Topsy Turvy

This past weekend things got interesting.

I began my weekend by seeing a doctor about the most recent development in my string of health issues. Past incidents seemed either inappropriate or irrelevant to mention on my blog, but I think worth bringing up as a critical part of living in a new country. Moving to a new place always involves a shift in diet, and this transition often results in some degree of digestive problems (this doesn’t only apply to the weak or irresponsible). I was fine for the first few months, but my body has apparently had enough of the unrecognizable foods and bacteria and god knows what else I’ve been ingesting. I think I’ll be fine, but I’ve always been a healthy person, so being sick all the time has been pretty frustrating.

To add another element of unfamiliarity to an evening in which I didn’t feel quite myself, I spent Friday night in a self-described “hippie commune” called the Overstay. The building used to be a whorehouse, but was converted into a gallery/bar/hostel by a bunch of artsy ex-pats. It’s a little cheesy, but I think the reclamation of a space for exploitation into a shelter for creativity is a nice thought. When I first entered, the man volunteering at the bar offered to give me a tour of the building. In the kitchen (vegetarian food only) we came across four Germans with dread locks and gauges in their ears who offered me free pasta marinara. The next floor was a studio space with a salt and pepper checkered floor and mannequins strewn around the room. The third floor the “dormitory” where backpackers slept on mats (or the floor), the fourth was a series of rooms (including Kiki Amore, our beloved room filled with DVDs, an Apple Powerbook and what we suspected was drug paraphernalia from the last tenant), and the roof housed several tents and hammocks people could sleep in for free.



The overstayers were a ragtag crew of travelers and ex-pats who had been in Thailand anywhere from three days to three years. Some people volunteered their time at the Overstay in exchange for shelter, some were simply passing through for a distinctive experience. I can safely say I’ve never been in a place like it, and it once again expanded my view of what Bangkok has to offer. After a long walk through Chinatown last weekend, I decided that I’d never see everything there is to see Bangkok. It’s just one of those cavernous and densely packed cities that will always reveal new pockets of activity.


On Saturday I returned to Pattaya, the aforementioned sin city of Thailand where I completed my scuba certification. I didn’t feel the need to return, but my friends had never been and wanted to see this hotbed of transgressions with their own eyes. We attended Tiffany’s, the most famous ladyboy show in the world, which turned out to be a sparkling whirlwind of unbelievable set changes and even more technical costume changes. Some of the headpieces worn by the ladyboys were over three feet high, and their colorful gowns displayed surgically altered bodies more feminine than my own. If no one had told me they were ladyboys, I never would have known. See the queen on the left? She was one of the Tiffany's performers. Would you be able to tell?

After the show, the ladyboys were pretty fussy about posing for pictures. They gave a few seconds to take a photo, then demanded a tip and were quickly off to pose dramatically with the next tourist. It’s not just the old white men; everyone in Pattaya is part this massive scramble for cash or sex. I didn’t take many pictures in Pattaya, let alone with the ladyboys, but my friend captured one of me making quite a face in the background. I didn’t really feel the need to capture my time in Pattaya through photos because I didn’t come across anything or anyone particularly inspiring. But cities like this sure do make you think.

Academically speaking....

These days I’m finally situating myself into some sort of teaching groove. My students are more used to my presence, but the biggest change has come from better assessing their capabilities.

I occasionally (rarely) have a class where I feel like the children are both learning and having fun, and it’s pretty rejuvenating. Everyone in our office agrees that the grade 4 students represent the idyllic combination of cute, respectful and eager. God knows what the magic formula is, but somehow they’re always enthusiastic about participating, and both cherish my presence respect my authority. This is the golden combination for any teacher, and I know better than to attribute this solely to my teaching tactics; some classes are just good apples (or as psychologist Dr. Lombardo put it, “in a good barrel, which produces good apples”). They have their rowdy side, but unlike most of my students, their vigor can be channeled into a productive activity.

I oscillate between finding my difficult classes humorous and downright maddening, but I’ve at least gained a little perspective. I learned that the students with ADD and other multifarious learning issues are often lumped into one class, and I’ve concluded this segregation is most pronounced in grade 6. My Prathom 6/3 class (lovingly coined the “crack babies” in our office) are always, always crawling up the walls. When I walk in the kids are out of their seats, throwing balls, laughing and screaming, and completely impervious to punishment or scorn. The best thing I can do is play their game, joke around with them, play the instruments they take out, arm wrestle with the boys, and then attempt to slip an easy worksheet on their desks and challenge them to finish it. It doesn’t always work, but sometimes they get into it. As long as I’m realistic about my expectations with classes like these, I’m a lot happier about the outcome.

My best relationships in grade 6 are the rowdy boys, since they let me hassle them in response to being awful students, and the grade 6 girls who swim afterschool. I began running into a handful of girls at the pool a couple times a week, when my lap swimming overlapped with their swim class. Upon my arrival they always yell “teeechaaa swim!” and we start splashing each other, race each other, and try to communicate. It’s the only time I’ve seen students from that grade try to speak English so earnestly. One student called me a “whale” (then ran away before I could splash in protest) but the rest all call me mermaid. Sometimes the girls don’t have swim practice but they still come to the pool to watch me swim—diligent fans.

Their affection does not translate as much in the classroom, especially when I force them to do Reader Club. When it comes to reading, creating in-class worksheets has been the only way to get children through the chapters. They will not read at home or in class, and when I read out loud the students devolve into chatter. Worksheet copying is an issue (you know this when you get 15 worksheets with the same wrong answers, and the same exact misspellings), but I’ve been very consistent about grabbing the worksheet a student is copying from under their nose. They’re starting to get the picture, and are at least devising craftier ways to cheat. I’m hoping that copying will become more of a hassle than actually doing the work, and this will lower their motivation to do so. Many of them are capable, I just need to master the art of subtle coercion.

Another recent development is my job at the YWCA, in a building conveniently located right next to my apartment. Since December, I’ve been giving private English lessons to a guy named Lim for three hours at a time. Honestly, the lessons are pretty draining. All I want to do after the final school bell rings is lay down, so three hours a student’s full-attention pushes the boundaries of my liveliness. However, my lessons with Lim offer the type of experience I actually want in ESL teaching. Lim hangs on every word I say, and pretty much brings new meaning to the word “motivation.” He independently writes up lengthy recaps of every English lesson we have, and asks me to assign him homework. I’m currently focusing on essay-writing, since he’d never heard of an introduction, thesis, or conclusion, and he’ll definitely need them if he’s planning on applying for graduate school in the states. He asks a lot about the UC system, and answering his questions about California is kind of a pleasant indulgence for me.

Me and Lim (I squatted and he stood on his tippie toes to get this close in height):

Phu Hin National Park

This weekend I finally made it up north, although not as far as Chiang Mai or any major cities. I spent time in the less-traveled province of Phitsanulok, in Phu Hin Rong National Park. Myself and three fine young gentlemen arrived at the gates of the park via truck bed (a preferred mode of travel in this country, trumped only by motorbike) on a temperate Saturday morning.


The moment I stepped off the truck (literally, within seconds), I was asked by some Thai people to pose for a photo. They asked me if I was famous, and I said “yes, movie star,” to which they replied “oooh!!” This definitely isn’t the first or the last time this sort of exchange will happen to me, but in this particular situation it highlighted the “Thainess” of our destination. We were definitely the only farangs in the entire park, but this time I actually enjoyed the treatment of my peculiarity. I felt like I was finally stepping outside of mainstream Thailand, and my distinction was met with smiles and wonder, rather than shouts or attempts the swindle me.

After setting up our tents, we quickly learned that we sorely needed a mode of transportation besides our legs. The park looked manageable on a map, but once we started walking I doubted whether we’d make the first trail before sunset. We eventually hitched a ride to the nearest hike loop, which featured other-worldly nodule rock formations at Lan Hin Pum and a cliff overlooking a breathtaking view of the misty park. The cliff was called Pha Chu Thong, and it was where communists who used to have a stronghold in this area flew their red flag after a victory. Now, of course, it sports a Thai flag.


That night an adventurous group of young Thai people invited us to join their campsite, where we exchanged drinks and language lessons. “Faen” refers to a boyfriend or girlfriend, and “mao” means drunk… yeah, we were really getting academic.

I’ve almost exclusively been to Thai beaches and cities, so being surrounded by greenery was a refreshing change. I don't necessarily believe in a Thoreau-level of necessity when it comes to spending time in the woods, but it was literally a breath of fresh air after the smog of my industrial town. I had to leave early Sunday morning in order to make it home in time, so the trip was painfully short. There are waterfalls and hikes waiting for me whenever I make it back…

Sawadee South - The Islands of Phuket

Yesterday I returned from winter vacation with cuts on my feet, a backpack rash, bites down my legs and absolutely zero energy. That being said, my bout in the south of Thailand was by far my favorite trip, and was worth the stomach problems and coral-induced lacerations. This is going to be a lengthy post, but I promise it's action packed.

My break kicked off upon the arrival of my cousin Kevin, the first familiar face I’ve seen since departing the US of A. Because he works in the travel business, Kevin proved to be a reliable and easy-going travel partner, not to mention he could finally offer some outside perspective on the life I’ve been leading. After putting Kevin through a never-ending Christmas pageant at my school (the nonsensical plays, absurd outfits, and general discontinuity of the entire event proved to be a good introduction to Thailand for him), I took him out for some beers and elephant petting at my local bar.

We spent Christmas day in BKK, then the kooky cousins were on a plane to the island of Phuket by nightfall. Our first weekend was spent in Kata, a less touristy beach town on the southeast side of Phuket. Kata beach was beautiful, but we didn’t do much sunbathing—Kevin and I met up with cousin Steve, my gateway to scuba thus far, and Kevin began his discover scuba training on the beach. On Sunday we took a boat to an island called Ko Racha Yai, and had two relaxing dives, just the three of us. These were by far my favorite dives thus far, with 15-20 meters visibility and plenty of colorful fish. I finally caught a few pictures, although they don’t quite capture the experience of swimming through corals and seeing a moral eel glide a couple feet below my body. With every dive my buoyancy and ease improves, and I’m already scheming to get my advanced open water certification in February.





On Monday we began an island hopping tour, which turned out to be the best way for us to stop on several different islands. The boat provided us with snorkeling gear and snacks, and jetted us from island to island. There’s nothing like arriving at some magical cove, jumping off a boat into the crystalline water with my friends, and just soaking up the glory of the southern islands. Something about islands in this particular region is almost fantastical; the bottom edge of the cliffs are carved out so that the islands look suspended. And below these carved nooks the water glowed like some aquamarine liquid conjured up in a potions class in Harry Potter.




Some of our stops included Kha Nai, Ko Phi Phi, Lo Samah and Maya Bay (famous location of the Leonardo di Caprio’s dystopian paradise in “The Beach”), as well as the Viking Cave, where locals farm birds eggs in nests nestled in a cave that looks straight out of Pirates of the Caribbean.


We spent our nights in an extremely undeveloped island called Ko Yao Yai, in well-furnished beach bungalows along an empty beach. Ko Yao Yai was inhabited by fisherman and a small Muslim community, so there was no alcohol except for painfully overpriced beer at the resort kitchen, and there was certainly no night life except squid fishing off the island’s sole pier. We played volleyball on the beach, went kayaking, went on walks, talked to local fisherman, read books in the sand, and at night made a bonfire. We ate when food was served (a lot of barbequed seafood and curries), and didn’t touch any processed junk food (only fruit for desert). Our awesome tour guide “J” took us to see the island’s rubber plantations, and I had a really intimate moment with a frisky monkey. My other animal experiences were considerably less intense; a little kitten ended one evening on my lap, and fish would circle me for hours if I sat in the water. The tranquility of Yao Yai was perfectly sandwiched between my scuba dives and the ensuing madness of New Years on Patong Beach.



We spent our final evening in Patong after a night in Phuket Town, which turned out to be a pretty neat city with a more local feel. I know I called Pattaya the “Sin City” of Thailand, and I stand by this name, but Patong comes in a close second. The Patong walk street was littered with Eurotrash, silly string cans, Thai women dancing on poles, and dance clubs blasting techno at an almost desperate volume. Everything was overpriced in Patong, and it was the first place I’ve ever been where everyone speaks English (but only for the sake of swindling tourists). Haggling was out of question, and cab prices were set in stone.

Of course, we made the best of our last night in the 2000’s. We went to a concert on the beach and danced beneath the lanterns that speckled the night sky like the Milky Way. Fireworks exploded, silly string hit people’s faces, and we embraced the carnivalesque madness of New Years Eve. If any night reminded us how much we’d bonded over these past few months, the ringing in of 2010 was probably it. I entered a new year in my new life with my new friends, who have become my closest friends in the lovely lunacy that is my existence in Thailand.