It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

      Fear not. Living abroad has not turned me into an October caroler. In fact, I remain unhealthily elated at the prospects of skipping Christmas altogether this year. (My grinch-tendencies will be elucidated in a Holiday post) No, my title is referencing the emotions which surround running gel electrophoresis. Not even kidding. 


  I’ve detailed the “bench-high” that I experience in the lab, but the excitement-wonder-anticipation emotion amalgamation that surrounds running a gel is on another emotional plane entirely. First, there is the preparation of the PCR mixtures and the 4-hour thermo-cycler run. This step requires attention to detail, proper technique, and patience. Much like a Santa-obsessed child minding their actions and wriggling in excitement on December 1st, I usually get a little antsy during this process. I double check my PCR cocktail calculations, obnoxiously re-check that the thermo-cycler is running properly, and busy my hands on lab maintenance (or blog writing) during the wait.
  Then comes the making, setting and loading the gel. This is basically like wrapping a Christmas present... In theory, the gift will appear to be more thoughtful, grander, and more sincere the nicer the wrapping technique. At least, that’s the case with gels (I contend that the wrapping quality is irrelevant at Christmas or Birthdays). Therefore, I am a stickler for proper loading technique. This is when my OCD tendencies really rear their Type-A head... I aim for perfectly straight lanes, edges free of bubbles or anomalies, and evenly filled wells. 
  The overwhelming anticipation/excitement of Christmas morning comes as the gel runs. For 35 minutes, which seem like hours when you are anticipating really, really good presents er.. bands, I have to sit and wait for the DNA to creep down the agarose. It reminds me of sitting at my grandparent’s breakfast table, my 5-year-old self ready to tear through the pile of presents visible in the living room, only to be told to sit up straight and finish my grapefruit. I have to pretend like I am cool-as-a-cucumber during this time when, in reality, all I can think about is whether or not there is some hidden gem of a band waiting to reveal itself to me.
  Finally, I get to dig into the Gel Electrophoresis goodies. Just as some people gasp in excitement while tearing into the wrapping paper of their Christmas presents, I hold my breath as the UV light flutters onto full power and illuminates my gel. I am quite happy if I see bands that I expected to see (in the case of DNA quality checks). These bands prove that my extraction and PCR protocol is valid and that I didn’t screw up along the way. Nice to have (a real drag when they are not there), but these are not nearly as exciting as having a pathogen band show up. These bands are the equivalent of getting a present that I wanted but didn’t expect. This is usually the point when I do a happy dance, let out a yelp of glee, and smile so hard I am sore the next day. 

I don’t like to make generalizations BUT

     ...after 2 months of daily field research and tedious observation I have deduced that most Thais have no spatial awareness or, for that matter, an ounce of spatial courtesy. Period.
      Really, it must be genetic. Or, maybe, it is only a by-product of coping with life in the sprawling sea of people known as Bangkok. Either way, annoying doesn’t even begin to cover it.


      I must be exaggerating, right? Surely, I have just run across a chance few people who were so into their moment that they failed to notice anyone else around them. Wrong. It happens constantly. There is the 20-something lady at the bottom of the escalator who stops, dead center of the landing pad, to answer a text when there are 40 steps full of people barreling down towards her. Then, there are the people who jump enthusiastically into the sidewalk bustle only to walk achingly slow and zigzag across the entire thoroughfare. These same people also like to admire the street vendors wares at random and from a distance, standing firmly in the center of the sidewalk and causing enormous people-jams. There is the very common breed who push their way onto the BTS train or bus, elbowing you 5 times on the way in and using you as a balancing prop when the ride gets rough. Better yet, there are those people who start climbing up the perilously steep bus steps as you are trying to step down, ramming their way by and nearly sending you crashing to the pavement. Love them all.


       However, my absolute favorite variety of the spatially unaware emerges when it rains. They wield umbrellas and are the epitome of their kind. Being about 6” or more taller than the average Thai woman, my head exists at the height of where the pokiest part of their umbrella’s fall. If humidity is approaching the dew point umbrellas come out in full force and I am left dodging and weaving in a pitiful attempt to escape unscathed. Often, they gingerly spin their umbrellas, turning them into blades of death sure to snag into my ponytail, scratch my arms and come thisclose to leaving me with an eye patch. Matters become even more comical, or infuriating, when it actually starts to rain. People will stand under the bus stop (which has a roof, mind you) with their umbrellas deployed, tilting them back to allow a view of the approaching bus numbers and leaving those behind them (often me) drenched from the run-off and unable to view the numbers for themselves. Better yet, people actually attempt to board the bus with their umbrellas open in hopes of sparing their hair the two-seconds worth of rain they would be subjected to if they had the courtesy to close them beforehand. I couldn’t count on my fingers and toes the number of times I have been behind someone who insists on keeping their umbrella open until the very last moment... leaving me at the receiving end of the umbrella spines and the poof of water that they emit when shaking it off on the bus steps. (For these reasons I think people who choose to carry umbrellas should be subject to a permitting process complete with vision test, spatial awareness check, and a ‘driving-test’ in real world conditions. If you can’t be courteous then you shouldn’t get the benefit of staying dry.)


       To be very honest, the spatial awareness disconnect is probably the issue that most aggravates me on a day-to-day basis. 98% of the time I can laugh it off. But there are the rare moments when I allow myself to get so frustrated that I just need to escape. These are the days when I forgo the bus stop, flag a taxi home from work when it is raining (sianara, umbrella-wielders!), have dinner delivered to my apartment (haha, take THAT you sidewalk hoggers!), and have a mental-health evening fit with a face-mask, hot-shower, and indulgence in the latest episode of ANTM.

Suu-ay Mak! Thai Standards of Beauty from a Farang Perspective.

      I am told I am beautiful (Suu-ay in thai) on a daily basis here. Sometimes, depending on my activities, there is a deluge of compliments. The motorcycle taxi driver gang just outside my apartment, women sitting next to me on the bus, the lady I buy my grilled banana breakfast from, students in the Biology department at Mahidol; all of them exclaim how beautiful I am whenever I encounter them. It is a little odd.  At first I thought it was just a form of simple flattery for farang. Perhaps they assumed it was one of the only thai words that I was familiar with and they wanted to be kind or, more insidiously for those peddling goods, that they wanted my business. Now I realize that not only is it genuine but it comes from a deeply-engrained and complicated set of beauty standards. 

      First of all, there is the issue of skin hue. A short stroll through any beauty department will reveal an overwhelming number of skin bleaching products for both men and women. There is eye cream, face cleanser, body wash, deodorant, foot creme, face masks, body scrubs, and bar soap.  In fact, finding any of these items without skin whiteners or brighteners is basically impossible. Even imported brands have added ingredients. (Good thing I brought enough BMe, Jason Organics, LUSH, and Burt’s Bees to ration out until someone comes to visit!) I am whiter than white and I suspect that the use of any sort of whitening agent would take my skin from beyond-fair to translucent. I love my pale skin but I also like having enough color so I am not confused with a corpse. But Thai people? They buy and use these products on a daily basis. Pale skin is a sign of beauty, wealth, and a high-class background. Women especially are subject to light skin standards. They carry umbrellas on sunny days, wear long sleeve shirts, and spend obscene amounts of money on lotions, potions, and spa treatments to turn their almond hued skin porcelain white.

Portion of the the "Beauty" aisle in Big C. All whitening. 

      Think about the American obsession with tanning beds, sunless tanner, and sun-bathing. Women in the States spend obscene amounts of money and time to risk melanoma and future wrinkles in order achieve the ideal sun-kissed look. Precisely the opposite of the Thai ideal... In fact, while my fair skin earns me compliments here, I cannot count the number of times someone has made a snide comment about how pale or sickly I look in the States. People have joked about how they are ‘blinded’ by my whiteness or commented that I would look so much more attractive with a bit of a tan. 

      I want to be clear that both standards are harmful, obsessive, and generally ridiculous. Both endanger a person’s physical health and mental well being. Both suck ludicrous amounts of money from the pockets of people who buy into advertisement campaigns, lifestyle ideals, and beauty standards that fail to accommodate the natural variety of human skin pigment. On one level, I am more than a little disgusted by both of them. On another level, I feel sorry for anyone, Thai or American, who feels as though they have to alter their appearance in order to be considered beautiful. I say screw them all and own what you have. Easier said than done, I realize, but if more people adopted this attitude it would wear on the rigidity of these standards. 

      Secondly, Thais regard European facial features as highly desirable. Most actresses and pop-stars that appear on television, in movies, on print ads, and on billboards look far more Western than Thai. And most Thai women see their own shallow-broad noses, pronounced lips, and almond shaped eyes as ugly and, instead, aspire to the pointy noses, thin-flat lips, and rounded eyes that characterize a European face. Just as American women flock to plastic surgeons for lip plumps and rhinoplasties to confound their European heritage, affluent Thai women undergo blepharoplasties and lip reductions to appear more Western. It fits the overused cliche that one always wants what they don’t have. 

      Keeping all this in mind, it is difficult for me to accept a ‘You’re so beautiful’ compliment without listening between the lines to hear an ‘I’m so ugly’ self-assessment... particularly when I am complimented by women. It bothers me and I try, as much as possible, to return the compliment using specific examples of why I think they are beautiful. Sometimes it works, most times they just brush it off and say that they are not pretty in comparison. In reality, even the most ordinary Thai woman is breathtakingly beautiful. The Western standard is deeply engrained as the way to be attractive... most of these ideals are the result of Americanization of media and advertisements. I could be politically correct and say “Globalization” but that is simply not a genuine representation of what is going on here. It is American T.V. shows, movie-stars, advertisements, and products that have, for the most part, resulted in this push toward Westernized beauty. Shame on the advertising and telecommunication companies who have allowed this to happen. 

Homesickness? No. Catsickness? Yes!

      I get asked alot, by friends here and back in the States, whether I am homesick. They always seem a little disappointed when I say no. Or, they don’t believe me. But, really, I don’t get homesick... I have been leaving ‘home’ (we’ll get to the definition of this word in a moment) since 3rd grade Girl Scout camp and while I do have memories of crying myself to sleep, surrounded by strangers, they date back to an era when my age was a single digit. I think this is aided by the fact that ‘home’ is a pretty plastic term to me. Right now, I consider my ‘home’ Bangkok Living Apartments. Had one asked me the same question 3 months ago, I would have answered my home in Macon. I understand that some people associate home with their folk’s house, in many nostalgic ways I do too, but having a ‘home’ that is mine and that I can find retreat in on a daily basis is an intrinsic factor for my happiness and, frankly, I haven’t legitimately lived at my parents house for quite some time (they would agree with this statement, by the way). I associate ‘home’ with where-ever I have set up shop for more than a 2-3week stay.    So, being ‘homesick’ in my situation just simply doesn’t apply.

  Do I miss people? Sure, on many levels, yes. But I nurture and maintain my closest relationships on a day-to-day basis thanks to the wonders of Skype and email. I even keep in touch with the masses via Facebook. Certainly, there are times when I wish I could teleport myself into my parent’s living room for a face-face chat and hug or that I could momentarily appear in Macon for a cuddle on the couch with Jimmy. But, those moments are fleeting and acknowledged fantasy, the same way someone says “Gosh, I wish I were on a beach in Jamaica right now” while sitting in their office cubicle. There is some yearning there but it comes full-acknowledgement that the idea is a momentary fancy. Maybe I am too much of a realist, but I have accepted the fact that I am here, they are there, and for the moment we make do with the lines of communication that are available to us. 

  All this being said, I miss my cat. Like crazy. That is one relationship that Skype does nothing for. Interaction with a pet is so, completely different than interaction with people. Ghandi and I had a rhythm going in our life before. We talked via neck scratches, purrs, fetch-sessions, yowls, cuddle-time, paw-placement, and a host of other ways that are difficult to put into words. I swear, that cat and I have a telepathic connection... if such a thing exists. He knows when I am blue, sick, excited, worried, anxious, relaxed, sleepy. You name the emotion, he has a feline response. All of these things are simply not replicable via any form of communication I have at my disposal. In fact, they can’t be had without direct interaction... something that is entirely impossible at the moment. Sure, I see fleeting pictures of him complements of my parents web-cam but if I coo, click, or call to him in our usual ways he scampers to the window and waits for me to come into view. Breaks my heart. All I can do is hope that by making a fool of myself through cat-talk and cooing over Skype that he won’t forget me. Keep your fingers crossed. 

Bliss Filled Weekend::: Amphawa, Samut Songkhram, Samut Sakhon

      Chalao and his wife, Wan, invited me for a weekend outside of the city. It took me a full quarter of a second to respond with a resounding ‘yes!’. Did I care where we went? Nope. Was I positively delighted to get a Thai perspective on traveling within the country? You ‘betcha!

      So, for the second weekend in a row, I suited up with my backpack and made a foray outside of the urban jungle. Saturday morning Chalao and Wan swung by my apartment to pick me up. I had the entire backseat of his truck to myself (my abs were still throbbing from my balancing act on the train) complete with A/C and company that didn’t look at me like I was an alien. We chatted a bit on the ride but mostly I just enjoyed the window view. Being a passenger is a foreign concept to me... since I have had a driving permit (and actually before, thanks Mom!), I have driven everywhere Roadtrip? I’ll drive! It just is easier that way. (Can we say control freak?) Being able to kick back, relax and enjoy the view was a real treat. That being said....

      Would I ever drive here? Hell. No. Not only is there the tricky factor of lane/steering-wheel orientation but traffic is INSANE. Utterly ridiculous. Take Atlanta traffic at 5pm, on a Friday, before a Braves game and a U2 concert; add 3 million motorcycles, 10,000 tuk tuks, a few thousand food cards, and a disregard for any concept of road courtesy and *ta-da* you have just created Bangkok on the very best of days. (Now imagine its worst) Needless to say, I was completely impressed with Chalao’s driving skills. In moments where I would be white-knuckling and spewing profanities he just chuckles and manages to maneuver through the traffic with ease and safety. Incredible. 

     Anyways, the drive there was neat and before long we were out of the realm of Bangkok. Amphawa is in the Central Coastal Plain area of Thailand. Much of the land between Bangkok and there is in the coastal floodplain and, consequently, is utilized as salt flats. Very intriguing. The water is pulled, via windmill (hey, hey Dutch roots), from the Gulf, deposited into neatly organized flats where it evaporates, and then is hand harvested. That’s right. They hand-harvest salt. I will never again take salt for granted.

      Once we were in Amphawa, we checked into our homestay. It was beyond lovely. Situated on the Maeklong River, the restaurant/cottages we were staying at were surrounded by coconut plantations and not much else. A view up or down the river revealed a limited number of other houses and two temples. Precisely what this rural-loving girl likes to see.... as little human development as possible. 

      We set out, after lunch, for the sightseeing. We met up with B, Wan’s friend from work, and her husband, Tum, both of whom were very familiar with the area and served as our tour guides for our stay. It was a delightful afternoon, full of laughter, pictures, and lots of good memories. We spent alot of time on the Maeklong river both in paddled and motorized longtail boats. Our evening was spent time at the night market and on a firefly tour to see the famous synchronized blinking of the local species. Too neat.

      The next day we visited the famous Maeklong Station market... a market which is literally built each day on top of the railroad tracks making in necessary for the vendors to pull down their tarps and pull back their wares as the train passes. It is a sight to be seen. The transformation is nothing short of incredible. 

      This area was PACKED with Western tourists... Most of them German or French. Nearly all were unhappy, bitter, rude, and epitomized everything I hate about tourists here. They were unappreciative of local culture, travelled in hordes, were disrespectful in dress, action, and word and just were generally pests. Now, I fully acknowledge that for the entire duration of my time here, I am basically a tourist. Fine. But these people? They were terrible, awful, very-bad, no-good representations of Westerners everywhere. I was ashamed. When one attempted to talk to me (a German man who seemed to think my eyes were around my collarbone) I feigned naiveté. 

      After the train fiasco, we walked around the town, visited the temple, and took a ride on the river ferry (funny how the tourists were absent from the true cultural gems of the city). We grabbed a pumelo for the road and then ventured to see the Gulf of Thailand. Exciting! I was beyond thrilled when we wound around a bend and there it was, a watery expanse that, in theory, connected me back to the States. Nifty, nifty, nifty. I gawked out the window, cooed about the mangrove forests, and was generally over-the-moon with contentment. We stopped by a temple to visit a museum and stepped into a village for the Sunday afternoon tradition of fish-fighting and, naturally, gambling. We then proceeded to a provincial park to visit the mangroves, the resident monkeys, and see the Gulf up close and in-person. Our tour-guide also doubled as the security guard and brandished a sling-shot to keep the curious simians at bay. He talked about mangrove ecology, the fact the the Gulf we were seeing was actually high-tide and that the real Gulf technically started 8km to the South (this, by the way, is one of the longest horizontal tide changes in the world) and that when the tide was out clams were harvested from the mudflats by the locals (both humanoid and simian). 

      Before bidding adieu, he recommended a local restaurant that his wife worked at... Naturally, we stopped there on the way home. It was divine. Mudflat clam curry, a whole fried fish, and a variation of Tom Yum Goong (my fave soup here) that incorporated both local shrimp and crab with local coconut and pumelo juice. I left in a contentment coma. It was the perfect conclusion to a perfectly blissful weekend. 

      I felt so welcomed by Chalao, his wife and their friends. This was easily the most lovely weekend I have had so far. Every single moment was simply magical. 

Chalao's Birthday!

         I discovered that last Tuesday was Chalao’s birthday thanks to the omnipotent powers of Facebook. I love birthdays. Not my own, but other people’s. Why, you ask? Cake (duh) and the general atmosphere of celebration... a birthday forces everyone to be cheery. Love. It. 

        Needless to say, a cake was a necessity. I had no clue what thai tradition was but I brought a cake. Had I been in the States, I would have made this cake (it is my favorite act of gastronomic creativity... I have taken decorating classes and everything. no lie) but a lack of an oven makes that impossible here. A store-bought cake would have to suffice. Luckily, the local Big C had several options. After some debate, I chose an S&P ‘Black Forest’ cake with dark chocolate trimmings. If you know me, you’ll notice that my choice was hardly altruistic. 

       I think it went over well. He was totally surprised and it was nice to get a few people from the Biology department together to celebrate. It ended up being a very casual and relaxed get together. There was lots of laughter, a healthy dose of cake, and the quintessential air of celebration I love so much.  

City Escape: Ruins, Monkeys, and Railways

Sometimes a mega city can simply be too much. So, instead of holing up in my apartment or getting blue, I packed my backpack and hopped a train north. I had looked on the map in my Lonely Planet guidebook, picked several cities within 200 km and accessible by rail, and chose the one with the most interesting introductory paragraph. I landed up in Lopburi and it was beyond fantastic. The town is rurally located, built amidst 16th century ruins of palaces and temples, and is filled with a mind-boggling number of mischievous monkeys 

My train ride there was lovely. I was relaxed just watching the urban sprawl fade into the distance. My fare was a whopping 50 baht for a ‘rapid’ train northward. No air-conditioning but very breezy open windows and, technically, I didn’t have a seat... I managed to successfully play musical chairs as people disembarked so I didn’t have to stand for the entire trip. I hopped on the train at about 7:20 am Sat. morning and arrived in Lopburi about 2 hours later. 

My first order of business was to find food for breakfast and a bed for that evening. I managed to do both within about a half an hour. My room at Noom’s Guesthouse was small with a single bed and not much else. But I did have a view out of half a window and the bedspread was cheery and colorful. Naturally, there was no air-con but for 150 baht a night it can hardly be expected. 

       Right outside the guesthouse there was a food stall cooking up tiny, purple pancakes. I bought a box and upon tasting deduced that they were a mix of taro, coconut and corn... and quite tasty.

Having dropped off my backpack, I found a city map and embarked on my sightseeing mission. There were a plethora of ruin sites in town and I wanted to see as many as I could. Most of them had free admission, but one or two charged a nominal fee because they had a museum on site. The various ruins and temples were lovely and it was nice to learn about some of Thailand’s cultural and natural history... something I have been woefully negligent of. 

I saved the temples most famous for the monkeys for the afternoon because I knew once I was there I would be reticent to visit anywhere without adorable, simian inhabitants.The shrine for the monkeys is situated in the center of town and is surrounded by a fence... though its use is unknown since the monkeys pay it no mind. I was wearing a long-ish skirt that day and only carried a small sling bag... I was hoping to slide under the radar of both people and critters. Nonetheless, upon approaching the temple, I was an immediate target of the monkeys. I quickly realized that my skirt provided a game for them. It could serve as a momentary cape, a method of climbing, a colorful flag, or a place to hide when retreating from a chase. I am fairly certain that the monkeys knew I was not thai; they were more insistent on food demands, were more daring in climbing on me, and took full advantage of my slight fear of being bitten.  Regardless, I had a ball playing with them and photographing their antics. To say they were adorable would be an understatement. As Dr. Smith says, “Cute as button-pie.”

After hanging out with the monkeys until shrine closing time, I went in search of something to eat. The food in Lopburi was slightly different than what I find in Bangkok. It was a bit more tradtitional thai, with less Chinese influence (though there were several specifically Chinese restaurants in town). The main drag that paralleled the railroad tracks turned into a virtual food-festival once the sun started setting. The road was lined with festive carts and cart-cooks sung the praises of their fare. Since Thailand is still celebrating the Vegetarian Festival, I didn’t have to play guessing games with mystery meat... I chose a food cart run by an elderly couple that was serving up enticing smelling pat-thai. My nose knew best and when the meal arrived I was rewarded with some of the best food I have had thus far. Fresh, cooked to perfection and served with love and attention to detail. Yum.

The next morning I woke up bright and early to find breakfast and purchase my ticket back to Bangkok. I ate the pancakes again (they were too tasty and cheap (10 bath!!) to pass up) and paid a visit to the rail station ticket counter. I selected the 8:45am train (an ordinary train) and paid the steep fare of 28 baht. I had two hours to kill in town before my train left and I spent it visiting the local wet market. Everything from produce to hula-hoops were sold on the streets. I enjoyed just being immersed in rural commerce. While the streets were packed, they were no where near as crowded as the streets or markets in Bangkok. It felt like a luxury to mosey around and not feel utterly overwhelmed. 

I checked out of the guesthouse, and headed for the train station. I expected to wait about 15 minutes for the train to arrive and futzed with my touch. 15 minutes turned into and hour before I started getting worried... maybe I had missed my train? I thought back and it occurred to me that no trains had passed. I gave a worried glance to a rail security guard. He seemed to understand and we entered a rudimentary thai conversation from which I deduced that my train was, in fact, late. He said what I thought amounted to ‘it will be coming shortly’. An hour later and no sign of the train, I was approached by a station attendant. He said the train was still delayed but would arrive within the hour. At this point, I was a little concerned. I needed to be back in Bangkok by 3 to teach a class at the NGO I have been volunteering with. I knew this would cut it close, but without any alternative options, I just bided my time. The train finally arrived at noon. I gleefully hopped on only to realize that it was standing room only... and by that I mean the only available space was directly in the center of the aisle, wedged in between the two rows of people already standing within reach of the handholds. I giggled, found a spot for my backpack in the luggage racks (next to a box containing a chicken, mind you), and began the 2 hour balancing act that was my ride home. If you think for one moment that these trains glide gently across the thai countryside you are very wrong. They rumble, shudder, jerk and screech along the tracks... forget a balance board or ball for an ab-workout, just trying to stay vertical was the most thorough core workout I have ever gotten. That being said, the ride was as much a cultural education as the entirety of my day sightseeing. I was the only Westerner in sight (most opt for the more expensive, air-conditioned seats found in the 2nd and 1st class cars) and I am certain I provided continuous entertainment for everyone in my car. 

2 hours later, I stepped off the train at Bang Sue Junction, the Bangkok station nearest my apartment, and looked at the time. It was 2:15 and I had to be across town (in professional wear for teaching) in 45 minutes. Yikes! I hopped a taxi to my apartment, ran upstairs, underwent a 10 minute presto-chango act complete with shower, and undertook a hurried commute across town. I managed to get to class only 5 minutes late and before some of my students. A Bangkok Miracle. 

Bangkok Drag

I've been slacking in the pictures department so I just had to share these incredible shots of a drag show that I had the pleasure of attending last weekend. Frankly, I can't think of a more fabulous way to spend a Friday evening. Too much fun.

I Sold Out

That’s right, I succumbed to the Krispy Kreme nostalgia. But, lets get one thing straight... I don’t even like doughnuts. In fact, I think they are one of the most useless dessert items out there. Sweet enough to make my head spin and then they sit in my stomach like a brink... a lard-filled, powdered sugar caked, oil fried brick. Give me pie, cobbler, ice cream, gelato, chocolate, cookies, or even a brownie and I won’t protest.... but doughnuts just don’t do it for me.

That being said, I stood in line for 2.5 hours, the only Westerner in sight, for a dozen Krispy Kreme doughnuts. An overwhelming pang of homesickness you might ask? Wrong. Thais loove doughnuts. Love. Them. And when Krispy Kreme opened its first Thailand franchise at the swanky Siam Paragon shopping center, Thais lined up for days to taste them. They are the ‘it’ foodstuff of the moment. As one Bangkok Post contributor put it; a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts nestled into the tell-tale oversized, logo-ed bag has become the hottest Bangkok accessory. So when the Masters student in my lab, Bpio, mentioned that she wanted to try one (and all the other students I was eating lunch with enthusiastically agreed) I knew it was my calling. “We’ll have them Monday” I said, “You have to try a Krispy Kreme... they are the epitome of American food.”

    Little did I know I would wait in line for a humorously long time to make this promise come true. So, I waited, in the rain, for a box of desserts that I had no particular attachment to. And let me tell you, it was totally worth it. The smile on Chaloa’s face upon first taste was worth my time and money 10X over. The women who inspired my Krispy Kreme adventure were delighted. It was the first time I have been able to give back anything to these people who have so warmly welcomed me into their laboratory and friend-circle. Krispy Kreme may not be anything I like personally and it might represent the most unhealthy of American food-stuffs but they were the perfect demonstration of my gratitude and appreciation. 

Aftermath of a Tragedy

As traumatizing my experience with the motorcycle accident was, I have walked away with valuable insight and information.... most of which I am still trying to appreciate:

1.  There is no ‘Good Samaritan’ Law in Thailand and nothing close to an equivalency. Consequently, the police officer who stopped me was likely trying to protect my interests. Had I interfered, I could have been held liable for personal and property damages that the woman had sustained. I might have had to pay her hospital bill and her family could have sued me if she had died. In fact, I would have likely been arrested for interfering at the scene of an accident. In practical terms, without pondering too deeply on seeing a woman die in the street, all of this sounds rational and I can convince myself to conjure up feelings of relief that I didn’t get myself entangled in a situation that was a proverbial can-of-worms.

      HOWEVER, I think it is utterly absurd that this is the reality of Thailand’s legal system. Punished for helping someone? Really?! I mean, I get the premise... no one wants an unqualified joe-schmoo pounding out chest compressions on a spinal cord victim. But, I think most people who are first-aid trained approach a situation and try to find the least invasive manner to give aid. I knew better than to move this woman but I also knew that rescue breathing would prolong her time of viability. I wasn’t going to try to perform open heart surgery, I just wanted to provide the most basic of aid before qualified paramedics arrived on the scene. And, as I mentioned in the previous post, I felt most compelled to offer her comfort. I think that is the only humane and moral thing to do. If acting out of compassion and humanity is a crime, then I am okay with being a criminal.

2.  I discovered that in a grave situation I don’t cower in fear. That is surprisingly empowering feeling. I lead an insulated, blessed, and overwhelmingly fortunate life. I don’t encounter life-or-death situations with any sort of frequency. Knowing that when I am in the midst of one I maintain some semblance of composure and morality is a comforting feeling. I didn’t act perfectly, in hindsight I wish I had pressed the police officer more to allow me to help her, but I certainly didn’t just walk away. Lots of people around me did.

   Along the same line, I confirmed that while my own blood (a symbol of my morality) can leave me faint and quivering in fear, the sight of someone else’s, even a great deal of it, doesn’t phase me. This sounds trivial, but those of you close to me know that I get a pretty iffy with mild self-injury (comically so, in fact). I have successfully observed child-birth, surgery, and other peoples moderate injuries without much trouble but I had never before dealt with an traumatic emergency of this caliber. Needless to say, I might have dry-heaved after the fact but in the moment I barely noticed to its presence.

3. Thais are far more casual about death than Westerners. This might sound critical but it is not, it is simply a fact. I was shocked, angered, and horrified when dealing with this first hand but in hindsight I realize that my condemnation of their actions arose from a place of prejudice. I viewed their reaction through my Western relationship with death.

    I don’t have a comfortable relationship with death. Just saying or thinking the word gives me the momentary heeblies and my mind wanders to places I hate it being. I can’t speak for everyone, mostly because in the States death contemplation is not typical conversation material, but I would wager that most Westerners have similar feelings. That being said, that is simply not how it is here. Death simply doesn’t carry the same mental or emotional weight. People talk gingerly about someone dying , about their own death, and about their previous deaths. Buddhism is the root of this and I don’t know enough about the teachings of it to comment much further.

4. My morning jaunts on motorcycle taxis are over. I used to look forward to my daily ride as it often served as a sort of pick-me-up. I would gingerly hop on the back of a motorcycle (or scooter), helmet-less, and giggle as the driver navigated through the morning traffic. I prided myself in my transformation from awkward, terrified and white knuckling tourist to glamourous and relaxed morning commuter.

   Well, I have re-joined the ranks of the terrified. I now pound the pavement on the 1.6 km walk to the BTS station or hop a bus to the university. Running late? I smile and hail a taxi with a steel cage and seatbelts, happily paying the extra 10 baht above the motorcycle fare (about 35 cents). In a city where traffic laws are long-forgotten-suggestions and the only observed rule is that the biggest vehicle wins (a law of physics, really) I am simply not going to risk being at the bottom of the proverbial food chain. This decision might inconvenience me but so would a traumatic head injury.

    And, for the record, I reveled in driving my own motorcycle in the states but, frankly, this is a totally different world. I’ll always defend my appreciation and use of motorcycles while stateside, but I just can’t justify risking my life here. Accidents happen far too frequently, there is no protective gear and I am utterly out of control as a passenger with drivers who have no qualifications. I’ll save my motorcycle kicks for when I can wrap myself in kevlar and make my own mistakes.

5.  And, finally, this incident was the ultimate test of my ‘Optimism or Flounder’ assertion. I gave myself a few days to decompress and forgave myself for my indignant and angry feelings. Now, I am over it. I’ve been enjoying my morning walks even more now just knowing that I am fortunate enough to be alive and experiencing them.