The Khon Thai Family

    I’ve spoken before about Westerners forever being outsiders in Thailand. If you are not ‘khon Thai’ you can forget ever losing the farang (or worse) label. This annoys me to a certain degree. Not because I think I should be accepted here after a mere seven months but because I think this attitude encourages rampant xenophobia at best and overt racism at worst. All this being said, the bond of ‘khon Thai’ is beautifully strong. People speak to strangers as siblings, very literally using terms of sibling endearment which are built right into the language, and Thai children receive parental love from bus attendants, street vendors, and passerbys. The most beautiful examples of the kindred bond of ‘khon Thais’ that I have witnessed happen on the skytrain. The scenario runs like this:
    A BTS officer, clad in a skin-tight and intimidating uniform, gently leads a blind man up the stairs and into a train queue. The officer allows the man, a stranger, to wrap his arm around his waist and lean into his chest for support on the trek up the stairs. As the officer leaves the man in line he pats his hands tenderly and offers a parting ‘chok dee’, ‘goodluck’ in Thai. As the train whizzes to a stop a business man reaches out to the blind mans forearm, calling him ‘Nong’ or ‘little brother’. This business man, clad in an expensive suit and designer shoes, guides the blind man onto a sardine-packed train using his own body to make enough standing room for them both. Once they are both safely aboard, he grabs the man’s hand and lifts it to the handhold above wrapping his own hand around his to ensure his grip. If you were to witness their conversation from afar you would think they were old friends. Instead, they are talking about simple things; the weather, their destinations, their children. The train comes to a halt and there is a mass exodus at a popular stop. Suddenly, the car is barely packed. A seated young woman sees the blind man and immediately stands... tapping his elbow lightly and working in tandem with the business man to ensure that the man’s sight stick doesn’t get tangled in the mid-car support poles. Once seated, the blind man offers thanks and smiles widely. At the next stop both the businessman and the young woman depart saying brief goodbyes to the seated man. We come to my stop, Saphan Khwai. The blind man stands himself up and takes barely a step before a new BTS officer glides onto the train and takes his arm. The first officer must have walkie-talkied forward and alerted the officers at this station of the man’s needs and car number. The train doors stay open longer than usual to ensure that the man is safely departed. I watch as this officer, much like the first, allows the man to wrap his arms around him on their descent down the stairs. They are chattering away like old comrades.
    I’ve seen such a scenario happen on three separate occasions and it never ceases to re-instill my faith in humanity. In a city of 12 million people, it is nothing short of a miracle that a disabled person is catered to and cared for with such compassion. I’m not sure it would happen anywhere else in the world. As much as I hate the exclusivity of the ‘khon Thai’ clan, I am in awe of their ability to drop judgement, fear, and ego to help one of their family members in need. I hope that in this small but world changing way, I will someday be ‘khon Thai’ too. 

The Constant Adventure of Bangkok Public Transportation

      I’ve been driving since I was 12 or so.  How, might you ask, did I start so young? As an only child of protective/terrified parents they did what made the most sense... they gave me ample practice time behind the wheel before releasing me into the world of driving permits and unsupervised vehicle operation. My mother would allow me to drive her on errand runs, weekly jaunts into N.Ga, and wherever else she thought would offer me good driving practice. At the time I thought it was SO RAD and, in retrospect, it was an extraordinarily wise way for her to be there for the inevitable new driver screw-ups. I credit her with a (nearly) flawless driving record and my confidence behind the wheel. Living rurally throughout high school drive times were long, roads were treacherous, and too many of my classmates live’s were abbreviated because they made newbie errors on unforgiving roads. Mom clearly knew best.
      All this being said, I’ve spent the last 7ish year relying solely on myself for transport. I’ve always preferred to be ‘the driver’ with my group of friends and I genuinely enjoy driving. I’ve embarked on road-trips for no reason and, if particularly upset/bored/stressed, will often jump in the car for a spin around the neighborhood with the windows down and music blaring. 
      I haven’t driven for 6 months and it is dually bizarre and empowering. I’ve relied on public transportation, taxis, rides from friends and my own two feet to get around. It is a testament to the Thai Public Transport system that I have done all this cheaply, safely, and efficiently. Bangkok traffic is gnarly. 
      I use the SkyTrain to zip across town on evenings and weekends, high above the kilometer long traffic jams on Sukhimvit and Silom. The trains are frequent, every 5 mins or so, and may or may not be packed sardine style.The people-jammed cars are always eerily quiet unless there are a group of American’s on board... in which case their entire, boisterous conversation rings throughout the length of the train. A highlight of the BTS are the omnipresent BTS police, men in skintight uniforms wielding whistles and stern looks for anyone who crosses the yellow line or dives through the closing doors. Each one has their own separate whistling style. Some are whistle-happy, unleashing a shrill tone at every conceivable opportunity. Others reserve their chides for true offenders. One particularly conversational policeman at Sanam Pao has a jovial greeting for each farang who walks off the train. 
      My commute to work is not on the SkyTrain line but I am fortunate that the municipal bus system is convenient and cheap. I hop on a bus (#44 or #67) that may or may not be air-conditioned and, occasionally, has bus pets... namely squirrels or mice that reside in a cage bolted to the gear box and loved-on by the driver. Sound bizarre? It is SO very Bangkok. I love it. I’ve reached a level of fuzzy familiarity with many of the bus attendants and drivers. Because I get off at one of the largest public hospitals (right next to my university) and am usually dressed in professional wear, they assume I am a physician or physician in training. They address me as ‘Doctor’, a title which I have tirelessly tried to lose without much success. The bus never fails to be interesting. Fellow riders can be entertaining, my own actions embarrassingly clumsy, or the sights from the window particularly engaging... it all depends on the day.
      As much as I would like to say I have sworn off motorcycle taxis after the harrowing accident I witnessed, I haven’t. Car taxis are great for cross-city, late-night commutes but nothing beats the back of a motorcycle when I need to get somewhere quickly. When I say traffic here is terrible, I am doing it great favors. Between the hours of 7am-10am and 3:30pm-6:30pm many roads are hopelessly gridlocked. Motorcycle taxi men deftly weave in and out of traffic and can get me places in 5-10 minutes that it would take an hour or more otherwise. They are cheap, thrilling and offer a nice, breezy retreat from pounding the pavement. The taxi men are usually very kind and surprisingly careful. While weaving through traffic via motorcycle would be disastrous Stateside (can you imagine how pissed off Atlanta drivers would be if someone dared to beat them to their exit?), Bangkok drivers are hyper aware of their surroundings and are accustomed to looking for brazen pedestrians and zippy motorcycles. Its just part of the normal traffic scene here. All this praise was a lame attempt to justify my use of them to my mother. Maybe it worked? Doubtful. 
Finding transport and navigating the city is a daily adventure that can be dually exciting and frustrating. I look forward to having my car again but, for now, view my daily commutes and outings as constant adventures. Life is never boring here. 

It Never Gets Easier

     I’m the type of person who gets misty eyed watching Folgers commercials. I’ve cried audibly while sitting in a movie theatre. I get teary eyed at the most mundane and simple of things. It’s a little silly but I’ve always tried to spin it as a positive.... At least I am not some cut-throat, jaded, coldhearted person who is desensitized to situations where one should be upset. Right?  I understand that I probably shouldn’t be so moved by a 30second video hawking coffee but I’m okay with shedding a tear when I witness injustice, suffering or heartbreak on the big screen or in the real world. 
     Now, put this in context in Bangkok. On any given day, I walk by people, their faces muddied with street filth, their clothes in tatters, who are begging for change. Sometimes it is a woman swaddling a baby. Sometimes it is an armless person, holding the change cup between their teeth. Sometimes it is a blind person, a speaker/boombox strung around their neck, microphone in hand who is shuffling down a bustling sidewalk singing for tips. On the train it might be a man on a roller cart, pulling himself down the aisle, his legs missing just below his hips. The other night it was man missing all his limbs, about my age, who had one of the most beautiful smiles I have ever seen. I am not exaggerating when I say these people are everywhere. I counted them once on a random morning on my commute to work. 9. 9 people in various states of poverty, disability, and despair. 9 people in my tiny sliver of the city that I tread in 20 minutes to get to work. I can only imagine how many there are in total.
     This whole story is complicated by the half-knowledge that many of these people are being exploited by underground gang that puts them on the street to beg in exchange for a guarantee of meager daily food and a place to sleep that is not a sidewalk. It is well known that many of the woman with babies may not actually be mothers but are just using the child as a pawn to garner more money. Every written word of advice states to avoid giving to these people because, by doing so, you ‘buy in’ to and perpetuate the cycle of their exploitation. It is the biggest catch-22, no-win situation. 
     To say it is heart wrenching would be an injustice. In my first weeks, I had to wear my sunglasses to hide brimming eyes when I passed these people. I would find myself clumsily drying my cheeks several times a day. I made a promise to myself that I would not give them money but, if particularly upset, I would buy a bit of street food for them. I told myself that as time went by it would get easier. 
     It hasn’t and, 6 months in, I realize it won’t. I’ve managed to train myself to look at them less. I’ve found a route to work that involves a different bus stop and an unnecessary street crossing to limit my commute encounters to 2 or 3. But, if I make the mistake of even thinking about their plight for a millisecond, I cry. 
    And, really, I’m happy I do. I hope I never become immune to human suffering. It seems that so many of humanity’s problems would be solved if more people acted with humanity. Now, if only I could turn these tears into a solution... 

New Years and My Resolutions

I recognize that this is a full month late. I've been busy with with and a whirlwind visit from my folks. Just now starting to post backlogged posts. Bear with me na ka.

      I celebrated the arrival of 2011 with a couple hundred thousand of Bangkok’s finest folks in the CentralWorld plaza. Lucky for me, my Mercer colleagues had the forethought and patience to reserve a table for our group at a beer garden so that we didn’t have to play crowd sardines as 2010 rolled away. To say that our table wasn’t crowded would be generous but we had seats, easy-access to beer, and a bit more space than those standing in the crowds. It was well worth it. We grooved (er, winced) to the tunes of a Thai rock band whose power ballads were an interesting departure from my folksy preferences. Let’s just say I won’t be first (or last) in line if they go on tour. 
       All that aside, the company was stellar and, really, what more could you ask for in NYE? Even with the power ballads and cramped seating all I could do was smile. I sipped my beer, reveled at the masses, and made a grand fool of myself as we counted down to 2011... hooting, hollering, and white-girl dancing galore. Just as the clock struck midnight, all craziness broke loose. First it was a mist. Then it was a downpour. Before we knew it the entire area was engaged in a full-blown Chang beer fight. I’d like to think that everyone got as soaked as we were but, to be fair, I do believe our group, as the only farang in sight, were targeted by festive/care-free thais. I didn’t mind from the start, but there were a few in our group who got understandably peeved to be doused with beer. I chalked it up to a necessary and utterly-memorable way to ring in my first Bangkok new years and flung water and beer right back at them. I’m sure I was a sight to behold, especially when I continued, damp with beer, onto our favorite dancing haunt. The next morning I woke up, counted my lucky stars for fabulous friends and guardian angels, and nursed my first (and hopefully last) Chang-over of my time here. Whew, what a night.


Its taken me a few days of introspection but I have come up with a few resolutions/goals for 2011:
1. Be gentle with myself. A line from Desidrata, also known as my mantra, and good advice on physical, emotional, bodily, spiritual, professional, and personal levels. Noted and striving for.
2. Meditate everyday... even if I can only squeeze in 10 minutes. I feel better, think better, and am happier if I do.
3. Chew my food more thoroughly. Eating with Thais has made me realize that I am a virtual food vacuum. I can inhale a plate of food in the time it takes them to chew their first two bites. Not healthy, not smart, and probably a good habit to break. 


Here's to a joyous, adventure filled year overflowing with love, love, love. 

Water

     One Christmas tradition that I miss immensely is the Heifer card my father always puts in my stocking. For a decade or longer, my parents have bought me a hive of bees, a gaggle of ducks, or a trio of rabbits that were given to an impoverished family somewhere in the world to promote self-sufficiency and the ‘pass the gift’ concept that Heifer has made famous. This sort of charitable Christmas is something I love and cling to about my families yuletide traditions. I have always hoped that as I age such gifts will replace stuff under the Christmas tree.... so far, so good thanks to my folks. 
     Jimmy and I really don’t do gifts. He loves to buy me flowers (no objection there) and will often bestow me small, practical presents... a pineapple when I have a cough or a beloved replacement stainless steel water jug for my birthday. Last Christmas we exchanged hand-knit items. Clearly, our gift giving style is pretty low key.... something I value tremendously. This year I decided to extend my family’s charitable gift tradition to our relationship. 
     So, earlier this month, I bought him water. Sound crazy? Hardly. It was perfect. As an environmental engineer-in-training he specializes in water quality issues. Furthermore, he is the sort of altruistic soul who wants to use his academic knowledge to serve humanity (No wonder I love him, huh?). Many months ago he had mentioned a new-ish non-profit that he admired... Charity:Water. 
     The more I read about this organization, the more I realized what incredibly important thing they are doing. Water is one of the most fundamental requirements for existence yet it also serves as one of the most efficient means of parasite transmission. 6,000 people die each day from diseases that they acquire from their drinking water. We Westerners don’t have to worry about such things. Our water is piped into our homes potable. As Jimmy likes to say, Americans could drink from our toilet bowls and have cleaner water than the majority of people on the planet. But, for 1 in 8 people in this world, clean water is a dream. 
       They drink water that you and I wouldn’t let our pets consume. Water that you and I would hold our noses around. They walk long distances to collect water in 30lb+ jugs that they must then haul back to their homes. These collectors, the vast majority of whom are women or girls, spend precious energy collecting something that most of us have never had to think twice about. They deserve better. I’ve touted that many things are human rights: safety, freedom, love, and healthcare to name a few. I now realize that before someone can have any of those things they have to be healthy. Clean Water is where individual health begins. It is the most fundamental of human rights... a right that for all of my life I have taken for granted. 


I have one wish for my upcoming 23rd birthday: Water. My dream would be to have 23 people donate $23 to Charity:Water. 


Want to help? Visit my page HERE to donate.
Need more reasons to pitch in? Charity:Water says it best. Check out their page: WHY WATER?


And, to continue the trend of videos in my blogposts, 2 videos from Charity:Water:
Imagine New York City without Clean, Safe Drinking Water


A History of Charity:Water and The September Campaign



And, if you are having trouble with the links above find my page at: http://mycharitywater.org/kathryn

'Nothing Short of Thankful'

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, a list of things inside and outside of Thailand that I am thankful for (in no particular order and hardly inclusive)...


In general I am thankful....
-that I wake up everyday to go to ‘work’ doing something that I love.
-for having a healthy body that houses a functioning mind.
-for being a woman who lives in a world post women’s suffrage, the advent of the pill, the legalization of a woman’s choice, the near demolishment of the glass ceiling, and the acceptance that my brain does science just as well as a man’s.
-that I was born in the United States to parents who are loving, committed, fiscally responsible and weren’t scared to use the word “no” except when I was discussing my dreams.
-that I have people in my life who, despite all of my flaws, still see me as worth their time.
-that I had fabulous public education through high school and that my private college degree didn’t cost me a penny.
-that I have always had access to clean drinking water and a flushing toilet.
-that I have never gone to bed hungry, felt as though I was alone in this world, or experienced abject poverty.


In Thailand I am thankful for...
-public transportation: BTS, buses, trains, and MRT.
-Som-Tum, a dish that makes up at least one third of my diet.
-an endless supply of inexpensive and delicious fruit, likely another third of my diet.
-the Fulbright grant that pays me (PAYS me) to be here. 
-the street food vendors who line Pradiphat Rd. and keep my tummy full.
-the propensity of Thai people to smile at you, always.
-my landlady who is, as my Finnish friend who lives down the hall has deemed her, an angel.
-my Mercer friends who keep me laughing even in the most frustrating and discouraging of moments.
-lab mates who don’t mind my quirkiness, treat me as an intellectual equal, and constantly take me on adventures. 
-Skype.
-love that spans 10,000 miles.


And, finally, this is a repeat both within this post and those who are my Facebook friends but, I think, it is worth the repetition:
To my Friends/Family in the States: The next time you are having a lackluster day walk over to the water faucet in your work/home, fill a glass, and drink deeply. That is a privilege remarkably few in the world have. Be thankful. Remember what is truly important.

Fulbright Thanksgiving

  TUSEF, the Thai Fulbright organization, threw the most lovely of ThaiThanksgivings imaginable. Obviously, nothing can really replace a communal meal with my family but the Fulbright folks worked hard (and succeeded) at organizing a fitting substitute. 
  I made the early morning, Thanksgiving Day commute to the Fulbright office and met the full 2010-2011 Fulbright family. There were 12 ETAs (who are teaching all over the country), 8 current researchers (most of whom do not live in Bangkok), the full office staff and a smattering of alumni and board members present. We were quickly shuffled into waiting mini-vans, handed a to-go breakfast, and whisked out of the city. Our destination: Suraokhlongmai School, a predominantly Islamic school south of the city. Our purpose: bring a library full of books and a Fulbright spirit to do some painting and sprucing up of their school grounds.
  Overall, it was pretty successful. Per Thai style, the preparations the school made for us were overwhelming; hula-hoop show, english welcome, massive-handmade-sign, great food, and, frankly, much of the work was done before we got there. For example, I was assigned to a ‘painting’ crew. The gazebo which we were to refurbish had already received at least 2 coats of white primer so the white paint we layered over it was really icing on the cake. But, this sort of excessive preparation is very Thai and it was nice to get the mingle with the kids even if I didn’t feel like I was getting much accomplished. I think the most impactful part of the day was not the few hours we spent exerting elbow grease but the boxes and boxes of books we donated. Each Fulbright was asked to bring a book with an personal inscription for the school’s library. The Fulbright office also donated a number of books, mostly classroom sets of well known children’s volumes that were translated in both Thai and English.. Naturally, my donation was, ‘The Wonders of Nature’ a National Geographic book, in Thai, that talked about all sorts of neat animal traits and was aimed at the older students (the younger ones got boatloads of storybooks, so I don’t feel too guilty). Nerdy, nerdy, I know. 
  After our brief stint of volunteerism we ventured back to Bangkok to freshen up. I was graciously invited to hang-out and change in an out-of-town Fulbrighters hotel room since my apartment is across the city and would have meant a tight turn around. Kathryn (we high-fived when we discovered we both spelled it correctly) is a Fulbright Fellow based in Ubon who also has her 14 year-old son along for her appoint. She was a delight and it was incredible to hear her stories from her peace-corp placement in country years earlier. Her grant was in information technology and, I think, she was also considered a lecturer since she will be conducting a college-level class within her expertise. It was lovely to chat with her about he experiences and hear about how Thailand, particularly Bangkok, has changed in the short decade or so since she was last here. Her son was hilarious. I have never met a 14 year old who understood dead-pan, sarcastic humor so well. It was clear that he was a bit less thrilled by his mother’s Fulbright appointment than he was but he seemed to be a real trouper. 
  From the hotel we headed to the home of the US Embassy Consulate who kindly hosted a traditional, American Thanksgiving dinner. His apartment was luxurious to say the least., teakwood floors, opulent decor, and a positively massive floor plan. The food, while not nearly as tasty as my Mothers (or mine for that matter) was a welcome treat. But the biggest thrill was the wine. Red wine. It was free-flowing, Redwood Creek, Cabernet Sauvignon. My, how I missed wine. I reveled in every sip and gave thanks for the American tax dollars at work which allowed me this moment of glee (mostly kidding). The spiced peach salad was missing, the cranberry sauce was not homemade and the stuffing was not rife with smoked oysters, nonetheless, I slipped into Thanksgiving bliss thanks to a few glasses of vino. 


  I cannot express what an odd feeling it is to be surrounded by smart people, conversing about relevant, intriguing, complex issues and to realize that you, by some fluke in the universe, are considered worthy company to them. That is my best summation of my interactions with the other Fulbright researchers. Every single one was doing work that seemed so gosh-darn cool. Be it  a facet of Bhuddism, hilltribe anthropology, reforestation methods, novel means of water purification, or information technology. Really, really, really incredible, beautiful minds. I couldn’t have asked for more lovely Thanksgiving company. 

Reflections: Adaptability

      This is a continuation of the previous post and serves as a continued analysis of my time living in Thailand thus far:
       Life is far easier when I am adaptable. This is particularly pertinent when living in a foreign country. To be clear, I love my life here. The last three months have been, daresay, some of the most enjoyable times in my life. Regardless of this enjoyment, life here is drastically different in nearly every way possible from my life in the States. Yet, I am overwhelmingly content. 
       Frankly, I think living here has taught me more about myself (pardon the cliche) than most of my adult life combined. I have shed everything peripheral; people, places, things, food, culture, and schedules that I clung to out of habit. I am left with only me. Nothing else is certain. 
       In the past, living in the States, I would say that I was ‘adaptable’....For example, so what if my favorite restaurant in WNC ran out of my beloved Grilled Salmon Salad, I could handle the Portabello Burger instead. In retrospect that sort of ‘adaptability’ seems like a joke. I cringe just thinking about what a creature of habit and comfort I was. Now I have a choice: Stick to my old ways and be unhappy or let go of expectation, habit and any sense of control to enjoy my life. I’ve chosen the latter mostly because I really, really dig being happy and was fortunate enough to recognize that adaptability was the only means to achieve it here. Adapt or die. (This also happens to be Darwinian dogma, go figure.)
       So, here I am, living a life which is fairly uncertain. Not in a bad way, in an incredibly liberating day-to-day, hour-to-hour sort of way. I do know a few things which form a semblance of scaffolding for my life plan:

1. I have a research project to complete
2. I have family and friends coming to visit me here in the future.
3. I will be returning to the States in Summer 2011 to promptly begin my life as a Ph.D student at UAB.
4. Between now and then little, if anything, is certain.

      I am embracing this time. I don’t care that I don’t know what I will be having for breakfast in the morning, what my plans are for tomorrow evening, or what my plans are for day x,y,z. I am deliciously unencumbered by habit and, for the time being, it is a joyous time. I am working when I want (which happens to be alot), playing when I feel like it, and tackling my life as it is served. I try to keep a schedule of work but if it changes I don’t freak, I just flow. I don’t plan meals. I don’t form expectations. I don’t look at the clock if I can get away with it. I do some planning of retreats and such but recognize that what I am doing is purely speculative and, if it changes, I embrace whatever happens instead. 
       I think that the only way I could have accomplished this, a 180 degree rotation from my Type A, over-scheduled, control-freak former self, is that I am in such a drastically different environment. I am certainly not saying that this style of living is the only way to approach life or, for that matter, a standard I am setting for anyone else or my future. It just happens to be working for me right now. I am happy, relaxed and shockingly productive. I recognize that I am beyond blessed by my circumstances and the people whom I am surrounded by. I have it made. 

Reflections: Stuff, Stuff, and More Stuff

I’ve been living in Bangkok for 3 months now. It’s time for some introspection:
      I left a lot behind when I moved here. I’m not talking people, I am talking stuff. I packed away an embarrassing amount of clothing, shoes, kitchenware, home decor, dry pantry items, toiletries, and other stuff. So much stuff. And, really, I had it easy. There is a house full of more stuff like couches, rugs, wall hangings, artwork, (more) kitchenwares, and stuff that I don’t even remember is there that Brian, a close friend, was kind enough not to want removed when he moved in. It makes me a little queasy even thinking about going back to all that stuff. Whatever possessed me to acquire it in the first place? 
     Well, as many of you know, I am a sucker for a bargain. Even more of a sucker for the word ‘free’. So, the vast majority (90+%) of my clothes were purchased at low-cost consignment and second-hand shops and the greater majority of my non-clothing items were acquired as hand-me-downs, gifts, or from the distribution of my late grandmother’s estate. So, in some ways, I can breathe a sigh of relief.... at least I didn’t spend an unfathomable amount of money on all that stuff. 
      But, still. What is a 22 year old woman doing with so much freaking stuff? Its not like I need it to be happy. I’ve proven that. I am perfectly content with the stuff I have in my possession right now... and all of it fits into two bags and a backpack. (And 12 lbs of it is the freaking blender I hauled halfway around the world) Even still, the amount of stuff I have here borders on too much. Case in point: I have to do laundry about once a month. Not even kidding. ONCE A MONTH. And, when I do, there are still clean things in my closet. How ludicrous is that? Positively insane.
     I like to think of myself of the kind of person who is immune from the capitalistic, ‘buy! buy! buy!’ and ‘more things=more happiness’ mantra that I often rail against and yet, here I sit, my mass of stuff, spanning the Pacific ocean, haunting me. Its a little discouraging. In some ways I would love for it to all disappear.... If, in 8 months, I get back and the 60 pounds of clothes that I vacuum bagged aren’t there to greet me, I might just breathe a gigantic sigh of relief. But I know that the easy route isn’t the answer. (And, realistically, living in a mono-climate sort of place greatly simplifies one’s wardrobe.) Once I get back to the States I will need my peacoat, my corduroys, and my scarves. Furthermore, banishing that stuff potentially sends it to the landfill and if that stuff is being unproductive in my possession, it certainly won’t be doing any good in the trash heap. (For the record, I did donate close to 70lbs worth of clothing to the Macon CrisisLine before I left. At the time I thought that was pretty nifty, now I realize I could do that again and still be left with plenty)
     I’d love to be one of those people who lives in a shipping container and can simplify their life to the point of numbering the items they own from 1-100. I’ll also be the first to admit that it will never happen for me. I, like my mother, build wunder-cabinets (a very, very Dutch practice) out of our homes. We turn them into psuedo-art/history/science/nature/family museums. Anyone who visited my house in Macon has already witnessed this. My mantels were shrines that honored anything and everything I found delightful in the world. I built cairns out of rocks on my fireplace to imbibe peace and I displayed art that I cherished to remind me of people/places/experiences that I loved. I don’t want to lose any of that. That isn’t the kind of ‘stuff’ I am talking about. I am talking about the slowly amassed, non-sentimental, utterly pointless things: Clothes, junk-mail, tupperware, knick-knacks, paper, magazines, etc etc etc. Needless to say, I will say that I will be making a conscious effort to reduce the amount this nonsensical stuff in a few key ways:
1.   I’ll be going through the masses of stuff I left behind and re-evaluating what I use it for and how my life would change without it.
2.    I won’t be getting more stuff just for the sake of satisfying a momentary longing for it. I didn’t think I did this to begin with; I am one of those people that mulls over big purchases for an achingly long time BUT I clearly need to do some more mulling, especially in the clothing department... even when I find a rad shirt at Goodwill for $0.10 that would work perfectly for Halloween 2023. Nope, not going to play that game anymore.
3.    I will resist my genetic disposition to be a pack-rat. I come from a long line of them and, frankly, I don’t want my grandchildren wading through cabinets containing an army’s worth of meticulously cleaned, re-used and stored ziplocks, tupperware, and take-out containers after I kick the re-used, meticulously-clean, bought-for-a-bargain, old-Dutch bucket...(Both my grandmother’s were guilty of this). So far, genetics are winning. I can do better than that.


Further 3-month anniversary reflections on the horizon... 

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. 

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.

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.