Tick Collection: Thai Style

      Back in third grade I was prompted to write about ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’. (Weren’t we all?)  You see, my entrance to nerd-dom started early. Really early. Even at the tender age of 8 I had my life planned out. I was going to be, wait for it.......... a HERBOLOGIST. Of course, that is an entirely made-up term. I defined this career as stomping through the jungle in exotic locales looking for plants that had medicinal properties. So very 8-year-old me. Screw dreams of being a prima ballerina, I set my sights on science early. Can you imagine the sort of response my desire garnered in my rural, WNC, public school teachers and peers? Yeah, I was that kid. Make my mistake, I was never ridiculed or bullied... well, not any more than is normal in the cruel world of children’s social interactions. But I was tagged at very early age as being a little, in Southern geniality terms, interesting.
      Fair enough. I am a little odd. Cool by me. 
      But, you know what is really cool?! 14 years later I AM getting paid to stomp through the rainforest. That’s right, I might not be a ‘herbologist’ but, gosh-darn-it, I am living the dream. Poetic justice or just coincidence? Who knows. And, frankly, I don’t care. What concerns me is that I got to go tick collecting in Thailand. So freaking cool.


Where? Northeastern Thailand. 
When? November 27-December 2nd, 5 days
Who? Chalao, Bpioo, Mee and I
Provinces? Chiayaphum, Phetchabun, Loei, Phitsanulok, and Uttaradit (And a glimpse of Laos!)
National Parks? PhuKhieo Wildlife Sanctuary, NaamNaao National Park, PhuSuan National Park, PhuSoiDao National Park, NamtokChatTrakan National Park
Ticks Collected? 200+ between the 4 of us
Ticks parasitized by? More than I care to admit. I stopped counting after I pulled nymph #40 off my stomach. We all managed to get a number of nymphs. Chalao has the brunt of the after effects. He is still dealing with bite site side-effects... we’ve been keeping track of his symptoms and documenting the wound progression. We even drew blood and have been doing some testing.
Trip Summarized in One Word: Wonderous. 


I think the pictures will speak for themselves (see video at the end of the post). But I do have a few anecdotes to share that have no equivalent pictorial representation:


The Leech
     I have never really dealt with leeches. In my mind they are creatures that inhabit faraway, watery  places. Sure, I was traipsing through the Thai rainforest but I wasn’t fording rivers.... surely, I would be fine. Wrong. 
     On the first day, our first national park, I was enthusiastically absorbed in leaving no leaf unturned for our pursuit of ticks. I was utterly in my element. We had walked for over an hour and were just about to retrace our way back to the truck. The day had been incredibly successful. Ticks were everywhere. I think at that point we had already found at least 3 genus... not too shabby. I was pretty blissed out and, at first, paid no mind to the wet, cold sensation on my foot. It became annoying enough that I reached down to brush it off. To my horror there was, attached to my foot and engaged in full-body pumping action, a LEECH. 
      I screeched, leapt up into the tell-tale, one-footed, balanced dance of ‘get the hell off’ and managed scare the beejesus out of everyone present. I think I might have even let a four-letter word or two slip. Really, I was a sight to behold. Chalao came to the rescue and procured the critter off my foot. Whew. I would have liked to have stomped it but Chaloa, ever the scientist, wanted to save it for a colleague. He 
      The funniest thing about this whole experience is that I am really, really conscious of ‘keeping face’ around my lab-mates. I try extremely hard to keep an air of academic professionalism. I do not allow myself to act anything less than happy in their presence, no matter what. And yet, there I was, in full blown freakout mode in the middle of the rainforest. So much for saving face. 
     As the trip progressed I acquired more leeches. Lots of them. The visceral, emotional response lessened with each one and I managed to even leave one attached long enough to snap a picture. Make no mistake, they still creep me the heck out. Ew. 


I Am my Father’s Daughter
     To really get the full effect of this story you have to understand that my father is just over 6ft tall and has, for the duration of my relationship with him, always managed to hit is head. If there is a low overhang, the crest of his head will meet it violently. Always. It is basically a running joke in our family that this sort of misfortune always befalls him. 
     Thailand is not made for tall people. And by ‘tall’ I mean anyone over 5’6”. By this definition, I am tall. Way tall. In Bangkok I get by pretty easy. Some buses have a tight head clearance but, mostly, there is no need for me to duck and weave through my daily life. However, in rural areas, things are simply not built to accommodate someone my height. Totally understandable.  Somehow, despite recognizing this fact, my physical actions did not reflect such knowledge. 
      Case and point: We stayed at a simply stunning bungalow near the Thai-Laos border. We arrived there late at night, in the pitch dark. The bungalow was set up in such a manner that one had to step from the group up to a porch and from the porch into the room. Unsurprisingly, the head clearance at both of these thresholds was low.... lower than could accommodate me. 
     So, the first time we inspected the room, I gingerly stepped up to the porch and *SMACK*, crest o’ head meets ceiling beam. Fantastic. I laughed and so did everyone else. It was really par for the course. Then, 15 seconds later, I did it again. Stepping into the bungalow, not even thinking about it, I stood tall and proud. *WAM*. Precisely the same point of contact. Lovely. The dull soreness from the first time around graduated into splitting headache. I laughed and, surprise surprise, so did everyone else... silly American who doesn’t understand her own height. I gobbled 3 ibuprofens and chugged water in hopes that pain would subside. 30 minutes later while I was exiting the bathroom, I hit my head AGAIN. Not even kidding. The impact wasn’t nearly as jarring as the first two times but it was significant and hardly pleasant.  Bpioo and Mee must have thought that I was the most clumsy person they had ever seen. Meanwhile, they dipped in and out of the bathroom with nary a thought of the low threshold. I couldn’t help but be a bit envious.

     The next morning we woke up in Thai heaven. It was misty and, dare I say, pretty chilly out. The porch of the bungalow overlooked a sprawling lotus pond and it was the kind of quiet that makes you wonder if rapture is real. I padded outside, camera in hand and explored the immediate area. On the way back in, I ducked under the first threshold and congratulated myself on being so savvy to remember to do so. Let’s just say I spoke too soon. 10 minutes later, after a brief session of psuedo-meditation on the porch, I attempted to step back inside the bungalow. *CRACK* The entire bungalow structure shuddered under the impact. goddamnit. I erupted into peels of laughter because, if I hadn’t, there was a good chance I would have welled up from frustration/pain. 
     Is such a thing genetic? I have little evidence to prove otherwise. 


The Chicken Head
      If you have been reading regularly, you will have noticed that the frequency of freaky food encounters has decreased. I attribute this partially to my increasing thai language capabilities “mai moo, na ka” and a mostly to my honed eye for mystery meat ingredients. 
      My lab mates understand my vegetarian tendencies and, despite my insistence that they do not, always try to accommodate my dietary finickiness. On this trip we had been eating alot of chicken, which I am okay with while here, but I’ve really never been chicken’s biggest fan. Chalao seemed to read my mind and after two solid days of chicken meals (6 meals straight), started asking for extra veggies... I was both deeply grateful and totally relieved. For the next two days I feasted on local mushrooms, morning glory, eggplant, and squash.... all way better than chicken. One our way back to Bangkok (an epic 600 km road-trip), Chalao was insistent that we stop at a roadside restaurant for a traditional Issan food as our last meal of the trip. Since SomTum, my absolute favorite green papaya salad was sure to be included, I knew it would be a delicious meal regardless of whether it included meat.
      We found the loveliest of restaurants perched on the side of a rice patty. It was empty save for a flock of roving mini-cocks, clearly some specialty breed of chicken, that were much cuter than the usual meat variety that roam everywhere here. One of the most traditional of Issan meals is somtum, baked -over-coals chicken, and sticky rice. The combination is exquisite when done right. Just the right amalgamation of salty, sweet, sour, and spicy. Our meal here was easily the tastiest example I have had the privilege of eating so far. Despite my usual indifference to chicken, this one was cooked to perfection and so perfectly complimented the side dishes that I couldn’t resist a second helping. Chalao, excited by my enthusiasm for the meal, quickly served me up another piece. 
      As I slowly pulled the meat from the bone, arranging forkfuls of equal portions sticky rice, papaya salad and chicken, I had trouble defining the portion of the bird I was eating. (I really shouldn’t be so inquiring) All the bones seemed to be in irregular places and there were ligaments I was not accustomed to dealing with. Finally, I pulled the last bit of crisped skin of the bone and revealed a chicken head, eyelids and wattle intact. It was all I could do not to change my demeanor. I took deep breaths, calmed my queasy stomach, and covered the atrocity with a paper napkin. It was probably the best act of self-control I have made yet. 
      Just when I think I have everything under control a chicken head lands on my plate. Good ole’ Thailand, keeps me on my toes. 

"My Research, My Pride"

        Isn’t that a nifty slogan?! Mahidol recently hosted their graduate research exposition, where this was the catch-phrase. I was lucky enough to be able to attend an assortment of lectures, poster presentations and even a community ‘hot-pot’ dinner. It was awesome. I love seeing other people’s research. I love talking to them about it. I love academia on display. Love. It. 
It was really intriguing to see how a Thai university conducted an event like this. Movie stars were hired to lend their voices to the campus-wide advertisements. Young professors served as trendy MCs for the event. Trivia was played between speakers and the prizes were legit (500 baht... heck yes!). It was basically like a 2-day celebration of all things Mahidol Research related. And, the best part? It was mostly in English... Score!
I was incredibly impressed with the sheer scope of research going on. I knew that the Faculty of Science encompassed a wide-range of departments but it really hadn’t dawned on me how diverse my campus is. There were mathematicians who worked on nanotube structure, physicists who devised electronic noses, and chemists who invented antibiotic/antiviral infused, natural rubber gloves to help prevent infection from needle-pricks. Basically, I sat in awe for the duration of the day. 
Most of all I loved the student support that the research received. Every single speaker gave their presentation to a standing-room-only crowd. Whole departments would sit together and wave hand-made signs of support when one of their own presented. The clapping, hooting and hollering that followed each presentation was deafening. It was a true community of support, encouragement and love of research. I realized all over again why I was so lucky to be at Mahidol and why I wanted to be a lifetime-academic. 
I have always, in longer terms, took“My Research, My Pride” as a personal mantra. How nice it was to be surrounded by people who thought the same thing and weren’t ashamed to make it publicly known. 
Second to the actual research, the highlight of the event was the final ‘hot-pot’ meal. All the students and faculty gathered in ‘The Canteen’ the main dining hall for a traditional cook-it-yourself dinner. Each table had its own cooking contraption, a massive basket of veggies/noodles and a gallon bag of broth. Meat and fried rice was served buffet style in one corner of the room. Each table got a heaping plate of meat, lit their wood-fire and went to town. It was delectable. 

To top it off, a karaoke stage was set up so that professors and a few students could share their renditions of Thai pop tunes throughout the night. I couldn’t help but wonder if the professors of Willet Science Center at Mercer would be game for some pop karaoke at the next Undergraduate Research Symposium. Doubtful and not necessarily a bad thing.

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. 

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.  

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.