Book Recommendation

One of the upshots of a less hectic schedule and no actual classes (just lab work) is that I have had the luxury of diving head first back into the world of pleasure reading. I read plenty of books that I LOVED while in college but there is something to be said for picking up and completing a book that does not appear on a syllabus.

I just met the end-cover of a lovely book. It is a set of non-fiction vignettes detailing the lives of American ex-patriots living in Bangkok, written by a former Rolling Stones contributor:

It had some interesting points and painted an honest, sometimes brutal, picture of this city. One of the most interesting points that a circumspect analysis of the portraits highlighted was the idea that Bangkok is a "man's city". Sure enough, every single ex-pat Mr. Hopkins detailed was a man... I must admit that I have experienced this void of western women first hand. I encounter at least 200 western men for every western woman I catch sight of. Undoubtedly, this is an idea for me to ponder/test a bit. It is a great book if you want quick (5-10 page), engaging, and enlightening glimpses into Bangkok.

Peculiarities of the Thai Laboratory & A Preliminary Overview of my Project

(The title of this post sounds best if you pronounce “laboratory” in the british manner a.k.a. “lab-OR-a-tor-y”...)

Sometime within the past two weeks I started working regularly in the laboratory at Mahidol. [Insert nerd joy here] To say that I am completely and utterly stoked about this is a gross understatement. I am one of those sick and twisted individuals who loves, loves, loves the trials, tribulations and satisfaction that working at a lab bench brings. Until you have done it, and enjoyed it, it is a hard sensation to explain. The only way I can begin to explain it is to compare it to a “runner’s high”. Many avid runners (or swimmers/bikers/rowers/etc) claim that they can reach a state of euphoria whilst engaged in their physical activity of choice. Instead of getting my kicks from the side-stitches, lack-of-oxygen, and knee beating that running induces in my body... I get that same rush of endorphins from working in the lab. I kid you not. My own little “bench buzz.” And, I’m admitting to you all right now, I am an addict.

Working in a lab here has its own set of challenges. First of all, I am a ‘guest’ someone else’s lab. I was the head-honcho (or as Dr. Smith might say “Grand Poobah”) in the lab at Mercer. So, being in the new-kid-on-the-block and walking-on-eggshells mode has been interesting. Naturally, most everything is at least a little bit different than what I am accustomed to. Here’s a quick and dirty overview:

1. No bunsen burners. Oil lamps are used instead (I actually really like this... I hate lighting gas
2. A battery operated pestle "motor" is used to destroy the tick during the DNA extraction. Apparently, it is too much work to destroy it manually.
3. There were no gloves large enough to fit me. I felt like an ogre in the land of hobbits.
4. The pipettes have fully functioning tip ejectors... an upgrade from what I am used to.
5. I have to make my PCR cocktail from scratch. No ReadyMix... I have a brand new appreciation for the convenience of lab kits.
6. Sandals are acceptable footwear... I don’t think I can break my habit of wearing closed toe shoes.

Additionally, I am in the ‘prove-it’ stage with my mentor and fellow lab mates. While there are all incredibly nice and very accommodating, I am being constantly watched... often I even have someone peeking over my shoulder, double checking my pipette settings, and analyzing my technique. Not my favorite position to be in, but I hope that this will die down now that I have now passed the first “test” of successfully taking an engorged tick from extraction to DNA quality analysis via gel electrophoresis on my first attempt. Did I mention that I got my very first, successful results this week (on my first try, no less)???!!!! Boom-shakalacka. After a fair amount of anxiety that I somehow could have lost my lab juju somewhere over the Pacific, I not only got results but was complimented on the clarity and intensity of the bands in gel run. Let’s just say this makes be a very, very happy camper. (This is that endorphin rush I talked about earlier...)

And, for those of you who held tight through all the nerd-speak, I now have my quasi-official project!! Here is my still-being-developed-schpeel:

I am working with engorged ticks, of varying species, found on vertebrate hosts throughout the Thai National Parks system. The hosts range from the expected (wild dogs, dear, boar) to the totally bizarre (monitor lizard, asiatic water snake, king cobra). This is a small (120) subset of ticks that has been collected, over a period of 3 years, by the Ph.D student, Chalao. The vast majority of the ticks collected for his dissertation research were taken directly from vegetation (much like the ticks I collected in the GSMNP), so “my” subset are the oddities. I’ll be identifying the ticks taxonomically and then doing the molecular tests necessary to determine what (if any) pathogens they are carrying. I will be using primers that test for a wide variety of pathogens including bacteria, protozoans, and viruses.

The scope of this project is much bigger than anything I have every done and I am REALLY looking forward to spending the next 9 months with it.

4 Weeks ?!

So, I have been here for four weeks as of a few days ago. Crazy! In many ways it doesn’t feel like I have been here that long, but in many more it feels as though I have been here for ages. Cliche, but true.

I don’t want to continue being trite but I do want to acknowledge those folks who have offered me the support necessary to pack up my life, fly halfway around the world, and set up shop.

My Folks- Long story short, they got me to this point. They have been kind enough to suppress the clingy-parent-of-an-only-child-phenomenon to allow me to gallivant around the globe in the name of academia.

Dr. Smith- I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: As my undergraduate research mentor he rocked. He gave me a foundation of knowledge to really, truly appreciate the nuances of working at a lab bench. He also afforded me the space so that I could genuinely learn from my mistakes and the sustained guidance so that I was not intimidated or downtrodden by them. He is an all-around stellar human being.

Laura- best friend Extraordinaire. She puts up with my ridiculousness and has been there for me since I met here. She was optimistic when I was not about the Fulbright application, matched my gleeful screams when the letter arrived, and answered the phone when I called her, minutes before boarding the plane, sobbing so hard I couldn’t actually say anything comprehensible. She is beyond fabulous.

Jimmy- [insert cheesy adoration of significant other here] I easily could, but I won’t. Instead, I’ll share a simple anecdote. Before I left, someone remarked that 10 months was a long time to be separated and they hoped that the time would “fly by” for Jimmy and I. The typical response would be.. “I sure hope so too” but he replied, without missing a beat, “I hope it doesn’t go too fast. I want her to enjoy every minute.” He has supported me, selflessly and without reservation, long before I decided to put 10,000 miles between us.

And then, there are the countless number of people whom are friends and strangers who have offered tid-bits of wisdom, encouragement or, in some cases, a much needed smile. Thanks to you all.

Reflections on 9/11

On the morning September 11, 2001, I was sitting in Mrs. Gustason’s social studies class with sixteen other students (we composed the entirety of the 8th grade at Martins Creek Elementary/Middle School). The phone rang. During the brief conversation her eyes grew wide and her hand rose to cover her mouth. She hung up and explained that there had been a “terrible accident” in New York. A television was wheeled to the front of the classroom and, after some fiddling, a news channel was switched on. Mrs. Gustason explained that one of the World Trade Center towers had been struck by an airliner, she used the phrase “terrible accident” again. We watched as smoke poured from the gaping floors two thirds of the way up the building.

Some of us remarked how we had been there together, just six months prior, on the annual 7th grade trip to Washington, D.C. and the Big Apple. Coming from a rural, public school in Appalachia, it is was remarkable that we had shared such a worldly experience. We sat, wide eyed, jaws lax, stunned by the pictures. We had all stood for a class picture at the observation deck that was now engulfed in billows of smoke. It was likely the only time that our chatty class was completely silent without a teacher’s provocation.

Then, the second plane hit. The video we were watching was clearly an automated picture from a nearby building... steady, clear, and unresponsive as the airliner tore into the building. You could hear the news anchor gasp when she realized what had just happened. Mrs. Gustason then turned the TV, still on, away from our view. Certainly, this was some terrible dream. “But, they said it was an accident...” someone in the class managed to stammer.

The rest of our classes for the day were cancelled. We were all given the opportunity to call our parents and, if we chose, we were allowed to go home. None of us did. We sat together, having known one another since kindergarten (save for me, the oddball, who moved in during 3rd grade), glued to the television screen. We watched the replay of the plane hitting from every conceivable angle. We rode the media constructed roller coaster to the highs and lows of hope, despair, disaster, repeat. We cried together and we talked about our theories but, mostly, we just absorbed. I think it would be adequate to say that we were all pretty traumatized. Certainly, we developed no such wounds as those who were present in New York might bear, but we were a bit shattered nonetheless. (In hindsight, I will never EVER allow my child to watch hours of news programming after a disaster.) Sadly, my perspective of the world became 5 shades more jaded that day. Certainly, at that point, I was fully aware that life was not rainbows and butterflies, but 9/11 gave me a solid, adult perspective about how perilous, how hateful, and how unpredictable this world can be.

On the morning of September 11, 2010, I woke up to sun pouring into my apartment through the glass sliding doors that lead to my patio. My first, fuzzy thought was the relieved realization that I had slept in past 9am. Since it was a Saturday, I had the luxury of staying in bed and cracking open the book on my bedside table. The night before had been deliciously relaxing. My Mercer colleagues had come over to celebrate the conclusion of the work-week and we had basked in my apartment’s pool while sipping Chang. I had intentionally left the day’s calendar wide-open so that I could indulge in lounging, reading, and studying; A welcome respite from the go-go-go agenda of a mega city.

It was probably noon before I even realized the date. It was a little odd to think about: 9 years prior I had been sitting in a classroom, glued to the 9/11 media frenzy, wondering if the world was going to spin out of control. I couldn’t remember for sure, but I am nearly certain that at some point on that day I had sworn never to get on an airplane again. I had likely ruled out any childhood dreams of traveling around the globe. Funny how life changes.

My mere presence in Bangkok (a.k.a traipsing around the world, in hot pursuit of ticks) proves, for lack of a better phrase, that the 9/11 terrorists didn’t win. It is really that simple. And, its not just me. Take a look around. Countless numbers of my colleagues from Mercer are pursuing education and serving others in a variety of locales around the globe. My generation, in general, is ‘going the distance’ in droves. Volunteering for Peace Corps, studying abroad, volunteering in relief efforts, and chasing the dream of saving the world. Life, for the most part, has exceeded pre-9/11 normalcy. Now, I’m sure there could be all sorts of political opposition to my previous statement and, frankly, I would probably agree with you. But, glazing over politics and the shit economy (this is some serious glazing, folks), life has never been better. I chalk it up to an unwavering national optimism. It takes incredible ingenuity, bravery, and compassion to face destruction and continue living in respect and appreciation for fellow humankind. And, for the most part, that is what has been done. Let’s keep it up, both on a personal and societal level.

Friends in High Places

This past weekend was a blast. Hands down, simply wonderful.

I owe most of its excitement to the presence of several Mercer friends and colleagues in Bangkok. These are Mercer graduates (most of them graduated in May) who are teaching English at various schools throughout the city. Coming here, I wasn’t sure about the feasibility of us even seeing each other with any frequency as Bangkok sprawls for miles and has a population of just over 10 million people. I didn’t foresee that there would me much interaction outside major holidays or school breaks. Turns out that through the efficiency of the public transport system, we can hang out quite easily, especially on weekends when our schedules are very nearly free.

As I mentioned before, this weekend was simply fabulous. Friday night the Mercer folks had their first full paycheck to celebrate. We headed to a club in the RCA district called Route 66, clearly foreigner friendly. The cover was reasonable and was actually just a pre-bought drink from the bar. A celebratory mood was evident as there was lots of dancing and laughing. Thai clubs are interesting in that a dance floor, something one would expect to be in every American club, is often absent. Groups cluster around tall tables or corner couches and merely bob to the beat. Luckily, this group is not afraid not afraid to break away from the norm. We danced our clearly American selves into wee hours of the morning when we parted ways.

Friday night was great fun, but the real treat came on Saturday evening. We ate an early dinner at Cabbages and Condoms, a restaurant that directs its profits to helping curb population growth and the spread of HIV. The restaurant atmosphere is divine, a true garden retreat amidst the busy city, and the food is locally sourced and quite tasty. (And it has an English menu embellished with pictures... score!) From dinner we made our way towards one of Bangkok’s storied SkyBars. I was quite naive as to how incredible this experience would be. From our taxis we entered a very chic building. Door attendants greeted us and we were directed, by a continuous stream of attentive service people, to the elevator. The elevator was an “express” and whisked us the the 64th floor where more service people met us at the door. The hallways were lined with incredible orchid arrangements. 2” ft diameter globes of pink, yellow and orange blooms so dense it was hard to believe that they were just flowers. Towering glass doors opened to a grand staircase which led down to the open air restaurant and bar. Stunning would be a grave understatement. Atop one of the tallest buildings in the city, the Sirocco Skybar affords breathtaking (and I mean BREATHTAKING) views of the cityscape and river. Looking out, it was hard to believe that I was a first hand witness to such beauty. The atmosphere was laid-back but very, very luxe. A liive jazz played, LED mood lighting illuminated the bar in an ever-changing rainbow of colors, and the service was spot on. I ordered a drink that I normally would have considered hideously overpriced... but I was standing on the 64th floor at a world renowned restaurant/bar, I was willing to pay my dues. I sipped my Mojito and reflected on my position. Here I was, literally, on top of the world, surrounded by good people, pursuing a lifelong dream and at a moment in life where I was utterly content, both on a micro and macro level. I really couldn’t ask for more.

The Land of Smiles

Everywhere I walk in Bangkok people smile at me. Coming from a small town, I grew up smiling at strangers... mostly because it is hard to meet a stranger when your hometown was as minuscule as mine. I smiled at plenty of strangers in Macon but the realities of urban living jaded me to the habit of smiling at EVERY person I encountered. I slowly became one of those emotionless, blank stares walking down the sidewalk. It wasn’t that I was unhappy (usually it was quite the opposite) it was just that smiling in an urban environment often invited unwelcome attention. I would often smile at people only to have them give me a quizzical stare or, in some cases, a frown in return. Furthermore, I didn’t want the cat calls of construction workers or passing cars. Nor did I need to hear the unsolicited commentary men I passed on the sidewalk who assumed my smile was a form of flirtation when, in my mind, it was a mere nicety. I slowly subdued my smile for the sake of practicality and, sadly, safety.

Well, I am here to say that my smile is slowly creeping back into my daily commute. When you hear of Thailand being called the ‘Land of Smiles’, there is no exaggeration. Now, don’t assume that people here just walk around with a grin plastered to their face, my point is that thais know how to reciprocate a smile. Every single random smile I have flashed has been met with a stranger’s. Every single one. People smile at me and I freely smile back. So far, I have yet to feel as though my smile is being interpreted as anything beyond the kind pleasantry that I intend it to be. In short, it is refreshing not to have to put on a glum face to meet the world.

My (mis)Adventures in Thai Curry

Let's be clear about this, I am curry’s number one fan. It is rare that I sample a curry that I don’t like. I love them hot, spicy, smokey, sweet, sour, thick, thin, cheesy, and just about everything in between. I even carried home 40+ packs of pre-made, thai curry mix from my last visit. Consequently, I was elated when I kept running across food stalls with nothing but vats of various renditions of curry. Sounds like heaven, right?

Experience Number One:

My first sampling started well enough. I pointed at a yellow-green mixture that appeared to have two varieties of eggplant, substantial greens, a few onions, and only a hint of oil floating on the top. It seemed vegetarian-esq and healthy enough. I ordered a bowl full. The first sign that something was not quite right was a particular odor that emanated from my dinnerware. It was musty, unfamiliar, but undoubtedly of the flesh... the kind of odor associated with organs. Oh, no. I looked into my bowl, did a bit of prodding, and came to the conclusion that the white-ish, purple, marbled masses I presumed to be eggplant were, in fact, liver. Eek. I couldn’t just walk away from a freshly served bowl of curry since I was sitting in the vendors stall. Damn my avoidance of plastic take-out containers. Knowing I had no other polite option, I mustered my newly discovered iron stomach and picked around the liver, being careful to eat only the curried pieces I could identify as vegetable. I was left with an impolite amount of meat in my bowl. Luckily, the food stall owner was feeding the local dogs with her scraps... I disposed of my untouched liver bits directly into the mouth of a clearly malnourished stray. I didn’t even feel bad about not eating it. I walked away and made a mental note not to trust similarly colored mystery ingredients in the future. Lesson learned.

Experience Number Two

I had street-noodle varietals for lunch for 3 days in a row. All were tasty, filling, and filled with ingredients I could identify.... but a fourth rendition just didn’t appeal. So, I hunted down a curry cart near my apartment to add a bit of variety to my lunchtime repertoire. Keeping in mind my first experience I steered clear of anything with possible liver chucks. I selected a red curry that had bell peppers, carrots, sprouts, and small bits of meat. The cart lady dished up a heaping portion and even fished for bits from the bottom of the pan... ‘how kind’, I thought. The curry itself was quite spicy, enough to inspire moisture on my brow. I cooled it with bits of stick rice and a cool glass of water. I was about halfway through my plate when I encountered a large piece of fat... presumably the item she fished from the pot’s depths. ‘Umm’, I thought, ‘avoiding that.’ I made a motion to pull it to the side of my bowl so I could access the rice beneath it. In flipping it over I revealed thick, black, bristly hair on the underside. Instant gag induction. ‘Crap, crap, crap... this is NOT good,’ the last thing I needed to do was purge onto the table in front of the local motorbike taxi gang, the 7/11 owner, and the kind curry lady. That would work wonders for my reputation in the neighborhood.

So, I did the only sensible thing I knew how. I pushed the bowl away as calmly as possible, paid for my meal as though I had an appointment (little did she know it was with my bathroom), and darted across the street to my apartment complex. I skipped the elevator and dashed up the stairs to my 6th floor abode, my repulsion growing with each flight. I darted into the safety of my bathroom and lost it: the lunch, any remnants of breakfast, and my tolerance for mystery curry as a whole. After my purge session (for those of you who don’t know... puking is, by far, one of my least favorite activities in the world... right above breaking limbs and undergoing torture) I decided that my adventuresome eating would no longer include curry. No way, no how was I subjecting myself to that again. I detoxed for the rest of the day and into most of the next on fresh fruit and juices. That hunk of hairy fat still gives me the heeblies.

Look Ma, No Hands! Part 2

Above is a video taken from the back of a motorcycle taxi ride. The ride itself is rather tame, but I thought it would be interesting for you to see. It starts near my apartment and ends at the BTS station I use to access the rest of the city. The music is Gwen Stefani's "Happy" and it was selected to try and emulate the thai tecno-pop tunes that seem ubiquitous here.

Feels Like Home to Me

The moment I set foot on the Biology floor of Mahidol-Faculty of Science I felt at home. I was still in the throughs of apartment searching and living out of suitcases, but the familiarity of the labs, research posters, and people served to re-assure me that I was going to be just fine. This sort of comfort is a hard sensation to describe. It is not the sort of emotional comfort that comes with being in the presence of family or friends. Nor is it any varietal of physical or sensory comfort associated with settling in to a beloved piece of furniture or eating a much-loved meal. It is a comfort that arises from identifying and finding your niche in this world. Maybe I have made is a bit too existential, but if you have ever felt as though you had found you ‘calling’ then you know exactly what I am talking about.

The campus of Mahidol-Faculty of Science is, technically, a satellite campus of the main undergraduate institution. Therefore, only the hard science departments are represented. SInce I am coming from a university where such departments are limited to a single, 3.5 story building, the notion of an entire campus dedicated to only biology, chemistry, environmental studies, tropical disease and physics is quite novel. The biology department is relegated to the fourth floor of the sprawling main building complex. Open-air skywalks connect the buildings and the views they afford of the surrounding neighborhoods are pretty magnificent. The department has, at minimum, about 15 independent lab spaces and the professor I am working with shares one of those rooms with another faculty member.

The labs themselves are not quite what I expected but wholly adequate for what is being done. All of the lab equipment, while meticulously well taken care of, is a few years older then would be acceptable stateside. Various freezers and large centrifuges line the hallways and there is an obvious lack of storage space. I was surprised to see undergraduates, Master’s students, and PhD. candidates working side by side at the bench. I suspect my experience at a primarily undergraduate institution jaded me against this sort of arrangement. Oddly, It is easy to distinguish the undergraduates since they are required to wear a strict uniform anytime they are on campus.

The lab I am working in is primary graduate level. Since my faculty mentor is one of the junior-most in the department she has only one Masters and one Ph.D student working on the tick and tick-borne pathogen ecology project. Both students are extraordinarily kind, as is my mentor, Ajun Arunee. ‘Ajun’ is a thai term of endearment/respect for a teacher/mentor figure. I attempted to call her Dr. _____ upon our first meeting and was quickly invited to use Ajun instead. Normally I would hesitate to drop the ‘Dr.’ but adopting ‘Ajun’ greatly simplifies the pronunciation procedure and lessens the chance that I make a fool of myself or offend her. All things considered, ‘Ajun Arunee’ it is.

I have completely lucked out with her as my mentor. Her research interests parallel mine, our personalities compliment one another, and she is by far the kindest, most empathetic and easiest to talk to person I have met so far. I don’t know what I predicted, but the person in my mind was not nearly as awesome as her. Dually so, I think she expected me to march into Mahidol, commandeer her bench and take over her project. (When, in fact, that is precisely the opposite of what I came here to do.) Its nice to be in a situation where mutual assumptions have been improved upon. I think we are both quite relieved.

A bit more about my first interactions with her: We had ‘the talk’ about expectations and goals during which she seemed a bit taken aback when I explained that I wanted to play a supportive role in the current work of her Ph.D student and that I didn’t want to concoct some naive, self-centered research project. (I mean, honestly, where would I even begin?) The project that Chaloa, her Ph.D student, has been working on is precisely what I outlined in my grant application as to what I wanted to participate in. Besides, this man has been working on this for 2.5 YEARS. Who am I to march in and take the lead? The very nature of a Fulbright is international and cultural collaboration, not hijacking. I feel honored enough just being considered worthy enough to butt-in on her project. When she prodded further she realized that I have no ulterior motive to use her data back in the states for my own dissertation or a desire to crank out publications while I am here. In fact, I want them to utilize me however they see fit. I am no expert and both these folks know vastly more about this topic than I ever will. I am quite content to bask in the glow of their knowledge and soak up whatever comes my way. That’s not to say I won’t be doing some serious lab work, just that I have no interest in flaunting my Fulbright status to obtain undue accolades. The project scope is immense and I have no delusions as to what can be accomplished in my 10 months here. My contribution will be a drop in the bucket compared to the many years that have been dedicated to the cause. I only hope that I can introduce some lab techniques or testing protocols that simplify or hasten what they are already doing. I can already tell that I am going to be helping design a tick-assay protocol... something I am comfortable with and uber excited about. All in all, I think humility and support build better international bridges than self-service. Just a hunch.