Signed and Sealed. Woohoo!

So. After all the searching I have signed a contract on an apartment which I adore. Check it out:

The Trials and Travails of Apartment Hunting in Bangkok

For the past couple days I have been in hot pursuit of a humble abode in this urban behemoth of a city. Sure, I did lots of apartment shopping via the internet before I left. But I knew that I would have to wait to actually do the real nitty, gritty pavement pounding. No amount of cleverly shot pictures or enticing facilities lists can make up for a first hand perspective of a place. Back in the US I had no concept of the distance between locations, the ‘good’ and ‘bad’ neighborhoods, or even the true size of the available rooms. So, as much as I delude myself into believing the hours I spent looking at hundreds of apartments online was constructive, it really comes down to seeing it in the flesh. All that research was simply to give myself a false sense of control.

Going out hunting was an intimidating, exhausting, and, in some instances, demoralizing experience. Granted, I learned my way around the BTS system and began to construct a mental map of the city, both valuable and necessary developments. But this was no cake walk. I was relying on a maps with missing scales and piecemeal thai. I was, without a doubt, at the mercy of Bangkok. For the most part, the City of Smiles was good to me. She offered many kind motor-taxi drivers, a few english speaking strangers, two well-timed rain showers, and a fair share of miraculous moments. I really can’t complain.

On my first day out I stubbornly insisted that even though I was experiencing raging jet lag and mild dehydration I should walk for the majority of the day. It was a great idea... in theory. My penny-pinching-self simply couldn’t justify spending a dollar here or there on a taxi. Needless to say, Bangkok demonstrated a host of reasons why I was being a stupid American. I got lost, sweat profusely, and ended up, quite literally, kissing the pavement. In retrospect, it was pretty amusing:

I had just successfully found and viewed two apartments within the hour, one of which had a smidge of potential... I was feeling good. So, like any person grasping at straws, I was slightly proud of myself. Proud enough that there was a cheery bounce to my walk as I made my way down a busy road while mentally stroking my ego, ‘See Kate, you CAN do this!’. I was confidently paging through the pages of PDF’s I had saved to my touch looking for the map of the next prospect... paying no attention to simple, but necessary, act of putting one foot in front of the other (save for the bouncing bit). Then, BOOM, I was on the ground. I had fallen flat on my face, my palms and knees breaking the fall, in front of about 20 people at a bus stop. Total ego buster. I hopped up, brushed off, swallowed my pride, and hailed the next taxi. Luckily, I only have a bruised knee to show for it. It is a lovely combination of lavender and chartreuse right about now.

Another comedic moment occurred when I was viewing apartments in the Victory Monument business area which is within comfortable walking distance of the university campus. In merely looking at a map this was an ideal spot for me to find a place. In reality the streets were choked with traffic and the sidewalks packed with constant people-jams. The buildings were aged, dingy and unkept. Prospects were fading but I soldiered on, envisioning a hidden retreat in the midst of the chaos. Fat chance. The place I was interested in was located on the corner of a bustling intersection. Cars were honking, jackhammers were banging and trains rumbled by. At this point I knew I would find no peaceful abode but decided to view an apartment anyways, just in case it was a diamond in the rough. I inquired and entered a well-appointed room. I made my usual inspection; assessing the density of the bed (most thai beds are unreasonably hard), verifying an American-style toilet, visually checking the AC unit, and looking at the view. I pulled the curtains back and in the middle of the window were two distinctly bullet shaped holes. You have got to be kidding me. I looked in the bathroom and there FOUR more. Surely, I was imagining this. There had to be some explanation. I inquired at the reception desk. The man giggled and explained that, yes, those were in fact bullet holes but not to worry as no one had died in that room. They were just from the ‘small protest’ ( a reference to what I know now to be 10,00 plus people gathering at that square) that happened in May and the tenant had been out when the ammunition had entered the apartment. ‘Grreeeeaaat,’ I thought, ‘that’s the kind of reassurance I was looking for. Not.’ His bright eyed, inquiring look seemed to wonder why I would not want to whip out my fountain pen and sign a contract right then and there. I quickly bid him adieu and nixed all other apartments in that area.

All in all, the good news is that I have narrowed it down to two apartments. I have probably viewed 20+ and might view a few more tomorrow. The only area I have yet to look in is the neighborhood where the other Mercer alum who are working with ServiceFirst are living. It is not convenient to my university but is accessible by BTS and there would be an added benefit of living near people I know. I am not sure, however, how much I will find there. Tomorrow will tell.

Look Ma, no hands!

Traffic on South Sathorn Rd, just outside my hotel, was beastly. Cars were in gridlock, honking ferociously, maneuvering on curbs, and whole heartedly ignoring whatever semblance of order the road paint was trying to instill. Crap. I had promised to meet Wesley and the other Mercer english teachers for dinner in 30 minutes. Even with the help of the BTS, I might be beyond fashionably late. I hailed a motorbike taxi, explained that I needed to get to the nearest BTS station with what I believe was the word ‘fast’, and hopped on after agreeing to a fare. Fortunately, my pants allowed me to ride standard instead of the precarious ‘side saddle’ that women are required to resume if wearing a skirt. (Note to self: Avoid wearing a skirt if it might be a motorcycle taxi kind of day.) My crash course in Thai manners had also instructed me to avoid, at all costs, hanging on to your driver. So, there I was, perched on the back of a tiny motorbike about to battle rush hour traffic without the ability to hold on, save for an awkward handle behind my seat.

The engine revved and suddenly I realized that ‘fast’ might have not been the wisest choice of words. My taxi man was on a mission. I gasped each time we passed between spaces tight enough that any reasonable assessment would have deemed them knee cap removers. I quickly deemed that gripping the rear handle was far too dangerous as it positioned my elbow outside the realm of safety... anywhere beyond 6” off the side of the motorbike. So, I let go. Look Ma, no hands! We continued this way, with the occasional sojourn into oncoming traffic, for several kilometers of gridlock. Like magic, my taxi man deftly swerved in and out, back and forth, until he got so frustrated he abandoned the designated road entirely, hopping up on the sidewalk to rocket past stand still traffic. I laughed. Really, it was my only option. I should have been terrified but I had asked for this. Taxi man looked back, smiled, and rocketed forward at an even quicker pace. Then, out of nowhere, the BTS station appeared around a corner. He delivered me to the bottom of the steps and I gave him the negotiated fare of 30 baht and bid him farewell. And, just like that, he was gone.

Tastes Like Chicken

The TUSEF office, specifically P'Kee-the lady who has helped me arrange all of my travel and troubleshooting, treated me to my first real Bangkok meal. After a scheduled meeting to sign the final paperwork and to talk about business matters, P'Kee offered to take me across the street to a local market where I could pick out some lunch. I happily obliged, looking forward to sampling some street food. We played pedestrian frogger on the busy South Sathorn Rd, a major traffic way in the city, and dipped under awnings into a small but diverse market. P'Kee directed me to to her preferred vender where she ordered a fish ball soup laden with fresh sprouts, thai basil, chilies and egg noodles. The street cook spooned the noodles and fish into one thin plastic bag and the broth into another, wrapping them both together in a similar manner to how one would expect pet fish to be transported. How extraordinarily efficient. Perfectly portable without bulky waste.

As we were exiting the market, I heard the tell-tale rumble of what could only be a juicer. I looked over to find a stall piled high with fresh produce and a lady making freshly squeezed, custom ordered juice. Holy mother of juicing. This was the holy grail. P'Kee noticed my fascination and asked if I would like a glass. I hesitated but she enthusiastically chirped, “Yes, yes we should get some. My favorite is carrot-beet-pineapple-apple. I’ll get you one”. I nearly melted into a puddle at the mere thought. The juice goddess behind the counter quickly processed about 10 fat carrots, a divinely purple beet, a quarter of a pineapple, and 2 fairly homely looking apples (and by homely I mean natural, non-waxed, might have been pulled from your backyard... possibly the best compliment an apple could receive). The resulting juice was a deep, royal orange and was served up into two 16oz containers. P'Kee and I grabbed matching straws and sipped. Incredible would be an understatement. “Do you like?” she asked. Was this even a question? I smiled broadly and complimented her fruit/veggie choice. I hesitantly asked her the price, assuming that this was a special treat. She told me that my lunch had cost just under $2. What? Wait? Repeat. “The soup and the juice were two dollars each?” I inquired again. P'Kee laughed, “No, no, no. The soup was a 30 baht and the juice was 35 baht.” I tabulated in my head and arrived at the conclusion that, in fact, my entire meal was less than two dollars despite the fact that it was fresh, nutrient dense, and very nearly made in front of me. Holy Moly. This is my kind of city.

It led me to compare it to a two dollar take-out lunch in the states. Wait, is there such a thing? Why yes, there is, and it is complete and utter shit. Pardon the language but let’s be honest. Two dollars will buy you two items off a dollar menu at your choice of a variety of fast food chains. And, for lack of a better word, that food is poison. High fructose corn syrup, countless preservatives, processed meat, hydrogenated oil, and a general lack of anything remotely good for you. Sure, one could get a tea-cup sized salad and a baked potato. But, be honest, very few do. I’m not saying I am some food purist. I’ve eaten my fair share of crap food and knowingly devoured pounds of items that I knew to be filled with all of the above. I try to do as well as I can and some days are better than others. But, for the sake of comparison, it is interesting to me that a country that many people consider ‘third world’ at worst and ‘unsophisticated’ at best has readily available, affordable, and nutritious food. It makes you wonder why some countries *cough, United States, cough* still subsidize the fast food industry which is, without a shadow of doubt, slowly killing its population and, in the process, inflating health care costs and ramping up fossil fuel consumption. Sure, there is fast food here. But a BigMac will set you back 180 baht without a drink or fries. Thais eat there, but for most people it if not an affordable, everyday option. What a novel concept. Instead, there is, what would be in America, a posh juice bar at every corner, except without the $6 price tag and high nosed clientele. Absolutely brilliant.

But, for all this talk about pure and good-for-you food, I have to admit I ate a chicken foot. (Note the hypocrisy and my utter awareness of it.) Trust me, it wasn’t my choice. Here is how it went down:

We all had brought out eats back to the small meeting room and were using office plate-ware. There was lots of small talk and I was highly concentrated on ‘eating properly’... only using my spoon, slurping my noodles just enough to give an air of satisfaction without sounding utterly ridiculous, and a host of other interesting eating manners. Then, out of the blue, this kind gentleman offers me a taste of his lunch. My mind races and arrives at the thai manners point that you DO NOT deny anything that is offered to you. ‘Why, certainly” I said “This is all so tasty”. Famous. Last. Words.

He fished around in his bowl of dark broth and out comes an entire chicken foot. Oh, no. No, no, no, no. I might be an adventurous eater but this was pushing it. There were still toenails for goodness sake. I gulped. He placed it daintily on a side plate, smiled wide, and slid it towards me. I managed to slap on a feeble smile and inquired how one goes about eating it. A quick lesson and I was ready to go. I cut out the inner two toes, an easier task then I expected, and placed them in my mouth. I suppressed the urge to gag. Sucking the meat off the bone, I then ejected each knuckle, one by one, onto the spoon and then into the trash bag on the table. It was the consistently of buttery, boiled calamari but with a distinctive, gamey, chickeny flavor and an indisputable texture of chicken skin. All in all, I managed to finish the thing without actually gagging... even following his lead and sucking the marrow out of the leg bone. Mission accomplished. The kindly gentleman laughed and smiled. I will never know if it was a conscious test of my manners on his part. I doubt it was with the sincerity with which it was offered BUT it was an indisputable test of my gastronomic endurance. Life Goal 1414: Eat a chicken foot is checked off the list.

8 Days.

My travel plans are, finally, solid! I will be leaving Wednesday, August 18th. Exciting.

I have been gradually packing my things for both storage and the trip. I rarely travel with more than a backpack so planning for 10 months (or more) has been pretty intimidating. So much stuff. The old adage "bringing everything but the kitchen sink" seems pretty appropriate. Case in point: I am bringing my blender. I simply can't justify buying a new one for temporary use nor can I miss out on the smoothie opportunities.

Silly? Only time will tell.

My last months stateside have been filled with Appalachian Trail hiking trips, my cousin's wedding in Michigan, time with friends in WNC, and all the summer fun that Macon has to offer. What a truly wonderful send-off:

Sunset View from Springer Mountain

Anna and Matt dancing at their beautiful wedding

Next Post: Travel to Thailand