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.