Dirty Laundry

You may as well paint a scarlett letter on my chest. I have cheated in the worst lanundry way possible.

At the bottom of my building is a laundry man. He washes clothes and says hello to me and has an adorable 2 year old daughter who takes off her pants and runs around the building. I like this man. I like his presence and his cheery smile and his laundry hanging out in the street in the mornings.

For the last few months I have gotten myself into a laundry routine which does not involve this man. I take my delicate washing to a place where you pay per item and my normal washing to a place where you pay per kilo. I don't know why I do this. I have no explaination. It is just the way things have happened.

4 TIMES this week the building laundry man has seen me entering and exiting with my dirty laundry (both shifts) and now my clean laundry (both shifts.) Each time his smile becomes a little terser, his daughter doesn't wave to me anymore, and he glares at the laundry with a hate and scorn I have come to fear.

It has gotten so bad that tonight I attempted stuffing my clean clothes inside of my shirt, and yesterday with shift one I loitered for an extra 10 minutes on the corner waiting until laundry man was gone and I wouldn't be spotted with my sullied washing. He still glared at me looking to my clean clothes and then to my face with questioning eyes. And the thing is I don't have an answer. I don't know why I've cheated on him in the one way that could possibly hurt. I don't know why I walk around the corner to drop of my clothes instead of just going downstairs to his shop.

Tomorrow as a peace offering I will give him my bedding to wash. I can only hope that the promise of my flowered blanket will wipe away the memory of my ironed contraband.

The Bed Channel

Channel 52 on my television is a station that I have come to fondly refer to as the Bed Channel. A four-way split screen yields black and white scenes of four different beds. A close up on the bed to be percise, and generally 1-7 sleepers in the bed. The first time I stumbled upon this time-suck I myself was in my bed and became positively convinced that the footage of the screen was me tucked under the covers, silently glancing around the room to find the hidden camera. Days later I am almost certain it is not me on the Bed Channel although I am unconvinced that those faithful sleepers are not other occupants of my building. While in America a channel devoted to nothing but beds usually holds the ripe promise of porn here it is quite the opposite.

"What are they doing in the beds?" Jason asked, when I informed him of my discovery.

"They're just sleeping."

"Of course they are."

I tune into the bed channel quite often these days. Checking to see if the people are still sleeping, who's sleeping, how many people are in bed. At my grandmother's apartment building they have a similar pasttime found in the Lobby Channel. My grandmother settles into her La-Z-Boy and watches security footage of the happenings in the lobby, always instructing people to wave on their way in and out of the front door and waiting for those exciting moments when someone she knows comes on the screen. A million miles away I find myself doing the same thing. Settling onto my own bed and turning immediately to 52, thoroughly entranced in the nuance and drama of the bed channel and waiting patiently for the exciting moment when someone I know may flit across the screen.

With Love from China

I had my Chinese students write mock letters home to tell their families about their study abroad experience. The lovely part about being an American in Asia is that everyone thinks you are mind-numbingly attractive even when you're not. The following quotes are either how the Chinese students see me or how they think they will be able to get good grades from me. A +'s for everybody!

"Our teacher's name is Elena. She is very nice and very good teacher. She just only 22 years. She is very very beautiful teacher."

"In our English class we have a good-looking teacher. She comes from America and her eye is very beautiful."

"She is high and thin. She just only 22 years old just like my sister. When we at her class we always feel free and happy."

"She's very beautiful and lovely. We love her very much."

"She gave me a good English name, which calls Julia. I admire her because she has herself work she can makes money by herself."

"I like her voice."

At the end of their letters the students all address their parents in just about the cutest ways possible.

"Dear parents. don't worry about me. I will study hard and take care myself. I hope you can take care yourself too."

"I've got used to everything here now. And whenever i take difficulty, my classmates will extend their warm hands to me. So don't worry too much about me. I can manage myself. After all, I'm an adult now."

"At last, I hope you keep healthy and work with smile every day!"

"I know China is cold so you must be careful. Health is very important."

"I will try my best do everything. I believe everything is possible. I believe I can create the miracle. I will success. Please believe me."

"The last, I will give you my best wish."

My best wish.

Yet Another Name Game

I like to think that the woman I share a cubicle with, Teuy, and I have gotten close. We spend our days working only 6 feet apart from eachother and while it's not constant chatter it is always reassuring to know that she is there. Working, talking on the telephone, looking at pictures of Winnie the Pooh. Teuy loves Pooh. Teuy wears a ring of Pooh holding a pearl. Teuy has a toilet paper dispenser in the shape of Pooh. Teuy works surrounded by pictures, cartoons, stickers of Pooh and the gang. Teuy ends many sentences with, "you know, I love Pooh." When I recently asked why she loved Pooh so much her response was, "we have the same figure. And he's cute like me." I love Teuy. Teuy loves Pooh.

Teuy's real name is Chollada. Our at least it was until Friday. Friday afternoon Teuy left the desk for about 20 minutes. As she floated casually back into the cubicle I looked up. "Where have you been?" I asked. "Changed my name," she said. "I'm now Chollaphat."

This is not the first time I have witnessed a Thai person change their name at the drop of a hat. The office secretary recently went from Aey to Sassy and a boy in my class who mysteriously disappeared from my roster came to my office to inform me that he changed his name because his old name was "bad luck." Everyone else takes this in total stride. "Oh I'm sorry Collada isn't your name anymore? What should I call you now?" Name changing is common and quite normal. Whenever I ask a Thai person why this occurs the answer is always, "Thai people are crazy! Oh and by the way I'm not going by Pornthip anymore."

Rage Against the Men

Many people have asked me about the men in Thailand. Their voices eager with the glittering hope of exotic Asian beauties or athletically toned bodies. The reality couldn't be further from their imaginations. Thai men, I will admit, are often times quite beautiful. But I do mean "beautiful" in a somewhat androgynous sense. Then there is the added problem of the gender-ambiguity coupled with the ripe truth that I find little difference between the physical appearance of the men and women aside from hair length and and make-up application. But even those theoretical give-aways are bent so frequently that you really can never assume anything. Blend in the fact that Thai men are generally about 6 inches shorter than me and 40 pounds lighter than me and the question about men in Thailand suddenly sounds like some sort of joke.

But there have to Westerners? you might be thinking. The American in men in Thailand (or at least the American men who have come solo and are over the age of 28) can only be described as mutants suddenly revered as gods in a land of blindness. Even the most foul, the most lecherous, the most unappealing White specimen is here considered god-like, a poster-child for all that is beautiful in the world.

A frequent sight is the consistently disturbing crusty 75-year old farang (white dude) feeling up his hot 20 year old Thai girlfriend who in turn looks bored and slightly irritated.

To set the scene even further. Every day Lauren and I eat lunch at the school cafeteria or canteen. Every day a group of about 5 absolutely horrifying American men morph into the eating area. They are a group of men who I might feel bad for at home, and who I will probably be struck down by the gods for physically condemning with such vehemence but their egos, their practices, and their self importance make me feel at least a pinch justified.

So the men morph in. Oozing into the cafeteria. Their paunches dripping out between the buttons on their shirts, their one solitary nostril growing hairs by the millisecond and their flipper like arms hanging awkwardly only reaching to about their nipples, which thank god I have not seen but which I am sure they would offer up for my viewing pleasure were I to say the word.

As they limp into the cafeteria on their orthopedic shoes their is a sudden intake of breath from the Thai women. Who are these godlike men?

The men's conversation generally goes something like this.

Man with bleeding ear lobe and lazy eye: Yea my girlfriend Gift isn't here this weekend. (sound of retainer saliva being retracted into mouth) She's got a modeling job in Bangkok.

Man with one yellow tooth and Hawaiin printed crop top: Yea Pim is modeling this weekend too. I wonder if they're both in Bangkok together!

I cringe silently over whatever rice dish I am eating and then quietly retreat to my blog to bash. I do feel a hint of guilt writing these words but then I think of Gift and Pim. Probably beautiful. Probably charming. Probably about the sweetest people you will ever meet and my words suddenly feel justified almost necessary.

In comparison to these leeches perhaps America really is the land of plenty. In America there are loads of men with arms at normal lengths, and shirts the right size for their pork-stuffed bellies. Every day in America I see men WITHOUT orthopedic shoes and crusted snot on different parts of their face. Now if only I could get the Thai women to see those men too.

Winter Months

Apparently winter has dawned on our sleepy Northern city. What this has meant in way of temperature change is nothing. It is still 95 and sunny. What this has meant in way of changes in the Thai wardrobe is drastic. Fur lined sweaters, hats, stockings, and chic boots. The Asians are reminding me of the Miami Cubans, I bet they too are wearing fur lined sweaters on 95 degree days. But hey, it's winter right?

My Tengrish (think about it) is getting better and better. On Monday an exchange in the classroom went something like this.

Me: Can someone please tell me what 'conflict' is?

Thai Boy: Cereal

Me: No that's 'Cornflakes.'

A response like "cereal" would have left me floored months ago but at this point I hardly even smiled. He was close. They sounded similar. I take the blame.

It's a Girl

As if the Thais weren't enough I am now also teaching a class for Chinese students studying abroad.

Unlike the Thais who have nicknames like Fitness and Dump, the Chinese have "English Names" which are in theory meant to help poor suckers like me who cannot pronounce their actual names.

Nobody seems fairly attached to these names though as today in class Amy 1 asked if she should change her name because she didn't like sharing it with Amy 2.

At some point my entire class must have been given a list of popular American names from the dawn of time. Amy is a rare "modern" name in a class littered with Darolina's and Herb's. One poor girl has chosen the name, Albert.

Today after class a nameless student asked me to help her choose an English nickname. She said she wanted something "old-fashioned." So she, myself, and a gathering of Connie and Amery's sat around and made a list of names. Margaret was deemed too hard to pronounce. Beth was a close second but the winner was Julia. Equipped with new name and a mighty grin, Julia was born. Although when one of the Amy's leaned in and said excitedly, "like Romeo and Julia!!" I realized that she might have chosen her new name for the wrong reasons.

Re-Writing the Classics

I teach a class entitled, "American Literature: 1850-Present." Such broad parameters; the white whale, the birth of modernism, then post-modernism, stories of war and women. With such greats at our fingertips the class has come to be defined not by the mighty pen but rather by the motley seven who make up my faithful students. Maxi, AJ, Bhu, Mustafah, Off, Mae and Ufuk.

The hour and a half long class usually goes something like this. Bhu, the adorable and punctual, enters the room before me. Setting the room accordingly, turning on the air conditioner, arranging the chairs, taking out his pen and sitting quality in preparation. Next come Ufuk and Mustafah, Turkish students earning their bachelors in Thailand. They come in chatting in Turkish and continue to fill the room with noise in a multitude of languages for the duration of the class. Then Mae, quiet and sweet. Maxi, my ladyboy, is always clad with excuse. About 15 minutes into class Mae calls Maxi, and Maxi is inevitably "at home with a sore throat," "talking to her landlord."

Off has come one time. When I asked about his absences to the other students they casually explained, "Oh, he has brain damage." I will say that I don't believe them.

Finally AJ. AJ is a dwarf which could excuse her for being 45 minutes late to class every day were it not for the fact that I have walked with AJ and she can move about twice as fast as I can. After AJ arrives late she excuses herself to "the toilet" for about 30 minutes.

Together we read Dickinson, Whitman, Fitzgerald and Faulkner. Wish you were here.

Old love rediscovered

I have rekindled my love affair with the poet Dorothy Parker. I discovered her in High School and at 15 found her words earth-moving. At 22 I feel the same way. Here are two of her poems that I can't get out of my head.

Resume

Razors pain you;

Rivers are damp:

Acids stain you;

And drugs cause cramp.

Guns aren't lawful;

Nooses give;

Gas smells awful;

You might as well live.

De Profundis

Oh, is it, then, Utopian

To hope that I may meet a man

Who'll not relate, in accents suave,

The tales of girls he used to have?

The Holidays

It's festival season here in the North country. Halloween followed closely by the Thai festival, Loi Khratong.

For Halloween I dressed up as a baseball player. Costume pickings being slim and the aching truth that Thai pants will not button on my body, I manufactured said baseball uniform with the items from my closet. However, I overlooked one small detail. Many Thai people do not know what baseball players dress like. My night mainly consisted of answering the simple question, "what are you?"

The morning after Halloween Chiang Mai woke up to 3 days of Loi Khratong. Loi Khratong is the Thai festival during which they apologize to the river for using her water and for polluting her water. For days Chiang Mai has been turned upside down in celebration. The main marks of the holiday are lighting floating candles and releasing them into the sky as well as making "khratong" which are little floating objects made of flowers, leaves, frawns and candles. They then float the khratong onto the river and the city's moat. Essentially the apologize for polluting the river by REALLY polluting the river. It is beautiful though.

Imagine just for a second the entire city out in the streets. The sky filled with lanterns and the water filled with candles.

Then add into the mix the fact that every man, woman and child is simultaneously lighting fireworks. The city has essentially been exploding for the last 3 days.

As I learn about Thai culture I am trying to teach my students a bit about American culture. This weeks topic in Conversation is "Iconic Western Figures." I wrote the names of 10 people on the board. People who I thought everyone should know. There were a few mistakes in the identification of these Western giants.

"Iconic Western Figures" as identified by Conversation 216.

Shakespeare: The author of "Romeo and Juliet", "Phantom of the Opera" and "Grease".

Marilyn Monroe: A woman with a black spot on her face.

Uncle Sam: A bad guy character from The Simpsons

Albert Einstein: The first man on the moon (with crazy hair)

I think we have all learned a few things this holiday season.

Back to School

It's back to school in Chiang Mai. While in America this would mean new notebooks, new pencils, perhaps a new first-day-of-school-shirt, apparently in Thailand it means new hair. While many of my students are the same as last semester it is nearly impossible to tell. Is that you, Moo, under that new shag? And didn't Fluke used to have short black hair? How did Pui grow out her bangs in under 3 weeks?

Also in typical Chiang Mai style I was told what I was teaching yesterday. Day two of classes and only 3 days before the syllabi were due. Mass Media, Conversation, some cryptic class for Chinese students and American Literature 1850-present. I recognize that the Thai sense of time is a little broader than ours but they do not seem to understand that a lot was actually written between 1850 and the present. "Choose the most famous story from 1850," was the advice I was given. Easier said than done.

Not to mention that American Literature 1850-present, only has 5 students enrolled in it. Among them is a Turkish guy, a midget and a lady-boy named Maxi. (I can only assume a la Maxi Pad).

Oh things should be interesting as we leave behind Mark Twain and round our way into the 20th century. Which contrary to popular to popular Thai belief, is not the same as the 2000's.

Lovin' it Thailand. Just lovin' it.

Back from Beyond

It's a daunting task to write when there is so much to be said. Since we last spoke I have been to Beirut and back.

I'm not quite sure how to describe Beirut. To say it was dichotomous would be an understatement. When thinking of Beirut there is the obvious initial thought of war. Now, I will also think of warring labels. Fendi, Gucci and every runway wanna-be in between, line downtown and glamorous women teeter from store to store on 4 inch stilettos.

Yes it is true that there are soldiers in the streets and tanks on corners. But there also seem to be more Range Rovers than people and more eyeliner than I've ever seen on any nation of women.

To me Beirut's beauty was both understated and intangible. More then images I left Beirut with feeling. There is the noted element of a European society, the famed party scene, the expensively dressed city and inhabitants. But there is also feeling you get, walking through the streets of a city filled with religion, history and a sense of volatility.

There is often the unlikely scene of a Christian cross in the skyline right next to the Islamic crescent moon. There is the eerie quiet of the looming bombed out Holiday Inn (picture up top) shadowing the luxury buildings practically next door. And there is the always awesome scope of the Sea, the Mediterranean hugging the city and reaching out to the mountains beyond.

I don't want to romanticize Beirut beyond recognition. Perhaps, my eyes were clouded and the Beirut I saw was filled with stars. But, if that's the case then I choose starry-eyed and a new city I love.

Update from Bahrain

I'm in Bahrain. That should be update enough. 

First off I think I scandalized the entire flight from Hong Kong.  Me being the only white person on board an aircraft definitely made the rest of the passengers a tad uncomfortable.  Many a stare. Many a shy smile just to make sure I'd smile back. 

But here I am in the hotel.  A man just came to the door asking if I would be "requesting any adult services tonight?" I did not understand until circa attempt 10 and by then the question was a mortifying joke.  

No adult services please. Thanks Bahrain. 

Return

The silence is broken.  I blame China, and the iron curtain that blocked my blogspot.  Current status is the Hong Kong airport.  Making the transfer from my Beijing flight to the flight that will take me to the Middle East. Beirut via Bahrain.  

But oh China how you filled me with wonder, and multiple times horror.  1 week in Beijing and some of my biggest take-aways were baby shit in the streets, (imagine half a billion babies sans diapers defecating at their leisure through slits in their onesies.) More people than I have ever seen in one place (it makes Manhattan look like a rural intersection.) And of course the tangible take-aways, an opium bottle, a one armed sweater and a Mao pocket watch.  For my purchases I blame the Chinese people who follow you with said Mao pocket watch and one-armed sweater until all you can do is cave and by the useless propaganda, the impractical winter-wear.  

What I can say with certainty is that China is out of control.  The Great Wall is great as promised, the people do a lot of flem hacking, and the art is fascinating. 

I can also say with certainty that I am homesick for Americans.  "Lost in Translation" (though about Tokyo) hit the nail on the head.  Walking through the streets of Beijing one gets the sense that every person in the world is Chinese except for you.  That is about 1/6 true.  

But the Chinese seem excited by Americans.  Our rumored weight and naivete.  Our cutthroat image and good ol' boy look.  The Chinese even seem excited about Obama though perhaps for the wrong reasons.  Oba-Mao? So they say. 

Exams

It is final exam time here in Chiang Mai. While this brings the usual array of sweat, tears, angry fathers asking if "Miss Nok fail?????" It has also brought some unbelievable errors by my beloved students. The following two gems are taken from their final exam.

1. Re: health care, "The last important is you have to cover your diagnoses or noses."

2. Re: the gay community, "Their cost of living are expensive because they usually pay for their fashion, rainbow flag (symbol of gay) and lawsuit."

how?

Additionally

A pro argument for gay marriage as written by a student in my Conversation class. Loves. 

"...Mostly, we can see famous gays are in entertainment field like Elton John, a famous singer from England.  Thus, it is true that many gays have a special capacity....We all human cannot choose to be born like this or like that." 

What's Happening?

Weekends have turned into less of a time for my leisure activities (whatever those might be) and more of a for intense physical struggle.  Last weekend it was vomit off the side of a mountain. This weekend it was starvation in a nearby province.  

I made a trip with 4 other teachers in the English department to Uttadarit Province a few hours South of Chiang Mai.  We were going to teach English to 4th, 5th, and 6th graders at a weekend English Camp at a school run by one of the Ajarns families.   See above for a charming picture of 4th graders matching school vocabulary with school pictures.  The entire day was about as cute as imaginable.  The kids liked to sing and dance. They also liked my nose which was written on several of their evaluation forms under things they enjoyed from the day: "Ajarn Rena's nose."  Please, call me Rena.  

Their English was limited to memorized songs which they could not recite out of order, and the phrase "Merry Christmas" which was said to me repeatedly as I walked around the school.  I taught them American marvels such as Duck, Duck, Goose and all of them took turns dancing with me during the dancing games.  

How is this an act of survival you might ask?  This was not.  This was bliss.  

What was survival were the housing conditions, or rather the culinary conditions of our 48 hour sojourn.  We were staying with the family of one of the Ajarns.  48 hours in Uttaradit and meals were sparse.  And by sparse I mean they occurred twice.  Breakfast and dinner were completely ignored, even after the 10 hour day of dancing with 9-year-olds.  To bed without supper.  Even when Lauren and I broke down and asked for it we were informed that the nearest food was 20 kilometers away.  

The reasons for our starvation were clearly physical and not financial.  Everyone watched their waistline as they squeezed into their Madonna brand jeans and Lauren and I ate small morsels of granola that had been smashed into the bottom of our backpacks from weeks of being forgotten.  

What they lacked in food they made up for in showers.  I was encouraged to shower so frequently that I ultimately took more showers in this 48 hour span than in a normal week.  

When we left Uttaradit I was intensely clean and starved to the point of potential diabetes.  Amazing Thailand.  

Urgent

This was so pressing I almost blogged from work.  

Thai people are quick to overshare.  In my three and a half months here I have heard more about acquaintances menstrual cycles and have been asked by more strangers about my bowel movements than ever before in my entire life.  

Today a note was left on my desk.  This is the note in it's entirety. 

"Request for sick leave. Aj. Elena. I have diarrhea." 

Request granted. 

More Mayhem

Dear Diary, 

Lets put today in the loss category.  

About a week ago another Ajarn in the office had asked me to do her a favor.  3 girls in her "English for Tour Guides" class were failing and the extra credit work she came up with included them taking me on a tour of Chiang Mai's most famous temple, Doi Suthep, which sits on top of the mountain that flanks Chiang Mai. I agreed to go.  

Today was to be the day of our intrepid voyage.  Details were vague.  Earlier this week a young girl named May had come to my desk to discuss the plan for our trip.  "Ajarn, I will call you and we will make a plan."  I said ok.  English being what it is I interpreted her words to mean, "Ajarn, I will call you and we will make a plan."  Assume nothing. 

Never receiving a call I settled into slumber last night, ready for some much needed rest.  8am the phone rings. "TEACHHHHAAAA WE WAIT FOR YOU! WHERE ARE YOU??" This was the promised phone call.  This was us making plans.  

I threw on some clothes and ran to the gas station where they said they were waiting.  Next thing we were flying up the side of the mountain at warp speeds, every third foot hitting a severe right angle turn or impossibly steep curve. It had been approximately 3 minutes since I left my bed. Roughly 3 minutes after that I got intensely car sick and they had to pull over to the side of the road for me to throw up.  I had been awake for six minutes and I was vomiting off the side of a mountain.  Not quite the Sunday morning I envisioned. 

The rest of the morning consisted of me in various stages of vomit.  I vaguely remember the temple.  

Additionally.  Favorite student error of the day. Found while I was correcting their write-ups on diseases.  "Insomnia is a very complicated process involving body and Brian." 

yes. 

Tutor Me

I meet with my Thai tutor twice a week.  Every time I see her I understand more and more what my students must feel like.  

Thai conversation 

Surat: Hello Elena! How are you! asonsoinaoisnalksaoidnfusodundoidodsufnsfnsdbudnsoindsoindsiufbsdiudbin?

Elena: Hello Surat. I'm fine. [silence]

Surat: oidnoasindoasuniunaldmoiasjdiausbdknkdfusndfksun

Elena: I don't understand.  

Surat: aosidnasodns? 

Elena: [silence followed by giggles]

Conversation with Students from my General English Class

Student: Teachaaaaaaaaaa

Elena: yes? How are you?

Student: I'm fine teachaaaaaaa

Elena: Do you have a question?

Student: [silence followed by giggles]

Elena: Question? question? confused?

Student: [silence]

Elena: ok?

Student: bye bye teachaaaaaaaa

Strikingly similar. bye bye teachaaaaa.

Not Such a Human

I would like to meet the Thai man who decided that one room set-ups with beds and stools were appropriate "apartment" options.  My stool/bed situation is getting to me and the housing hunt is back on.  

What I have found is more stool/bed situations in different locations with varying degrees of cleanliness to boast of and a wide cast of landladies.  All in odd track suits.  All with names like Lom or Om. 

Recently my student Mac (changed mid semester from Mc when I told him Mc was awkward) described a rapist as "A man who did it, not such a human."  That is exactly how I feel about the man who determined the Chiang Mai housing options.  "Not such a human." 

My repoire with my students has evolved over the course of the semester from strange girl-woman standing at the front of the room to constant banter and teasing between me and my class.  This makes things interesting.  

In one class my students recently discovered my age.  This made things even more interesting. Foolishly I left my work-permit laying on the table, my birthdate temptingly printed inside.  Next thing I know the entire class was screaming "1987!" I had no idea what this number meant until one of the more proficient speakers pointed at herself with wide eyes and side "1985. You 1987."  There was a moment of horror as we started at eachother.  

Funny thing is I think they like me more now.  They bow even lower.  This could be mockery.  

In another class I had a meltdown when all of my students were 25 minutes late.  I screamed.  I scolded. I carried on.  The next day I was three minutes late to class.  They were all there on time.  Scrawled across the blackboard when I entered the room were the words, "Teacher you are late!!" Touchez English 215.  

Another moment from my bag of tricks.  On Friday I made a student laugh so hard I thought I was going to have to resuscitate him.  What did I do? I said, "hush, hush."  This was way too much for him. He was crying.  And not just mild tears, but huge teardrops rolling down his face as he buckled over the desk repeating "hush, hush!"  This in turn made the rest of us join his laughter.  We all said "hush, hush" for about 5 minutes and then class resumed as normal.  

I think to my students I'm finally becoming a little more of a human.   

'Porn' in Thai, a common name. 'Porn' in America a nameless commonality.

A few things happened today (I taught, I suffered through 4 hours in the immigration office, I ate a few fried eggs) but by far the most life-changing was the fact that I caught my sweet, little, charming, wide-eyed landlord looking at quite scandalous porn.  Oh Mr. Chiang Mai Lodge, how you have ruined my image of you in your pink shirt.  

The rest of the day was a blur of the non-sensical.  3 people in a side-car crowd-surfing a large statue of a marshmallow, a hysterical student running to my desk to ask me the definition of 'co-anchor', being summoned to the immigration desk as "Ms. Elena. United States of America," which made me feel like I was representing the nation during a ceremonial moment of morning pandemonium.  

I am also losing my English abilities. (bad stuff Ajarn.) I now regularly say things like, "My shirt is green color," and "Yes I go market."  

Thank you Thailand. Kahp khun kah. 

The Great Outdoors

What is happening to my life? I just got back from spending an entire weekend atop a mountain with 40 Payap students and a gaggle of teachers from the English department.  

For those who know me, and know me exceedingly well, you are undoubtedly privy to the fun fact that I hate camping with strangers.  This has been evidenced on numerous occasions.  Exhibit a: a trip at sleepaway camp called "The Pioneer" which involved 2 days of hiking and 2 days of canoeing.  You volunteered to go on it and I went every year.  Somehow during the winter months I would forget that the sole enjoyable moment of those trips were when I could sneak away at one of the camp grounds to use the pay phone and call home.  

Exhibit B: leading one of these trips as a counselor and loathing every second of it. 

Exhibit C: Outdoor action (5 days of camping and "bonding) before starting Princeton.  I had a UTI and was considering sacrificing a major appendage so that they would evacuate me and send me to the nearest motel.  

Needless to say when I was informed that this Payap camping trip was in my future I was not thrilled.  

How silly of me to think that camping as I know it actually meant camping.  Did I really think that the 60 year old Thai ladies in my office would be rolling out the sleeping bags and spending a night in the wilderness? 

The trip was for freshman "to bond" (this idea crosses oceans.) Yes we hiked, yes it was breathtaking, yes we arrived at a "campground."  The University owns a plot of land in a national park on top of a mountain and here they have a cluster of cabins overlooking an enormous vista of Thai mountains and valleys.  

My attire for the excursion was what I deemed camping appropriate.  Shorts, a t shirt, sneakers, and warm clothes for the nighttime.  The Thais looked like they were going clubbing. Walking up the mountain I passed dozens of students in skinny jeans, blouses and flats.  The other teachers rode in a car and were appalled that Lauren and I chose to hike.  

Additionally I did not wear any make up.  Ridiculous of me.  Everyone else was reapplying powder and lipstick on the half hour and bviously sweating it all off continuously due to the restricting and hot nature of the skinny jeans.  This was quite a hike too.  Uphill, jungle, 90 degrees.  I should have worn my flats.   

When we arrived at the camp ground everyone immediately took showers, changed into nicer clothes and spent about 5 hours taking photographs of one another.  Not normal group photographs but insane personal photo shoots with teachers caressing trees and making bunny ears on their own heads from odd squatting positions.  

When at some point in the night it got chilly and I realized I hadn't brought long pants, I confided this information to another teacher.  "That's ok," she said. "The other Ajarn only remembered to pack ONE pair of jeans!"  Silly me to think that one was plenty for a 24 hour mountain-top journey.  

But ah the great outdoors.  This is how the pioneers must have done it.  I can almost see Lewis in Clark now, traversing the American frontier with perfectly powdered noses, different jeans for every meal and a pair of sequined flats for those uphill climbs.  Sweet, sweet nature.  

Bus

Hour 11 and we had been stopped at a construction site in nowhere land Laos for god knows how long.  

We went to Luang Prabang, Laos without an exit strategy.  Lesson learned, heroes of yore.  With my Jonathan Larson style poverty (sans AIDS and heroine, mind you) as a dominating factor we were looking for the cheapest and safest way back to Thailand. Flights were too expensive, the speedboat was too scary (described as a "surfboard with a car engine attached to it") leaving us with the option of the bus.  

Sure, 13 hours to the border.  That's nothing.  Oh and it's only $30? please sign me up. 

5:30pm we arrive at the bus station for our bus.  In my mind's eye I had envisioned a luxury liner.  Some VIP cruiser with plush seats, ice water with lime served on the half hour and a constant reel of the newest releases playing on my personal television screen.  What we were met with was a bus probably crafted sometime during the Carter administration.  As we shuffled in to find out seats motorcycles were being piled high on the roof, as were unidentifiable mammal sized plastic bags.  The belly of the ship was of course stocked as well, and we nestled in to our air-conditionless home for the next day.  

We pulled out of the bus stop packed to the brim, 3 people in every 2-person seat and the motorcycles on the roof palpably weighing on the bus.  About 3o minutes into the rid when we thought nothing else could be crammed in, the bus slowed to a stop.  Enter, about 35 more passengers, all equipped with stools.  These stools were then lined in the aisle of the bus and everyone took their seats.  Now the sun is setting, Laos men on stools are spooning by my side and the bus is moving with an unbelievable gracelessness.  

It should be noted as well that the Laos roads are about as professionally paved as if I had gone onto a dirt path and dug random holes roughly every 7 feet and then encouraged people to drive there.  

Radios have now been turned on, the front door has yet to be shut (it will never be shut), and I am clutching Oliver and the Laos man on the stool next to me with every harrowing turn the bus makes, my life flashing before my eyes and Oliver and I mapping out the best crash position to take WHEN not IF the bus flips.  Suffice it to say that this went on until 11am the next morning.  16 hours later.  It would be 11 more hours until we were back in Chiang Mai.  

A few highlights of the Laos bus ride.  

Awaking from a bizarre sleep to realize that there is a man hanging out of the still gaping front door as we creak up the windey mountain, vomiting violently as the bus driver cackles in hysterics.  I then realize that plastic bags are being thrust into my face and I am suddenly caught in a wave of passing them back.  The overhead light turned on briefly enough for me to realize that every single person in the back of the bus was vomiting.  Love those roads. 

Thrilling moment number two.  During one the frantic bathroom breaks where the bus lurched to a stop and suddenly everyone was peeing on the side of the road I realized that we had been driving with a gaggle of men riding on the rough of the bus.  

Thrill numero tres.  I woke up at about 3am to a stopped bus.  It was extremely clear that we had been stopped for a long time due to the fact that passengers from the bus were roaming around outside my window.  We joined the herd only to discover that we were stopped at a construction sight.  The bus driver was now asleep and the construction was taking up the entire road.  Obviously the only road in Laos.  

We stayed at the construction site until the sun rose at 6am.  By that point passengers on our bus were spear heading the construction team.  "Isn't that man waving in the crane the guy sitting behind us?" Oliver asked.  And he was.  

I'm still recovering.  

Update in Brief

Are you there Blog? 

Consider this line from Jerry Maguire, "There is a sensitivity thing that some people have.  I don't have it. I don't cry at movies, I don't gush over babies,  I don't buy christmas presents 5 months early...."  Now reverse that. That's me.  I cry at movies, I gush over babies, I even cry when random sports teams win games and the players all run and mass tackle each other.  And, I hate goodbyes.  Oliver left yesterday.  It's odd how a person's presence can enter your life so completely.  Can fill in the spaces and places that you had known only as your own and put an entirely different meaning on everything.  Everything is suddenly more wonderful, more interesting, more complete.  And then goodbye.  And your life is once again only yours but now with the shadow of that person glazed over everything. 

Today I am sad.  I want to call a time-out and live the last two weeks over again.  

But sadness aside, it is everything between the 'hello' and 'goodbye' which is really worth saying.  

My lovely job gave me a week off from work to travel.  Our route was this. Flight from Chiang Mai to Bangkok, bus from Bangkok to the Thai-Cambodian border, tuk tuk and taxi into Siem Reap Cambodia, flight from Siem Reap to Luang Prabang Laos, and then a bus back to Chiang Mai. 

Upon the way various life lessons accrued, passport stamps acquired, temples seen and scams narrowly avoided.  Word from the newly wise when crossing the border into Cambodia you will be taken to two fake "borders" before you are actually taken to the real border. You will arrive at a prop table and two men in uniform will jump out and say "good evening sir, welcome to the border!" Then, Oliver will say, "I would like to go to the real border."  The tuk tuk will drive a few more feet to yet another "border."  Then Oliver will say, "I would like to go to the real border."  And you will go to the real border.  Scam scam thank you ma'am. 

This and various life lessons to be shared in the upcoming entires.  I promise the silence is broken and we can return to our slumber party style Asia gossip as quickly as we left it.  

In the meantime just know that today I inadvertently ate pig blood and learned that my colleague Waraporn has a twin sister named Waraparn.  

If that doesn't keep you reading, what will?

p.s. the picture at the top is from the temples at Angkor.  Go see them. Go see them. Go see them.  

Radio Silence

Having my first visitor in Chiang Mai has removed me from the electronic world for the last few days. All I can say is this radio silence is a sign of my happiness with my current situation and nothing to the contrary. That said I do apologize and I call upon the words of a favorite poet of mine, Glyn Maxwell, to express my sorrow for abandoning you Dear Blog. Today Oliver (aforementioned lovely visitor) and I are off to Bangkok and then 10 days of traveling throughout Thailand, Cambodia and Laos. In the meantime I leave you with Mr. Maxwell and his poem written as an apology for missing an appointment with the BBC North Manchester some years ago.

"Deep Sorriness Atonement Song"

The man who sold Manhattan for a halfway decent bangle,
He had talks with Adolf Hitler and could see it from his angle,
And he could have signed the Quarrymen but didn't think they'd make it
So he bought a cake on Pudding Lane and thought "Oh well I'll bake it"

But his chances they were slim
And his brothers they were Grimm,
And he's sorry, very sorry,
But I'm sorrier than him.

And the drunken plastic surgeon who said "I know, let's enlarge 'em!"
And the bloke who told the Light Brigade "Oh what the hell, let's charge 'em",
The magician with an early evening gig on the Titanic
And the Mayor who told the people of Atlantis not to panic,

And the Dong about his nose
And the Pobble re his toes,
They're all sorry, very sorry
But I'm sorrier than those.

And don't forget the Bible, with the Sodomites and Judas,
And Onan who discovered something nothing was as rude as,
And anyone who reckoned it was City's year for Wembley.
And the kid who called Napoleon a shortarse in assembly,

And the man who always smiles
Cause he knows I have his files,
They're all sorry, really sorry,
But I'm sorrier by miles.

And Robert Falcon Scott who lost the race to the Norwegian,
And anyone who's ever split a pint with a Glaswegian,
Or told a Finn a joke or spent an hour with a Swiss-German,
Or got a mermaid in the sack and found it was a merman,

Or him who smelt a rat,
And got curious as a cat,
They're all sorry, deeply sorry,
But I'm sorrier than that.

All the people who were rubbish when we needed them to do it,
Whose wires crossed, whose spirit failed, who ballsed it up or blew it,
All notches of nul points and all who have a problem Houston,
At least they weren't in Kensington when they should have been at Euston.

For I didn't build the Wall
And I didn't cause the Fall
But I'm sorry,
Lord, I'm sorry,
I'm the sorriest of all.

Losing It

I totally lost my cool in class yesterday. Totally.  

Tuesday and Thursday's are brutal. From 9:30am-12:30pm I teach two sections of English III aka English class for people who have "studied" English for three years yet have no interest in being in class and have no idea what is going on.  My first section has grown on me.  They are cute and my lady-boy Nanzy does a fabulous of job of keeping everyone laughing.  The second section is consistently the worst hour and a half imaginable.  People saunter in 45 minutes late. Nobody says a word, the boys all where sunglasses and talk on the phone and I slowly loose my mind.  I usually keep it together but yesterday things fell spectacularly to pieces.  

It got to the point where I slammed the book shut and yelled something to the effect of, "This is not working, what is wrong with you people?"  They look frightened.  I then had them each write me a note telling me what they want to learn in class and what will make them participate more.  What I received back are notes that could only be written in Thailand. Equipped with drawings of smiley faces, thumbs ups, flowers, hearts, dogs and cats playing on rainbows.  Even from the boys.   

A few samples: 

"I want game and funny joke. Happy." 

"I don't want.  everyday it very happy but I don't know about Grammar and I don't spek Eng." 

"I like you very much.  But you speak quickly.  I can't understand sometime.  I think you is teacher very good.  I love you."  

"You have to speak clearly and slowly because I cannot catch your word and I want to play a game more because we will feel happy.  We want to join in a group work.  I love your smile.  Thank you.  Have a wonderfullday.  love you!!!!! You re so lovely."  

"You are good teacher but sometime I don't understand you because you speak quickly.  I hope you see pleas you speak slowly next hours."  

I guess the consensus is that I "speak quickly."  I will do my best to remedy that.  It's also hard to hate them when they tell me I have a nice smile.  

Smiley face, thumbs up, peace sign, sticking my tongue out.  

Wedge-tables

I think my body is going through some sort of vegetable withdrawal. (or Wedge-tables as my students say.) My diet consists of rice and noodles and I haven't seen a salad since the Empire State.  

I feel like I'm in my second trimester.  I have painful food cravings but absolutely zero way to satiate them.  Today I found peanut butter.  I spent approximately a million dollars on it and then ate the entire jar with a spoon while sitting on a bench in a department store.  

I also found cheese sticks.  Another million dollars.  They are disgusting but have the faint murmurings of actual cheese tucked somewhere in their repulsiveness and I eat them to remember the cheeses I once knew.  

In class this week I doled out the numerous midterm F's, there was a rapid emotional recovery and we moved on.  We are now studying food.  Studying food might be the motivation behind my cravings.  Today in my class (and Lauren's as well) we assigned them to write a comic strip about foods that they don't have in Thailand.  I was literally salivating over Guitar and Ople's comic about a chip with guacamole who was jealous of tuna salad because it got to be on crackers instead of chips.   

I would kill a man for tuna salad.  I would kill a man for guacamole.  

Instead, at some point today I was given a cube of unidentifiable green paste.  When I asked what it was the Ajarn giving it to me was at a loss for words.  It was tasty.  Especially if I closed my eyes and pretended it was cubed lettuce.  

2 nights ago I dreamt about bagels.  A full on dream.  Not just a passing moment in said dream but an entire dream centered around bagels.  Putting cream cheese on the bagel.  Toasting the bagel.  Eating the bagel. Having another bagel

I'm on my way out to dinner right now.  I foresee rice, possibly with a side of noodles.   

Conundrum

I'm in the midst of a small moral quandary.  I just finished grading my students mid-term exams and I would say that about 75% of them failed. Like, got F's.  And many of those who passed skated by with barely a D+.  

I tried to be liberal with giving points but I could not allow myself to give a student full credit if they wrote their affirmative response to a question as "Yas," especially since this is meant to be their 3rd year studying English at the University level.  

The students do not know present tense verbs, pronouns, or even how to say a phrase as simple and common as "Nice to meet you." (many people wrote "nice to meeting you" on the exam.) 

While some of the faux pas I saw were charming, one student wrote "Beyonce" every single time the exam called for the word "fiance," mostly the exam results have discouraged me.  The University passes students through courses even though the students have learned nothing.  This is where I find myself now.  I have a classroom full of 3rd year English students who do not know how to say "yes." I have a text book I am meant to teach them from but they can't even understand the title page.  

The University certainly wants all of my students to pass but I don't know how I am going to do that.  I can't allow someone who is supposed to be an English major graduate from University writing sentences like, "her is a good friend." But if I fail them I know there will be a price to pay.  I think I need to abandon every expectation the University has laid out for me and just teach them the most basic of things.  Present vs. Past tenses, pronouns, simple greetings.  

I would like to scorn the person who taught the entire country of Thailand that "singasong" is a word.  (almost all of the exams I received had the sentence, "I like to singasong.")  I would also like to scorn the person who told the Thai people that "every time" means "a lot." Even the other Ajarns say that.  

I'm not sure how to make these kids care but I'm going to try.  This week we will do singular vs. plural.  No one should be saying, "I have two sister."  This week we will also be talking about the difference between "single" and "singer" because right now to my students those two words are interchangeable. 

kahhhh

So I've learned a few things since I last posted.  Namely, that I have been using what I THOUGHT was laundry detergent but what is ACTUALLY fabric softener to wash my clothes for the last few months.  A cryptic distinction seeing as I don't read Thai beyond the word "chicken" and the visual aids on both packages are a woman's hands. 

Another nugget of knowledge acquired over the last 48 hours: my students do not understand the word "subscription," even though we spent roughly the last 7 weeks doing nothing but reviewing the word, "subscription."  The midterms don't lie.  

Pearl of wisdom number 3, the Ajarn I share a cubicle with (I love her) does not know her verb tenses.  She stormed into the cubicle muttering, "I killed her kah. I killed her kah" over and over while I frantically racked my brain for who she could have killed.  It took intense verbal prodding to discover the true meaning of her words: "I could have killed her (kah)."  

In Thai there are two words which work as polite endings to sentences.  Women say, "kah" and men say, "krop."  As in "Sawadee kah," aka hello.  The "kah" and "krop" weasel their way in to Thai people speaking English as well.  My morning has not officially begun until the Ajarn next to me (different Ajarn) coos "good morning kaahhhhhh" at a pitch almost too high for the human ear.  I receive e-mails that say things like, "Thank you kah" and my students routinely come up to me and say, "Exam so hard kahhhhh." I love the "kah" it is much better than the "krop."  Jason says that the privilege of saying "kah" might be reason enough to become a lady boy.  Kah.  

I killed her. kah. 

Soundtrack

There is a small restaurant with live music right next to my apartment building.  My balcony looks out right over it and the mellow sounds of the evening's songs waft up the 8 floors and land elegantly in my room.  Never too loud, never to soft.  Someone just played "Jamaica Farewell" and now they're on to "You've Got a Friend."  I swear if the soundtrack of my emotions could be played out loud this little bar would hit the note right on key.  

As time passes here in Chiang Mai I begin to feel more and more alone.  Not necessarily in a bad way, just literally further and further from everything I left.  It's hard not seeing the faces behind the words I get in my e-mails, and it's difficult not being able to see or hug the people I love.  Many of the most important people in my life are sharing a 13 mile long island right now and I am 12,000 miles away sitting on a balcony and looking out over a city that six months ago I didn't even know existed.  

It's funny the things you miss or allow yourself to miss when you are away.  I don't let myself think about 198 Rutland Road because I know that if I ever let myself really go there I would be inconsolable.  I don't let myself think about Princeton for the same reasons. 

It's the things, the objects, the places the smells that have caught me the most off guard.  I expected to cry over family, friends and love but I didn't expect to miss the subway platform and it's miserable heat and holler.  I didn't expect to miss scary nails at the grocery store and eating Chip Ahoy Reds (hello Helen) in my PJs. I didn't even think about missing clean floors, hot chocolate, summertime upstate or Miami rain.  What I miss most is comfort.  

This post makes it sound like I'm knee deep in homesickness which is not the case.  I blame the low tones of Tracy Chapman now floating up from the bar below.  

Every day here I'm filling my life with new things, things which one day I will miss.  One day I will miss being served lunch by a man in a bra.  One day I will miss eating meals with zero identifiable foods in them.  One day I will miss these sounds and smells and the soundtrack of my life being played by a Thai man with a guitar outside my window.  

If being here has taught me anything it's that all of this is manageable.  The body and the mind can carry a lot more than I previously thought.  And no matter what, the mosaic of the self can reach beyond what you thought was the limit and find a new place of comfort.  

Right on cue the singer below plays the perfect song.  

"There will be an answer let it be." 

My Hero

My students are in the process of doing presentations on their "Hero" or "Heroine." The gamete of people, animals, mythical creatures we have run is unbelievable.  Today I had two presentations back to back.  The first one was on Jesus Christ and the second one was on Steve-O from Jackass.  WWJD? 

The hands down, far and away most popular Hero is called Doraemon. (see flying cat winking)  Roughly seven people have presented on him and every time someone comes to the podium with their little Doraemon figurine there is a collective knowing sigh, as if no one in the world could ever surpass Doraemon.  Not even Jesus Christ.  Not even Steve-O. 

As I have gleaned from the presentations, (which by the way all begin "Good afternoon Teacher and my friends,") Doraemon is a Japanese animation cat who has come from the future to save the present.  "He is blue color," they all say.  Apparently Doraemon has no ears because a mouse, which they usually call a "lat" several times as I repeatedly say "a what?" until they abandon "rat" and switch to "mouse," bit off his ears.  Additionally Doraemon carries a bag on his belly.  This is where the presentation ends.  

"What's in the bag?" I ask.  "Everything," they answer.  "Everything?"

"Oh a spoon, band aids, an airplane, weapons, food, small furniture....everything."  

Then they sit down.  After seven presentations this is still all I know about Doraemon.  What I know about Steve-O is that he once "got a tattoo while driving." 

"Good afternoon, teacher and friends." 

Routine

Inspiration has been low lately.  Slowly life here is shifting a little bit.  Things that were funny just aren't funny any more.  Now instead of laughing at every English butchery, I'm nodding my head in praise when they come even a little close.  Spicy Thai food doesn't ravage my emotions anymore and instead I'm becoming used to crying in pain while I eat and accustomed to the necessary handfuls of cucumber or rice that I need to quickly swallow to make my tongue stop burning.  Even the maze of city streets doesn't baffle me anymore.  I still get lost but it's not with the same hopeless thought of never finding my way home again.  

It's weird when things suddenly become routine.  When you start judging the other white people you see for being on your street, or getting mad at Song Taew drivers for taking a route which you know isn't the quickest.  Even the intricacies of school are becoming common-place.   I am now used to the students bowing and am even a little offended when they don't.  I'm used to class starting about 20 minutes after the scheduled time and I'm used to telling 23-year-old men to stop passing notes to one another.  I expect to feel, at least once a day, like I am so hot I'm going to die, and I know that since I'm the first one in the office to use the hot water heater every morning that I have the duty of cleaning the ants out of the water.  

At 4:30 every morning the rooster outside my window starts to crow and at 7 the loudspeaker from the nearby school starts broadcasting god-knows-what.  My refrigerator moves across the floor if I don't hold it in place when I open the door and the best movies are on T.V. in the middle of the night.  

What will tomorrow bring?

Swine Flu and The Shame

I'm having a hard time with this Swine Flu ish.  Perhaps this is because of the mask I have been asked to wear at work.  (see stern photo of me and the King above.) Perhaps because the way I was instructed to wear this mask was via a handwritten note placed on my desk that read, "Ajarn Elena, Here is a mask for you to protect yourself from the flu. -Oyporn" Perhaps because of the fact that the other note on my desk at the time read, "I put your books on the chair.  Hope u don't mind. (can you see my folder?)" (I then proceeded to have a very meta argument with myself over the wording of "can you see my folder?" "Yes I can.") H1N1 is all everyone is taking about, save the sick baby panda, ("baby pandaaaaaa!" as they say.) my classroom now looks like the surgery ward, and the air conditioners have been cut off for free of "spreading." School was nearly shut down for a week for "flu cleaning." Unclear as to what they figured that would do.  

School carries on and so do the same old stories.  Today I confronted the cheats and had them all write me letters about why they cheated.  What I learned from this experience is that I am not built to be a disciplinarian. (surprise, surprise.)  I almost started to cry while I was yelling at them, their puppy eyes and quivering lips.  The letters they wrote only made me sadder.  

"I don't believe myself.  I believe you cannot do it very well.  I think like this."  

"Dear Lena, I'm sorry to make you upset.  I don't want to do that.  For the thing that I have done, it's because I think, I'll coppy some sentense to make mo detail.  I don't know what I done.  I serch for information and coppy down.  It's not good I'm really sorry.  I'll not do it again.  And I don't know that is falt.  I don't understand in the sentense that I copy so I coppy all." 

"To my teacher, Elena, I'm sorry for that.  I copy from the internet because I'm not smart in writing such as grammar, vocabulary.  On next time I wouldn't do that again.  I will practice my writing.  I promise.  And I want to tell you, I'm sorry." 

"I feel very shame."  

Maybe it's the broken English that made me feel so bad or the fact that they all turned in these letters with their heads hung low, but I really feel sorry for them.  As I promised I gave them all zeros, hopefully from now on we will steer clear of the online downloads and I won't have to hear the quiet mumblings of, "I'm so sorry Ajarn."  

Hygienic Point

"Hygienic Point." This is a sign that I saw in the supermarket.  Meaning, unclear.  What I do know is that the hospital I visited today was desperately lacking a hygienic point.  

My reasons for visiting the hospital were twofold.  1. I had to get a certificate of health in order to finalize my work permit and 2. I had to get a vaccination for Japanese Encephalitis.  After about 12 seconds in the hospital I decided it would be more sanitary if I gave myself the vaccination using needles found on dark alleyways and brewing my own homemade vaccination in stagnant water.  Long story short, I opted out of the vaccine.  

After my visit to the hospital I must say I feel more sick than well.  Chiang Mai is up in arms about Swine Flu, or H1N1 as they insist on calling it, and after my hospital experience I'm up in arms too.   Meaning, a hypochondriac like me visiting a hospital with patients decomposing on gurneys all around the waiting room is not going to leave the hospital with a feeling of health and "protection." (My conversation students learned the word "protection" today.) Also my visit with the nurse, as well as everyone else's visit with the nurse, occurred in the waiting room with hundreds of Thai people watching me.  Privacy is dead.  Privacy is especially dead since I saw two of my students in the hospital while I was practically getting my blood pressure taken.  I promise by tomorrow the entire Payap campus will know that Ajarn Elena was at the hospital.  This will then turn into a rumor that Ajarn Elena has swine flu.  I will then be approached by the miniscule head of the English Department and she will peer up at me and say something like, "They say you have H1N1." 

I'm home and appear to be well.  And although the hospital visit was mildly harrowing the entire thing only cost $1.50.  

Cheats

Before I came to Thailand the most I knew about Payap University, where I teach, was an article written by my friend Alexis.  She had held the position two years prior to me and had later written an article for the New York Times about a student of hers named Dream who fell in love with her. http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/03/fashion/03love.html?scp=1&sq=alexis%20schaitkin&st=cse

Last week a student turned in a homework assignment that makes me think I might be headed towards the same fate.  This is what his homework said.  "My name is Nut.  I am 20 years old. I want to be going out with someone.  Especially Ajarn Elena because I fall in love with you.  I love you at first sight and I want to know how to flirt with you.  I am interested in your pretty face and your hairstyle.  I am a funny guy and talkative.  I want to know you more than at this time.  Finally, I want to hang out for a dinner with you."  

My comment was.  "I'm taken.  Excellent grammar."  I mean it was pretty well written.  

Today in class all of my students cheated.  Actually I should revise that statement.  Every single boy cheated.  Literally hand-written copies of wikipedia articles were turned in as their homework.  They were assigned to write me half a page about a holiday they celebrate.  Students who usually write sentences akin to "Hello, my name Jane. I have 1 sisters," turned in assignments with sentences like, "there is a marked differentiation between the Gregorian and Lunar calendars."  Everyone is getting a zero.  

The fact that they're all such cheats doesn't stick in their minds as something bad.  During our weekly Friday quizzes I am constantly shouting people's names to make them stop cheating.  "stop, Stop!" (I generally just tell Stop to stop because it's funny to say his name, rarely is he doing anything that bad.) They think of cheating as helping one another.  The other thing that they cannot wrap their minds around is that I can still see them talking on the phone during class EVEN if they cover the phone with their hair.  You would be shocked by how many people do this. 

Good day U.S.A. 

Living Alone

Living alone allows you to be the weirdest version of yourself and no one is around to tell you how weird you actually are.  

My apartment has become something of an abstract installation piece crossed with allusions to Gabriel Garcia Marquez' insomnia plague.  In my diligent efforts to learn Thai I have begun to label everything with Thai words.  My refrigerator, my alarm clock, my pencils, even my shower now has the Thai words for "to shampoo" and "to shower, to take a bath" pasted next to it.  My room is filled with blue post-its stuck to everything labeling words that no matter how hard I try I cannot remember.  

Beyond that my at-home wear fluctuates between bikinis and Abuela-style-batas.  (aka awkwardly massive house-dresses for this not in the Pozzo-Del-Shepparo-Milou-Oroza clan).  It is ridiculously hot here and my meager pay-check only allows for the air conditioner to be turned on while I'm sleeping.  So here I sit, blogging in my bikini surrounded by blue post-its on all of my belongings.  

Don't you wish you lived here too?

"I Have No Idea What's Going On Right Now"

"I have no idea what's going on right now." I think I say this phrase upwards of 100 times a day in Thailand.  And the thing is, when I say it I genuinely mean it.  

A few examples.

While we were in Koh Phi Phi a friend in our traveling group had a birthday.  Lauren, his girlfriend, surprised him with a cake and candles.  However we were all surprised by the one toothed man who showed up with a guitar to serenade us with the Thai version of Happy Birthday.  (The Thai version totally skips over the "happy birthday dear ________" part and just says "happy birthday" a lot.) I have no idea what's going on right now.  

Last night on the flight back to Chiang Mai my fear of flying was put into overdrive when the pilot left the cockpit to go and schmooze with the stewardesses in the back of the plane.  I have no idea what's going on right now. 

Again last night, we were corralled to various different desolate gates in the Bangkok airport until we were all hoarded onto a bus and driven to a strange tarmac.  Save one passenger who was escorted into a very sketchy looking van.  I have no idea what's going on right now.  

While walking on a jungle path in the dark led by a barefoot Thai man the most enormous snake I have ever seen (definitely bigger than I am) crossed the path in front of us.  The Thai man turned around and said, "good snake."  I think I blacked out.  I really had no idea what was going on.  

When the Thai people employ their absolute favorite English phrase which makes virtually no sense I never have any idea what's going on.  "Same, same, but different," they say.  What? What is the same? What is different? What does that mean? I feel like Ethel listening to one of  Lucy's half-hatched ideas.  Except the visual you should really have is me in my Chiang Mai Maternity (this is what I'm calling the line when I put it out) wear scratching my head in wonder while Thai people nod with knowing conviction.  

I have no idea what's going on right now. 

Vacation

Hello America (and a scant smattering of other places), 

I've been quiet for the last few days because I have been on vacation.  I'm actually still on vacation.  

My current location is what I would call an artsy/tiki/bungalow hut on a beach in Koh Phi Phi.  It has been the perfect getaway and is bringing me back to trips to the Virgin Islands with my parents as a little girl.  While I won't regale you with intrepid stories of our travels (I am here with 6 other people) I can tell you that Koh Phi Phi was completely destroyed by the '04 Tsunami.  Pictures of the post Tsunami island are hung in most restaurants and the whole environment keeps reminding me of the post 9-11 New York that none of us will ever forget.  In bars there are still pictures of lost friends and signs point to "Tsunami Village." It's hard to fathom my beautiful little bungalow being completely destroyed by a wave but then again it was hard to imagine those colossal towers being destroyed by anything at all. 

On a much lighter and completely different topic altogether I learned tonight at dinner of an Asian phenomenon that I had not heard of at all previously.  A group of us were sitting around when one of the guys brought up massages in the mens bathroom.  This all might sound a little Senator Craig but apparently while you are peeing in the men's room in Thailand a man comes up behind you and puts warm towels on your neck and then swings you around and cracks your back.  Then you are expected to tip him.  All of the boys at the table had experienced this.  I am considering an incognito mission to discover if this is really true. I have my doubts. 

Generation Gap

My students are in college, or so I'm told.  Sometimes as I look at my classroom I cannot believe that these people are my age, or in many cases older than me.  (They know none of this and probably think I'm a matronly old woman who makes up grammar exercises on the weekends.)  These are not your average American 22 year olds.  Nearly all of my students have braces, and all of them look like they're about 14.  Class involves endless picking on the opposite sex -- think pinching, hair pulling, laughing hysterically when someone asks if they can go to the bathroom.  The boys stick together, congregated in the back of the classrooms, mumbling to one another under there breath and laughing at their friends when they get something wrong.  The girls sit in the front.  They wear colorful high heels and giggle uncontrollably over every new vocabulary word.  

Perhaps I should have known better than to teach this group of students "relationship" vocabulary.  50 minutes standing in front of them trying to explain the definition of "to hook up" was probably more trouble than it was worth.  Although they were thrilled when I told them that saying, "I hooked up with him" was "super slang."  At one point during class I said the word "sex." This was too much.  Mayhem ensued.  They were inconsolable, laughing hysterically, repeating the word "sex!" over and over until almost every student was hyperventilating with laughter.  I waited it out.  

After they learned their new "relationship" vocabulary I had them write personal ads.  Each of them was assigned a character.  Mayhem again.  When I assigned a boy in my class to be "a girl who was cheated on" I thought he was going to walk out.  In a quiet rebellion he had the "girl who was cheated on" be named "Elena." 

For the most part I adored their ads.  One student assigned to be a "single Dad" wrote, "I'm not a flirty guy but my wife is gone away.  I want to go out with someone who will make me better.  I am an easy laughing guy who can make a crying baby smile immediately. You'll fall in love with me." Another student wrote, "Now I want someone who can take care of me.  I want someone who is not a liar.  I hope I will find someone that have real love.  And I will send my real love from my real heart to you too."  

There was something so simple about what they wrote.  Grammar aside the idea of a "real heart" struck me.  Whether they knew it or not what they wrote echoed quite real emotions, and emotions which made me feel like perhaps we really are the same age.  

The Daily News

Since we last spoke there have been a few small changes to our universe.  For one, Michael Jackson.  Being abroad when there is big news back home is pretty disorienting.  For one, I can't really get a handle on how big this news is.  Second of all, at work on Friday I suddenly represented the United States of America at large.  Numerous staff members and students approached me, all saying the same exact words, "I apologize for the loss of your superstar."  In my conversation class they were even more interested.  "How do you feel?" they kept asking me.  I don't really know how I feel.  But I do know that the Thai people expect me to feel something. And if I am the only Westerner in the room they certainly expect me to feel something important. 

On another note entirely last night I went to what can only be described as a communist themed bar.  I do not understand about 98% of the things that happened during my 4 hours there.  I do know there were many people performing on stage.  Some had dreads, some had on fake mustaches, some were delicate Thai girls in traditional garb.  I also know that the walls were decorated with massive portraits of communist leaders as well as a few completely inexplicable additions. Namely Ringo Starr in a Hamlet pose and nearly an entire wall devoted to Julia Louis Dreyfus.  Still, I was happy to dance along to the music I didn't understand underneath the wall-sized portrait of a black Bob Dylan.  I was even happier to watch Jason get ambushed by a brigade of Thai men (definitely over 40 and definitely straight) who forced him to chug a beer and dance with them.  Thankfully no one turned to us when the Michael Jackson impersonator moonwalked onto the stage.  For even with the buzz of whiskey refills and the looming portrait of what looked somehow both like Ross Perot and Mao, if I had heard the refrained apology or been asked how I felt about my superstar I would have told them that to be doing the Thriller dance in a communist club was far too soon.  

My Humble Abode

My small home! Think freshman year dorm room meets hotel. It is by no means glam but I am trying to make it a little less visually grating in here.  

Desk/TV/Refridgeration moment. 

My teeny closet.

My bed.  It rivals Socorro's in firmness.  Shout out to anyone who understands what that means. 

Entrance to my bathroom and me in my Chiang Mai maternity gear. 

But this is the view from my balcony.  It makes everything else quite ok. 

Translation

I spend a lot of my time laughing over the Thai to English translations that I see every day yet now I'm beginning to wonder if a culture or a nations way of thinking can ever be translated into another language.  I started thinking about this after noticing that the refrain I heard on my way out of the office door to teach was, "have fun." Whenever I'm heading to class nearly every teacher I pass says this to me.  In the U.S. I'm used to hearing and saying something more along the lines of "good luck," or "I'm sorry."  Going to the library at school, heading to class, going to study -- the parting words were always one of those two phrases.  The difference between "I'm sorry" and "have fun" has caught my ear.  Are our sentiments towards obligation so different?  

By my students I have twice been seriously affected by the way they speak and what they say.  On Monday two students barreled into my classroom laughing and making fun of one another.  The boy rushed over to me, "Can I say this? Is it ok to say 'Sa has a foreign husband.'?" "Yes I said. You can definitely say Sa has a foreign husband."  I turned to Sa.  "Do you have a foreign husband?" "Yes," she said, "from Arizona." "Does he live in Thailand?" I asked.  "He passed away a long time ago," she replied.  I was speechless.  Sa is 24 years old.  The fact that she is a widow so young and a widow who could tell me about her husbands death between smiles and studies absolutely floored me.  

Today a similar situation occurred.  A girl, Noi, in my class had been absent for all of last week. Today she came to my office to get the materials she had missed.  "I'm sorry I was not here," she said, "My father was dying."  I stared at her.  "It's ok Ajarn," she said comforting me more than I could possibly comfort her.  "He is no more."  From their she took out her notebook and dutifully copied the vocabulary words on transportation and restaurants that I had prepared for the week her eyes never leaving her paper.  There is so much that I wish I could have said but I know that there are some gaps in the culture that translation will never fill.  And so I dictated, and answered Noi's questions on how to get from here to there.  

Post Script

I'm feeling a little guilty about my last post because I feel like it sounds like I'm making fun of their English.  I'm really not! I love my students and I commend them for how hard they are trying to learn and how much they already know.  If I were to write a skit in Thai it would read something like this: 

Elena: Hello! How are you? Chicken, pork, rice, water. 1, 2, 3, 17.  The mall.  Thank you! It's alright.

Those are all the words I know.  Tomorrow I start my Thai lessons. 

A message from my students

Below I'm giving you an example of a skit written by students.  I'm not sure if it's really meta or just a little off.  Side bar I've been pronouncing poor Liew's name as Leo for the last 2 weeks.  Today the students in my class informed me that "leo" means "really really bad" in Thai.  No wonder Liew blushes when I call her name.  And now...the skit: (ps the prompt was introducing a friend to your family)

Sa: Who's gonna pick you up? 

Ploy: May parents but it's so late now. 

Dump: You can go with me. 

Ploy: No problem, thanks for your kind. 

T: Sorry I'm late.  It was traffic jam.  We had to pick up Liew at nursery before. 

Liew: Sister! Who are you. 

I love my students. 

Sunday Night

Me on my birthday eating birthday cake on a bamboo raft at a nearby reservoir. 

A scene I could not resist. 

Water bottles that sit next to my desk at work

Me in Chiang Mai

A wat in the old city 

Hello everyone! 

A had a lovely weekend.  Filled with walking around, trying out new bars and restaurants and practicing Thai in the new little workbook that I bought.  One odd moment.  I went to buy a drying rack today to dry my laundry (I did laundry successfully!) and they gave me a complimentary cheese grater.  This is one of those frequent moments during which I wish I spoke Thai.  Why was I being given a cheese grater? What did this have to do with the drying rack and hamper that I purchased? Yet another moment during which I just smile and say thank you and have absolutely no idea what is going on.

But the purpose of this post is not to regale my weekend tales it is to post some pictures, finally.  They are obviously above! 

Until soon!

Finally the Weekend

Good morning from Thailand.  

I guess the best news I have is that I have a home! It is a teeny one room apartment (more like a dorm room or hotel room really) but I have a beautiful view and it's in a great location very central to everything.  I'm very happy and am in the process of trying to make things homey and cozy.  This is an uphill battle considering the tiled floor makes the entire room look like an oversized bathroom and the lighting makes me feel like I'm in surgery.  But I will do what I can.  Hopefully after a few days of market shopping I will find some fabrics and such to make it a little more colorful in here.  

The work week was actually quite good! A few highlights included the numerous presents which I seem to get on my desk every day (yesterday I was given lettuce), a baker woman who stopped by the office and set up a temporary bake sale which was delicious, and watching my Conversation students play pictionary which was just about one of the most hilarious things I've ever seen.  I told them to choose team names after I broke them into 2 teams.  In my first class the teams were "Payap" (the name of the University) and "Papaya."  My second class named their teams "Beautiful Team" and "Flower."  This somewhat shows the personalities of the two classes.  The first class is funny and rowdy.  The second class is a lot of cute girls who giggle throughout everything.  

The laughter in class has become one of the classroom staples.  When I call attendance I swear it's just about the funniest thing that has ever happened to any of them.  Kids are crying with laughter as I call out the names in what is my best effort at saying them.  To be fair their names are all English words so I say them as I would normally say English words.  That is the hilarious part.  They expect me to say "Dump" and "Stop" with a Thai accent Thai accent.  I'm not even sure how one would do those things.  But until I figure it out I'm happy to entertain.  

That is all for now.  I'm off to find some breakfast in this city.  

Tuesday

Today the copy twins wore tan.  Yesterday I wore an outfit that prompted the head of the English Department to say to me from her 4 foot stance, "now you look like a real teacher."  This slightly concerns me as I never really want to look like a real teacher.  As she said this I had an instant flashback to a student in my Conversation class say to me earlier the day before, "Ajarn Elena, you have chalk on your butt." Maybe I do look like a real teacher.  

For your reading pleasure I've decided to include a few fun facts that I've picked up over my week and a half (I can't believe it's only been a week and a half....) in Thailand. 

1) There are 3800 7-elevens in Thailand 

2) Chiang Mai translates to "the new walled city."  Chiang Mai was founded in 1296 which makes me wonder about the "the old walled city." 

3) My frizz in Thailand is out of control

4) Food is eaten with a spoon and a fork.  This is not a chopstick land. 

5) There is more Winnie the Pooh in my daily life here than there has ever been or ever will be. 

Stay tuned.