Viet-Nam

Greetings from Saigon.

In Thailand if you are in someone's way they smile at you without saying a word for about 25 seconds, then maybe they will giggle softly into their hands, then they will bow deeply and finally you will notice their presence and move to the side so that they can pass. You will both giggle in embarrassment and nod in respect to one another.

I knew I wasn't in Thailand anymore when after only 10 minutes in the airport a security official physically pushed me over for standing in the wrong customs line. Culture schumlture.

So far my time in Saigon has been completely dominated by my realization of what was actually happening during the Vietnam War. In school we learn about the war very scientifically. We study leaders, and planning failures and treaties signed and ignored. After only a few hours here I saw it from a very different angle. Babies are still born here disabled and disfigured from the effects of Agent Orange spread by our army. Fields are still ruined for farming. And obviously there are the cemeteries filled with headstones from that fateful decade. Sadly our country has those too. Being here with this history hanging in the background has actually filled me with a tremendous amount of shame. I feel sorry.

The day before I left Chiang Mai I went to the American consulate for passport upkeep. After going through security I saw the new trio hanging on the wall for the first time. Obama, Biden, Clinton. What a relief. No vacant Bush, no creepy Cheney, no psyched up Rice. I felt proud to see my president's face hanging on the wall. I feel proud in Thailand everytime someone asks me where I'm from and then they respond with a shout of joy, "Obamaaaaaa!"

But now I'm in Vietnam and when I say I'm American they say, "ok."

So hats off to the three new faces on the wall. Here's to a future that always remembers mistakes of the past.

"1, 2, 3 what are we fighting for?"

Buy Buy

I have been writing many posts about leaving Thailand. Which probably sounds intensely premature, but truly it is what has been on my mind. Perhaps I am a broody Mr. Darcy at heart, perhaps I am an angsty male WB character, or perhaps I am just 22 and confused about "life."

The way I have been remedying my intense in-Thailand-leaving-Thailand nostalgia is by purchasing everything money can buy. Every silly knick knack that I have shunned for the past year is now a possession of mine. Somehow I feel like by purchasing as much as humanly possible I will be able to cram Thailand into my suitcase. Haven't these buddhists taught me anything?

A neon green Thailand t shirt with attched necklace? Sure! A macrame elephant? I'll take it.

I've been doing the same thing with photographs. Taking pictures of things like my doorknob, ("this is so I can remember you doorknob,") my shower curtain, the trash cans in front of my building. Why am I doing this? Don't I know that the only thing I can do is live each day right now and not worry about tomorrow and the day after?

But perhaps this is the curse of having a good time. And maybe nostalgia and happiness just go hand-in-hand. So for now, I'm happy. And probably wearing an "I heart Panda" t.

Journey Home

The happenings of the last 7 hours are slightly odd. I shall report.

Today Lauren and I left Chiang Rai and ventured to the "Golden Triangle," aka meeting point of Thailand, Laos and Burma, the center of the famed opium trade BUT (more importantly to the hords of tourists who are bussed in,) a great place to buy t-shirts and shot glasses! "I smoked opium at the Goldren Triangle." "My sister risked her life in an opium ring and all I got was this lousy t-shirt."

Lauren and I went. It was bizarre but we were glad we went. I shall also note that it is in the middle of nowhere! A dusty street. Nowheresville. We did our visiting. We were ready to leave and go back to the nearby town we had decided to spend in the night in. We were at this point dusty, sweaty, dirty, carrying our luggage and our fruitless wandering revealed that we would not be making it back to the town for a variety of reasons. Most importantly being zero modes of transportation. Spending the night in a border town known for it's opium trafficking was low on my to-do list so we started wandering into buildings asking for taxis, or rides into town. Fruitless. After another hotel search I wandered back into the street. Lauren had flagged down a tour bus and was now calling to me "come on we're going!" From what I gander there conversation went something like this

Driver: we are a private bus.

Lauren: Do you know how to get into town?

Driver: Let me ask my boss....ok come on the bus!

We got on the tour bus and it was filled with 70 year old Asian tourists. A microphone was thrust into our faces. "We will now be introduced to the new friends!" said the tour guide.

"Hi we are from America. Thank you for letting us on your bus." The asian tourists looked pleased. Unclear how this transpired (I think I was in some sort of blackout shock) but it became clear that the bus was going to Chiang Mai and they would be taking us the whole 250 km. How is that possible? How did we flag down a random bus that just so happened to be going back to our home?

The bus ride was heavenly. Plush seats. We stopped for a delicious meal which the Singaporean (they were Singporean) tourists shared with us ever so graciously. I sat next to an elderly Singaporean woman who fed me lots of pork. We shared laughs. We took pictures. They found us amusing and told us we were lucky we found them. Yes, we know.

Then we shopped for dried fruits with the elderly Singporeans and at 10pm were dropped off in Chiang Mai virtually right in front of where we had parked our motorbikes.

I should expect nothing less in this land of smiles.

Chiang Rai

Lauren and I have just arrived in Chiang Rai, a nearby city, for a few days of relaxation and tourism. Upon arrival to the bus station I foolishly called our guesthouse. Below is an artist's rendition of the phone call transcript.

Guesthouse woman: Sawasdee kaaaahhhh
Me: hello?
Guesthouse woman: hello?
Me: hello?
Guesthouse woman: hello?
Me: I am at the bus station. What is the address for your guesthouse?
Guesthouse woman: a dress?
Me: Yes your address.
Guesthouse woman: a dress?
Me: Yes. Your address.
Guesthouse woman: I don't have dress, only room.
Me: I don't need a dress.
Guesthouse woman: a dress?
Me: hello?
Guesthouse woman: hello?
Me: hello?
Guesthouse woman: hello?
Me: Where are you?
Guesthouse woman: No have dress.
Me: You where?
Guesthouse woman: No wear dress!
Me: Where are you?
Guesthouse woman: hello?
Me: hello? You where, you?
Guesthouse woman: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

[hang up]

Sawasdee Kah

It appears that my teaching days are behind me. With a heavy heart I hang my hat. All that is left before I drive away from Payap one last time is a pile of grading and a luncheon with the rest of the teachers. And while America is still two months away I feel like I'm already saying goodbye to the biggest part of my life here.

Today I looked back to my first blog about teaching. On June 8, 2009 I wrote, "Suddenly it was 1 o'clock and I was standing in front of a room full of Thai kids and was apparently supposed to teach them English. What I learned during that class is that Thai University kids are not exactly like American University kids. For starters there was a lot of cell-phone chattery going on even as I was teaching. Also I am referred to as Ajarn Elena (or professor Elena) which is going to take some getting used to."

Well, I'm used to it. And no, Thai University kids are not like American university kids. Here there is no pretension, no sass, no holier than thou attitude. What I need to say about my students is that they are the warmest, sweetest, most kind-hearted people imaginable. No they are not terribly academic but they try (sometimes) and I can leave Thailand with the knowledge that I at least taught them how to properly ask to be excused to use the bathroom. No longer is Payap University overrun with a chorus of "teachaaaaaa, toilet!" Now, there are at least a few members of the community asking, "may I please go to the toilet?" Improvement.

I had individual sessions with each of my students in Conversation as a part of their final exam. They all left saying, "I love you!" "Come back to Chiang Mai!" Broke my heart into pieces. A few of them even brought presents. A panda picture frame, a miniature mug that says "espresso," a small angel which they said was me. I am a sucker for trinkets especially when they are given by teary-eyed girls named Peggy telling me, "have a good luck to you."

The e-mails have now begun. I just got an e-mail from my student Sprite saying, "I miss you na ka. Big girls don't cry." This might be the first time a Fergie reference ever made me tear up.

I could gush for days over the amazing students I got to share my year with. I could tell a million stories of how I almost killed a kid for answering his phone in class (again) or how I left the classroom with sore cheeks from smiling and laughing so hard. But I think I've already done that.

All I know is I never expected to find such friendship and warmth in a land so different. And I can't even begin to speak about my colleagues. New York is far, far, far from here but my students, my fellow teachers, even the once intimidating Ajarn Oyporn have made Payap feel like a new home.

Just now a student sent an e-mail that reads, "I try to do the best as I can do. I hope to see you again. Have a good trip and good luck. I will miss you all the time."

My sentiments exactly.

Just a thought

I just spent $57 on a plane ticket to Vietnam. All I can think is that I just paid money to get into a country that my father, when he was even younger than I am now, did everything he could to stay out of.

Isn't it strange what years will do?

Limbo

It's been a while since I wrote, reason being that my brain has turned quite suddenly into soup. Time is simultaneously moving at warp speed and with an agonizing slowness. I am constantly filled with restless energy and an anxious feeling about what lies beyond, or beneath, (if you are looking for a B list Michelle Pfeiffer thriller.)

Friday was my last day of teaching. Heart warming picture of my AE 374 class is included with this blog. I adore them. However, I'm now in an awkward month of grading, proctoring and over thinking. Down time is not the remedy for a person whose fall back existence is in their own head. Consuming thought #1 is my pending unemployment doom. This subsequently leads to thoughts of me living out a "Grey Gardens" existence, sans the happy memories of posh balls and handsome men, and solely avec the tattered wardrobe and intense crazy.

This then lends to the useless self scolding over the fact that these worries about my future are intensely bourgeouis and entitled. That if the future really were a doom i would be concerned with survival and not, you know, happiness.

If you couldn't tell I'm in a strange limbo. It feels like the last days of vacation when you are already thinking about home. Or the first days back home when you are thinking "did I really just spend 2 weeks in Azerbaijan?" Or two months later when you're like "what was that town called again?" I hope that doesn't happen. But isn't it inevitable? Yes perhaps when I am working the Denny's graveyard shift in rural Pennsylvania I will think back to my year in, what's this country called?