Thank you.. Take Care... Goodbye

For the past year, nearly each weekday at 11:30  I’ve  walked  across the soccer field to the school cafeteria under a canopy of circling dragonflies.  I eat a nice lunch with my colleagues as they chatter in Thai and make my way back to my classroom through lines of children brushing their teeth and powdering their faces. School is over and I’m prepared for my upcoming transition to the capital of Cambodia.  It’s  dynamic mix of emotions: sadness,  relief, anticipation, wistfulness, glee over superior project management skills  and a renewed belief in both timelessness and change.  

Aon greeted me with a barreling exuberance
and a grand slam hug
to the hips on most mornings.

My co-teacher Koy and I demonstrate
big and small during the school's
field trip to the Forest Temple Across the Street.

During my last bike ride around the ancient city of Kamphaneng Phet, I hear the blind man playing a lyrical jakay at the night market, notice the dogs lying on the traffic median near the town roundabout and smell the carburetor-rich engine fumes of a small pickup pass me as I pedal around the field within the old city walls.  Everyone in the truck bed faces the incoming breeze: three children standing above the cab and two Saint Bernards and a mutt stretching  out around the sides.  My unspoken acquaintance,  an older man racing his ten-speed on the loop around the Ancient Forest Temple Across the Street, rings his bell in our ritual greeting as we pedal around at sunset.  The chorus of frogs in the rainy season and the wading ibis, heron and pelicans in the rice fields and the busy house spiders will remain long after I leave.  

Pinky and Jam were two of my students
that arrived to the school courtyard
holding hands every morning;
the boys photobombed.

Yet, there has been so much change.  Since this time last year, I've stopped worrying as much, my self-reliance has deepened ( a mixed blessing)  and I feel more grounded in this journey. Physically, I've gotten leaner, my hair is more gray and I have officially entered the third age of womanhood. I'm routinely winning the expert level on the Sudoku app; I've read nearly 50 books and watched Emmy-winning dramas.  I have survived some cavernous bouts of isolation and loneliness, experienced moments of destined synchronicity, communicated without words, tested the limits of my skin and reveled in the bountiful affection of children 10 and under. 

My students have grown; their gap-toothed smiles changed as the permanent teeth emerged over this last semester. Most of them can read some English, others can answer questions that are not scripted and a couple are starting to combine their new English words with Thai in wacky and highly amusing new sentences.  They failed their English mid-term because I focused on speaking and listening but they use Rock, Paper Scissor to make decisions, know the meaning of burb and fart, and recognize Grover.

Saipan was my best student.
A keen intellect that was woefully
underchallenged in the rural Thai classroom.

Meen was one of my students
 from last semester. She often came by the
 classroom looking for an English worksheet.

Finally, on the last day, they know I am leaving for good.  For my friend Mon, who adopted me during Thai aerobics to practice her English and then took me on a temple tour last month, it was it was easier to just tell her I was going back to America (not true) to help my mother with her recovery  from knee surgery (yes, having surgery but it’s orthoscopic) and that I didn’t know when I would be back (true) .  My neighbor Kongdej took me out for my first American style pizza of the entire year, combined with many Leo beers on the rocks and the silent flashes and jagged spears of lightning in the mountains in the south.  “No one ever knows what will happen in the future,”  Kongdej says, “but I hope we meet again.”  

These are the spirit houses for the school.
These are common throughout Thailand as a way to
honor the spirits of the earth upon which the buildings rest.
 The orchid blossoms and marigold garlands
are refreshed a couple of times a week.

The leaving is bittersweet.  For many of the past few evenings, I’d come home from work to find a line of ants making their way from outside, marching across the tiled living room floor and up the wooden bookshelf that stores my kitchen.  They tried to build a nest underneath the old coffee maker on the top shelf, crawled their way through the screw lid of my plastic jar of Muesli, pierced through a ziplock bag of unpopped popcorn and drilled into a mylar package covering a black sesame bar.  On occasion, they make their way into my bed.   I’m hoping the masses of insects will be somewhat diminished when there isn’t a swamp in the backyard.  I'm also hoping that the change in work environment will help my beleaguered immune system. 

Thailand and her children taught me invaluable lessons.  Escort insects and amphibians out of the house. Little geckos poop a lot.  Slow down, smile often, exercise, enjoy just a little dessert, and create meaning in this one life. It’s okay to wear your pajamas on a motorbike late at night and early in the morning once and a while.  Be kind, pee carefully when there's a squatter and always check your closed toe shoes before you put your foot in.   Steward your immune system.  Being clueless and releasing control is not such a bad thing.
Always take a little extra time to be presentable, relish the shade and words are a lot more fun when you sing them. 

Ubon on the karaoke vocals while JeJee and I dance away
during my going away dinner party on the
shores of the Ping River. All the teachers came. It was a blast.

In the end, my year in Thailand was all about love.  I learned to slow down and open my heart, take a few minutes each day in gratitude and give myself a break.  The  love of the children at my school have strengthened me for further adventures; this place will always be a home.

A few weeks ago I was writing at my table on a Saturday evening, watching the papaya tree and the bamboo swaying in the evening breeze, when the front yard suddenly lit up in a glowing pink. I checked it out and roused my housemate from her bedroom to watch.   In the sky, a single cloud amidst many was glowing alpenglow in the setting sun. Juxtaposed across the middle of this special cloud was a rainbow.   I hesitated for a minute thinking about racing for my camera.  Then I realized that this moment was so fleeting, so ephemeral and so timeless in its beauty, that it was paramount to summon my full being to bear witness. Gawk at natural beauty, create human kindness, be still in your heart.   This year, a singular experience in my life, will never repeat. I am sad to see it fade, but have a hopeful anticipation for this next step.

“ Sing, sing a song. Sing out loud. Sing out strong. Make it simple to last your whole life long. Don’t worry if it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear. Just sing, sing a song…” (photo from Pentax.com)

Emergence

In the middle of torrential rain storms and searing sunlight that punctuate the rainy season,  I've been watching the coconut palm at the corner of the school assembly/basketball court  go through a growth spurt. The palm extends a single spear high into the sky and as the days progress, the frond will unfurl from its tightly wrapped javelin.      Since May, I’ve been bound up and agonizing over what would emerge after my contract at this rural school ended in late September. I’d applied for jobs on the internet, considered staying here and mulled over a return to Alaska.   There were questions from my mother, discussions with other American teachers here in Thailand and the deep dark questioning in the middle of the night.

Last week, Michael Dooley’s Tut.com daily email from the Universe arrived in my email box:
“You'll know when you need to know, Ellen, and not a moment earlier.  That's how it works when the answer you're looking for depends on other events that must first settle, new players that need to be gathered, and serendipities that are still being calculated.”

I'd taught the vocabulary word "draw",
but the student unwittingly added an e and switched the W upside down!

In the end, the answer emerged as many have others have over the years: by simply putting it out there. The night before my skype interview, a huge, five-inch long dragonfly came into the house.  Through a series of flipped  light switches in the bedroom and living room, he finally flew back outside.  I took this as a good omen.    

The process of uncovering the next step was a product of connections between new and old friends, initiative and following the golden thread.   A phone call and some emails later, I’m now making plans to move to Phnom Phen on the day my Thai work visa expires.

I’ll be dedicating a few months of pro-bono consulting work to Cord, a UK-based organization that works closely with local partners in Asia and Africa to create a context for peaceful co-existence.  Cord’s Asia office responds to invitations to build the capacity of local NGOs in Cambodia, Laos and Myanmar to effectively manage at the program and institutional levels.  I’ll be doing a variety of projects relating to my previous efforts in fund development and grants management.

I am excited about offering service to this relatively small, diffuse and effective organization. Volunteering will give me some flexibility to learn more about the international development landscape join family and friends on forays this fall and provide something meaningful to do through the Christmas holidays.  I’ll have lots more English-speaking people around for connections and friendships. In a country where it doesn't cost too much to live, I’m making an investment in learning and growth. The hope exists that a job will emerge next.

This morning, while mulling over the myriad of details needed to be dealt with over the next six weeks, I thought about the millions of people who are unemployed in the US. Many of them are hanging on to the framework of their formerly employed lives, struggling to maintain the house and the normalcy of family life.  The young colleagues from October’s large teacher orientation have returned home to low-paid summer service jobs and living with their parents.  Are they attributing the months of unemployment and failed efforts to find work as all part of the Universe’s plan?

All I know is that my circumstance- traveling alone with an adventurous spirit and a chunk of savings to ameliorate the worries - has opened up opportunities. The feeling of going with the flow and tapping into the networks reinforces the purpose of this journey.  However, there are times when the sense of being adrift in a vast open sea is lonely and scary. At those moments, I'll try to  focus on the compass point on the horizon while also being  steadily steeped in the journey. Whatever I end up doing, I need to make sure it reinforces good health, builds a meaningful career, develops connected and heartfelt relations and fosters spirituality. I have enjoyed my time here in Thailand and am grateful for all the lessons, but it’s time to weigh the anchor and sail on.

Looking for Love

thaidings.blogspot.com

Way back in November when JeeJee picked me up at the hotel in Phitsanulok, one of the first things he mentions is his desire an American boyfriend. In the first week of my arrival, the teachers huddle around the photos of my family, looking at my brother-in-law with interest. 

 And throughout all of my travels in Thailand, the large white man is walking next to the petite Asian woman.  In the more pathetic instances the female is obviously much younger than the male.  But most frequently here, there are legions of aged, generally overweight white men following their Thai partners around.

They are seated amidst a group of Thai women and children eating market food and chatting on the shores of the Ping River at sunset, clutching a hotdog and silently looking absently to the other side of the river.   They are driving the motorbikes, gray-haired and self-absorbed. The white men frequent restaurants, with wife and light children in tow, and the beers stacked up on the beverage cart next to the table.  In some cases they hover around the pubs and bars in the urban centers, collected in small groups and waiting to see what kinds of bar girls approach.  They populate the message boards on the internet, referring to their partners as the “TW” (Thai Wife) or bemoaning the latest incidence of financial arrangements gone awry.  I’ve spent the past eight months mulling over the issues and reality of these arrangements and my own reactions to them.

There’s part of me that wonders what on earth these women would want with these guys.  Sometimes, they are heavily tattooed (something that isn’t perceived well in Thai culture) and visually unappealing to me.  But I’ve learned that Thai women are pursuing their own gateway to the Western Dream through an affiliation with the foreign male’s promise of life-long support of an entire extended family. Thai/Caucasian children are perceived to be extremely attractive, and if the mother plays her cards right the child could generate income as a model in the future, or at the least be the envy of all of her friends.  The power dynamics in these relationships are complicated, a mixture of perception on what Western culture represents to Thai women and the capacity for Western men to understand Thai women.  The phsyical size differential between the partners is quite disconcerting.

www.thaisextalk.com

 Men of a certain age frequent Asia (the more reprehensible are known as “sexpats”) to find companionship on any number of levels.  There is an extensive network of web-based resources to help them find the right partner, including a website with a grid that outlines what men can expect of categories of Thai women that range from “Bar Girl” to “Professional”. 

 I have some empathy for the gentlemen whose retirement dollars are stretched a bit farther here in Asia.  I’m not a total skeptic on romance and love in cross-cultural situations, but the clichés and prevalence on this particular cross-cultural pattern strikes a chord that resonates deeply into my own insecurities about being perpetually single, middle-aged and alone in this country.

It all became perfectly clear when I visited the Immigration office in April, getting a re-entry permit for my work visa before my Africa trip. The office is two hours south of here, so I decided to go alone on my back to Bangkok , getting the paperwork before the flight to Dar Es Salaam a couple of days later.   I had my form completed, passport photo in hand and my money ready.  My motorbike taxi driver offered to wait, but when I opened the door, the waiting room was packed with both Thais and farang (who have to report every 90 days). I knew it would be a wait and sent him on his way.

I dutifully picked up my number and found a seat, striking up a conversation with an Australian who was managing his wife’s farm in the outskirts of Kamphaeng Phet.  Another white guy walked in, grabbed a number and asked me how long I’d been waiting.  His lissome wife came in shortly after, looked around at the crowd, sat for a few minutes and made her way to the desks in the back, exchanged a few words with the clerk and in short order the guys passport was stamped.  That guy apologized on his way out, “You know how it is, it’s a cultural thing she can do.”  At that moment as they exited, I lost my reserve of self-control and wept discretely in my seat.   Emotions swelled in an exponential torrent of resentment, loneliness, anxiety about my upcoming travels and an unfathomable longing for a friend to help me through the process.  It turned out the office was short staffed, and as lunchtime approached the manager inventoried the numbers. She was apologetic and processed me quickly. Thus empowered to leave Thailand as often as I pleased, I couldn't find a motorbike to the bus station.  Fortunately,o the Tourist Police office was right next to immigration and I got a free ride in their cruiser to the bus station for the remaining three hour trip to Bangkok.

The loneliness of this experience, isolated by language and coupled with a shy personality has made me pine for my own TW to help with the myriad of details involved in life in a foreign country.  I’m sure I have unrealistic expectations of what companionship would entail. I have fantasies about being able to learn the language more easily, living out the rest of my life with the support of a local network and having most of my needs met.  But, in reality that won’t happen for me.  Asia is a notoriously difficult place for single women, let alone those that don’t conform to worldwide cultural standards for women (marriage or children). In this rural town, Thai people are generally very reserved with foreigners, mostly mired in their own insecurities about language abilities.  And, while I have a decent level of self-esteem, I’m probably not the type of woman that any Thai male would be romantically interested in. Likely, I’m too old and too fat.

Just a couple of weeks ago, I had a glimpse of the TW experience.  My neighbor Kongdej sent me a text with an invitation to go on an outing to the Klong Lan waterfall  just outside our town.  Kongdej’s wife works (illegally) in a Thai restaurant in Texas.  He’s a manager of a Government bank, which is a very good job.  His teenage daughter goes to boarding school in Chiang Mai, and he speaks very good English.   He drove, ordered, negotiated,interpreted and explained.  He provided insights, answered some questions and we conversed with ease.  I reveled in the ability to ask questions about many things and learned what the tapioca plant looks like and how Kamphaneng Phet’s building boom is related to the end of the Mayan calendar in 2012. We basked in the ionic mist of the rushing waterfall and the humid forest.  We sang along to Karen Carpenter songs, which he told me was a pivotal part of his language acquisition.  I got inspired to teach the first grader's the Seasame Street's iconic verse, "sing a song."

It was a seminal day in my experience in Thailand, having a nice day out with a Thai friend not connected with the school.  That day cemented my decision to leave Thailand when my work visa expires in late September.  I’ve always had a very broad but shallow social network, but my odds for making meaningful connections and gaining additional cultural acumen in this small rural province are so small that it felt like it was time to make a next step.   There’s more to come in the next post, but in the meantime I’ll share a quote from the Bea Arthur character in Golden Girls, “The bottom line is, if you take a chance in life, sometimes good things happen, sometimes bad things happen.  But honey, if you don’t take a chance, nothing happens.”

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Dressing for Success

I headed over to school on Sunday around noon on the hunch that there would be lunch for the school staff doing unpaid overtime on the paperwork for the upcoming government site visit.  I scored.  Ubon pulled the rolling wheeled cart up about half an hour later with green curry with eggplant, rice and a large pan of laab, but her outfit really set the stage for a great lunch.  She wore a hip-length translucently sheer purple tunic and a golden bolero jacket with a large bow on the back.  In the light of Ubon's ever-present smile, I could see the trim on her bra and the ample muffin-top over her tight black jeans.   Her colleagues giggly teased her about "dressing for Boom Boom", but Ubon soldiered on in the outfit through a two-hour shopping trip for school food supplies later that afternoon. 

Perhaps now you understand why it’s been hard for me to find clothes that I like and that fit in this country.  Decorations such as pleats, ruffles, enormous appliques on T-shirts, bold and wild prints (animal prints are a favorite)  and chiffony fabrics figure prominently in this country.  I currently own items in sizes ranging from F (for Free) to LLL, XL, XXL, XXXL and XXXXL.    After 8 months living in Thailand, my clothing has clumped in three categories:  pieces from home worn to faded fabric with holes, the new purchases here and the items destined for gifts  I will leave behind. 

Fortunately, I wear a uniform to work.  Thai people wear different colors for each day.   Our school provided us with a shiny gold fabric button down for Monday’s shirt (usually yellow) and last semester provided custom tailoring in a  white and pink flowered material for Tuesday’s shirt.    I was dutifully measured at the school office, but when it was too small when I tried it on. The  shirt got passed onto director’s son, who towers about a foot above me but does not have American breasts.  

On Wednesday the entire school wears a scout uniform, but the color is green.  The female teachers wear a matching khaki short and skirt set with beige anklets and sturdy shoes, and in solidarity I wear a dowdy, now too big linen skirt and a traditional Thai public servant shirt with a large floral pattern around hems of the waist and the sleeves and breast pocket.  The style is dittoed on Thursday with an orange shirt and gray skirt although the other female teachers wear their Thai dresses of form fitting silks. 

Quick photo at the lunch table on Friday.

 Last semester one of the teachers came by with a bundle of shiny green fabric and asked if I wanted to buy it.   Tuy helped me find a seamstress and I designed a shirt that I could wear back in the states on special occasions.  It turned out that the entire school had outfits in the same fabric with many of the teachers wearing a matching pencil skirt.  

 My good friend Tuaw is on the right. My friend Duan on the left is wearing a large white flower and feather pin at the V of her shirt, and she gave me the small beige rose that I'm wearing.

This is what we all wear on Fridays.  Unfortunately, this fabric feels like I’m wearing a plastic bag.   I’m often sweating through it by the end of morning assembly at 8:30.  I melted a small hole in it last week when the iron was too hot at 7am. 

My relationship with clothing here in Thailand is challenging.  I know I can’t dress like Thai women, slight and beautiful in their tiny dresses with polka dots and towering heels. I've seen two inch thong-style sandals in a leopard print, worn with shorts that reach the upper side of the mid-thigh.   Both men and women wear belts that have to be fastened with a binder clip in the small of their back because the leather is too long.  (Sidenote- doesn't it seem like someone in this country would have made smaller men’s belts? ) In this town and with my graying hair and larger size, I’m left to dress like a Thai grandmother on my weekends: capris, loose shirts and sensible shoes.

I hate shopping in general, but even more so when I’m confounded by sizes and styles. Most of the clothing is sold in a variety of outdoor markets here.  Last weekend, I went to the Sunday market across the river and near the bus station where many clothing vendors ply their wares in the morning.  The clothing hangs on outdoor racks under blue tarps, swaying in the gentle breezes overlooking the brilliant green rice fields to the west.  The Thai strategy is to put the clothing on over your existing clothes.   I found something I liked, did not try it on, took it home and promptly discovered that it was too small through the shoulders and chest.  This is not the first time I’ve had that problem. 

Earlier this month, I was both surprised and delighted when Pan, the power-cleaning kindergarten assistant, came by my classroom and meekly presented me with a gift.   Once I checked it out and smiled, she gushed (in Thai) that she found this big bra (size E) at the Big C Supercenter and bought it for me.  I glanced at the price tag and grimaced without reflecting any change in my smiling facial muscles.  “So, come on.” I think she said, “Try it on.” She promptly heaved the elastic to hook the clasps and adjusted the shoulder straps over my very large orange (because it was Thursday) button down shirt. “Sure. “ I said, “I will bring the money tomorrow.”   She literally skipped out of the classroom in delight.  Since then, I’ve seen her at the Big C a few other times.  I know she’s on the lookout for finds. 

However, there are moments of serendipity in the find that keep me looking.  I was in dire need of another work skirt and happened into a shop in downtown Kamphaneng Phet that had a nice pleats and a little bow on the waist.  I found lightweight capris that are a such a winner I bought a pair for my sister.  Those got paired with a cute little tunic that is now a bit frayed at the hem and the mid-waist ruffle.  What do you expect for $6?  

Throughout my professional career, clothing has been the bane of my existence.  The best part of being a river guide for many years was the simplicity in the uniform. I had a pair of stylish black wool pants that I wore in the Alaskan backcountry for many years, brilliant warm colors of fleece, the comfort of silk underthings and the  wool hats I knit for many people around me.   For every day I entered the office, I had to work my way through a gauntlet of compiling an outfit, and those memories have their own scars. I learned, as an example, that when you are menstruating you should never wear white khakis on a day trip to Barrow.  Or that you should never wear a skirt that's a bit too tight without a safety pin in your purse.  

With wacky rationalization,  one reason to extend my contract here at this small school is for the mere fact that I won’t need to buy too many clothes.   However, there are a couple of professional opportunities that may manifest into a transition in the next month or so.  We’ll have to see how the clothing factor figures into the equation of what emerges next.  No details yet! 

Ironing hell.

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Country Mouse, City Mouse

In one episode of Sex in the City,  Carrie Bradshaw is in a bar and spots a woman wearing a scrunchie securing her hair in a perky ponytail.  Carrie says to her friend, “That woman doesn't live in New York.  No New Yorker would wear that.”  After Carrie starts a brief conversation, the truth is revealed- the hair offender is a tourist from the Midwest.   A couple of nights in Bangkok and I’m a small country mouse in the big city, embodying Aesop's fable and the differences between urban and rural living. 

This is a representative photo from
greatbalancingact.wordpress. com.

On Saturday night last weekend, in the midst of a weekend trip to celebrate Rachael’s 23rd birthday in Bangkok, the 6 of us moved on from dinner and karaoke to a gay disco packed with swaying 20-something Asian men.  When the drag show commenced and the MC, wearing a sequined green apple headband, booty shorts and fishnet tights, invited  me on stage for my improvised part in her performance, I was acutely self-conscious of my flowered cotton tunic, graying hair and hot pink croc maryjanes.  After a few interminable minutes, my cheering friends in the audience were duly identified by the transgender hostess and were hauled to the stage to join me in an impromptu dance-off.  I was told that I danced like a penguin.

I asked for Friday afternoons off from teaching so I could have better bus schedules for travel around Thailand.  Shortly after my students finished their mandated “learn to spell English by copying words off the board” exercise (which incidentally took the most deliberate child TWO HOURS), I was changed out of my uniform and headed to the bus station.

One of the great things about traveling in Thailand is that you never know exactly what kind of experience you will have on the bus.  This trip featured a pink uniformed ladyboy attendant who announced stops and distributed small plastic cups of sodas and straws amidst a loud DVD about a battle between a dreadlocked alien and a Sigourney/Alien knockoff alien.  Six hours later, I was deposited at Mo Chit bus terminal in Bangkok in the middle of rush hour.  Unfortunately, the location of the peaceful Chatuchak Park  impeded a smooth public transport transition in the development of the Bangkok Sky Train, so everyone takes car or motorcycle taxis between the two transport hubs.  The motorcycle guys besiege the imcoming buses, so I negotiated a ride and climbed on.  The driver had to stop and use my fifty baht for gas, then peeled out,  took me on a couple of shortcuts across sidewalks, nearly sideswiped a taxi and barely squeezed through two cars.  I had arrived in the city.

When Rachael invited me to join her in the birthday celebration and connect with some other English teachers from our placement agency, I piled up some  Bangkok ideas and started doing research about what and where.    I headed directly to one of Bangkok’s shopping high rises to  get the iphone’s backlight fixed.  You have to take a few minutes to walk around, observe the scene and trust your intuition on what small kiosk to approach.  I hit the jackpot with a friendly, English speaking female technician who fixed the it and discounted the final price to a reasonable 850 baht/ $25.  I then checked into the boutique hostel to wait for the other arrivals who came in very late.

I had a couple of hours to myself the next morning and was delighted to find that the Bangkok Arts and Culture Center was free of charge and scored at Green Thai Products with a silver fabric passport cover.

Razor fish swim with their bodies
perpendicular to the sea floor!

Margaret arrived a couple hours later; we decided to explore the Siam World aquarium, where I got another deep discount with my work permit and passively chided someone  who thoughtlessly rapped on the glass-walled home of a white python.

While Margaret and I were out watching sharks swim overhead and Suzy was resting her travel-weary  tummy in the hostel, Rachael had a fantastic time at the bb gun paintball park with her gay male friends.   We met up with everyone later at a Lebanese restaurant and continued Rachael’s party vision to an evening of  karaoke.  This activity in Thailand is very popular, particularly when performed at ear-splitting volume at local bars.   At my neighbor’s housewarming party last month, his friends brought over a computer, music stand, speaker and mic just for something to do after a few beers.  We found a club, were presented with a directory of songs and a menu of options, ordered a bottle of tequila at the birthday girl’s request and filled out the little slips for songs.    When the karaoke MC’s played “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” by mistake, it was all the more entertaining accompanied by our eager but pathetic singing juxtaposed against late 70’s footage of various people skiing down hills and riding up lifts.

After a few Thai songs in a row (we were outnumbered in the club), it was time to move on.  The sky train was closed just before midnight and thus we carried on to the now intoxicated Birthday girl’s next idea.  When we first entered the disco’s packed throngs of Asian gay male humanity, I went back to 1978.  I’d had a gay friend in High School and on select nights a group of us would drive 30 miles across the Hudson river to party in the only club in the area.  The men were huffing poppers and writhing to Donna Summer singing “and it took so long to bake it, and I’ll never have that recipe again.”  My friends were dressed in the flowy Quiana skirts and clingy tops that looked great on the dance floor.   I felt like a dork in my less than sexy outfit- both then and now.

When the music felt too loud and the crowds were oppressive, I hid out in the corner for a while for look out on the scene.  I watched with interest as statuesque transgender performers emerged from the lower level to the stage across the room.  I marveled at the sequins, makeup and gender re-assigned voluptuousness as the performers made their way through the crowds to finish their numbers just in front of me.  I found the bright red glitter lipstick enchanting. And thus my unintended performance ensued...  Who could resist an invitation to be wholly, unabashedly oneself under the glare of a spotlight?  I was simultaneously laughing and being laughed at, but who really cared?

The Jade Buddha
of Universal Peace.

After my free drink and a rousing mashup of the Southeast Asian party anthem “I want to dance” by LMAO, it was time to go back for some rest.  Sleep was fitful but in the morning I was ready for another discovery of Bangkok’s retail malls, this time focusing on clothing. 

On the way through Central World's expansive entrance, I ran into the world tour of the Buddha of Universal Peace  (honed from a huge gem-quality jade specimen discovered in the Canadian arctic), and inside discovered the department store that stocks Burt’s Bees products. Across a river canal  I found my way to  Platinum Fashion Mall,  a collage of small shops in a crowded grid of “neighborhoods”, numbered “streets” and booth numbers. The  information desk was able to print out a list of shops that stocked XL sizes and from there I went on an urban orienteering experience for a couple of hours.  I scored an outfit, stopped for a Baskin-Robbins ice cream afterwards and called it a trip.   

 On the kilometers of elevated walkways that traverse the connections between retail establishments in Siam, I made my way back to the Northern Bus Terminal.   A young woman was buskering with her violin.  A boy with a severely burned scalp pulled out his flute as he prepared to play for money.  A man with the weighty disfigurement of ounces of droopy forehead, cheeks and nose flesh that obscured his entire face simply extended a plastic cup to ask for offerings.  There was a police man directing pedestrian traffic, complete with white baton and safety vest.  I caught a second-class bus that stopped in Kamphaeng Phet on it’s way to Sukothai.  I was home by 8:30 pm.

The Bangkok Arts and Culture Center’s exhibitions include one entitled, “Good to Walk.” This featured designers who created spaces in the curving hallways of the building that encouraged walking.  One installation featured large, four foot wide and 5 feet tall black and grey sequined bells hanging from the ceiling. The artist encourages one to step under and into the bells and thus I was rewarded with a brilliant colors and designs of sequins that bedazzled and surprised me. This is the rich sensory experience that comes from venturing into a new zone, drinkiing in the imput from all sources.

As a country mouse, whose most recent observation has been a recent proliferation of large bodied black butterflies fluttering about, life in the city is enriching, stimulating and expensive.  I’ll also admit that Bangkok is a lot more fun after I got the lay of the land and understood how to get around.  I’m reassured that I can purchase my favorite lipstick and find some non-whitening skin care products without conducting international commerce.  Bangkok, as the major urban hub for much of northern Southeast Asia,  is a nice place to know exists but I am escatic that I don't live there.

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Mai Bpen Rai

from Chiangmaiexpat.com

 I had a dream about Out North Theatre the other night. Last year I wrote and performed a thirty minute play at this theatre about the dynamics and tension of the opportunity to do something different. At that point, I was torn between living a creative, free-spirited life and embarking into another “real job” with an office and benefits.   Here I am again.  My teaching contract ends in September and my house is rented through the end of June 2013.  In the past week or so, I have been struggling mightily with the predictable realities of life here in rural Thailand and wondering about what's next.

Water Monitor. From blog.travelpod.com

Once I recovered from my illness last week, my daily schedule has become predictable and seemingly mundane.  The little things seem to take on significance:  biking by a heron carrying what I thought was a freshwater snail shell the size of my fist, the long tailed skink that was hanging out on the front porch, or finding a massive tree and spirit house hidden in the far reaches of the Ancient Forest Temple Across the Street.  On my way home from the corner market, I pulled over on the bridge over the moat that surrounds the old city walls to watch an enormous water monitor paddling around.

 This morning I got a kick out the chicken from next door squeezing underneath the gate in front of the house to forage in my front yard.  When I got home from work today I mentally berated the feral neighborhood cat for leaving a headless gecko, now covered with a swarm of ants just outside the front door.

The children in my class are predictable (four are great learners, four are really slow and the middle seven are somewhere in between) and each day goes without great successes or abysmal failures.  I’ve moved from being hyper-aware, observant social commentator and a voracious reader to relishing the air conditioning in my bedroom and watching downloaded episodes of Modern Family and The Wire.  With this humdrum passage of daily life, I’m torn between “it’s a restful sabbatical away from the pressure of my career” and “I’m losing ground professionally and will never be able to recover.”

As each day moves toward the end of my contract here at Supsathit Wittayakarn, I’ve started to explore other options.  A job posting in Alaska looks alluring until I think about going back in the throes of the race to darkness in October.  I went up to the Burma border to network with an NGO worker last weekend and left with a realization that my skills as a non-profit management generalist are only transferable if I volunteer on the ground for a few months.  I’m considering moving to another country for another teaching job where I can make more money, even though I am not really passionate about teaching English.

It’s a daily vacillation between  wondering if just staying here until the end of the school year in March 2013 would be a cop out, or just convenient and cost effective.  My life feels like it’s stagnated a bit; that I’m mired, swirling around in internet-fueled distraction. I struggle with mustering the drive and energy to focus, particularly in the clouds in the overcast afternoon pregnant with the unrealized promise of rain.

To bump myself out of these days of listless mediocrity, I re-read the 100 days post that I wrote about five months ago.  In that post, I outlined some goals, many of which have become habitual.  Others (learning Thai and meeting foreigners) have been eroded by repeated obstacles.   Two practices--committing to meditation and drafting my memoir—have not yet been realized and need some serious attention.  For one reason or another, I am feeling remarkably lackadaisical about achieving the short term goals I outlined in February, let alone reaching closer to the vision that propelled this international adventure in the first place.

I can attribute this to ‘Mai Ben Rai”.  MBR, as I’ve abbreviated, is a fundamental element of Thai culture.  It’s a response, an approach, a cultural norm and, as some would say from a Western worldview, an excuse for not doing anything.  MBR is generally translated to mean, “it’s okay. It doesn’t matter. Nothing can be done about it, so don’t worry. No problem. “

MBR provides a rationale for the legions of standing concrete pillars in suburban Bangkok, waiting for another highway overpass that ran out of funding. When thousands of Bangkok residents were displaced due to floods last year, people MBR’d their way through, all the while accepting their current situations with patience and perseverance. Car accidents, illness, disasters resulting from building code shortcuts, epic traffic and setbacks in general are all dismissed with an MBR.  When circumstances are beyond an individual’s control, MBR provides a safe haven for retreat. It means letting go of attachment. Giving over to forces unseen and letting it all work out.

In this current state of passive acceptance of my current reality, I’m cognizant of the need to both go with the flow and dip an oar in the water to avoid crashing into the riverbank.  There are small steps to opening up opportunities and learning- making sure I try at least one new food item a week, finding a new place to hang out on an unplanned Saturday afternoon and planning at least one trip out of town each month.  There’s research to be done on volunteer programs, a desire to stay focused on writing and meditation and the overall plan to using this “sabbatical” to achieve both tangible and intangible goals. My time in Thailand has moved beyond a grand adventure to become a very quiet, introspective and peaceful life.

 In his book, Letters to a Young Poet, Rilke provided advice about how to "live your way into the answer".  Perhaps the greatest lesson of this journey is to relax and enjoy the time away from big pressing questions. Find out if the Affordable Care Act will pass.  See who gets elected. Keep pushing myself to make connections and continue the internal and external dialoges.    One never knows what may unfold.

25 Pounds

Over the past three months I hoped that I could share that I lost 25 pounds. It hasn't happened.  But I’m close. In the daily ups and downs that can often keep us drifting from goals,  I’ve been impaired with another upper respiratory infection for the past ten days.

from http://bacvirpara.blogspot.com

This condition impedes so many elements of my life in Thailand that it consumes my energy and generates the “what was I thinking?” mentality.  Suffice to say, after a low-grade fever that lasted for days I finally got the butt shot and an array of meds.  I’m on the mend, but it’s an arduous journey.

Thai people are fanatical about health and physical fitness.  When I was returning from the Temple in Chiang Dao last weekend with the Director, Kim and Maedaeng, a tiny, elderly, devout Buddist who habitually dresses in white, they all expressed concern about my cough and pulled a paper facemask out of the glove compartment for me to wear in the car.

I’ve heard “Don’t drink cold water” as the primary advice for the cough.  When I lost my voice a few days later, my favorite carrot smoothie guy wouldn’t  fill my usual order and put together a warm concoction of fresh squeezed lemon juice, heaps of salt and sugar and made me drink it on the spot.   Supplements for energy and health abound in the 7-11s.  The local banana jelly produced here is cut into bite size pieces and served over ice at the school cafeteria.  “Good for health”, Tua says.  When the Thai teachers and students are merely sniffling their way through the day, I am suffering from thunderous reaches deep in my lungs.   One of the greatest losses of my sickness experience is the inability to exercise.

 In the late afternoon of the workday, legions of Thais in all shapes and sizes emerge to move in various ways around town.  Here’s a highlight of two favorites:

1) The uber-fit runners and bikers in the Ancient Forest Temple Across the Street. The Forest Temple is one of the best elements of my life here.  In the waning light of the day the place retains the cool tranquility and explodes with bird activity.   The runners gather in groups and then take off on their jogs on the paved roads that circumnavigate and bisect the park around the stone ruins, finishing  sleek and shiny with sweat to rinse off under the hose at the entrance. The bikers have similar MO, although outfitted with lycra outfits, fancy bikes and helmets.  They do lap after lap, leaving me in baggy t-shirt and nylon shorts standing on pedals and pumping my way up the one hill on my one speed.  One older guy habitually signals with a single chime on the bike bell as he passes me, with a friendly sawadee (hello).  On one “pedaling past sunset” experience a few months ago, the female of a jogging couple asked me what I was doing out there. In English!   Since then, we’ve exchanged pleasantries when we see each other.

2) The Sirijit Park along the River.  This park has a swimming pool across the street but the main attraction is the daily “Thai aerobic dance” program held every evening, complete with spandex-clad routine leader with wireless head mic, booming disco music and a confounding series of steps, arm movements based on an eight-count beat that I have yet to master. Here's a sample of Thai aerobic dance footage I took in Phitsanulok. The park is enclosed by a five foot cement fence with iron decoration, just inside the periphery is a sidewalk where people walk and run in loops around, some talking on their cellphones.  The men gather to play basketball or engage in Takow Lat Huang. (Google it for videos if you are interested.) Others use the completely mechanical iron exercise equipment that is scattered around many parks in town.   On one evening,  I met Mon, a nurse my age who sees me as the primary conduit for practicing her English.  It is always delightful to run into her and exchange a few bits of conversation.

There are the other joggers along the river, the a/c fitness club that I have reconnaissanced but not actually used, the elderly walkers that circumnavigate the park that’s across the street from the corner market closest to my house, and the men who fly their model airplanes in the park surrounding the old city walls.  In all of these situations, I have never encountered a fellow caucasoin exerciser.

Just two weeks ago, I sensed a shift in my life here. My new, next door, English-speaking neighbor invited me to his housewarming party on Sunday night. The next night I had a dinner invitation from some school colleagues.  The night after, I ran into Mon at the night market when we’d both skipped aerobic dance because it was raining;  she invited me to go to P’lok with her husband sometime in the future.  I was feeling giddy with the new energy, had a couple of sleepless nights, feilded a few problems and went shoppig after work.  By the end of the week,  I was sick.

Maedaeng told me that foreigners did not have the immune system to manage the Thai climate.  When I overcame my first reaction (what? Are you saying I’m inferior?” ), I realized she was right.  I'm not adapated to this place.    In Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert describes a harrowing night of the soul on her bathroom floor.  It was then that she heard the voice of her true wisdon, which said, "Go back to bed."

 I am learning how to go to bed.   If nothing else, the lesson of this bout of illness has been to listen to myself when I am ramped up, carried along on an energy wave that can sweep up all around me.  Anyone who has worked with me on a big project knows the mentality from where I speak.  The rallying cry of "do what it takes to get the job done!"  has far more profound consequences in this unfamiliar land.

It’s easier to find clothes that fit, but not that often that they are something I like.   Getting an appointment with a primary care provider on a Saturday was easy with some help from school, but watching him flip down the mirror on his forehead as he sterilized the instrument with a Bunsen burner and probed the inside of my nostril was a bit disconcerting.  The daily routine of dinner is never an easy task.  With my penchant for trying new foods at the night market, the losers can be a real downer.  These are all factors that have a slow, steady drain on the energy it takes to conduct the business of daily life.

Last night,  I rode my bike to the corner market for the first time in days.   I wasn’t strong, but I was steady.   Experiencing a complete change of life, particularly in mid-life, has had impacts I have yet to realize.  In the weak, self-doubting moments of illness, the fears arise around what this will mean for my career, my health and emotional self?   In March, I subscribed to Mike Dooley’s Tut.com.  Mom had sent me a calendar for Christmas that had a nice meaningful quote from him.   Just yesterday and after I finished the first draft of this essay, this quote came in the emailbox.

For every setback, disappointment and heartbreak, Ellen, ask yourself, "What does this create the opportunity for?"

And therein you will find its gift.

http://130.94.161.3/ravenhousearts/healingart.html