Thai Massage

     I get a weekly 2 hour Thai massage that costs me $13 including a 30% tip. (Start the hate mail now, I fully appreciate how completely unreal that is.) I’ve been seeing the same lady, Dteeng, since I moved into my apartment. She. Is. Incredible. Each week she shows my body who is boss. She seeks out my knotted muscles and pummels them into submission. She pretzels my body to lengthen my muscles and stretch out every last ligament. She pops my toes, cracks my hands, and gives me a forehead massage so divine I am temporarily without my usual creases (soon to be wrinkles). If someone told me she had divine powers I would believe them. She is that fantastic.
     Thai massage is much different than the Americanized Swedish massage that is standard back home. In fact, there is very little they have in common save for the name. Massage here is a hybrid of guided yoga and deep tissue massage . There is no nudity, instead you change into more modest and easier to manipulate clothing (thai fisherman pants and a scrubs top). There is no moisturizing of the skin. You lay on the floor, on a dense mattress pad, instead of a specialized table. The masseuse uses hands, elbows, feet, knees, and whatever other body parts are convenient to manipulate your body and really dig in. There are times where they might be standing on you or you might have your head in their lap. And, often, the full experience is equal parts painful and pleasurable.
     Thai massage follows a pretty standard sequence of maneuvers. My lady always begins with a brief blood circulation cut-off to my legs by pinching the main blood supply vessels, up near my hips, for a minute or so. She accomplishes this by balancing in the plank position at the ideal point to accomplish a stop in circulation. The whooshing of warm blood back into my tingling, cool limbs offers instant relaxation... sounds odd but it is really neat when done right.  She then works on each leg individually, hitting pressure points and pulling/stretching them across my body. After legs, she moves to hands/arms. The same blood vessel pinching technique is used to begin. She then goes from palms to fingers, to wrists and up to the shoulder on each side. She then asks me to turn onto my side, into a sleeping position. She stretches my glutes and digs into them, often enough to make me winch. Some pretty intense chest and back opening stretches follow and I switch sides for the repeat. I then turn onto my stomach. She has learned that I have a surprisingly solid back and is not shy about really working out any kinks I might have. She then proceeds to do more pressure point work on my calves and the back of my knees and pops/loosens my ankles by pushing my legs, crossed, into the base of my spine. The grand finale comes when she seats herself behind me and asks me to lay in a pillow in her lap. Pressure points on my face and scalp are massaged in sequence. (This part is usually my favorite... a good face massage is pure bliss for me) She balances me out my sitting me in a cross legged position, pulling up my arms to lengthen my spine, then literally rolling backwards... pulling me along with her for the final, satisfying spinal pop.
      I usually try to drink a substantial amount of water after a massage because many Thais claim that the ‘toxins’ that are released during such an endeavor can cause illness. I’m not sure that this has any scientific credence (I remain highly doubtful) but it is a nice way to do a mini detox/flush while I am in the mindset of body care.
      I am a pretty limber person but I can say, hands down, that getting a regular Thai massage has loosened up hamstrings and back muscles that were holding years worth of tension. I’m a stress induced tensor... I grit my teeth, furrow my brow, and knot up my back at the first sign of physical or mental distress. I am now more keen to catch these habits as I am doing them and feel as though my body exists in a state of relaxation more frequently than before I moved here. Maybe its the culture, maybe its the Thai massage. Who knows. For now, I am thanking my lucky stars for the availability of such pampering and trying not to think about the day I return to the land of expensive, soft-handed massages. I’ll take a beating by Dteeng over that any day.

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... 

My Love Affair with Street Food

      I adore Thai street food. Love it. LOVE it. Eat it every single day and, if I don’t, miss it like crazy. I never get sick of sitting down on a faded plastic stool, often with questionable carry-capacity, scooting up to a metal card table, and chowing down on freshly prepared deliciousness. It will never get old and I can guarantee that it will be something that I mourn losing before I leave. 
  For many Westerners, street food is a bit iffy. Ordering food from a cart displaying is various raw wares and eating such food whilst sitting on the sidewalk is not something that 1st world citizens do with any frequency. Questions of sanitation are probably to first to pop up. Then there is the worry about what precisely one is eating. Fair enough. I get the initial apprehension. But, if you are going to come to Thailand (or any of Southeast Asia, India, Central/South America, or China....all places where street food is king) it is a tourist crime not to indulge in street food on multiple occasions. Get over the sanitation bit. I would rather see the person (and the hand) that is cooking my dinner than have them cloaked behind a kitchen door.  No, the food cart might not make an ‘A’ on a US health department scorecard but I doubt my kitchen in the States would do much better. Furthermore, Thais eat street food everyday themselves. If there were some hidden sanitation crisis I guarantee that street carts wouldn’t be frequented by families day after day. Not every country bathes in hand sanitizer. You’ll live. Promise. 
  The really delightful thing about street food is its variance. You won’t see a measuring cup or spoon-set. Instead, you’ll watch a street-chef prepare a meal from scratch, in minutes, from memory. Amazing in and of itself. Recipes vary by vendor, by street, by province, by region. For instance, in Bangkok, the som-tom makers understand my tender (by thai-standards) palate with regard to spice quotient... They understand my ‘pheed nit noy na ka’ to mean 1-2 chiles at maximum. But outside of Bangkok? In the heart of Issaan ‘pheed nit noy na ka’ seems to translate to: ‘I’d like to feel my tongue again, if it takes a day or two thats okay, just so long as it is not permanently in fire’. Not that I am complaining... I think that eating locally, on the street, in the proverbial gastronomic trenches is that quickest and easiest way to immerse myself in the particularities of a place. Where else can I get a literal taste of local culture while people watching, finding out the local gossip, and breathing in the sights/sounds/smells of an area? All this and the knowledge that I am supporting local people and eating (mostly) local agricultural products... Never have I ever been so satisfied with a meal on so many levels.

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

Bah-Humbug... Or Not

      Christmas and I have a complicated relationship. It begins with the fact that, until I was 17, I had never spent a Christmas at home. Not once. Sure, this meant I spent the holiday in the Florida Keys or, as my grandparents aged, in the Florida panhandle. Tough life, right? Well, it had its moments. For reasons far more complicated than this post can cover, I have always fantasized about just not having Christmas. No travel, no expectation, no obligation, no consumerism, no dashed-hopes, no familial tension, no sad memories of people no longer present, no acknowledgement that December 25th is any different from the other 364 days of the year. I fancifully thought that Thailand would offer such a yuletide retreat...
       You can imagine my horror when on November 1st the largest, ritziest mall at Siam Center (the holy ground of Bangkok consumerist worship) erected their 4-story, oversized-ornament be-decked Christmas tree. Wait, WHAT?! I am in a buddhist country for goodness sake! I mourned a bit on that day. Then, I put on my grinch cap. The city was then slowly consumed by Christmas ridiculousness; LED lights were strung haphazardly over the entire lanscape, poinsettias placed in every office, karaoke carols blared from every speaker and greetings of ‘Merry Christmas and Happy New Year’ sung at the cash registers of more retail establishments than I care to recall. Any hope of a skipped holiday was pummeled over and over and over again. I got myself into a stink about it, considered a full scale Christmas revolt then did the ever-so-sensible thing of posting about my ‘bah-humbug’ attitude on Facebook. Not 5 minutes later the Pubic Relations coordinator of Mercer posted a video about a soon-to-be Mercer graduate who is living with Cerebral Palsy, has a fabulous attitude about life, and left me in a pile of teary toilet paper. Shame on me, I thought. 
     So, I just let go. I realized I was working myself into a tizzy about a holiday I really wanted to be indifferent about and that, consequently, I was defeating my own intentions. Lo and behold when Christmas morning rolled around I woke up and it was just like any other Saturday. No tree had magically appeared on my balcony, no one was outside my door caroling, no miracle snow dotted the cityscape. But, truth be told, there was something deep down inside me that missed the typical Christmas I had so longed to escape. I missed the sight of a fresh Christmas tree, bedecked with Brasstown carvings. I missed the smell of the pine incense that my mother burns in holders shaped like log cabins. I missed the aroma of spiced peach salad, smoked oyster stuffing, and dutch almond cookies. I yearned for a chunk of pickled herring and a toast of Asti champagne. I missed my quilted, hand-made stocking... the single continuity (besides my parents over-abundance of love) in my Christmas memories. I missed my father’s clever gift giving and my mothers handwriting on the To/From: cards. I missed all the little things that made a Doornbos Family Christmas just that. 
    So, like any good dutch girl, I lounged in the apartment, quickly got bored, watched clips of “A White Christmas”, tidied up my things and scrubbed my tile floors to Calvinist clean perfection. That night, I sat at my favorite Pad Thai street vendor and had a heaping portion. She didn’t know it was Christmas but still managed to put out a plate of utter deliciousness. And despite a twinge of longing, I was completely satisfied with my 2010 Christmas dinner. It was perfect for me right then.
    I capped off  my night by watching an extra spectacular drag show and dancing until the wee hours of the next morning at DJ Station. Clubbing on Christmas? Only in Bangkok. Bah-humbug be banished.

Koh Chang

      The beaches of Thailand serve as the epicenter of backpacker legend. By such standards, no where else on earth can you experience the serenity, beauty and affordability that Thai islands can offer. I’d love to tell you that is a farce. Really, I would. 
      I’ve read the books, seen the movies and been skeptical of the hype. Surely to goodness after such epic build-up the beaches here have been spoiled by an endless flow of heaven-seekers, developers, and scam artists, right? Right? Well, I can’t speak for them all... I’ve only had the opportunity to visit Koh Chang, the country’s largest non-mainland landmass. Let me tell you, all that magical hype is true; at least there. 
      I have spent 16ish Christmases in the Florida Keys, visited East Coast barrier islands, taken a Caribbean island cruise, backpacked on the Costa Rican coastline, and spent two spring breaks on Ambergis Caye, Belize. I’d like to think I am a North American tropical island aficionado (please note how small this niche is, I’d hate to imply I am an expert in anything). When I decided to take a retreat to Koh Chang, I was expecting a ‘same island atmosphere, different side of the world’ experience. Wrong. Completely, utterly, and totally false. 
      I was completely blown away by Koh Chang. In fact, I worry that one day I will wake up and realize that my experiences there were a figment of my imagination. It is THAT spectacular. 
      The island is a microcosm of beauty. Jungled mountains meet waveless, turquoise seas via mostly rocky, sometimes sandy outcrops. The vistas from the beaches offer intriguing glimpses of other mountains arising in the distance. Snorkeling havens dot the map and, having experienced four different locale, they teem with biodiversity. Development is minimal, transportation is limited, and the fruit is scrumptious. My response to inquiries about my long weekend went something like, “If there is a heaven, I hope it is Koh Chang”. That pretty much sums it up.
      My enjoyment of the trip was aided by the fact that I had a splendid traveling partner. Ryan, a fellow Mercer alumni, didn’t mind the odd traveling hours, seat-of-your-pants planning style or the sometimes eccentric company. We ran into some minor traveling snafus which might have driven some to annoyance (or worse) but we managed to go-with-the-flow and just enjoy the moment. Major props to him for tolerating me. 
So, the island was incredible. Enough said about that. One of the reasons it might be so well hidden from the bustling tourism industry here is that it is pretty tricky to get to. Enough of a hassle that it probably deters the vast majority of short-term travelers. Believe it or not, in many ways, it is easier to go to southern Thailand for an island experience. Planes, trains, buses, and vans are constantly whisking people out of Bangkok, bound for some of the better known southern islands. One can buy a single ticket that gets them from Bangkok to the beach all in one fair swoop. Easier than thinking. 
     How does one get to Koh Chang, you might inquire? Well, it requires a great deal of patience, some luck, and a willingness to just go with the flow. For Ryan and I this involved an epic interchange of 3 types of transport, 4 legs of a one way journey over the course of 8ish hours, starting at 11pm on a Friday. Here’s how we managed to arrive in paradise:


1.     Bus-Bangkok to Trat. This bus left MoChid Bus Terminal at 11:30pm on Friday night. Ryan and I were the only foreigners on board and were thus privileged to sit in seats #1 and #2. These seats seem lovely at first. One gets a full view out the windshield and the benefit of no seats in front of you. 3.5 hours into the trip we were both shivering, knees to our chins, thanks to the arctic air-conditioning unit and the bus attendants failure to give us the blankets that everyone else was curled up in. Naturally, we realized this when we were 20kms from our destination. Not even kidding. Our hopes to snooze on this bus were dashed from the start. No biggie.
2.     Taxi and Layovers-Trat to Laem Ngo Ferry: We arrived, blue-lipped, at the Trat bus station to a cackling group of foreigners who had clearly tempered their trip with some extra large Changs (I was wondering why I hadn’t done the same myself at that point). It was 3:30ish in the morning and I inquired with the taxi drivers about getting to the ferry. He gruffly pointed to the group of white people. Of course, I thought, every farang here is probably headed to the island. I had mixed feelings about this revelation. I tip-toed past the sleeping bathroom attendant, brushed my teeth, and tried to convince myself that I had, in fact, gotten a refreshing nap on the bus. Soon enough the farangs were herded into 3 waiting soong-tioews, bench-seat, pick-up truck taxis. We all marveled at how chilly it was... probably under 80F, downright cold compared to Bangkok. Since the ferry didn’t run until 6am, we took a breakfast break at a roadside restaurant. Our breakfast of choice? Toast, scrambled eggs, and a large beer. Perfect vacation starter. Added bonus: first western style breakfast (other than the one I cooked) I have had since staying in a hotel. 
3.      Ferry-Leam Ngo to Koh Change Pier: This was eventful in two ways... Seeing the mountains of Koh Chang rise out of the morning mist and experiencing embarrassment of sharing nationality with the drunken, trivia-obsessed, extra messy American chick whose every slurred word was heard by the entire ferry. “What is the 26th tallest building in the world?”.... “I don’t care.”
4.      Taxi-Koh Chang Pier to BangBao: My only request was to be in whichever taxi was not also transporting aforementioned american drunkard. Success.  The ride was significantly more bumpy, curvy and haphazard than the previous but I was so excited that at this point it didn’t matter. We took in the vistas, uttered lots of ooos and ahhhs, and struggled to wrap out heads around the fact that we were conscious and not in dreamland. Our selected accommodation was at the precise opposite side of the island from the ferry so our ride was extra long. It was so worth it. We were dropped off in BangBao, a sleepy fishing village by 7:30am had found our bungalow by 8:00 and were on the beach by 9:00. Perfection.


Was the minor travel hassle worth it? Totally. (Just don't tell anyone)


I am scheming some way to plant myself (and my laptop) in hammock for paper writing sometime towards the end of my Fulbright appointment. Don’t be surprised if I take up residence there for a couple weeks.