport. Yep, I’m a great ambassador. Yep, I let this bypass the filter.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Koh Chang, Take 1
Anxiously wait at pick up point from ten minutes before and twenty-five minutes after pick up time. Repeat to self “this is Thailand,” you didn’t miss it, you were here early, they’ll be late.
Travel for nine hours. Note the America vs the Soviets theme of the bus movies. Salt and Air Force One are the selections. After bus, enjoy that the ferry takes twenty minutes (you were warned to anticipate ninety).
Stumble onto island, over to collection of Song Tows (pick up trucks with benches in back and a luggage rack on top). Pull out scrap of paper. Absent-mindedly pick one of the recommended parts of the island you scrawled onto paper. Oh sure, there’s always room for one more on the Song Tow, over here! Cram onto what is practically back bumper of truck. Hang on for dear life. Photograph road whizzing beneath feet. Laugh with fellow passengers and negotiate who’s going to grab you if you slip.
Note the ice rink texture of the roads and the ridiculous switchbacks. Not a motorbike practice trip.
Disembark from death truck at Bang Bao on the Southern tip of the island. Wander past 7/11 and down pier. Book a jungle trek, one of the few things you’ve predetermined you’d like to do, with friendly middle-aged Thai woman. Inquire about guesthouse. Calls her friend. Secure accommodation in a no name guesthouse run by family. Cool. Ask about internet. Oh, no have, cheapest no have internet. That was efficient of me. It’s a house on the pier, on stilts; as the rest of the town. Note the bay a few meters below the cracks in the floorboards. Well, that’s certainly on the bay isn’t it? Settle in. Proceed to operation find internet.
End up sitting on the dock outside an internet café that is closing, but willing to let me use their Wi-Fi after closing. Watching battery drain sitting on a damp pier after sunset and lamenting anything to do with American educational assessment, which seems so irrelevant lately. Toddler walks up, giggling. “Wanna go to grad school?” More giggling.
“Hey, do you know if there’s an internet café around here?” a fellow American.
“You’re looking at it.”
Conversation.
“If you just need to check your email, you can use my laptop for a minute.”
“Hey, my guest house is right around the corner and they have free Wi-Fi, it’d probably be more comfortable than here.” Karma. w00t.
Bum around more expensive guesthouse’s lounge and complete assignments. Ordered some food, I’m not a total mooch.
Realize I’m not sure how to locate my guesthouse in the dark. Note to self: flash light. A nice shop owner helps me locate the correct plank to follow. See, here’s the Thai hospitality everyone talks about.
Return to my own guesthouse. Discover sink and shower do not work. Laugh out loud. No, really I did. Well, smelly backpacker it is. Toilet does work. Phew. Not sure I’m skilled enough to use an open pier for such purposes.
But, it’s definitely the quiet I’ve been seeking.
Sleep.
Wake. Low tide, mud is visible through the floorboards. Try the water again in vain. Get ready to go hiking.
Stand at 7/11 meeting point. Hrm, what to eat from a Thai 7/11 that’s low on the glycemic index? And the pair of boiled eggs and sliced guava has it.
Ok and a croissant, oh well. If you ever step into a Thai 7/11 you’ll understand.
Ten minutes early, twenty minutes late. Pattern?
Guide and I spot each other and smile. I found the jungle guide I was hoping to trek with based on the recommendations I read. Not bad for flying blind. So who needs a shower?
I’m the last one picked up. I get to ride in the pickup cab. I get a seatbelt. I’m in the front seat, and I’m comfortable with that with our guide. Two other girls are in the cab.
Stop and feed monkeys some rambutan. My paranoia of monkey poo in my hair is not realized. Decent photos are. So far so good.
Park truck. Embark on trek. Stop to look at poisonous spiders, edible mushrooms (no, not those mushrooms), snakes, rubber plantation (water bottles and bowls collect the precious sap throughout the forest), other flora and fauna. A few rainy patches, jungle over beach was the right choice.
Arrive at first waterfall. Swim. Climb waterfall. Slide down waterfall. Few srapes and bruises. Good photos. Rambutan for the people this time.
Onward. Stop for lunch at another branch of the river. Begin the swim hike. Leave everything except swimsuit and shorts. Swim upstream. Climb over rocks. Swim. Climb, swim, push, pull, lift each other up through current. Ignore jagged spots. Or try to. Hike up at least three tiers of falls. Swim and hike back. On foot, barefoot through the jungle for the last bit. Stop to gawk at wild marijuana. Ten year old girl behind me asks what it is. “It’s something to smoke. It’s marijuana.” She tries to pronounce it. “Ask your mother.”
Collect packs, hike back. One last swimming stop. Fatigue is setting in for the group, we’re approaching the seventh hour, little swimming. The rain picks up. What few dry patches were left are soaked in ten minutes. But the day was too awesome for that to matter much. A wonderful trip is concluded.
Time and place utility, a beach towel is expensive when you’re dripping wet, along with your only towel. The complaint of how many people cannot do basic arithmetic in the country is apparent as he cannot make the change, even with the calculator. I walk him through the simple subtraction, showing the steps on the calculator. I’m not positive he’s Thai, but he definitely can’t do math. Sad.
Dry off. Wonder if ironing very moist passport and work permit is advisable. Curse at self for carelessness, lay them out to dry.
Try shower in vain. Seek Thai lady that helped find the accommodation. She calls her friend. Figure out where in the maze of rooms the owner lives. At first she thinks I’m balking about hot water, and she tries to explain there is no water heater. I show her there is no water at all. “Ah! I turn on.” There we go.
Cold shower. Drain is a hole chiseled in the floor, straight to the bay. Reconsider biodegradable soap. Reconsider chopping hair short.
Wander around pier. Whole fish and beer for dinner. No alcohol for Buddhist Lent so serious, na? Wander around pier.
Lay out on the deck of the guesthouse staring at the stars, the lights across the bay, and dangling feet above the water. Most peace I’ve felt in I’m not sure how long. I could spend a long, long time here. So glad I got out of Bangkok, glad I found quiet.
Solitude.
Book. Bed.
Wake up with sun, with a start. It’s the same nightmare. I thought we were done with this. Swear at the contrast to the peace of the evening’s stargazing. Take time to calm down. Wonder if there is something to Thai superstition about ghosts. Wonder how many rings of Jasmine flowers it will take to appease the spirits. Buddha demands pink fanta!
Breakfast. Injection of internet. Sore from the current of waterfalls banging me around boulders and rocks. Saving snorkeling for another trip, despite having landed in the snorkel and dive hub, was sensible. Nap.
Quest to find a beach. Song Tows only run hourly on this part of the island in low season. Bother. Pavement is dry, attempt to rent motorbike from woman wearing “Koh Chang is not SALE,” T-shirt. I get that she loves foreigners. She demands my passport. I’ve read this is common on the island, but I say forget it. I’m sure she loves foreigners even more now. I stubbornly set off on foot. Oops. Thankfully, I’m saved from this folly by one of those hourly Song Tows that I wasn’t patient enough to wait for.
Ask to be dropped off at (what turned out to be) a rock beach. Oops. Stop to eat. Use some basic Thai. Some confusion.
“He no speak Thailand, he speak Cambodia.”
Aha.
Puppy chewing at my feet.
Restaurant owners set off on quest to break my 1000 Baht note, by motorbike to various places nearby, puppy on the bike, despite their best efforts.
Enjoy a Cambodian dessert (banana in coconut milk sticky rice, boiled in banana leaf). Say goodbyes. Ponder when I’ll work out a visit to Cambodia.
Give up on Song Tows again, they’re not stopping. Walk down to what looks like private resort. Waltz in anyway. Ask. Get let in. Sand beach, that looks fabricated, rocks after waters edge, to myself. Book. Pack of dogs. Sunburn. Oops.
Wander into interesting Jungle Hut/bar/hang-out/hookah bar something or other. Nice chat with a couple of expats that opened the place. Use bathroom, after they check the rain hasn’t rendered it inoperable. Not even phased by Thai toilet any more. Still hilarious when it’s American standard brand.
Aloe massage in open hut next door. Score.
“You want foot scrub?”
“Uh, sure.” Why not?
Rubbing alcohol. Paper or gauze on my feet, more alcohol. Ok, yay hygiene, but what are they doing prepping for surgery?
“You want manicure?” (They meant pedicure) “Have many colors.”
“That’s ok, thanks.”
Darkness has already fallen, though it’s barely after 6:30pm. My confidence in flagging a Song Tow in under three hours (they stop at 9) is low. Get the second Song Tow barreling through to stop and take me to base camp in under twenty minutes. Good.
Well, if I’m staying on the fisherman’s wharf, another seafood dinner is in order. Fresh crab fried with garlic and pepper. Beer. Sure, the big one. Leo, of course.
English expats behind me. Conversation. America vs Britain, diving, etc. Join table. More beer is ordered. Oh dear.
Four times my usual intake of one, time to wander back down the pier to bed. Thai (or Burmese or Cambodian or…?) waiter walks with me and starts conversation. Both headed to 7/11. Walks back from 7 with me. Arrive at my small jetty.
He gets a little too touchy feely. Uh, newsflash: a five-minute conversation and walking to 7/11 does not grant you access to come back to my guesthouse. It’s a good thing you finally took my no, or I might have lobbed you off the pier. Oh, to be a white girl in South East Asia. *sigh*
Decide to shower. No water. At least still quiet. Sleep.
Wake with the sun. No nightmare. No water. Succeed in waking guesthouse owner after about forty minutes, get water turned on. Upload, organize photos from jungle trek from camera to computer. Delete 60%. Need more camera practice. Lament how much is left to do to rebuild my photo website. Repack. Getting better at that.
Arrive in town exactly at nine, first Song Tow, the one I need to catch. Deserted. What? Something in Thailand left on time or early? Wait what I’m not awake enough for this. Am I going to miss my boat and bus now? Song Tow driver convinces me I’ll still make it, and he’s not leaving for an hour. I’m not so sure but I don’t really have an alternative. Time for more breakfast, not just the 7/11 fare. Chat with Norwegian about Ho Chi Minh City.
10 AM Song Tow. Talking to Norwegian about travel in general. Stop. Two Americans get on board. The four of us chat. We’re all getting anxious about making our connections. Get on ferry. Get off ferry. At exactly time bus is supposed to leave. Things don’t leave on time in Thailand. Except this morning’s Song Tow. Book it off the pier towards the buses. Find bus sitting there half empty and waiting. Feel silly. Thank goodness, not packed this time. Ignore Day After Tomorrow in favor of book, despite Jake Gyllenhaal. I hate apocalypse movies. The American duo from the Song Tow made it onto the bus too, they didn’t have a reservation yet, but they’ve got a departure time from Bangkok to their Northern province. Cutting it close. We discuss grad school, English bookstores and what not.
The bus air-conditioner starts leaking on me. Really glad it’s not a packed bus as it continues to piss down on the seat next to me.
Finally in Bangkok. Stop at the godforsaken tourist bus trap catty corner from Khao Sarn. Ugh. The vultures are already there.
“Taxi? Tuk-tuk?”
“No.”
Push drivers out of the way to retrieve bag. Resist urge to do any worse than the cold shoulder and multiple irritated “No”s.
Walk back to Khao Sarn Rd. Not far. Seek dinner. Chat with acquaintance I haven’t seen in two months. Dinner. Wi-Fi, ah, the lifeblood of an information junkie. Type ridiculously long, tense inconsistent adventure blog post. Wonder how much to cut. Wonder how much longer it’s possible to stall on next round of grad school homework. Wonder if anyone is still reading at this point.
Travel for nine hours. Note the America vs the Soviets theme of the bus movies. Salt and Air Force One are the selections. After bus, enjoy that the ferry takes twenty minutes (you were warned to anticipate ninety).
Stumble onto island, over to collection of Song Tows (pick up trucks with benches in back and a luggage rack on top). Pull out scrap of paper. Absent-mindedly pick one of the recommended parts of the island you scrawled onto paper. Oh sure, there’s always room for one more on the Song Tow, over here! Cram onto what is practically back bumper of truck. Hang on for dear life. Photograph road whizzing beneath feet. Laugh with fellow passengers and negotiate who’s going to grab you if you slip.
Note the ice rink texture of the roads and the ridiculous switchbacks. Not a motorbike practice trip.
Disembark from death truck at Bang Bao on the Southern tip of the island. Wander past 7/11 and down pier. Book a jungle trek, one of the few things you’ve predetermined you’d like to do, with friendly middle-aged Thai woman. Inquire about guesthouse. Calls her friend. Secure accommodation in a no name guesthouse run by family. Cool. Ask about internet. Oh, no have, cheapest no have internet. That was efficient of me. It’s a house on the pier, on stilts; as the rest of the town. Note the bay a few meters below the cracks in the floorboards. Well, that’s certainly on the bay isn’t it? Settle in. Proceed to operation find internet.
End up sitting on the dock outside an internet café that is closing, but willing to let me use their Wi-Fi after closing. Watching battery drain sitting on a damp pier after sunset and lamenting anything to do with American educational assessment, which seems so irrelevant lately. Toddler walks up, giggling. “Wanna go to grad school?” More giggling.
“Hey, do you know if there’s an internet café around here?” a fellow American.
“You’re looking at it.”
Conversation.
“If you just need to check your email, you can use my laptop for a minute.”
“Hey, my guest house is right around the corner and they have free Wi-Fi, it’d probably be more comfortable than here.” Karma. w00t.
Bum around more expensive guesthouse’s lounge and complete assignments. Ordered some food, I’m not a total mooch.
Realize I’m not sure how to locate my guesthouse in the dark. Note to self: flash light. A nice shop owner helps me locate the correct plank to follow. See, here’s the Thai hospitality everyone talks about.
Return to my own guesthouse. Discover sink and shower do not work. Laugh out loud. No, really I did. Well, smelly backpacker it is. Toilet does work. Phew. Not sure I’m skilled enough to use an open pier for such purposes.
But, it’s definitely the quiet I’ve been seeking.
Sleep.
Wake. Low tide, mud is visible through the floorboards. Try the water again in vain. Get ready to go hiking.
Stand at 7/11 meeting point. Hrm, what to eat from a Thai 7/11 that’s low on the glycemic index? And the pair of boiled eggs and sliced guava has it.
Ok and a croissant, oh well. If you ever step into a Thai 7/11 you’ll understand.
Ten minutes early, twenty minutes late. Pattern?
Guide and I spot each other and smile. I found the jungle guide I was hoping to trek with based on the recommendations I read. Not bad for flying blind. So who needs a shower?
I’m the last one picked up. I get to ride in the pickup cab. I get a seatbelt. I’m in the front seat, and I’m comfortable with that with our guide. Two other girls are in the cab.
Stop and feed monkeys some rambutan. My paranoia of monkey poo in my hair is not realized. Decent photos are. So far so good.
Park truck. Embark on trek. Stop to look at poisonous spiders, edible mushrooms (no, not those mushrooms), snakes, rubber plantation (water bottles and bowls collect the precious sap throughout the forest), other flora and fauna. A few rainy patches, jungle over beach was the right choice.
Arrive at first waterfall. Swim. Climb waterfall. Slide down waterfall. Few srapes and bruises. Good photos. Rambutan for the people this time.
Onward. Stop for lunch at another branch of the river. Begin the swim hike. Leave everything except swimsuit and shorts. Swim upstream. Climb over rocks. Swim. Climb, swim, push, pull, lift each other up through current. Ignore jagged spots. Or try to. Hike up at least three tiers of falls. Swim and hike back. On foot, barefoot through the jungle for the last bit. Stop to gawk at wild marijuana. Ten year old girl behind me asks what it is. “It’s something to smoke. It’s marijuana.” She tries to pronounce it. “Ask your mother.”
Collect packs, hike back. One last swimming stop. Fatigue is setting in for the group, we’re approaching the seventh hour, little swimming. The rain picks up. What few dry patches were left are soaked in ten minutes. But the day was too awesome for that to matter much. A wonderful trip is concluded.
Time and place utility, a beach towel is expensive when you’re dripping wet, along with your only towel. The complaint of how many people cannot do basic arithmetic in the country is apparent as he cannot make the change, even with the calculator. I walk him through the simple subtraction, showing the steps on the calculator. I’m not positive he’s Thai, but he definitely can’t do math. Sad.
Dry off. Wonder if ironing very moist passport and work permit is advisable. Curse at self for carelessness, lay them out to dry.
Try shower in vain. Seek Thai lady that helped find the accommodation. She calls her friend. Figure out where in the maze of rooms the owner lives. At first she thinks I’m balking about hot water, and she tries to explain there is no water heater. I show her there is no water at all. “Ah! I turn on.” There we go.
Cold shower. Drain is a hole chiseled in the floor, straight to the bay. Reconsider biodegradable soap. Reconsider chopping hair short.
Wander around pier. Whole fish and beer for dinner. No alcohol for Buddhist Lent so serious, na? Wander around pier.
Lay out on the deck of the guesthouse staring at the stars, the lights across the bay, and dangling feet above the water. Most peace I’ve felt in I’m not sure how long. I could spend a long, long time here. So glad I got out of Bangkok, glad I found quiet.
Solitude.
Book. Bed.
Wake up with sun, with a start. It’s the same nightmare. I thought we were done with this. Swear at the contrast to the peace of the evening’s stargazing. Take time to calm down. Wonder if there is something to Thai superstition about ghosts. Wonder how many rings of Jasmine flowers it will take to appease the spirits. Buddha demands pink fanta!
Breakfast. Injection of internet. Sore from the current of waterfalls banging me around boulders and rocks. Saving snorkeling for another trip, despite having landed in the snorkel and dive hub, was sensible. Nap.
Quest to find a beach. Song Tows only run hourly on this part of the island in low season. Bother. Pavement is dry, attempt to rent motorbike from woman wearing “Koh Chang is not SALE,” T-shirt. I get that she loves foreigners. She demands my passport. I’ve read this is common on the island, but I say forget it. I’m sure she loves foreigners even more now. I stubbornly set off on foot. Oops. Thankfully, I’m saved from this folly by one of those hourly Song Tows that I wasn’t patient enough to wait for.
Ask to be dropped off at (what turned out to be) a rock beach. Oops. Stop to eat. Use some basic Thai. Some confusion.
“He no speak Thailand, he speak Cambodia.”
Aha.
Puppy chewing at my feet.
Restaurant owners set off on quest to break my 1000 Baht note, by motorbike to various places nearby, puppy on the bike, despite their best efforts.
Enjoy a Cambodian dessert (banana in coconut milk sticky rice, boiled in banana leaf). Say goodbyes. Ponder when I’ll work out a visit to Cambodia.
Give up on Song Tows again, they’re not stopping. Walk down to what looks like private resort. Waltz in anyway. Ask. Get let in. Sand beach, that looks fabricated, rocks after waters edge, to myself. Book. Pack of dogs. Sunburn. Oops.
Wander into interesting Jungle Hut/bar/hang-out/hookah bar something or other. Nice chat with a couple of expats that opened the place. Use bathroom, after they check the rain hasn’t rendered it inoperable. Not even phased by Thai toilet any more. Still hilarious when it’s American standard brand.
Aloe massage in open hut next door. Score.
“You want foot scrub?”
“Uh, sure.” Why not?
Rubbing alcohol. Paper or gauze on my feet, more alcohol. Ok, yay hygiene, but what are they doing prepping for surgery?
“You want manicure?” (They meant pedicure) “Have many colors.”
“That’s ok, thanks.”
Darkness has already fallen, though it’s barely after 6:30pm. My confidence in flagging a Song Tow in under three hours (they stop at 9) is low. Get the second Song Tow barreling through to stop and take me to base camp in under twenty minutes. Good.
Well, if I’m staying on the fisherman’s wharf, another seafood dinner is in order. Fresh crab fried with garlic and pepper. Beer. Sure, the big one. Leo, of course.
English expats behind me. Conversation. America vs Britain, diving, etc. Join table. More beer is ordered. Oh dear.
Four times my usual intake of one, time to wander back down the pier to bed. Thai (or Burmese or Cambodian or…?) waiter walks with me and starts conversation. Both headed to 7/11. Walks back from 7 with me. Arrive at my small jetty.
He gets a little too touchy feely. Uh, newsflash: a five-minute conversation and walking to 7/11 does not grant you access to come back to my guesthouse. It’s a good thing you finally took my no, or I might have lobbed you off the pier. Oh, to be a white girl in South East Asia. *sigh*
Decide to shower. No water. At least still quiet. Sleep.
Wake with the sun. No nightmare. No water. Succeed in waking guesthouse owner after about forty minutes, get water turned on. Upload, organize photos from jungle trek from camera to computer. Delete 60%. Need more camera practice. Lament how much is left to do to rebuild my photo website. Repack. Getting better at that.
Arrive in town exactly at nine, first Song Tow, the one I need to catch. Deserted. What? Something in Thailand left on time or early? Wait what I’m not awake enough for this. Am I going to miss my boat and bus now? Song Tow driver convinces me I’ll still make it, and he’s not leaving for an hour. I’m not so sure but I don’t really have an alternative. Time for more breakfast, not just the 7/11 fare. Chat with Norwegian about Ho Chi Minh City.
10 AM Song Tow. Talking to Norwegian about travel in general. Stop. Two Americans get on board. The four of us chat. We’re all getting anxious about making our connections. Get on ferry. Get off ferry. At exactly time bus is supposed to leave. Things don’t leave on time in Thailand. Except this morning’s Song Tow. Book it off the pier towards the buses. Find bus sitting there half empty and waiting. Feel silly. Thank goodness, not packed this time. Ignore Day After Tomorrow in favor of book, despite Jake Gyllenhaal. I hate apocalypse movies. The American duo from the Song Tow made it onto the bus too, they didn’t have a reservation yet, but they’ve got a departure time from Bangkok to their Northern province. Cutting it close. We discuss grad school, English bookstores and what not.
The bus air-conditioner starts leaking on me. Really glad it’s not a packed bus as it continues to piss down on the seat next to me.
Finally in Bangkok. Stop at the godforsaken tourist bus trap catty corner from Khao Sarn. Ugh. The vultures are already there.
“Taxi? Tuk-tuk?”
“No.”
Push drivers out of the way to retrieve bag. Resist urge to do any worse than the cold shoulder and multiple irritated “No”s.
Walk back to Khao Sarn Rd. Not far. Seek dinner. Chat with acquaintance I haven’t seen in two months. Dinner. Wi-Fi, ah, the lifeblood of an information junkie. Type ridiculously long, tense inconsistent adventure blog post. Wonder how much to cut. Wonder how much longer it’s possible to stall on next round of grad school homework. Wonder if anyone is still reading at this point.
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