Sometimes the Longest Route is the Shortest Way Home

I left Thailand a little more than two months ago, intending to write my final blog entry soon after I returned. But life’s unpredictability interceded, and I was unable to write my final thoughts or access my photos until now. So forgive me for the delay and hold on for one more story.

On my last official day at NEED, we were to have our Grand Opening, when we would celebrate the completion of our new training facility where the students attend classes, use computers, and sleep. I did find some irony in that the official beginning was right at my official ending, but hey, … a party is a party, right? It was to be a full day of activities, starting with a Buddhist blessing ceremony with monks from a nearby wat, a Christian prayer service in the Burmese and Kachin languages, songs sung by the students, and lots of food.

During the Buddhist blessings, I lingered outside the room, peering in and taking photographs from time to time (as others were doing), but never venturing inside. I find other religions to be fascinating and moving, but for me, it’s always been important to make a distinction between respecting another faith and acting in a way that could be interpreted as following or participating in that faith. Ever the anthropologist, I prefer to simply observe.

As I was wandering around the buildings, I noticed that one of my Burmese students, John, was doing the same thing. I thought nothing of it at first, but then I remembered that he was a Christian and from a religious family, and I wondered if he remained outside the Buddhist ceremony for the same reasons. So when we both happened to be meandering near the kitchen, I asked him about it. John explained that as a Christian, he did not participate, and told me that there were three other Christian students in the class, including one that was Roman Catholic. (The other students were all Buddhist.) He said that if I looked carefully, I would notice that although they were inside the room with all the other students, teachers, and community members, they were not truly participating. So we peeked in, and sure enough, the Christian students did not have their hands in a prayer position. And at the end of the ceremony, when the monks splashed bits of water onto the group to bless them, the Christian students ducked out of the way just as I did.

It was an unusual bridge between these students and myself – separation from something else—but the connection felt very intense and I think helped us relate to each other more. After the ceremony ended, the students and I stepped to the side of the building to take photos. They were all in traditional dress from their various states in Burma, and it was fascinating and at the same time strange to see them dressed this way. We all usually wear the same types of clothing (t-shirts, skirts, pants, etc), so to see them in this incredibly colorful and intricate “native” dress made me remember how many people out there think that they probably dress like this all the time. One of the students, Rebecca, and I started talking about tradition, and she asked me if I had any traditional clothing or dances. And I started thinking… and I came to the realization that as an American, I couldn’t really think of anything. (What would I share, the Electric Slide? The Macarena?) But… as a Jew… I had lots of traditions. And this connected us in an unexpected and moving way. Tradition for both of us meant a meaningful connection to our people and past, a treasure chest of culture brought out on special occasions, and a source of amusement and occasional embarrassment.

Rebecca and I went to the computer room with a few other students, and on Google, I pulled up pictures of a tallis, kipah, and t’fillin. I talked to them about traditions for weddings and bar mitzvahs, and then I started to demonstrate the various Israeli folk dances, like Mayim Mayim and the Hora. We grabbed hands and started moving out feet, and when it felt like the students needed more, I went to Youtube and searched for the dances, and lo and behold… there they were. We discovered videos of Jewish groups from all over the world singing and dancing, and I found myself pointing out the girls with the dark hair pulled back in poofy ponytails, being excited that I could show my students that I am not alone in my looks – that at least some of my people have similar physical characteristics. Most of my students had met very few white people before, so it was nice to show them a snapshot of what my ethnic group looks like, even though it’s a very limited slice of what the Jewish world offers.

Though I was enthralled with Israeli folk dancing when I was little, since my teenage years, I haven’t been a big fan, to say the least. I’ll participate at the insistence of my grandmother, a close friend, or a cousin (the loving people who won’t let me say no), but my love for that sort of dancing has been absent for a long time.

But there I found myself, teaching my Burmese students the Hebrew words, singing at the top of my lungs, and dancing and jumping with all my heart. They all attempted the Hebrew words (and did unbelievably well), and when we paused to catch a breath and wipe the sweat from our faces, it was just a moment until a student requested another song, another dance. We did “Mayim Mayim,” “Yesh Lanu Tayish,” and one of my old favorites, “Nigun Atik.” (If these don’t sound familiar, you can find them on Youtube as well.) I will also mention that one student had learned the Hebrew alphabet in Burma as a part of his Christian education, which I thought was pretty spectacular.

So there you have it. I finally fell back in love with Jewish dancing, and all it took was a trip to the other side of the world and time with these incredible individuals. As the old Irish proverb says, sometimes the longest route is the shortest way home.

It all came together during that last day, during those dances. I found my purpose for being there—sharing my experiences and my knowledge, learning from those whom I was teaching, and contributing to make the world a little smaller for all of us.

Until next time the travel bug bites,

Rachel

If New York City Was Inside Out

Hong Kong is home to the world’s longest outdoor covered escalator, the world’s tallest outdoor bronze seated Buddha, and the world’s only non-US residence of Jonathan DG, one of my closest friends from college. Jon said that if I was ever in Asia, I could stay with his parents, so, since I had one more week of vacation and tickets were really cheap on Air Asia… I took him up on his offer and borrowed his parents for five fantastic days. (I mean, it’s not like he was using them, right?)

Describing Hong Kong throws me into spasms of analogies: 1) If San Francisco and New York City ever had a baby… it would be this super-hilly, super-urban city. Or 2) If prisms of quartz grew out of the middle of a mossy, knobby rock, it would look just like Hong Kong, with incredibly tall, thin buildings completely filling a valley created by rolling green mountains. And 3) If you could reverse the layout of NYC (lots of city with Central Park in the middle), you’d get Hong Kong, which is 75% untouched green space, and other 25% insanely packed with buildings and people.

The fog/smog was intense for the first few days of the trip, but that just made things feel more dramatic as I explored the city with Deborah, Jon’s mom. On my first day, we took the ferry across the harbor to Hong Kong Island, bought some fantastic fruit at markets (custard apples and rambutans) and then we took the aforementioned escalator. It may be in the guidebooks for it’s length (800 meters), but I think it should get more notoriety for it’s usefulness— it connects the business district with a huge residential area, its direction depends on rush hour (and switches after rush hour is over), and (my favorite part) it has a vertical climb of 135 meters, or 45 stories. This turns a huge commute over many miles and steep hills into a ride of 20 minutes, and severely reduces the need for cars or even buses!

Shopping in Hong Kong is an adventure because different goods are located on different streets. There is bird street, where you can buy everything for your favorite feathered friends (including the birds themselves), and where men frequently take their birds for walks—there are poles everywhere to hang their cages, and the men just sit and chat while the birds sing. It’s surreal. There’s also flower street, “ladies street” (to buy items, not prostitutes), and my favorite, aquarium street. Here, you’ll find each doorway covered with plastic bags holding various fish and other aquatic creatures. The sight is extremely odd. And in between all of these are tons of insanely-packed open-air markets selling everything from t-shirts that have nonsensical English phrases, to household items being promoted like live infomercials, to underwear. It was incredible to see how many people were out in these areas–  it looked like there was a festival going on, but it was just a regular day.

I never really experienced culture shock in Thailand, but I know that if I was in Hong Kong for longer, I’d definitely feel it. There is a stark difference between my life in the US and the life in Hong Kong. Here are three examples of consumer-oriented items that totally threw me. 

1) Dried things—you can find all sorts of dried seafood for snacking or soup (like shark fins and seahorses), dried reproductive organs and antlers for traditional medicine, and dried innards from all sorts of animals to be used for all sorts of things. (I stopped asking what they were and how they were used.)

2) Cute things—Chinese women of all ages are into super cute things, either to wear or just to have and display. I’ve seen cars completely decked out in Hello Kitty and stuffed animals, plush furry hats with ears, and I even saw a singer crooning a love song at a concert… with his back up dancers wearing full-scale costumes of bumblebees, bunnies, and flowers. To which I say.. whyyyyyyy?

3) Paper things for the dead—Chinese people will burn paper items to send to their dead relatives in the afterlife. It’s very considerate, if you think about it. I’ve seen “hell money” (for spending), running shoes, irons, cell phones, calculators, cans of coca cola, cognac, perfume, soccer balls, dim sum, jeans, tuxes, and purses—all made out of paper. You can even find paper maids and butlers.  

 

One of the greatest things about Hong Kong, though, was that I had the time and space to relax, something I very much needed after three months of travel. I could just check my email, play with the two kitties who graciously let me sleep in their room, and reflect on everything, rather than think about packing (like in Chiang Mai), unpacking (like I will in DC), or saying goodbye (or hello again) to people. Their house was my tranquil island where none of that could touch me if I didn’t want it to.  I could just eat great western-style food, have terrific discussions with Jon’s parents about culture, politics and people we knew, and watch as much American tv as my brain could handle.

It was like home away from home away from home. 

Thinking Green

Not too long ago, I was talking with a Canadian friend in Bangkok about how surprisingly eco-friendly some things are in Thailand, and he stopped me, saying that no one in Thailand cares about the environment—they are eco-friendly just because it saves money. My response was that here, these preferences are essentially the same because of how environmentally-responsible goods and services in Thailand are carried out—participants can immediately see the financial benefits, so it’s probable that it affects their decision making. (Unlike with paper recycling in the U.S., where we don’t see a direct financial impact). So, what motivates Thais to be eco-friendly? Saving money or saving the environment? I think it’s both: being “green” means having more “green” in your wallet.

Here are some of my favorite environmentally-responsible goods and services I’ve seen in Southeast Asia:

–Hotel rooms have a special key holder next to the door that acts as a “kill switch” for the electricity. You have to place your key in the holder to turn the lights on, and when you remove the key as you leave, all electricity in the room turns off. This saves the hotel money so empty rooms aren’t using power, and also prevents people from accidentally leaving lights on. I’ve seen also seen simple “kill switches” for electricity to bedrooms and bathrooms, and it’s an easy concept we could replicate in regular homes.

–Hand soap, body wash, and detergent is readily available in plastic bags at the store, in order to refill harder plastic bottles at home. This is cheaper for both the consumer and the manufacturer. And yes, one can occasionally find this in the U.S., but it’s rare and often for more expensive soaps (i.e. Method).

— Showers have tankless water heaters (electric or gas) so that they only heat water exactly when you need it, saving energy and water, as opposed to having a large boiler continuously running and heating water all day. In Thailand, other faucets in the house frequently do not have hot water at all.

–At one restaurant in Laos, patrons are served bamboo straws with their drinks instead of plastic straws. There is little manufacturing needed to produce the straws—you just take thin reeds of bamboo (which grow incredibly fast) and cut it at the length that you want.

— Food storage is frequently traditional and natural, using banana leaves to wrap food, bamboo stalks to carry food (they fill them with rice), among others. This cuts down on waste and costs for both the seller and buyer. If natural options aren’t available or practical, Thais usually use containers similar to bento boxes, plastic or metal bowls that snap together. Street food, however, is not served this way– I have seen lots of plastic bags and styrofoam… but it’s still much less than what I see in the US.

People talk about recycling and taking care of the environment as though it is an upstanding thing to do, so maybe that’s why it’s easier for some to dismiss it and not participate. So let’s take eco-friendliness down from it’s pedastal and treat it in a more practical way: as a different method of saving money. Now that’s down to earth.

Thirty Days

When I am in the States, I frequently look at the calendar and wonder where the past month has just gone. Time passes so quickly, the days and weeks hardly stand out from each other. But I just opened my teaching journal for inspiration for my blog and I was struck with disbelief at the date of the first entry, February 24. When I think about how much my students have improved, or how much information we have covered, or how much impact they have had on me, it’s overwhelming. I don’t understand how all of this could have happened in just one month. It just feels like so much more.

This week was my last at NEED, the Network for Environment and Economic Development, the non-profit where I work, but before I get to the story of how my work wrapped up (which will be in another entry), I’ll share some highlights of the past few weeks in the classroom.

The students requested that we sing some English songs, so I thought a lot about what kinds of songs the 16 Burmese students might like and be able to sing. The songs needed to be slow enough so we could follow the lyrics, fast enough to hold the students’ interest, and recent enough that if they were hanging out with an American, they should get a relatively positive response if they mentioned it. And ideally, they should be able to relate to the music. I found some videos for pop songs on YouTube for that consisted only of words appearing on a dark screen, and the next day in class, we set up a projector, laptop, and speakers. The first song I played was one I’ve always loved: “Say” by John Mayer, about getting up the courage to say difficult things. The class definitely understood the message, and within a short time, they were all singing the chorus in perfect harmony. It was such a powerful moment, I had to focus entirely on the screen so I wouldn’t cry.

Another day in class, we were talking about telephones and went over some key phrases that Americans (and maybe Canadians) use. But I thought we needed to put it into practice, so I grabbed two rolls of masking tape, declared them to be our telephones for the day, and so we made “calls” across the classroom by holding one roll to our ears and tossing the other roll to a random student at another table. It was incredibly funny and a total surprise to hear what they came up with. Some students pulled out vocabulary words and phrases that I didn’t know they knew, like “long time, no see” and “hangover” (which I jokingly explained as “I drank too much last night” or “I make poor decisions”). I also taught them some new Incredibly Important Vocabulary words, like “dude,” “sweet,” “awesome,” and “suck.” I figured they’re likely to hear those words, so they should know what they mean. Somewhere, Ashton Kutcher is smiling… and somewhere else, my former English teachers are weeping. 

One of the biggest and most hilarious challenges was pronunciation. Learning how to make certain sounds can be a difficult and embarrassing experience, so we all laughed about it, knowing we looked like complete idiots as we made exaggerated sounds. It was very strange for me how to explain how to make certain sounds, since I haven’t thought about this for a long time, if ever. If you’ve never experienced either learning or teaching completely new sounds, imagine trying to explain how to make a bubble with bubblegum to someone who’s never tried before—it’s a bizarre thing to think about. We spent a long time working on the sounds for “dee,” “tea,” and “the,” and concentrating on words where the “th” sound is voiced (like “this”) and when it is unvoiced (like  “three). I put together a tongue-twister for them: “I think that those three trees are thick” and it kept us all laughing for a long time. Side note: Burmese and Thai people (like many other Asian communities) have trouble with r’s and l’s, too, and at a market one day, a shopkeeper asked me if I wanted a “Miller” (she meant “mirror”), which first confused me… and then made me laugh a lot.

The final story I’ll share is a simple one. I found a version of Mad Libs online that was geared towards ESL students, and after doing a little more review of the parts of speech, we filled in the blanks with fantastically random adverbs, adjectives, and prepositions. When we were all done, we started to read the story, about a new Olympic version of tag, and I discovered a flaw in the plan that I didn’t anticipate: none of my Burmese students knew what tag was. I tried explaining it in the classroom, but I could tell they weren’t getting it, so we all went outside in the blazing sun for something I’ll call Grammar Freeze Tag. I wasn’t sure how it was going to go (after all, my students are between 17 and 31 years old), but I had a feeling they would like it. We had one tagger, and to stay safe from being tagged/frozen, you had to say a word in the chosen category. We started with animals, then we moved on to verbs and adjectives. This game brought out so many giggles and fits of laughter, and we played as long as we could out in the heat. When we were done, we triumphantly went back into the classroom, ready for more adventures in grammar. It was a beautiful thing. 

Dear Bangkok, It’s not you, it’s me.

We often use relationship-y words to describe out sentiments about places. You can fall in love with a city, let it grow on you, and so on. After spending the weekend in Bangkok, I think I can summarize my feelings about the city as this: I think you’re great… but I just don’t think it’s going to work out. For a quick fling, it could be terrific– you can get all of your needs attended to, whether those needs are material, social, alcoholic, or sexual. But after four days, one of my needs made itself very clear: if it’s going to be that hot and that disgusting, I need a bribe from Nature… namely, a beach. Taking humidity into account, I’m certain it was well above 100 degrees every day, but it’s to the level where numbers don’t matter. It was so hot, you just wanted to collapse somewhere in the shade (which wasn’t much cooler, mind you) and cry out “Why???” to the heavens. The heat was simply unbelievable and at some points flat-out miserable. Even now, at 9:30 PM, it is 97 degrees. The city’s nickname is the Big Mango, and although it was likely chosen because it’s an internationally-known fruit that’s ubiquitous here… I personally think the nickname suits because although Bangkok is fantastic, it leaves you feeling really, really sticky.

My adventures in the city began with a trip to a hospital (yes, really) that looked more like a 5-star hotel, complete with a bellhop, elegant lighting, and swank wood furniture. I went for one of the more ridiculous reasons in the history of medicine: a hangnail on my thumb gone awry. A few weeks earlier, I had picked at it (as per usual), but instead of healing, it got more and more swollen and incredibly sore, radiating with pain whenever something grazed the surface. The doctor confirmed it was infected, attended to the thumb with silver nitrate, gave me penicillin, and sent me on my way. The appointment was incredibly efficient and the hospital was by far the most modern and lovely one I’ve ever seen.

That afternoon, I visited KIS International School, the counterpart to WIS, the international school in DC where I teach math during the summer. A friend of mine is working there, and he showed me around and let me observe his math class. I think it’s the first time I’ve watched someone else teach math since I was a student, so that was pretty neat. And though I’ve been associated with the international school community for nearly 8 years now, it’s my first time seeing one abroad. As I had hoped, I felt at home (that is, if home had the temp turned way, waaay up.)

Since I didn’t know anyone in Bangkok (aside from my friend who was leaving town for the weekend), I stayed on Khao San Road, a haven for backpackers. This meant three things: 1) I was able to meet fantastic like-minded travelers, 2) I was right next to Chabad, the Jewish center where I could go to services and get kosher meat and 3) I got an incredibly skewed view of Bangkok and saw almost only touristy things. Khao San Road is set up for a peculiar brand of cultural scavenger tourism, where travelers are fed a steady diet of things that I don’t think represent society here at all– the only available Thai food was pad thai and mango sticky rice and there was zero exposure to anything else that was remotely Thai. (Unless you consider putting fake dreads in your head and drinking booze from buckets to be a Thai thing…which, I assure you, it’s not.) Even the locals who worked there didn’t act like most people I’ve met here– a surprising number were really pushy, didn’t care at all that I spoke some Thai, and were often rather jerky. Granted, it’s understandable considering how many antics they’ve probably had to deal with from drunken Westerners… but it was still strange. I just wonder what impression backpackers leave with, especially since it seemed that so many people spent a huge chunk of their time there.

Often, I felt like I was walking around with a gigantic dollar sign stamped on my forehead– and this was no more apparent than when someone tried to scam me. I had heard that this happened frequently in Bangkok, but for some reason, I didn’t think it would happen to me. I was walking into the Grand Palace/Wat Phra Kaew when a man who was standing at the gate stopped me and told me that there was a big Buddhist holiday today and the wat was closed to foreigners until 3 PM. But not to worry, he told me– I could go visit other local wats, and this tuk-tuk here, he gestured, could take me around if I wanted. This man was wearing a white polo shirt and some pins that made him look somewhat official for some reason… but thankfully not official enough for me to believe him, so I walked on to the next gate… where I found out he was completely lying to me. On one hand, I’m pretty annoyed that he tried this… and yet in some bizarre way, I can almost understand. If tons of people are visiting your country and don’t bother to learn the very basics, wouldn’t you be tempted to take advantage of that?

Back to the dollar signs. Bangkok is place where shopping plays a significant role in life for Thais and foreigners alike. There are around 20 fantastically huge malls (think 7 stories or more), with hundreds of “regular size” malls scattered around the city, and I visited three gargantuan ones downtown that were in a row with a friend I met at Chabad. One mall was 8 stories and packed with 2,000 teeny stores selling items like clothing, pirated DVDs, and fake designer bags. Whatever you wanted, you could probably find there. The second mall felt a bit more Western, with a cleaner layout, more brands I recognized, and an ambiance that seemed a bit more legal. The third, though, took the cake. It was just a weee bit more upscale, with stores for Dolce and Gabbana, Gucci, Versace, Balenciaga, and Lamborguini, to name a few. It. Was. Weird. We probably saw four storefronts for luxury vehicles, each with cars in them, along with kryponite-style locks on the outside of the doors, which I had no idea how to interpret. You’d think they had plenty of security for a 100,00 dollar car… so what’s up with the 10-buck lock?

All in all, Bangkok was interesting and full of great travellers, but it’s just not a place I’d want to call home at this point.  And the real kicker: Although the heat turned me into a fantastically gross mess, Thais seemed to be unaffected… but it wasn’t just the women who looked flawless. Since it’s Bangkok, all of the Ladyboys looked stunning, too, which meant that well more than half of the population (60 or 65% ?) looked gorgeous while I looked (and felt) like complete crap. Honestly– who wants to live in a place like that?

Don’t Ride an Elephant to Catch a Grasshopper

Proverbs are one of my favorite ways to glean information about a culture. The above phrase means that one should not go overboard with anything, emphasizing the importance of relaxing and chilling out. Being calm is a big part of Thai culture, and this theme appears in many other words and phrases that I just can’t get enough of. For example, it is extremely important in Thailand to have a “jai yen” (sometimes written “jai yen yen” for emphasis), which means that you should have a cool heart, remain calm, and not get agitated in public. This can also mean to slow down, cool off, or simply relax. In my nearly three months here, I have yet to see a single Thai person freak out, get angry, or yell. I haven’t even heard any angry honking! I have been assured that Thais get upset (though seemingly far less than Westerners) but they won’t show it, continuing to smile politely through it all. A friend who’s lived here for 20+ years surmises that for Thais, smiling releases tension and when they are out of the public eye, say, at home after a tough day, they still don’t explode as we would. It’s just not how Thais operate. 

There are a number of ways to express concepts related to relaxing (the urban legend of Inuit words for snow comes to mind), and I’ll share a few of them with you before I get to my favorite. There’s “mai bpen rai,” loosely translated as it’s okay, it’s all good, or that’s cool; “sabai, sabai,” which means everything’s okay or comfortable; and “sanuk,” an important concept that one should uphold in your life and work:  having fun and releasing stress.  But my absolute favorite was one I learned yesterday, “gluay gluay” (literally “banana, banana”) which means that something is easy or a piece of cake. Why? Bananas are a hassle free food, especially compared the the spiny, thorny, armored, and overall scary-looking (but delicious) Thai fruits. I mean, think about it….bananas come with their own zipper. Best… packaging… ever.

Same Same, But Different

The above phrase (which is exceedingly popular here for some reason) is used to mean that two specific things have distinct similarities… and distinct differences. I’m not really sure why it’s so common (couldn’t you just use the word “similar?”), but that’s besides the point. On with the story! Once upon a time, many moons ago, I lived in Dakar, Senegal and heard many traditional songs about a city called Kaolack. I never got a chance to visit, but the songs have more or less remained in the back of my mind. Flash forward to the present day. Two of the volunteers with my program live in the Thai town of  Khao Lak (pronounced the same way), two hours north of Phuket. And so, last weekend, right after I went to Laos, I and two other volunteers visited them for a mini-reunion.

Khao Lak is a fascinating and extremely odd place. It was easy to forget that I was in Thailand based on how much German I heard (far more than any other language, including Thai), and, more significantly, how the tourists dressed. Thais are usually very modest in their clothing choices, but the tourists were dressed as though they were on the French Rivieria. But fatter. Think  250-pound grandmothers in bikinis, with either a wicked sunburn (with white lines under the fat) or sporting horrifically leathery skin. And that’s not even the worst of it. One morning, I saw a topless woman sunbathing next to her teenage son, a guy in town walking around in a speedo and a t-shirt,  and a topless woman powerwalking on the beach. By comparison, Thais frequently go into the water fully clothed. A friend surmises that the Thais regard these scantily-clad foreigners as barely human. If you think about it, Western beach clothing is a bit peculiar– in our every-day lives, we cover ourselves, but we are essentially wearing our underwear on the beach.  And the fact that everyone is frying their skin to a crisp doesn’t help the cultural disparity, either– Thais usually do everything they can to keep their skin as pale as possible, from covering all patches of skin with clothing and masks when in the sun for an extended period, to using all sorts of whitening products. I will say, though, that when you’re around so manyfarang (foreigners/westerners) acting and dressing this way, it’s easy to go along with the crowd.

As I’ve mentioned before, most of the AJWS volunteers work for Burmese NGOs, and my friends in Khao Lak were no exception, training community members to become health workers. While we were in town, their NGO held a party for International Women’s Day (apparently a big deal in Burma), so we attended and met some of the people they work with and help. I enjoyed hanging out with everyone and afterwards, my friends took me and the other two visiting AJWS volunteers around for a non-tourist tourist tour. First, they took us to a number of sites to see how the Burmese in the area live, which was especially interesting, since I haven’t seen anything like through my work. (Almost everyone at my NGO lives on-site at the farm.) Some of the Burmese communities were in crowded tin shacks, others lived in long tin housing. I don’t think there was running water or electricity at either place, but I’m not sure. After that, we saw some of the areas of Khao Lak that weren’t rebuilt after the 2004 tsunami. The town was decimated by the waves, some of which were as high as 100 feet. We saw two resorts that were just shells of what they once were, with trees and plants taking over the skeltons of the buildings that remained. Khao Lak was hit much harder than Phuket, and the community is still trying to get back to where it was.

All that said, I did truly enjoy my trip to Khao Lak. I had excellent beach time, befriended some wonderful Thai folks who ran a beach shack restaurant, and played extensively with their adorable puppy Tiger, which made me giggly all over. And I reconnected with AJWS volunteers, who helped put everything in much-needed perspective. And, thanks to some insane tropical storms that provided decent cloud coverage, I didn’t get burned too badly, either– always a plus. I may not have seen any of the astoundingly gorgeous Thai beaches, but you can’t do everything, and I had a great time nevertheless. Although I did wear a tankini, I think I dressed appropriately enough, so I really hope no one thought I was being a cultural buffoon like so many of my fellow farang. In this place, we are definitely same same but different.

How Now in Laos

Ten years ago, Laos was completely inaccessible by car. These days, there are more options, but I opted to enter the country via the Slow Boat, a two-day boat ride down the Mekong river, starting at the border of Thailand and ending in the city of Luang Prabang. There were a few reasons for this decision: 1) I had more time at my disposal since I had taken a week off work (meaning I didn’t have to fly), and 2) all of my friends who had taken the slow boat said it was absolutely incredible. Now that I’ve had this experience, I would like to add 3) to the list of reasons to take the Slow Boat: the fellow passengers, most of whom were backpackers my age. When you’re travelling on a plane or bus for an extended period, you may perhaps chat with your neighbors, but in my experience, most people either sleep, read, or zone out to music or a movie. But on the slow boat, we had three days together (including the drive to the border), and since we could move around rather easily (and we needed to, because the seats weren’t so comfortable), conversations naturally occurred. And though most of us had ipods, it seemed that people used them only as a last resort.

So there we were, passing through seemingly untouched areas of Laos, dreamily gazing at emerald-colored mountains and waving at the occasional children on the shores. (Check out the photo page for more.) The views were incredible– soft, lush, and, after a total of 17+ hours… enough. Which is why the backpackers were so fantastic. I mostly hung out with a group of English guys, and we swapped stories of our travels and played the ever-classic card games of Rummy, Bullshit, and, my personal favorite, Go Fish, which I had the delight of teaching to one of the English guys (who loved it, I will point out). Day 1 (a seven- hour trip) ended with an overnight in a Laos town called Pak Beng, and then after a very long (but beautiful) Day 2 (a 10-hour trip), we arrived in Luang Prabang, happy, gross, and ready to explore.

On my first day in Laos, after eating a breakfast of mango pancakes, I converted my money to kip, which was fantastic because I became a millionaire. ($1 = 8,500-ish kip.) Never have i spent so much money so fast. But it’s okay, i kept telling myself– I’m supporting the Laos economy. I spent the day biking with a wonderful American girl from the Slow Boat, exploring postcard-esque scenes of villages and farms, and ended with an extremely late lunch of a tuna and veggie baguette. Since Laos was a French colony, their influence shows itself in a number of ways: 1) architecture 2) extreme draw for French tourists and, my personal favorite 3) French-influenced food, which was strikingly similar to what I ate in Senegal. This means baguettes, Vache Qui Rit (Laughing Cow) cheese, and really rich desserts.

The next day, I kayaked with three girls down the Nam Kahn river (which intersects with the Mekong in Luang Prabang), and visited a Khmu and Hmong village. Though the people we met there didn’t speak Lao (which is similar to Thai, which helps me a lot), we goofed around with the kids and our guide translated for us. Some villages in Laos get lots of tourists, but this one didn’t, which meant that the kids treated us like funny aliens/celebrities– we were a little scary to them, but still interesting enough to show off in front of. The kayaking was easy enough that I didn’t anticipate incridible soreness the next day, but it was challenging enough that I didn’t feel like a total wimp, either. A good blend indeed. Mid-way, we stopped for lunch, and had my favorite experience in Laos.

As we sat on the rocks to eat our lunch, a few nine or ten-year old girls who were hanging out at the river came over to check us out. They were on their lunch break from school, and after they wandered over, their guy friends who were tubing in the river did too. Soon we had maybe 12 Thai-Leu kids who were all nine or ten years old hovering around us. We weren’t sure if it was because we were farang (westerners), or if it was because we had food and they wanted some… but they were staring at us, and it was certainly… different. We gave them fruit and some other food, and I noticed that one boy was looking at us with his arms folded and his brow furrowed. So then I did the same thing. He saw me doing this, smiled, and quickly changed his position. I did that, too, again imitating him. He laughed and made another movie that I also copied. Another boy joined in and soon we were making fantastically goofy faces back and forth at each other, each trying to make the grander and more grotesque face. Not that long afterwards, this expanded into movements, with extensive swinging of hips and wiggling. And then…. just because it came to mind… I taught them the “Apache” dance by the Sugar Hill Gang. The kids loved it and we were all cracking up from the extreme silliness of the situation. (And yes, they all said “jump on it” as best they could as they spun around.) I took a video of it, along with pictures, and I’ll post it as soon as I figure out how. Eventually, we  had to get back on the kayaks, and the kids and I blew kisses to each other as we separated. My heart nearly exploded with happiness as we paddled away.

During my time in Southeast Asia, I think I’ve taken mostly scenic pictures, but in Laos, it was reversed, and for that, I am so grateful. Since Luang Prabang is a small town, I ran into people from the boat all the time, and wound up with far more new friends than I ever imagined. So, to summarize my experience: Had a million, spent it all, danced like crazy with kids, and fell in love with a country for its pace, people, and beauty.

Working hard for the — wait, I don’t get paid for this?

When I was in high school, my favorite English teacher told us that when experiencing writer’s block, one should consume M&Ms. This advice has served me well over the years, keeping me on a productive (though, on occasion, a supremely giggly) path. So when I sat down to write about my work and had no idea where to begin (and remained restless and frustrated for nearly an hour and a half ), I knew what had to be done. I got up, went to the 7-11 a few feet from my computer cafe, and paced in front of the chocolate aisle, having the same debate that I imagine many chocoholics have when abroad: foreign? Or American? The unknown? Or the guarantee? I try to select foreign food over western as much as possible here, since I can get other things at home so easily.  So…wistfully gazing at three varieties of M&Ms,  I picked out two lovely-looking candy bars (Cadbury and something else, as if it mattered), reluctantly walked to the register… and then… in a flash, raced back, dumped the would-be-adulterous candy, and picked up, ever so lovingly, a package of Milk Chocolate M&Ms. I will admit–I was dangerously close to whispering sweet nothings and heart-felt apologies to the trusty brown package.

So here I am, M&Ms in hand, mouth, and belly, ready to write.

There are three components to my job at NEED-Burma, the NGO where I work. (http://need-burma.org/ if you need a refresher.) For the first few weeks, I was primarily editing documents (in English) about agriculture written by NEED alumni and staff that are Burmese. This was quite a challenge, and it made me cringingly recall how difficult it is for me to write in another language. (The record will show that I am still deeply in debt to a fantastic friend who edited all my college French papers.) The tricky thing is to maintain the integrity of the document and ensure that the writer could still recognize his own thoughts and words… but to make it as grammatically perfect as possible. Which takes delicate handling… which makes the task even harder.

The next big task that I am working on is board development, which is more up my alley, and one of the main reasons I was placed in this position. As NEED is a relatively new NGO (our third birthday is next month), our Board of Directors is still in the growing stages, so I am taking steps to help it develop in a healthy, sustainable way, which, as anyone in the non-profit world can attest, involves pruning, weeding, and planting the right seeds. (And yes, the occasional fertilizer, the rather unpleasant stuff that will be responsible for significant growth.) I’ve been working on the board by-laws, giving workshops to staff on board development, and writing invitation letters for potential board members. It’s been incredibly interesting work, and I hope that I will make enough progress by the time I have to go in April.

The last component of my job began yesterday, and it was the task that held the greatest potential for stress for me: teaching English two times a week for 2.5 hours a day to the Burmese students at NEED. Although I have taught many subjects and feel totally at home in a classroom, I was definitely worried. I’ve never attempted to teach any language before, and I wasn’t sure what skill-levels my 14 students would be coming from. It’s been a long time since I thought about the stucture of the English language, and when it comes to recalling different parts of speech… the game “Mad Libs” is unfortunately the only thing that comes to mind. (And that’s a fuzzy memory at best.) Thankfully, my students (who are all in their 20s) have  fantastic attitudes about everything, and so the first day of class went all right. We played a version of Scattergories and then made noun, verb, and adjective cards, shuffled them around, and used them to make wacky sentences like “the sleepy house jumped” and “the beautiful cup is crying.” It was far from my best, but, considering it was my first day and it was 100+ degrees in the classroom, I decided that anything short of a catastrophe should be considered a success. 

The second day, thankfully, was phenomenal. We learned around 50 new adjectives describing personalities and then the students acted out pairs of opposite words (goofy/serious, annoying/calm, selfish/selfless, etc), which was absolutely hilarious. Then we wrote new sentences about our families, which allowed me to see more into their lives. Before, I was only seeing basic sentences like “I have 3 brothers.” After this exercise, I saw much more vibrant sentences like “My brother is crazy about the guitar.” And “my sister is wacky but lovely.” With a laptop, I showed the students some pictures of my friends and family, and then I used some of the vocab words to share stories about life back home. (Let’s just say that the word “goofy” was used a lot in those descriptions.) At the end of the period, no one wanted to leave, so we stayed an extra 30 minutes (cutting into their free time) and concluded with the ever-terrific Mad Libs. It was a great day.

I’m a little more than half-way through my time here, and I do sometimes wish that I was staying longer. Luckily, I can think of plenty reasons to go back home, and now with 50+ adjectives, I can think of great ways to describe them.

555

We foreigners in Thailand are frequently reminded that most things here are dealt with by smiling. When stressed out, embarrassed, angry, happy, confused, and practically a thesaurus of other emotions, the preferred reaction (both for the person who is feeling that emotion, as well as the person who is witnessing it) is to smile. In orientation, we were warned not to be unnerved by this—it may seem like Thai people are making fun of us when they laugh in situations where we would not… but it is just their way of dealing with things, of saving face, being respectful , and maintaining Buddhist traditions of optimism.

But I would like to add one more theory to the list.

Today, in my third Thai lesson (during which I spoke a full paragraph in Thai), I learned a useful phrase: Kaw-toht, or “excuse me.” But this being a tonal language, there are incredibly important idiosyncrasies in pronunciation. So, I learned, if you happen to say “kaw-tote” (just a quicker version of “toht”), you have apparently just said “May I fart?”

So maybe, just maybe, this is why Thai people are smiling and laughing so much. In this deeply respectful country, maybe all the people are just kicking back with fart jokes.

As for the title of this blog, it is one of my favorite things I learned from my Thai teacher. The number five in Thai is pronounced “haa.” So when Thais are texting each other or chatting online and want to express laughter, rather than writing out LOL as Westerners would, they just write 555. Or… haa…haa…haa…

Have I mentioned that I love this country?