What Type of Wat is this? Wat did you say?

I couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that we had just stumbled onto the set of a horror movie. Making our way through the skeletal remains of a palm field, its haggard appearance giving us a foreshadowing of danger, we emerged onto the grounds of a dilapidated wat (Buddist temple).

Being aware of the customs and proper wat etiquette, I was apprehensive to enter in my shoulder bearing tank top and shorts. But, then again, what could one expect if the wat was nestled into the side of a limestone cliff in the Thai rain forest? Dress pants and silk shirts? Hardly.

Erik and I carefully tiptoed along the worn grass path. In the distance a monk crossed and we froze like rabbits in the hunt as the orange robed man disappeared behind another building. Well, it’s definitely occupied, we decided. The rest of his family slowly made their way to us as we scanned the grounds. I was feeling like Leonardo Dicapprio in The Beach where he finds himself in a field of Marijuana and quickly learns that he shouldn’t be there as bullets whiz by his head and he has to make a mad dash to safety. Why was it so quiet here?

The sound of water behind us grabbed our attention and from inside a small wooden shack began the drizzle of a shower. Outside, draped on the banister, hung a bright orange robe. A monk was showering. How rude would it be if he opened the door and saw five Farang (foreigners) staring back at him? I can’t even imagine how many monk rules of behavior that would break- to see a naked monk! We quickened our step, coming between two buildings. I grabbed at Erik’s shirt as he moved ahead and hoarsely whispered, “A sarcophagus.” My eyes spread wide in surprise. I had never seen a casket just sitting out at a monastery. The decorative details glimmered in the sunlight as a large bronze Buddha figure sat in the corner looking on. What kind of wat is this?

Erik’s Father directed our attention to the building on our right as the others snapped pictures and gawked at the beauty of the statue. Four dogs lay lazily on the steps leading up to the poorly painted building’s inside platform revealing itself as a crematorium, its smokestack rising out of the top. Is this some sort of jungle temple? Like, monks gone mad? Are they crazy cannibal monks that the rain forest had somehow twisted and turned from Buddha? Are we just some stupid tourists stumbling into a death trap? My feet were toed- up to split at any minute.

Curiosity won us over and we continued to slink onward toward the mouth of a cave in the distance. Still cautious, I hid behind the corner of a building, peeking out as if I was a secret agent marking my target. Erik and his uncle walked down the path leading to the cave and as I watched them the inside of the cave became clearer. What was inside? What the hell is that???? A giant, red-faced Sesame Street puppet gone very, very bad sat upright encaged in a chain link fence. To its right was a large- was it papier-mâché?- jaguar in prowl mode. A few Buddha images in various positions and mediums were scattered around and alms jars lined the left side of the puppet. What had we stumbled upon? Oh, no, this was it. We had stumbled upon some sort of evil place. Maybe they had already eaten all the monks! What is that red-faced statue? Is it Satan? This can not be good. Where were all the monks? My mind raced with images of us captured and tethered together. A gigantic cauldron sat atop flames heating water to a boil as we are lead up a small coconut tree ladder to be stewed. All the while strayed monks and wild natives danced around in scraps of orange robes waving sticks and chanting incantations to the red-faced evil demon.

I snapped out of my daymare as a monkey scurried past my feet. The monkeys had followed us in and now a family of about thirty grey monkeys wrestled, chattered and played around us like some sort of watchdog to the keepers of the red-faced demon puppet. I shooed them with my hands and noticed Erik motioning for me to join from the mouth of the cave. Taking another peek around the corner, I scuttled to the cave keeping low and monkey like. Entering the cave, I felt as though I was trespassing and discovering a hidden treasure all at the same time. The call of monkeys echoed as I stood facing a large two-paned chalkboard inside the cave. Written in cursive English was the story of a giant woman who had lived in the cave many years before. It went on to tell of how the woman bore a son who, upon learning that his Mother was a giant, disowned and denounced her. Heart broken, the woman died. But, before she passed she left a pool of tears (holy water) for her son. The son learned this and was ashamed.

The red-faced puppet was, in fact, a statue of the female giant. Feeling a little relieved I wandered around the other Buddha images, wai-ing in respect. A stout monk emerged from the side of the cave and began to re-tell us the story that we had just read. His English was well defined, with only a few pronunciation problems, but a great sense of humor, “Where you frum?”

“America…East coast…Vermont.”

“Ah, America. I go to Denvah’, Cololado. You know? Many, many year ago.”

“Ah, yeah, Denver, Colorado. Sure.”

“Like Laws Vegas.” He chuckled to himself at his joke. “Many lights. Big.”
“Cold.” I added. With the rest of the family joining us, we followed the monk into the cave. Hesitantly, I stayed at the back, unfortunately not where the two flashlights were the brightest. He shone his light on a giant toad and a hiding puppy as we wound our way to the “holy water” in the depth of the cave. We came to a large room, its stone walls covered with a black Thai script. I wondered what it said as the monk pointed to a hole in the wall.

“Holy water for healing. You have the sickness, you can take. Many people feel better. Can sa-wim. Maybe one, two minutes. Feel good.” He smiled brightly and I couldn’t help but think what idiots we are to climb into this hole and dunk ourselves in stagnant cave water. Like the Blarney stone in Ireland, it’s probably a local’s joke.

“Do you go in?” I asked as two anxious family members climbed in.

“No, never need to. Don’t need.” He held his smile and I thought, what the heck. I can’t resist the promise of health after my bout with sickness in the past months. I climbed into the hole and descended the few meters down the rickety ladder to dip my fingers into the so-called “holy water”. I rubbed a little on my neck and looked into the pool. The glow of the flashlight only shone enough to see a few meters in front of us; the rest was swallowed in darkness. Then it came to me, this was it. This is when we get sacrificed to the god-knows-what rain forest beast that lives in the depth of the cave. My heart skipped and my vision blurred into the darkness. We were the stupid tourists tromping into the demon’s sacrificial liar. We were like Joe and his volcano, alright. I turned on my heel, my shoes slipping in the clay-like muck and gladly let the others climb down to the water.

I emerged from the cave to an empty room. The monk was gone. Waiting for the others to finish their death-dip, I scanned the walls with its artistic Thai writing. I wish I knew what it said. Surviving the sacrificial trap, we all made it out of the darkened cave and back into sunlight. The monk was waiting for us and chattering with the monkeys as they climbed atop the Buddha images as if to say that this area was their playground and we had better recognize that. Like little humans with tails they bounded across the dusty ground wrestling and nipping at each other.

“The monkey, he show you how they play. He show you cave. You can go up. Monkey can say, ‘No!’ You say, ‘please monkey’ and give him banana. He say mibbe one banana, mibbe two!” He erupted in laughter with his hands on his hips.

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The stairs creaked as we wearily inched upward on their rotted boards. The stairs were built into the side of a limestone cliff with concrete, steel banisters and wooden planks. They were suspended haphazardly above rain forest brush. The monkeys joined us in our climb, chattering and twisting through the hanging overgrowth around us. I gripped the rusted banister with white knuckles as I crossed the suspension bridge, its body swerving like a snake as we crossed. Some boards were green with time and one flipped up as I put my weight on it, the nail completely rotted out. I gripped the banister harder with a slight squeak of surprise. You could see that repairs had been done…at some point, because another board was laid atop the rotted one and nailed into it.

I was Indian Jones, man. Only I didn’t have a snazzy hat and little sidekick kid to annoy me, I had sunscreen and monkeys. I envisioned the banister, old and unkempt, cracking at the point of concrete connection to the face of the cliff. The ladder would gracefully float downward, giving way from under my feet and I would have to cling to rotted board or jungle vines, pleading with the monkeys for help.

Fortunately, the boards were stable enough. Shaky legs made it to the higher platform where we were met by a male monkey, his fur fluffed in intimidation.

“Look, we don’t have any damn bananas.” Erik explained to the monkey.

“Easy, now. Just scurry along Mr. Monkey.” I chimed in. He looked at us with contempt, his eyes scanning our empty hands. Eventually he climbed to a nearby tree limb, its height directly where our heads would pass. Was he going to chomp us as we passed? The last thing we needed was a monkey bite, contracting monkey H.I.V or herpes or rabies, or God knows what else. With no bananas, bribery wasn’t an option. We carefully glided by.

The cave was filled with millions of still black bodies hanging from the ceiling and only after a light whistle did a few of them stir. It smelled dank and wet; earthy. Its darkness wasn’t exactly what I’d call inviting, but invitation or not, we went in. After we scanned the perimeter (the thought of a cave monster still lingering in the background of my thoughts) we braved the dissent of the stairs again.

The sun hung high in the afternoon’s cloudless sky; its heat burning into our skin and causing the dirt to stick to our moistened bodies. We walked out the way we entered, quiet and awestruck at the odd treasure we had unveiled. We had survived.

Back in the Running

So I'm not bloated and decomposing in some ditch in the back woods er, rain forest of Thailand. I'm happy to report that my phantom rash has faded into the past (thank God) and I no longer look like some sort of Micheal Jackson Thriller video extra. I still have a cough, but the inhaler seems to be helping. I'll probably have this for the rest of my time here. What can you say though? I mean, the country has no visible emission standards, and when you're pinned between two massive lorries going 70Km/hour, you're kind of stuck sucking black smoke.

You no longer have to sign in to make a comment so, let's dialogue away!

Make it Go Away!

I was in a bad dream. I thrashed around trying to get the ants off of me. I was in a thick mud and my body could feel every grain of sand. Was I awake or asleep? Was I in that in between stage? My nails raked my sore legs to try to relieve the itch but left only a burning row in its wake. Did I slough on cream I was allergic to, my face burning in response? I tossed in bed. Opening my eyes I saw that the dawn had entered my room—what time was it? Had I slept at all? My legs radiated a fire and begged for more scratching. Like a yearning for a bad drug, my growing rash needed to be fed. It didn’t matter the repercussions I would feel in ten, twenty minutes, I just needed that quick fix…

On no sleep and extremely uncomfortable I went into work. I was quickly sent on my way out to the nearest hospital. “Just get better,” they called as I whimpered out to my motorbike.

“Okay. Uh-huh. Now, uh-huh I give you injection for stop rash.” The skin doctor told me sympathetically. I had already been to the general doctor who had directed me to see the skin specialist I was with now and a chest, throat and ear specialist afterward for my deep and quickly becoming, chronic cough. A consultation with the skin specialist in the pseudo spa inspired aesthetics center had already led me downstairs for an allergy test. They didn’t tell me it was going to be a gallon syringe to milk the blood from my tiny and delicate veins. Getting blood drawn, one of my most dreaded doctor appointment necessities was over in a matter of minutes and before I knew it, I was already halfway up the stairs to return to the skin center.

“Okay,” I answered meekly standing across from her awkwardly. Am I supposed to sit? And sit where? Do I sit on the table? I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Should I wait for them to motion me? What is the Thai doctor- patient protocol? My lowered gaze snuck up to catch the shadowlike nurse’s knowing smile. I dropped my backpack to the floor and surveyed the surroundings. A small round table and two chairs made up the consulting area we had occupied earlier when the blood test was decided. The hospital bed in the room wasn’t your typical sterile white cot, either. This one was covered with a Thai-inspired tapestry with little face pillows and a contrasting throw at the foot. Was this where I was supposed to sit? It looked more like I’d be getting acupuncture or my eyebrows plucked than a medical examination in this room.

“Do you want, uh-huh, the throat doctor for, uh-huh, the cuff?” The Doctor faded back into the audible foreground. “I tink, uh-huh, is bad. Need different anti-biotic, uh-huh.” Her mouth continued to move as the audio faded out of my mind again. I couldn’t help but focus on this shot I was about to get... an injection! A needle! Somewhere on my body. Half-listening I decided to make a move toward the spa bed. As I climbed up she continued to talk of my cough and who I should see. But all I could think about is this shot. This shot, an injection, a needle! How big will it be? Where is it going to go?

Interrupting her rant I asked, “Where do I get the shot?” I just had to know. I couldn’t wonder any longer. Half of me knew where it was going to go; I just didn’t want to believe it. I can’t remember how she answered me, maybe it was the shock of realization that has made it flee my memory, but she told me—the butt. I audibly mumbled, “Oh, God,” as I began to lower myself to the bed.

“If you want, you can take only tablet. Uh-huh. And no injection, uh-huh. But I think uh-huh, better injection, uh-huh. More quickly.” I groaned in arrogance as I lay on my stomach, face planted in the soft pillow. “I tink, uh-huh, it okay.” She tried to console my dread. Yeah, sure Lady. It’s not going to be you with the sore bum. The shadow nurse swooped in and began to hike up my skirt to expose my rashed left cheek. As I felt the cool air on my exposed bottom, I could only mumble half-reassuring words to myself: It’ll be quick. It’ll be better. This will help. It won’t hurt. The nurse who had drawn my blood earlier had been like an angel, some sort of magical needle angel who could draw mass amounts of blood without any pain or prick. My faith was up. I was ready to rid myself of this hell if it took a little stab in the backside.

I imagined myself detatched from my own body looking in on the situation. How funny it would be to an outsider! The shadow nurse in her pale blue uniform would be smoothing the contrasting blanket over my legs so that it folded perfectly. The doctor at the chrome counter top would be filling a syringe with liquid and holding it up to the fluorescent light. And me, my head buried face first in the pillow or sneaking a peek at myself in the mirror at my head reflecting the absolute horror I felt. And in the center of it all, one spotted red cheek rising out of a mound of black flower printed fabric. It was like some sort of demented painting.

I did everything I could to avoid looking at the needle. If I didn’t see it, I couldn’t freak out; although, my imagination did picture it as an arm-length ice pick dramatically spurting liquid from the top as she rounded the corner of the hospital bed and approached my vulnerable rump.

“Okay, uh-huh. Injection.” She cooed as a sharp pain pierced my backside. Just as I thought, This isn’t so bad, a heat began to burn, spread and pierce.

“Oh, God. Oh, God.” I moaned under my breath. It lasted only a few moments, the end of which left me paralyzed on the bed holding the burning area.

“You can sit for a moment,” the doctor reassured me as I, still frozen, made no attempt to do otherwise. After a respectable amount of stillness I rose and rolled onto my right hip to hop off the bed. I rubbed the pain with the heel of my hand, caressing the sore area. It swelled with heat and tingled with the surge of medicine. Golly, that was fun. But I knew I had more doctors to see.

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“The Doctor will see you now.” A small, white-uniformed nurse half-whispered to me. I put down my paper Dixie cup of coffee-mocha and grabbed my bag. Time to solve this chronic cough.

The chest, throat and ear specialist encouraged me to get an X-ray of my sinuses. Erik’s voice kept ringing in my head: “Just do whatever it takes to figure out what’s wrong.” However, my mind automatically went to my pocketbook.

“Miss McGill?” A petite nurse in white uniform asked me shyly as I sat sipping what was left of my free coffee-mocha blend.

“Yes.””Please come wit me.”

“Ooookay,” I said cheerily as I scooped up my bag once again and followed her. Now filled with farangs, I walked through the hospital’s first floor watching as they scarfed down large cups of cappuccinos at the small café. Suckers, I thought as I tasted the sweet cream still on my tongue. My escort was joined by another nurse and like flying geese we breezed through the lobby in patient-nurse formation. At a fork in our path the two split. Which nurse was mine? They both looked exactly alike from behind: white skirt suit, black poufy hair bow. Was mine the tall one or the short one? I chose to follow the one that branched off to the right and glanced at the other as she went left. She held some sort of Tupperware container and I knew I had chosen wisely.

Feeling a little high from the cortisone injection I was led into a small room by a sharply dressed man. “You sit here. Put nose to da’ line.” I sat on the cool metal stool, my left cheek slightly hanging off. “Like dis,” he lifted my head and stuck my nose, bridge down, against the red cross on a white screen. “Hold still.” He instructed as he backed away from me. Huh, what do you know? No heavy apron here either, just pure radiation surging through my body. Great guess we’ll add cancer to this coupling. After the second x-ray I returned to the doctor where I sat waiting, another Dixie cup of coffee-mocha in my hand. Hey, I’m going to get something out of this even if it is only six free cups of coffee.

After a briefing from the specialist on the causes of sinus infections and what a clouded sinus looks like in an x-ray, I left him. I walked towards the pharmacy/cashier with a shopping list of anti-biotics, anti-histamines, decongestants, saline nasal wash, expectorants and other anti- this and that’s. I forked over an obscene amount of money, of which I probably wouldn’t have in the states but had to in a foreign country just because I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t pick and choose what I wanted and what I didn’t want at this point, I was just too desperate to heal. They had me by the bum, and nose, and throat and went in for the pocketbook kill.

I walked out of the hospital and into the thick air to my motorbike. I had two follow-ups scheduled for the next week and a little hope tucked away in the goody bags of prescriptions given to me by both specialists. I couldn’t wait to start to feel better.


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Update:
I had to go into the hospital again on Friday. The rash was driving me insane! I have never felt so uncomfortable and irritated. It tingles with itch and I think I may be losing my mind. I can’t sleep and lay awake counting imaginary sheep until my alarm clock tells me it is time to get up. My allergy test came back and turns out I’m not allergic to any of the 40 listed items whether its beetroot, cats, or Australian tree mixes. So, that’s nice to know. Now if I could just figure out how to get rid of this damn rash. I look like Freddy Kruger and may have to only come out at night.

Washed all my clothes, sheets, towels over again and stopped using moisturizer. Pray for me.

On a good note… I can smell (kind of) again. Yeah! Now I wear a sweet white painter’s mask when I drive. Yeah, I’m hip. Go back to see that doctor Weds. Can you really develop asthma just like that?

Positive thinking… positive thinking.

Doctor, Doctor, Give Me the Cure...

“You have cuff?” The doctor asked me as she sat at her small linoleum topped desk. She fingered through the sheets of paper lined green and white with the random Molly sporadically scrawled between spiraling hieroglyphics that make up Thai writing.
“Yes.” I answered with a demonstrative deep foghorn of a cough. “And this,” I added lifting my right arm up for inspection, rotating it to give the full effect. Hemming, she scrunched her face in acknowledgement. It seemed not to concern her. So, lifting up the bottom of my skirt to reveal my thighs, I added, “See?”
“Mmmmm.” She moaned as her orange eye-shadowed eyes went from my legs to the paper. She scribbled something down continuing with her interrogation. Apparently, my rash and/or hive covered body was not impressing her. “How long you have cuff?” She asked slumped over the desk, her white frock coat hanging behind her on the mirror.
“I’ve had this cough for about 4 weeks. I got sick at the end of January. Nose, runny, then my head had pressure. My nose is fine now, but cough is bad. My ears feel like I’m under water. You know? Pressure in my ears? And now this,” I said pointing to the red blotches that threatened to cover my entire body. “I don’t know what is.”
“Hmmm. You take what color cuff?”
“The color? Oh, um yellow phlegm?”
“Uh huh, and you take sa-moking?”
“No, I don’t smoke.”
“Mmmmm, and you take womit?”
“Pardon?” I asked raising my eyebrows in total confusion. Even for my trained Thai-lish ears, this one was a bit difficult to make out.
“Womit,” she answered putting her hand to her mouth and dropping forward to the floor in a fluid motion. “You know, womit? You take?”
“No, no vomit.” I half chuckled to myself. Thai’s tend to replace certain letters with others. My boss sometimes jokes about the confusion of switching these letters and the humorous words they make. I couldn’t help but to think of her.
“Feber?”
“Uh, no fever.”
“You have athma? In family?”
“No. No one in my family has asthma.”
“Mother? Father? Sister?” She said jokingly trying to coax out a confession of asthma.
“No. No asthma.”
“Okay,” she said standing up, her small frame barely rising from the desk. Taking the stethoscope in hand she placed it on my chest. “Breathe big.” I inhaled as big as I could making sure to rattle the mystery disease around a little so she was sure to hear it. “Again.” Again I breathed deeply, the phlegm vibrating like a rattler’s tail in my upper chest. She has to be hearing this.
“You hab wheezy in your chess. I tink maybe asthma because wheezy.”
“I don’t have asthma,” I shot back. I am 24 years old for crying out loud. I know that I am sick, that it isn’t asthma.
“Uh-huh. I think you take X-ray of chess.”
“X-ray?” My mind raced to dollar signs. How much would that cost? And it’s not like I have a freakin’ broken rib or something. What are they going to see in an X-ray? “I don’t know…”
“Yes, I think you do because lule out infectious. Okay? I think better.” She smiled and nodded knowingly to me. Her forced curly hair scrunched into a layered mullet stiffly moving as she encouraged even more deeply, her body leaning towards mine. Looking around the room for inspiration and the correct answer to be written on the wall, my eyes met with those of Donald Duck’s, Goofy’s and Mickey Mouse’s. Cartoon characters danced in colorful costume on the low walls of the room and I, I was in the center of it all. Is this a joke? Is she a pediatrician? Is she the only available doctor? Why am I in the little kiddy room? Hey, maybe I get a lollipop?
If this was the only way to make progress in this visit, I was left without a choice. “Okay. X-ray.” I had already inquired of the price and knew that Erik, sitting in the waiting room, would scold me if I didn’t take this precaution. “But what about this?” I begged showing the red blotches on my arms and legs. This was really worrying me, more so than the cough.
“What you take for cuff?”
“I took cough tablet and anti-histamine, for nose. Then I went back to pharmacy because it was not working. He gave me more cough tablet,” I pulled out the green tablets from my bag, “and more anti-histamine. Then he gave me anti-biotic, Amoxicillin. I took for about five days and still not better. I have stopped taking Amoxicillin for five days. Only thing different is that I ate honey Thursday and Friday. I got spot on my leg here.” I lifted my skirt again to the red blotched area on my thighs “So, I stopped eating honey. I woke up this morning and now it is all over my body.”
“Mmmmm. You eat honey?”
“Yes, but never allergic to honey before.”
“Mmmmmm.”
“And I am allergic to Penicillin, but I took Amoxicillin before and I was fine.”
“Mmmmm. I think, maybe, you eat honey and you allergic.” Yeah, thanks lady, I just said that.
“It’s not Measles? Person at my work had German Measles. It’s not that, right?” I nodded to her hoping for some recognition of the disease.
“You hab feber?” Didn’t we go over this?
“No, no fever. I feel fine.”
“You take sa-moking?” Are you kidding me?
“No, I don’t smoke. Do you think allergic to something?” My frustration was mounting. I felt like I was diagnosing myself.
“Yeeees, I tink allergic. Maybe honey. Okay?” Nodding to me she turned and pushed a button on the wall, lighting up a red light bulb above. A nurse came in and gathered my chart. They spoke in Thai as I kneaded my hands together. X-ray? What’s an X-ray going to do?
I dressed in a red smock, its ties coming together in the front in a kind of Eastern flare. Murmuring to myself, I exited the restroom and took my position in front of the giant screen. The technician positioned my body and instructed me not to move as he left the room. What? No protective covering anywhere? Apparently Thailand has yet to realize the potentially harmful effects of over exposure to the ol’ X-ray gun. Or is it that the West is just a little too protective? Things you think are normal everyday precautions, like refrigerating eggs, go by without a second glance here. I guess my body will just take on a little more radiation than normal today- all in the sake of science, of course.
I took a seat waiting for the X-ray to be developed. My grumpy technician came out of the room and held a dark chest X-ray up to an illuminated board.
“Is that you?” Erik asked.
“I don’t know. Looks good though.”
“Looks like a chest.” He grinned at me looking up from the pages of his massively fat book. Smiling back coyly, I poked him in the ribs.
Soon enough I was back in kiddy wonderland. Waiting, the Doctor gestured for me to sit. Fumbling with the folder holding the X-ray, she awkwardly maneuvered around me. I motioned for Erik to come in with me as he sat peeking through the crack of the sliding screen door.
”X-ray good. Lule out selious infection.” She said holding it up to the light. Making her way back to the desk, heels clicking on the floor, she added, “No Tuberculosis. No Pneumonia. Dat’s good. We know not selious infection.” My eyes met with Erik’s and I saw him wanting to add more.
“But the rash. What about this?” He asked.
“I tink allergic to da honey.” She said smiling.
Gee, looks like now I’m a Doctor. I feel like I made my own diagnosis. I feel kind of cheated, a little let down by the Thai health system. All I can do is take the medicine she gave me and hope it works. Guess we’ll see.
* To be continued… The plot thickens over the next few days.

Chun Pu

We have a new addition to the household. She is small, but she sure is a handful!

Erik and I were coming home from a dinner out with friends. It was just getting dark as we stopped at the local market to pick up some fruit for our long bus ride the next day. You can never count on the “lunch and snacks” the bus company promises, so we are always sure to carry a few snacks ourselves.

I hopped off the back of the motorbike as Erik wheeled it to a stop in the loose dirt and erupted a cloud of dust. I removed my helmet and walked toward the shamble-shack with its frayed canvas awning sloping like a slack jaw. I bowed my head to enter the cover and glanced up at the dimly lit rows of fruit. The shelves the fruit lay on come to about chest high, each level displayed a different fruit. Pineapples with spiky hair lay next to dragon fruit, its green –tipped, purple leaves sprawled outward toward the piles of different sized oranges. I am sure that the oranges are all different varieties but can never be communicated past anything but, “orange.” Mangosteens resembling overgrown blueberries with hard shells nestled with the spiky, green-red hairs of rambutans. I scanned the colors to find our apples.

Through the small opening between the shelves came a boy about seventeen from the shadows behind. Much taller than me he stooped under the canopy and held a thin plastic bag open for me to put my fruit into. I smiled at him and leaned over awkwardly to reach for the apples in their pink Styrofoam netting. Picking a few, I rolled them in my hands to check for firmness and bruising. Happy with the four I found I nodded to him to acknowledge that that was all. “Tao rai, ka. See apple, ka. See-sip baht?” (“How much? Four apples. Forty Baht?”) I asked as I reached for my wallet. He turned behind him to grab a calculator and I saw a small shadow dart behind the stall. “Oh, lek meow.” (“Oh, small cat.” As I don’t know the word for kitten or baby.) He furrowed his brow at me and cocked his head to one side. I pointed to the where the shadow had been, “Lek meow.”

An older boy about my age came from behind the other. He smiled at me and leaned down into the darkness. He returned and held a tiny, little mound of fur in his outstretched hand. Two green eyes peered at me as he shoved the warm body into my already full hands. Struggling to balance the bag of apples and to not drop the tiny body, I lowered one shoulder and slid the bag onto my right arm. A little calico cat purred at me as I scratched under her chin and held her up to the sky in my left hand. She just sat, purring away with her little back legs outstretched from beneath her white belly, toes spread in the cool air. She was the chillest little kitten ever.

I smiled at her as I handed her back to the fruit boys. “For you.” he said with his hands up in refusal.
“For me? No, no.” I answered him trying to push the kitten into his hands.
“For you. Yes!”
“For me?” I studied the creature. She looked so content just slumped in my hand. She looked at me and blinked her green eyes lazily. “Erik, I think we have a cat.” I called to him over my shoulder.
“What?” He said as he walked toward me.

The mother cat appeared from under the rows of striped watermelons and I put the kitten down to her. The kitten crawled on the mother and they playfully batted at each other. They rolled onto their stomachs and nipped at the other’s ear. Erik and I backed away to observe and discussed the situation- were we really going to take her? The kitten saw us and bounded toward where we were standing. She began to rub her head and small body against our legs and crisscrossed around our ankles. She dove into Erik’s hand as he leaned down to her. “Yeah, she’s a keeper.” We agreed.

I held her against my chest as we drove the rest of the way home.

Born to be Wild..ish

* a quick note before the boss catches me... I know the office is dying to hear*

It's a glorious day when you experience your very first visitors in your new home- especially when your new home is a developing country halfway around the world. My Father (Pops) and Step-Mother (Barb) staggered through the sliding glass doors of the domestic arrivals only an hour or so later than expected. For Thailand, that's pretty good.
Unfortunately, my "Wild Harley Hog motorcycle Fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants" parents have had a rough start. They haven't actually slept a good nights sleep since getting on the 17 hour plane due to "those damn airplane seats" and a broken Sleep Apnea machine. The plane, tolerable. The machine, a major pain in the ass and worry for us all (more so for Barb because she can't sleep next to the logger sawing off cords of wood whose saw keeps getting stuck).
To cheer them both up I thought it would be nice to hop on the motorbikes and cruise to the lookout point near our house. They're bikers, right? They can handle my little 100 Honda Wave no prob...Yeah. Aside from popping wheelies, almost dropping Barb on her butt halfway up the mountain and shifting the wrong way, Pops has received what we here in Phuket like to call The Phuket Tattoo, a nice tailpipe burn along the calf. Only the coolest hard core bikers have it, (ahem, yeah).
It's been a rough start with worrying about how to fix the machine in Thailand and figuring out transportation, but today we hit a high point. The machine (Thank you Bangkok-Phuket Hospital) is running. Thank God. The worry and stress is over.
Now we just hop a boat to Koh Phi Phi in the morning and lounge on the beach. The salt water should be good for the leaking wound adorning Pops' leg. And before we know it, that'll be fine too!

Son of a b$%^h

Sometimes I just want to fall to my knees on the dingy ground and scream, "Whhhhhhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, Buddha! Whhhhhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyy!"
I want to spit on the ground and curse this country. Kick the flimsy wheel of my rental bike and pull at my hair.

In our neighborhood we have a pleasant little park where Erik and I go running to try to keep off the rice pounds that like to pile up around the ol' tum-tum. We've been coming sporadically for about 4 weeks now. It really gives you a sense of community and belonging. You see the same faces and smile. You start conversations in broken Thai-lish (Thai-English) as you jog past you puff out a hello or sawasdee and continue on. It's quite lovely...until today.

I went running by myself today because Erik works late. I put on my running shoes, the blue bullets, and hopped on my motorbike to run some laps. I glanced at the time displayed on my phone and locked it away in my seat. Today I'll run five laps in 20 mins, I thought.

I started my laps, the iPod blaring shuffled songs in my ear. A man I usually see stops and we exchange small talk: I am good thank you. As I round the last lap, my face matching the red of my shirt, I stagger to my bike to check the time. Oh, one message. I'll check it later. Placing the phone back into the seat of my bike and locking it, I start a cool down lap.

Eventually I return to my bike. I wonder if Erik is home yet? I use my keys to unlock my bike and pull up the seat- nothing. Did I take it with me? Did I put it on a bench? I'm running through situations that could have occurred but I know damn well that they didn't. I'm spinning in circles looking at everyone that has come since I started on my laps. I was the first person here and now about 50 or so people are walking, hacky-sacking with the traditional Thai woven ball, using the fitness park or talking with friends. I'm helpless and alone. Unsure and skeptical. Hurt and humiliated. Is someone watching me and laughing? Are they thinking "stupid farang." Am I an idiot. Did I not lock my bike? No, I absolutely locked my bike. I punched it down. Oh, God not again. Not another phone!

I retrace my steps searching the ground. Walking back to my bike, I ask the motor-taxi driver sitting on a stump in my poor Thai-lish if he saw anyone at my bike. He understands me and tells me no. I wai and thank him, tears welling in my eyes. Am I upset? Damn right. Am I mad? More like a combination of disgraced and pissed off.

He jumps up to follow me, pointing at some men playing hacky. He approaches and asks them. No luck. Soon the whole park is involved. People I usually wave, nod or wai to are now crowded around my bike as I try to hold back tears and explain the situation. They speak to me in Thai with large hand movements. I only catch tibits of information, the few words I know linking together to get the jist of the paragraph they just said to me. Hold it together, save face. Save face, damn it. I can't cry, they would lose respect. You have to save face in Thailand or they won't bother with you. I take deep breaths and nod as I try to catch foreign words in the air as they fly past me.

They tell me to go to the Police Station. "Chun Bpai. Bpai mai?" I ask. ("Go? I should go?"). I do what they tell me because they are trying to help and I don't want them to think I am ungrateful. I go to the Police Station down the road, which is actually only an office. The motorbike taxi man comes with me, assisting in Thai. They can't help. I need to go to the actual station in town. I know that nothing is going to happen. I make a report, it gets filed. That's that. This is Thailand. I know well enough by now that a missing phone is dog shit on their shoes.

So here I am. Telling you all. Venting my frustration. It's not the actual phone, although the financial damage is a major pain in the ass. It's the fact that I got robbed, right in my own cozy little park. Why me? What did I do? My karma should be good. I'm a good person, damn it. It hurts. I feel cheated and utterly disappointed in the whole situation. My phone. I just got that bloody thing! I have to change my number...again. Someone went into my bike and stole my phone. It's a naked and dirty feeling. Ashamed at my trusting. Ashamed that I was dooped again. I feel stupid and angry and all kinds off dark colors and I don't want that.

I know it's just a phone, that not everyone in Thailand stole it. I can't help but do a sideways glance now. It sure opens your eyes to the dirt that lies under the rug.

Broadcasted on Channel 11 Thai News

(Cont. from previous blog- Mol-lee...Tomorrow...)

I stayed late that night preparing for the next day’s adventure. I sorted flashcards, gathered A-4 paper, found old lessons, and scrambled ideas until my body shuttered with anxious dread. Teaching on stage didn’t bother me as much as not knowing what to expect and not being prepared did…

I arrived at work early. Turning on the water heater for some much needed caffeine, I went to my desk to make sure that I had everything and to go over my lessons one more time. At about 8:15 (good thing I was early…pssh) I watched as Principal Lin, looking more like Princess Fiona from the Disney movie, Shrek, (in Org form) than usual dressed in a blue, sparkly, blazer-shirt and skirt with her hair all done in curls. Oy, dancing around the principal, herded the kids to a small, white min-van.
“Are they really going to stuff awl 26 students in that van?” My co-worker Carol asked aloud as we stood watching from the safety of the shaded door, “And you too?” she turned to me bemused with the whole ordeal.
“Do you think? Will they fit? She said two vans…” I retaliated peering over the brim of my light brown, instant coffee.
“They sure have done it before, awlright. Wouldn’t surprise me.” She said as she turned toward her desk.
“Are you okay?” My co-worker Paul sympathetically oozed as he came in. “You are going to do fine.”
“Yeah,” Carol chimed in, “and just think, we can all have a nice laugh when it’s over with. No problem a’tawl.”
“Wow, good one. Have fun with that.” Kate, the only one my age grimaced to me, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Principal Lin called through the crack in the door. Damn, I thought maybe she would forget me, maybe get too wrapped up and they would all take off. Guess not. I swallowed the last swig of candy-flavored coffee, sighed and plowed out the door into the sunshine.
“Teacha Mol-lee!” the kids cried as I approached the hustle and bustle of loading them on the bus. And Carol was right, there was only one. But where was Em? Em better freakin’ be going…
“Khun Mol-lee” I overheard as Principal Lin talked with Dr. She motioned for me to move into the passenger seat. I was watching as the children stuffed themselves into the van: some standing, some sitting, some crammed into corners on the floor. It was amazing how all the little bodies fit in. Even Oy fit, lop-sided, in the back. As directed I sat shotgun to the good Dr., Grandfather to two of my children, but more importantly Head of The Ministry of Education. As we were getting ready to leave, Cartoon, a smiley little girl in my class, was lifted up and plopped in my lap. The door was shut and she sat giggling, wedged into the front seat with me. Great.

The drive was long and blaring kid shows played on the flip-down DVD player as we whipped into Phuket Town. My stomach churned and my mind raced with what to expect. I replayed the planned lesson in my head and talked with Cartoon as we passed things she recognized. “Flower,” she said pointing her little finger at passing roadside orchids.
“Very good, Cartoon. Flower. Purple flower.” I encouraged.
“Sun.” She said squinting up at the sky and shielding her eyes.
“Yes. Hot sun.” I replied fanning my face as the rest of the children squealed and yelped in the back.

After about twenty minutes of driving back the way I drove in to work that morning, past the center of Phuket Town and through the misplaced rotary, we came upon a road lined with men in black uniforms. The uniforms identified themselves by their tell-tale white gun sashes and badges as being officers, hundreds of them it seemed. Among the police were security guards, several farang (foreigners), some Thai’s obviously working at the event smocked and carrying pots, and some well dressed Thai’s donned in His Majesty The King’s representative yellow polo shirt topped with a classic black blazer. Apparently these were not your ordinary Thai’s.

My nails dug into the handle of the door and white knuckled, my mouth dropped as I tried to access the situation. Holy shit. What is this? Police? Seriously? Maybe it’ll be too busy an event and I will be forgotten, dismissed to a back corner. Oh God, it is here, we’re stopping.

We stopped across the street from a large, rectangular, dark, marble sign draped in rich, blue silk. Only the first six letters peaked out from the secretive fabric: AUSTRI. And I knew then that it hadn’t been Principal Lin’s flawed English that had thrown me off. It actually was the Austria Center, whatever that was. As my mind put the puzzle together another piece jammed itself jagged edged into my mind: she had said “grand opening”. Silk fabric, balloons, police, silk fabric covering the sign, security, tons of security, farang…oh shit.

My door swung open as Dr.-stone faced- suggested with his hands that I step out. I set Cartoon gently on the ground and took a deep breath: Here we go. There was nothing I could do. I’m here, they expect me to go on, and there is obviously something big happening. The best I could do was go through it, give it the old college try, wow the crowd and be done with it. Three hours, okay. Dr. pulled back the side door and before it had glided to a stop my kids were spilling out onto the sidewalk. The Dr. started to lead my kids around the back of the van and into the street, and on-coming traffic, while signaling to the officers. Cars slammed on their breaks as the sound of whistles assaulted the air. With students grasping my hands, fingers, skirt, bag and any other extremity they could, I crossed, or more likely shuffled, across the street and onto the walkway of this white-washed center.

It erupted out of the still raw earth. It’s marble and concrete walls cut away at sharp angles and revealed open-air seating and connected buildings rounded as if they were towers. With no one to follow, my students began wandering aimlessly around. I called to them to gather and wrestled them into a small group by the wall and out of peoples’ way…for the most part. After awkwardly standing with a group of 26 wiggling children for several year-long minutes we were met by Em.
“Mol-lee. We go in here. You teach,” she coyly smiled to me and added in a sing-sing tease, “Ah you ready?”
“Em, what is this? I teach here? Where?” But before she could answer Dr. commanded something in Thai to her and we began to follow him through large glass doors and into a building. It was as sterile as a hospital. The floor was immaculately polished and a white, spiral staircase climbed up the center of the room encased in glass, everything smelled free of dust. We removed our shoes by the door and lined them up toe-to-wall before entering any farther. A desk, much like a hotel reception desk, was along the left hand wall and several grey suited Thai’s nodded and smiled at us as we loudly clamored in. We trudged to a large, pastel padded, lima bean shaped pit with a column up the middle as a seating area to climb into. The second my kids saw it, it was a free for all. You might as well have just released them into the play palace at MacDonald’s for all they cared. All they knew was that here was a padded pit, poles to climb, and ledges to jump off of in a new place. And that was exactly what they did. Screaming, they body slammed one another off the mats while hooting like monkeys in triumph and running off to find another victim. Others were screaming as their friends, pretending to be monsters, growling at their kicking feet. They spilled out of the lima bean and onto the polished floor turning the corner into what must have been, The Library. Crisp white shelves held lined books in rainbow colored order and same size categories with fancy book ends. Freshly bought puppets were displayed on shelves, their store bought smiles still gleaming.

“Bang! Satang! Ton! Over here. We are not in the books. Put the books away!” I ordered the wild wolf-children as I helplessly looked at the zoo that had been unleashed. My Thai teachers were nowhere to be found and here I am with Dr. Ministry of Education, a rambunctious group of six year olds, and random wanderers speculating at my uncontrollable class. With the realization of Oy and Em missing, I became a little overwhelmed but assumed that they would be back any minute. They couldn’t have possibly left me for long…here…where no one speaks English and the kids are in a new spot paying no intention to my Charlie Brown English wafting ineffectively through their ears. With Dr. Standing at the end of the room, I tried to herd my children into the bean pit. If I could at least contain them in one area I would be okay, right? As the howls echoed through the building my children managed to hurtle over or around me and into the books. Several began to climb the honeycomb structure that stretched from ceiling to floor with new books clamped between their rotten stubs of teeth. Others chased each other and jumped X-Game style into the pit. It had felt like ages, the perspiration beading on my back and under my hairline. They were only getting louder and more destructive. I imagined the books being tossed on the floor, red mixing with (gasp) blue books, the stuffing of a chicken puppet spilling from its insides, my children drooling from the honeycomb rafters above onto their victim below.

“Okay, Banmaireab! KG2! Over here!” I clapped to them in my most authoritative tone. Miraculously most of them came over. The others I called by name and got them to join. Now, that I had them all together, what was I going to do? How was I going to contain them? I didn’t want to start teaching. I didn’t have any of my materials. Where were Oy and Em? I searched my surroundings for an idea…oh course, “Yok,” one of my best behaved and smart students, “could you please go and pick out one book to read with the class.” She got up and as others went to follow I clucked at them to sit back down, “Is your name Yok? Yok is picking out the book thank you very much. Please sit and wait.” With the good Dr. looming behind us I tried to look in control of my class.

Yok handed me the spongy book, “Thank you, Yok. Okay. Ooooooh, nice book. Is this a little book or a big book?” I asked knowing that I had to buy time and this four page thin baby book wasn’t about to cash in.
“Little!” a chorus of shouts came.
“Good. What color is the book?”
“Pink!” they replied.
“Good,” I nodded in approval to them, “What is on the book? What is the picture of?” as I continued with random questions people began to trickle in: a couple from outside, some business men from upstairs, a family with a little boy. I could see the Dr. on the ledge of the bean watching me, his face carved in the same stern look. Was I doing well? Is he happy? How can you read this guy? As I thought of these things I realized that my students were being incredibly attentive and articulate. I thought, screw it, I’m going to teach my kids. I’m just going to do my best and do what I know the kids like to do and can do well.

After three books Teelak approached me, “Teacha Mol-lee, bathroom.”
“You have to use the bathroom? Can you wait?” He nodded to me as he clutched the plaid shorts around his groin. Oh, God. How am I going to take them all to the bathroom? Where is the bathroom? Where the hell are Em and Oy?
“Teacha’ Mol-lee,” Noon, a little dark eyed girl in my class came to me, “bathroom, please.” She said, one leg twined around the other. As I looked around the room I noticed most children were clutching their plaid uniforms and squirming with discomfort.
“Do you all have to go?” I asked in disbelief. Their little heads nodded in unison. Ooooooookay, “Let’s go. Boys and girls.” They pushed and shoved their way into a straight line, “Let’s go.” After being denied use of the bathroom on the bottom floor I lead my students up the spiral staircase to the second and had each go in and use the facilities. As we finished up we were joined by Em and Oy who had apparently gone to decorate a board to represent the school.

It was 9:30 and as we came back to the lima bean I was ready to teach. Otherwise, I thought to myself, they are just going to run rampant and embarrass me, the school, and everyone involved. Let’s get this show on the road. With some reprimands and rearranging of seating they finally settled in. Sitting in a tiny, red, plastic chair on top of the four foot wide stage I began my lesson. We went through the usual days of the week and today, the date, and the weather by playing my normal jesting misspelled word game: “What day is it today?”
“Friday.”
Okay, Friday. Very good.” White board marker touches the board and I slowly form the letter ‘M’ until they correct me and chant out the correct days’ spelling. A small crowd was gathering as we continued with our morning routine and then onto the English lesson with phonetics. We reviewed vocab and danced to a phonetics CD that goes along with my curriculum. They love that stuff… “I see a noodle named Nyle/ He likes to nap for a while/he wears a scarf around his neck/he’s neat and right in style.” (Phonetic sound /n/ Letter Nn represented by your pal and mine, Nyle Noodle. Oh, yeah.) People love to see kids dance and be cute, so I was just feeding it to them. The cute part is easy for my lot; the dancing is a little silly though. But that’s what the people want.

I was cranking through. The white board was covered with letters and vocabulary cards and hands were raised to answer questions. I glanced up towards the crowd for the first time and noticed the Principal, Dr., Some black suit jacketed men from the Oborn Jorn, a few well to do smiling farang, and a bunch of onlookers, maybe forty. I knew I had to beef it up. Make the kids impressive. Use what they know to make the crowd ‘ooh and aw’. We went over vocabulary flashcards, “It’s a butterfly. Letter B. Sound /b/.” the children answered. As we ended the review I began to prep for a game as Oy approached me, “Mol-lee. Blake.”
“What?” I asked sorting flashcards in my dewy palms.
“Blake…you know?”
“Blake? What. What do you mean?” I asked half stumbling over my materials as my rhythm had been broken. She looked around for help.
“The student’s. Blake. Eat.” She mimicked eating.
“Oh. Sorry, sorry, yes. Break.” I apologized. The stress and pressure had dulled my usually sensitive ear from Thai mis-sayings and pronunciation. “Of course. Okay. No problem.”
“You come.” She encouraged as I put my things in a pile and followed the line out.

We sat at long tables on hard wooden benches and the students got a little roll filled with shredded pork (I like to call them meat buns), and an orange flavored milk in a bag with straw. As the students sat chowing their meat buns, a commotion began behind them near the silk covered sign. Two hundred or so people were standing around it and as I inched closer out of curiosity I was startled by the thunderous bang of a bass drum. A full marching band in light blue garb piped with red and large white plumes atop stiff white caps began to explosively play to the mingling crowd. The silk was pulled off to reveal the sign and released ribbon flapped back in freedom. Grand opening, indeed.

Some of my students covered their ears while others banged out the song on the table with sticky hands. I stood along the wall behind them smiling proudly and encouraging good behavior. As the band changed tunes, the crowd shifted like the tides and rolled our way. Like a tsunami it rolled towards my kids. The people just kept coming and coming and coming. We were flooded with onlookers. My poor, innocent, unknowing children. Video cameras, ten or so of them, circled my bread-mouthed kids while the head of the Oborn Jorn talked with them while posing for photo-ops, and rich white Austrians pinched their cheeks and tussled their hair. The Principal ordered something in Thai to Oy and the kids were up and lined in no time.

“Mol-lee, you teach. Now!” Oy called to me over the excitement. Let’s rock. I Stood at the head of the line and lead my children inside, weaving around the towering adults. We sat back in the bean pit and tried to continue. It was jam-packed, wall-to-wall people. I could hardly hear myself call to them, let alone expect them to follow directions in English.
“Maybe, you do dance again.” Oy suggested.
“Okay, but there is music on.” I told her as the elevator music whined in my ear by the big screen television I had previously turned off. We’ll try it.
“Oy turned the music on and up as loud as it could go and the students began to move in a sloppy, insecure, slurred dance. This isn’t going to work.
“Oy, forget it. They cannot hear the music.”
“Oh, I doh-no.”
Thinking on my feet, I had them all sit down and split down the middle.
We started playing an impromptu game of flashcard tic-tac-toe where the students one by one had to come up, pick a card, turn it over to reveal the picture, name the object, tell me the letter it began with and the phonetic sound to gain an ‘X’ or an ‘O’. The volume in the room was incredible and people sat on the ledges of the pit to watch and cheer on the children. We sang songs between games: Itsy Bitsy Spider, Twinkle, Twinkle, etc. because I knew the people would eat it up…as they did.

Plucking a flashcard from the white board to redirect my students’ attention, I came face to face with a television camera, the large black circle reflecting a skewed image of myself staring back at me. Surprised by the proximity of the lens, I nervously smiled and tried to remember what I was doing before I was a deer in headlights. News crews snapped shots of my children and people talked to them while I played the game. An older woman with frizzled hair and grey sweater jacket leaned on the ledge of the pit on the stage where I taught and engaged me, mid-lesson, in conversation, “Vear ah you frum?”
“Oh, I am from U.S.A. America.” I answered sweetly. You have to say both U.S.A. and America here because people either know one or the other. If you say America, they may have no idea.
“And da children? How vold?” her dry lips smacked together.
“They are mostly five and six.” I failed to mention the Ministry of Education’s three year old spoiled granddaughter in my class.
“Ah. And how long you stay ear?” she asked, her cheek bones defined ghoulishly by the dark blush.
“I’ve been here for about four months now.”
We continued until she got her fill with information adding, “I am frum Austria.” Yeah, no kidding lady. Are you happy you spent your money on this now that you saw my little kiddos? I continued with my lesson.

The crowd thinned out again and I switched to Mathematics. Hopping down from the wooden stage and onto the now open floor, I put a number line on the ground. Oy and Em taped the numbers, as I reviewed the concept “Count up!” I chanted as I put my right hand into the air, “Count down!” I continued with the opposite arm. My voice echoed through the chamber of the spiral staircase. I could feel movement behind me as I tried to focus on the children lined on the edge of the Easter-egg colored pads. One by one my students came up to demonstrate their mathematical ability while I congratulated them with big, shiny, stickers. This is ridiculous, I thought as my bare feet swept the now warm floor. As we danced on the number line, two dark images hovered to my left.

“Excuse, me. Can I talk with you?” A scrappy, mustachioed man approached me. In his hand he held a microphone as a beautiful Thai woman stood beside him smiling. The camera man rested the heavy instrument on his knee as we chatted. “When did you hear about this opening? We didn’t know you were going to be here.”
I stared at his red shirt- lie. “I heard a lot about it yesterday and more as we got ready to come.” When actually all I wanted to say was that I heard about it yesterday before I was planning on leaving work to go home and actually realized what it was, oh, ten minutes ago. It wasn’t technically a lie. My students rustled in the background. The light from sunlight bounced off the white walls and showered the room in a hot pool of light.
“Have you had a chance to check out the facilities? What do you think?” He asked with his skinny forehead gleaming from the light that fell across from us, his right hand firmly on his hip while the other mopped his brow.

The thought of my children crawling all over the shelves and half-nelsoning each other came to mind. The bathroom trip upstairs came to mind. Walking to snack came to mind. “I’ve become familiar with the library and we read a few of the books. It seems like a wonderful resource and a great facility for the community. It is also architecturally lovely.” I answered. Was this really happening? This was why I was here. Get the kids on camera. Plug the school. We talked a bit more about things I knew nothing about but pretended to have an inkling (which I didn’t). Finally he prepped the beautiful Thai and I was asked the same questions by her, only recorded this time as my children sang the ABC’s (ah, Em and Oy, very smart) in the background. Charmed, the reporter asked me if I could get the students to say ‘I love the new library! Buh-bye’ to the camera as a closer for the segment. But of course, I’d only be fired if I didn’t. After three takes they wrapped up and left the building. The strange room became quiet again.

I turned back to my students, ready to continue with stickers. Em approached me smiling sweetly and holding my arm, “Mol-lee. Finish teaching. Now, we go. Eat lunch.” And it was over like that. I was on camera. The school was mentioned. Mission complete. Lesson over. Who cares if the students learned anything today? Who cares if that set us three days behind in curriculum? Publicity.

We returned to the long tables and wooden benches as they spooned cold rice, chicken, soup, and soy sauce prepared that morning and driven from school into little divided lunch trays for the kids. I watched as they ate and awkwardly smiled at onlookers and hoverers. Thai people came up and asked the children questions, taking their spoons and mixing the food on the plate for them. A hefty farang man, stocky in his walk, approached me. He had a full navy blue suit with collared pinstriped shirt and red tie. He wiped his moist face with a faded white handkerchief as I told him about our school and he told me about business-architecture. He is the boss of the Austrian building group that built the facility, “Thai architecture, we just built it.” He emphasized as he went on about the politics of building in Thailand.

The children finished their lunches and dove into ice-cream pops while we got ready to leave. My stomach rumbled as I stood with my children. I was so exhausted I could fall over. As I stood entertaining my children, trying to keep them behaved, I heard loud gasps, squeals, yelps, and shouts. A woman holding a bunch of thirty or so multi-colored balloons rounded the corner. The rainbow colors glowed in the sunlight and she walked almost slow motion toward the drab and dusty lunchroom. The dirty faces lit up and reached toward the multicolored fantasy with grubby hands. The dry grass blew up a small tuft of weeds as she brought the balloons to me.

“Balloons! Letter B! Sound /b/!” my students cried as the silken white strings were handed over to me. Two white Austrians stood smiling at the side of us: he in dark business suit and parted hair, her, twisting her long-linked gold necklace around her finger that matched her nautical attire suitable for a developing country. He squeezed her around her red striped waist at my students’ delight and they gazed satisfied into each others’ eyes.

Only after you read the TWO parts of the blog
view it yourself @:
http://www.thaisnews.com/news_detail.php?newsid=197996
click on Special report: Austria – Phuket Community Cente opened

Mol-lee, Tomorrow...You Teach...Okay?

I was sitting at my desk, diligently working away on the next week’s lesson plans when Em, my assistant Thai teacher, slid open the shaded door to the office and peeked inside, “Mol-lee.” I saw her lips form my name as she stepped inside. Removing my earphones, I gave her a smile, “Yes?”
“Mol-lee, you go talk. Principal Lin.” She said as she came to my desk fanning herself with a piece of paper.
“What? Principal Lin? She wants me? Why?” I asked in disbelief, shuffling the papers on my desk and trying to put them in logical order so that I could continue with them without losing my spot.
“Yeeees, Mol-lee. Go talk. Ah, Principal Lin need to speak wit you.” She cooed slouched with her hip on my desk.
“Oooooh,” I toyed with my English co-workers as I pushed myself away from my desk. Their bodies all turned towards me and eyes watched as I followed Em to the door. With my mind racing with lesson plans, I followed her outside as my coworkers chuckled at me through the sliding glass door: math activities, do we continue with phonetic /n/ or should I break it up and add in some verb enforcement? I was going to continue with the concept of more, but is it too fast? What could Principal Lin want? Did I do something wrong?
Shuffling along the stone walkway towards the main office, Em began to try to explain, “Tomorrow you no teach student. Teach other school. Far away," she said with a wave of the hand.
“Far away? What? I don’t teach students tomorrow? No teaching?” I little bubble of joy lifted inside me and erupted as a smirk on my lips as I entertained the thought of a day off.
“Yeeees, Yeeeees, you teach. But not at school, not in classroom. We go….uh,” she thought aloud in Thai as we ascended the stairs and came to the office door, “I doh-no. Principal Lin.” She smiled to me as my face squinted in confusion and we walked through the door.

“Ah, Mol-lee,” Principal Lin called from her desk. Her large body filled the width of the desk and her little chubby arms sat on top like two stubby sausages stuffed into a bright, coral, linen blazer. “Sit, parease.” She instructed with a flop of her arm to a small metal chair in front of her desk.
“Thank you.” I answered still unsure of what exactly was going on and a little hesitant. I looked back at Em for encouragement and she smiled and nodded to me.
“Mol-lee, tomorrow, ah…KG2 (my classroom Kindergarten 2) go to Siria Centah. You know Siria Centah?” she asked, her white powdered face looking at me expectantly.
“No, I’m sorry I don’t. Where?” I asked leaning in towards her, hoping that if I get closer, hear better, that I could understand better.
“Uh, you, Em, Oy (my other Thai assistant) Me, Dr. and KG2 all go, go, go,” her hands waved around the air in front of her like two sparring birds flapping wildly about. By this time all I understood was that myself, my two Thai teachers, The Principal, and the Doctor, being the Head of the Ministry of Education (gasp) were all going somewhere tomorrow. But where?
“Okay, we all go…”
She interrupted, “I have two car to, uh,” she moved her clutched hands side to side while swaying her body.
“Driving?” I asked. I have always been darn good at charades.
“Mmmm, yeees. We go to The Centah. You know? Uh, Aus-tri-a Centah. Ah, li-berry. Books, you know? Li-berry? Yes. You go with children and look, look, look, around,” Her head moving about to imaginary books and shelves.
“Okay. So tomorrow Me, Em, Oy KG2 go and look in a center? Like a field trip. We go and just look around?” I asked in disbelief but with a small hope. The Ministry of Education’s Grandchildren are my students; maybe this was a special perk? “I don’t teach tomorrow? We go and look?”
“No. Tomorrow you teach. You teach KG2.” She smiled triumphantly.
Wait a cotton-picking minute- what? “So I teach about the Austria Center? I don’t know Austria Center? What is it? What do I teach?” My breathing became a little unsteady, but as I pictured it in my mind I calmed. What could it be? A field trip, some plaques on the wall in English I read to the children, they get a little history, we learn some Austrian stuff and badda-bing, everyone’s happy…right?
“Mol-lee, you go and teach, I doh-no maybe some picture, maybe…story, maybe…I doh-no. You teach, teachteach, and people watching,”
“People are watching? Who? Watching me teach?” I asked in disbelief. Oh, this was getting good.
“Yeeees,” she smiled, her thick hands clasped in front of her bosom which rested on the top of her desk. “Some people…you know…some children no have mother or father, very poor…”
“Orphans?”
“Yes, okay. They give money to the children no mother, and make li-berry. Grand opening. You, me, Oy, Em go and open. First time.” -Holy shitballs…what?- “Okay, Mol-lee. You teach for me.” She asked with her sweetest smile plastered on in red-hot lipstick.
“Okay, we go to Austria Center. I teach, maybe draw a picture of what we see, and people watch (?) and then we come back to school…when?” I struggled to understand exactly what the heck I was in for.
“We drive back to school 12 o’clock. Okay?”
“A field trip? We are going on a field trip. Come back at 12 0’clock?” I half asked half answered.
“Okay, I think okay. Thank you Mol-lee. You come to school tomorrow morning, what time?” She asked.
“I come here at 8 o’clock.”
“I think tomorrow you come in 7:45. Okay. Thank you Mol-lee.”
“Okay.” I shrugged as I got up and looked at Em. Her face would tell me what was really going on.

As we descended the stairs I turned to Em, “What are we doing?”
“We go to Austria Center and you teach,” her hands straightened horizontally in front of her, “people come watch ‘oh, cute, cute the children’ and you teachteachteach.”
“What do I teach? I don’t know Austria Center?”
“No, Mol-lee, you teach, same same.”
“I teach what I would teach tomorrow? We take workbooks?”
“No, I think maybe game, maybe sing-song, story…”
“Wait, Em, people are going to be watching me teach, what? On a stage?”
“Yeeees. Many people come and watch, looking around and watching teach.”
Oh, God. I finally got it. I understood. How could I be so stupid? It isn’t a field trip, it’s a publicity thing. I have to cart my kids into a building and try to teach them while rich Farang and god-knows-who circle us like cute-thirsty vultures going in for the cheek pinch. Oh, no. And three hours? Three hours of it? How am I going to teach three hours with people cruising around us? What the hell am I going to teach? Think Molly, think.

I slid back the door to the English office and my co-workers all turned my way. Their eyes widened as I stood, shocked in the doorway, “Oh, no Molly. What does she want you to do?”

Ground Control

What was that loud cracking sound? Why was I on the ground? My leg hurts. I'm on the ground. I'm on...the...ground? Cars. Get up. cars. Erik, where's Erik? Yellow light. Get up. My head, helmet. The bike is by my feet. I'm on the ground. Where's Erik? Get up. My hands, where are my hands? The ground? get up.

I scrambled to my feet, the wet pavement making impressions on the palms of my hands like scales. I looked around. Cars, bikes, we're going to get hit. Erik. Erik is talking to...other people? People...on the ground? That's when it hit me, we had been in an accident.


It was a good dinner to unwind from the first day of work. We both experienced stressful situations and unplanned occurances seemed to have crept into both of our days. We had waited out the rain by means of a hot fudge sundae and a hot cocoa, the same kind my Aunt Kay used to make. Just sipping it had brought me back to cast iron gas stoves with the smell of the gas wafting with real chocolate warming up on the burner. The rain had calmed and I held close to Erik, the warmth of his body warding off the goose bumps that seemed destined to take over. We cruised through town talking of lesson plans we still had to make. As we approached the road to our house, Erik insisted I wave to the woman on the corner at her food stand. He had eaten there the other day and had made friends with the owner/cook and the patrons. As I turned to wave we came to the branch of our road.
“Did she see you?” Erik asked as he stopped at the T to our road placing his feet firmly on the ground. The blinker shone a bright yellow, illuminating the wall to our right and reflecting off the damp leaves of the trees and bushes.
“No, but a lady sitting there did. She waved to me. She looked really nice and excited to see us.” I told him as I looked down our road.
We waited for the oncoming traffic to pass, and then started to make our turn. The next thing I knew I was on the ground, my helmet had just slammed onto the pavement and my neck jerked with the shock. Yellow blinking lights shone off the wet pavement and the neon green bike was lying at my knees. I jumped up to get out of the road as I saw Erik go towards the others. Who were they? How many were there? What the hell just happened? The bike lay on the ground, its front wheel touching the side of another. My eye was immediately drawn to a small child, was he hurt? Then I saw a woman and a young man, maybe a teenager. Wait, the woman is holding her stomach, God, she’s pregnant. My knee started to sting and I quickly checked as I heard Erik ask them if they were okay. A truck that was behind us stopped and blocked the traffic. It seemed like there were lots of people stopped. All 3 of the others weren’t wearing helmets. God, had my head hit?
“Molly, move the bike.” Erik instructed. Dazed, I lifted the bike up and moved it to the side, the blinker still going.
“You okay? Okay?” Erik asked the couple standing at their bike. The little boy was in the road so I told him to come over and I checked him, “Are you okay?” I asked giving him the thumbs up. Scanning him, there was no blood.
“What happened?” The lady from behind us in the truck asked.
“We were here,” Erik said stepping into the road, “I was stopped and my blinker was on. We were turning. We live right there.” He gestured down the road.
“Okay. Okay. I saw. He come on side?” she asked.
“No, on this side. I turn,” he made the action of steering the bike, “and he hit me. Here. Like this.” He made a T bone collision with his hands. “Are you okay?” He asked the people again as they stood huddled together.
The lady spoke to them in Thai and they nodded, moving towards their bike.
I sighed as they took off. If she hadn’t been there to communicate, god knows. What would happen? Thai police? It wasn’t our fault. My knee stung and my hand throbbed as I climbed back on the bike. We wheeled toward our house, the neighbors out in an ogling pack.
“You okay?” They asked.
“We’re okay.” We answered, “Shaken.” One of the neighbors walked to us, checking my hands and asking if we were okay and what happened. We looked over the bike and made our way inside, recapping what had happened. Gosh, good thing we were wearing a helmet. Helmet 2 points. Blinker none. I just wanted to get inside.

Update to: What a day...

Like wearing a cloak woven with threads of worry, doubt, despair, sadness, grief, and misery we felt heavy as she told us the news, "He, she, uh, is dead." Our bodies, crushed by the news, made for weak legs and lead hearts.
She saw us from up the street as we mounted the motorbike on our way out. Dressed in her police woman uniform, obviously an officer of caliber with her many decorations gracing her chest and shoulders, she walked towards us.
We both had a sinking feeling all week. Driving past the house each day, we looked. For the first few days, we looked and saw emptiness. But as the week continued, we noticed that there were several cars at the house. That's what worried us.
As she approached I removed by helmet, walking towards her, "how is everything?"
She told us the sad news, her eyebrows furrowed.
"I think it okay you come. Saturday, uh...you come. I think okay. Twelve, twelve o' clock, ka. she, uh he, dead." Her hands palm up to the sky.
"We are so sorry. Are you okay?" we asked her, my hand to my heart.
"Thank you." she said as she held my face in her hands kissing me on the cheek.
As she walked away, the weight grew and we fell into an introspective silence.
It was like hitting a wall.
"We did everything we could." Erik said as we took off.
"I hope so. I just think, should I have done something different?" I ask into the darkening sky pregnant with storm.
"I don't know, Molly. I don't know."

What a Day...and Evening.

“Oh, uh… my huhband…” she stuttered in a panicked search for English words.
I rose from my chair to see what was happening. Erik was already at the screen door, smiling at first, but now his face twisted in confusion and worry. He opened the door, stepping outside and onto the warm veranda as she scurried toward the gate of our house.
“…My huhband. Uh, he fall. Help. You help me. Oh…” She spoke in a rushed urgency. It took a second to sink in.
“Your husband?” Erik asked.
“Is he hurt? You need help?” I added.
“You help me, please. Help.” She tugged at us with begging eyes. Her face, in a panicked desperation, was framed by her hair still pulled into a loose chiffon from work.
“Okay, okay. We’re coming.” Erik said as he followed her across and up the street to her house.
“Come on!” He shouted over his shoulder as I stood, shocked, for a millisecond. Dazed and trying to grasp what exactly was happening, I froze momentarily in thought. Shook by his call, I dashed into the house and grabbed my phone. Running barefoot up the road, my teacher skirt flipping in the wake of my dread, I reached the house. The woman was frantically opening up the backdoor of her car and pulling things out. She was wild with flustered immediacy. Erik stepped in to help and she grabbed my wrist, “You come. You help me. My huhband. Help.” I had no idea what I was stepping my bare feet into. We flew through the doors of the house in a surreal out-of-body experience and stopped as we entered the kitchen, heavy with earthy smells. I paused when I saw her husband lying on the floor. His body was sprawled, belly up, behind the pale blue kitchen table. With only a white cotton undershirt on, his lower half was exposed-- blue shorts tangled around his ankles. She quickly threw a dish rag onto his exposed genitals as she reached for me to come closer. Time froze. The sound of my breath echoing in my ear as I looked for his chest to rise in time. I automatically began to assess the situation, scanning the area for any piece of furniture or evidence that could whisper what had happened into my ear. My God, he was foaming at the mouth. His body, slightly shaking, had lost control and bodily fluids surrounded him as he gyrated uncontrollably. His shirt was soaked in urine, sweat and saliva. Feces trailed down his leg. I focused on the foam frothing in a yellow discharge from his mouth. It had air bubbles; he was breathing.

Erik came back into the room and just as time had stopped, it begun to speed up; everything moving like lightning flashes. I stood there clutching my phone as the wife huddled over the body. What was the number for 911 here? God damn it.
“You lift my huhband. Please.” She beseeched, her mind racing with fear.
“Okay, okay. We can lift.” I said as I approached the body of her husband. I came around the edge of the table to the crown of his head as Erik went to his midsection.
“Molly, get his head.”
“Alright, I got it.” I answered as Erik heaved the man’s fluid soaked body up and into his arms. My hands slipped on his slime covered forearms and I cradled his soggy head in my hands trying to stabilize his neck. The wife whimpered as she followed us out the house with the occasional “Okay, okay.” As she tried to gather herself.
“Step.” I instructed Erik as we came out of the house and into the car-park, the man’s head still in my hands with my arm bracing his shoulders. Erik breathed heavily as he carried the brunt of the limp body. We reached the backseat door of the car and in a split second decision I climb backward into the seat, his shoulders and head resting on my chest and upper arms. The leather gripped my moist skin and I tore across the seat, forcing my skin to move with me as I pulled his body in with mine. Erik pushed him up and into the car, placing him delicately across the seat. As I reached the other door, my sense of smell kicked in and the car became a pungent tomb. I popped open the other backseat just as the wife came with a pillow. I jumped out and she quickly substituted it under his head as I walked around to Erik.
“You, come with me. Please. You come.” She called hurrying into the house, her cell phone to her ear.
“She wants us to go with her.” I looked at Erik in awe and disbelief at what was happening. Should we?
“Go with her? To the hospital?” He asked as he tried to pull the man’s shorts up a little higher to save his dignity.
“I don’t know. I guess.” I climbed into the passenger seat to assist. The woman was still milling around her house in a panic looking for things and grabbing last minute needs. Like an unexpecting husband at the moment of labor, she rushed with lost cause.
“Here, just close the door.” Realizing that it wasn’t going to work I picked his legs up and held them into the car, “shut the door.”
“You got him?”
“Yeah, go.”
He shut the door and the wife came out. “Okay, okay. You come you come with me.” She said to us as she circled the car hemming and hawing, her hand to her forehead in despair.
“Umm. Okay.” I said as a million things raced through my mind, “Call ambulance?” I asked thinking that it would be better if she didn’t drive in this state of mind.
God, shouldn’t we call the ambulance? What the fuck’s the number? What the fuck’s the number. Oh, God, why don’t we have the number? Go with her? Is it safe? Should I go? Should I follow? No, someone should be with her. But what if she can’t drive right now? Wear my seatbelt. She needs someone. Should I go? Just go. I need to go with her.
“Do you want me to drive you to the hospital? I asked as she threw a pile of towels over her shoulder onto his exposed body.
“Nono. With me. I am a police woman in Pang nga. No problem. I am a police, please. You come wit me.” She floundered as she dug through her purse, “Where are my keys? Oy, my keys. Where are? Where are?” She yelped as she hustled back into the house to find her keys.
Erik pulled up on the motorbike, “Why don’t you call 9-1-1?” he asked.
“Because I don’t know the number!” I howled back at him.
“We’ll follow her?”
“Okayokayokayokay you comewithme.” She said as she pulled my arm with a nervous chuckle.
“No, she wants us to go with her.” I called to Erik in the road.
“With her?”
“With you? In the car?” I double checked.
“okayokayokayokay.mmmmm.” She answered.
Okay.” I said to her. “She wants me to go with her.”
As she locked the front door to her house I said, “I borrow your shoes.” And I slipped on a pair of red wedges.
Climbing into the car, unsure and scared but with Erik behind me, I was worried. God, was I worried.
“You come. Yeah. He okay?” She equally half asked to me and to herself.
I fastened my belt and turned to her husband. His belly rounded up to his chest and the foam at his mouth was gathering in a pool by his neck. His legs quivered and his right arm slightly shook. It was the first time I thought: seizure. My God, he’s having a seizure. I took one of the thrown rags and began to wipe his mouth so that the foam wouldn’t block his breathing. This was probably the last place I wanted to be, but she needed someone.
“He okay? He okay?” she cried, fumbling at the gear shifts.
“He’s okay. He’s okay. Breathing. Good.” I soothed as I watched his quaking body and gently wiped the spittle that oozed from his white crusted lips.
“I am police woman in Pang nga. I gone for one week. He, oh. Don’t know, don’t know. He okay?” “He’s okay.” I repeated as I watched his convulsions. Please, stay with me buddy, I pleaded to myself as I glanced out the rearview window at Erik pacing behind us. She turned down winding roads, passing cars as I attended to her husband wedged between the two front seats and rotated behind.
“Your husband okay behind?” She asked of Erik.
“Yes, he’s there. Don’t worry. It’s okay.”
Traffic jammed up at intersections as it was a busy time of day. Cars in Thailand usually find themselves bumper to bumper while motorbikes weave between the lanes. Erik scooted ahead yelling, “Hospital!” as we tried to maneuver through oncoming traffic.
He miraculously stopped all cars at some points and we cut through, only to find another clogged up motorway. My attention focused on the husband. He began to choke and chortle and without thinking, I unbuckled my belt and whipped around to adjust his head. I turned it to the side, draining out the pooled up saliva and lifting his head back on the pillow, but I quickly removed it as his tongue slipped back. Re-clearing his airway I propped his head with chin up and removed all the built up guck. Oh, god. Stay with us. You’re okay. You’re okay. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. I coached as we wheeled through intersections. Trapped at a light, I could see the sweat roll down the wife as she began to get panicked and restless hitting the steering wheel with the heel of her hand.
“He’s okay. Okay.” I told her as my face screamed otherwise out the window to Erik. I stared at him, tears coming to my eyes. The husband was slipping, he began to quake more violently, and I didn’t know how much longer he would make it. Please get us there. Get us there. Be there. Be there. Erik whizzed ahead and got the attention of a traffic patrolman and the officer stopped traffic to let us through. We were close. If he could just hold on a little bit longer…
We were within spitting distance of Wichira Hospital when traffic became impassable. Erik tried to clear the way, but traffic had no idea of the severity of the situation. The wife panicked and took a turn.
“Wichira Hospital?! Right there!” I demanded.
“No, Mission, better. Thai Hopital.” She cried the sweat beading on her neck. I put my hand on her shoulder as I leaned over to the back seat, my other hand holding her husband’s mouth open and the tongue down. God, don’t be far, I begged.
We finally made it to the hospital after watching the red traffic light count down until it turned green, every second an eternity. When we reached the front door of the hospital, the EMTs came out and put him on a stretcher and whisked him inside. “You stay wit me?” She whined.
“Yes. Of course. We stay.” I told her, “no problem.”
“Thank you, thank you.” She called as she stumbled into the hospital to find her husband. “You stay.”
Erik met me inside in the waiting room. Sullen faces looked at the two farang that had entered with the hysterical Thai woman, both smelling like feces. Erik went to the washroom to clean his shorts while I sat in a blue, plastic, bowl chair watching the wife’s purse as she talked with doctors.
“My huhband. He go to Wichira Hopital. Seri-os conditon. I am police woman in Pang nga. Not home for one week. My huhband, oh.” She got up to check again.
She called her family from her cell phone and told us that they were going to meet her at the next hospital. The doctors and nurses got ready to transport the husband and I watched as they placed him onto the stretcher. All three of us walked to the ambulance and she stood confused and not knowing what to do.
“You go. I’ll drive your car to Wichira Hospital.” I told her. Hesitant at first, she gratefully went with her husband, “oh, thank you thank you.”
I pass Erik climbing on his bike as I stride to the car. It smells incredible and I try to put the windows down but only the back two obey. As I climb in I have to push the seat back to adjust to my legs and grip the shifter in my left hand- left hand- no problem. I pop the car into 1st as the ambulance whizzes past me and follow it into the street. Trying to find the blinkers, the windshield wipers swish on as I switch to the left lane. Erik whizzes past me and yells to turn on the blinkers. I would if I could find them. I quickly glance around and finally push on the hazards and turn off the wipers following the ambulance and honking my horn. Realizing that I don’t have to rush, I slow down and go carefully. Entering Wichira, Erik calls to me to park in a spot he had just seen someone pull out of. I reverse into it in one fluid motion. We enter the hospital and find ourselves surrounded by signage that is all in Thai with no idea where they could have gone.
We ask the front desk,” Do you know where the people on stretcher,” they stare blankly at us, “ambulance from Mission Hospital, just came in…” they continue to stare. “Uh, woman, man sick. Hospital came in here.” We mimic to them and they have no idea. “Okay, thank you. We tell them as we decide to venture on our own. We end up passing by a door just as the wife turns down the hall and she waves to us. Giving her back her keys, we ask about his condition.
“Can you stay wit huhband? I have to…uh, um…” she gestures signing and we tell her yes of course. A little while later he is wheeled out of Tomography and brought down to Emergency. We follow the four, white uniformed staff and stretcher and meet her on the way. She clutches my hand, “Now, you good friend. Good friend. Thank you.”
“No, problem, ka.” I tell her quietly, “You okay?” I ask
“Ka. Okay.” She answers while squeezing my fingers as we walk behind her husband’s stretcher. He is wheeled into a private room in the Emergency area and she tells me to sit. I do, as does Erik, and we wait. Her husband is on oxygen which a nurse is hand pumping into him as another holds an I.V. high into the air. We sit as she talks to the doctors and two people walk in and greet her. It is her brother and sister in law whom she called earlier. They have come to meet her. We introduce ourselves and they thank us. Now that they are there she is okay and we are thanked and told we can go. We leave with warm wishes, “Now, you good friend. I come to your house to visit you. I will come and tell you.” She tells us as she walks us to the doorway of the hospital.
“No problem. We hope he is okay. Good bye, ka.” We wai as we make our way to the motorbike. Climbing aboard, I look toward where we had departed. They wave as they turn to walk inside and we breathe a surprised sigh of relief with a tinge of worry as we wheel back toward home.

Girl, You Need To Find a J. O. B.

Enter an amplified state of exhaustion and pile on another coconut shell spoonful of stress... That's right folks, it's job-hunting time. So right now I'm currently at Molly-0 Schools-7. Who would have thought getting a job teaching English would be so darn hard? Well, anyone who had already tried I suppose.
I currently graduated from TEFL International in Oct. Where I gained my TESOL (teaching English to Students of Other Languages) certification and have since made Phuket, Thailand my home. This cozy little island off the West coast side of the Malay penninsula has everything one would want: beach, sun, city atmosphere, night-life, culture, shopping. You name it, it's probably here... Except a job at the moment, and that's where you find me.
It took a lot longer than anticipated to get a CV (or resume' to those in North America) ready and rearing to go. It seemed like every time I thought I had it ready, I would find something else either missing or incorrect. But eventually, I had a nice grouping of seven packets.
I woke up bright and early, but not bushy tailed as the stress of finding a job has left me restless. I rose to the meep meep, meep meep of my little silver-framed alarm clock. It was time to go hunting. I rolled out of bed and groped my cool linoleum floor for my glasses. Clumsily, I put them on as I stagger stepped into the sunlit corridor; its yellow walls intensifying the glow.
By 9 o'clock I was out the door. Just as I had planned. I had my trusty bag filled with CVs and examples of lesson plans I had already done during my training. After some encouraging words from my partner, and reassurance that I looked the part of teacher, I hopped on my silver and black Honda Wave 125 motorbike. Latching my helmet I waved goodbye as I tried to master the art of driving a motorbike with a skirt on. Knees tucked together in a point, I turned the corner and was officially on my way.
First stop, the international school. I had scoped it the night before and was sure of where to go. As I pulled off the pseudo Thai highway of criss-crossing vehicles and obscene honking of horns I took a deep breath and prepared myself. School number one, knock em' dead. I parked my bike and shot a quick glance in the side-view mirror. It was only 9:30 a.m. but the sun gets hot quickly here and I was already sweating around my hairline. A quick fluff and a smoothing of the skirt found me inside the doors of the school. Luckily, the office was right inside the entrance so I popped in, smile plastered on.
"May I help you?" the Thai secretary asked as she and three others attended to a large bulletin sign.
"Yes, I was wondering if you were hiring any English teachers?"
"Um, right now we are fully staffed."
"Oh, okay," I pondered back, a little disappointed. "Could I leave my CV with you in case you have an opening?" The secretary gave an audible groan as she tried to fit my words into a sentence that made sense to her. With a smile she motioned to someone behind me.
"Hello. Yes, we are full at the moment," a teacher using the copier answered the confused Thai's response.
"Alright, well could I leave my resume with you?" I asked cheerily. Great! Someone who could speak English well. This was looking up.
"You should talk to George." She said as she peeked her head around the office door and spied into the hallway. "George, do you have five minutes for this lovely lady?" She asked him aloud. George, however, made no sign of acknowledgement and left me there smiling like a doofus waiting for a response that wasn't to come. "Just go talk to him. Why don't you go? Go on." She encouraged with her spiky hair and metallic eyeliner defining her large eyes. So I did.
I approached him and took the que to sit as he waved his hand toward the table. I anxiously pulled out one of my very best copies of my CV. He looked it over while rubbing his temples. At times during our small talk he would look to the side as if in deep thought. A large man, probably in his fifties, George was obviously the principal of the school. His glasses strung around his neck and higher than thou air about him festering the hallway in which we sat. Was he wondering if I was the right person? Should I have answered something differently? I left with the possibility of a part-time job and and opening of a position next year. Basically, nada. He had my CV. He would call. Uh, huh.
Not letting myself get discouraged I stuck my helmet on and cruised down the dirt road and back out into traffic. Rolling the accelerator back I whipped into the stream of traffic. With a quick toe-tap shift I was into fourth gear and cruising at a steady 80 Kilometers an hour. I finally reached the U-turn opening and took the chance with a slight break in traffic. This was precious time today! I had to land a job. With an inner debate of where to go next, I decided that I should once again improve my CV. Luckily, I was near my TEFL school and since I paid them good money to go there I figured I could go do a quick touch up on their dime.
With new copies of my resume and fixed copies of my diploma, my deflated ego once again returned to normal. The next school on my list was one that my land lady had told me about. I cruised across town and into the neighborhood of where it should have been. Behind dusty industrial trucks and swerving vendor motorbikes, I finally made my way onto the correct street. With my head craned reading passing signs, I found myself at the end of a road leading to the Phuket Solid Waste Disposal Department. Um, not the school. I remembered her mentioning a blue sign and as I turned my bike around into oncoming traffic, I saw it. Well, it was blue but written all in Thai. Here goes nothing. What do I have to loose? Worst case, I find the back entrance to the Solid Waste Department.
As I roared down the street, my head angled to read all the signs, I felt myself take flight. Only after landing the jump off the speed bump did I notice a guard at a gate with yet another blue sign. She had said a blue sign. The guard smirked as I pulled up all knobbly-kneed, my toes pointing to the ground holding my bike straight as I tried to inquire if this was the appropriate building. "Is this a school?" I asked him. He answered by scratching his head. Okay, right. That tells me that he doesn't speak English. Let's try this, "English? School? Office?" He muttered something incomprehensible and I smiled, "Thank you." And carried on my way. If it wasn't the school, I'd turn around. If it was, score. As I approached the first building I saw kids in their tell-tale blue uniforms. Nice one, Molly. Now, Where the heck do I go?
I parked my bike to the side and climbed off. Placing my silver, baseball-hitter's helmet into the front basket (where the Thais usually have their dogs), I gave another quick glance in the mirror and a flap of my shirt to dry the beaded sweat down my back. Here goes school number two. I scanned the building and decided that the second floor may hold some answers as the sign above read: Multi-Language Center. I found myself looking into classrooms and admiring some wonderful craft-work from the students until I reached a doorway with the sign, Foreign Language Resource Library. Hmmm. Potential. Children rushed by me on the stairs as I debated if I should go in. The tinted window only gave hints at what was inside and the shoes lining along the wall were all adults, not like the other rooms with the brown and black school issued canvas runners. A lady came out and I took a deep breath, "Excuse me. Do you know where Lamp is?" (Lamp was the contact name my land lady had given me.) She pointed inside the room. "There?" She nodded and I thanked her as I kicked off my shoes and placed them alongside the others.
Fixing my hair one last time, I pushed open the large door and was hit by the wonderful air-con. I entered a large room where several people sat at wooden desks and shelving filled one side. I had no idea what my contact looked like or where she'd be. I just knew her name. Two people were arguing in front of me and I stood there awkwardly by the door waiting to be helped, but not wanting to interrupt. When my presence could no longer be ignored, the woman turned to me, "Can I help you?"
"Yes, I'm looking for Lamp?" I answered in a very sweet, I'm-very-sorry-for-interrupting way.
"I am her." The short Thai woman answered quizzically. She must have been wondering how the heck I knew her name and why.
"Nee is my land lady and she gave me your name. I am an English teacher. I was wondering if you were hiring any English teachers at the moment." All eyes in the room wee on me. I'll tell you the pressure sure mounts when everyonein the room is evaluating you and not just one person.
"Oh, okay," she smiled, "sit. I'll be right with you." Great. Here I am. This has to be good. I half asked and answered questions in my head, half listened to their heated debate if whether the teacher's test was too difficult for the students as I waited nervously on the brown, leather couch. After their discussion was over she came to me and looked over my CV. By this time I was ready to land this job. I wanted this job. I talked about my experiences in Burlington teaching younger children while also describing my time with older students at the Young Vermont Writers' Conference and TEFL. I shot out examples of teaching, she asked about my hobbies. I introduced my diplomas and certifications, she gave me an application to fill out. She told me about the possibility of a position and would I be willing or able to teach different subjects such as Science. Of course I would. I gave her examples of my lesson plans, and she photocopied them. I even saw one of my former classmates who was now employed there and she gave a good word for me. I left feeling good about the job, but uncertain. I'm still clutching my phone waiting for a call.
It was almost lunch time and I was determined to squeeze in another before I met my partner for lunch. As I was chugging along towards a school I had in mind I glanced to my right to double check that the lane was clear and spotted another school. Ah, hell. I thought to myself. Why not. It's close and I probably won't make it to the other before lunch. How awkward would that be?
With a break in traffic I turned my bike around and entered the gate of the school. Parking my bike on the side and taking another deep breath, I gathered up my bag and put on a smile as I walked towards God-knows-where the office was. I approached an old man in what seemed like an office, " Excuse me, are you hiring an English teacher?" He and another woman to his right exchanged confused glances at each other. Okay, let's try again, " I am an English Teacher. Do you need one?" Nothing. "I have a CV. Would you like it?" My temperature was rising with half embarrassment and the creeping feeling of awkwardness. They looked at each other and spoke in Thai. I stood, once again, like a doofus, smiling. They lead me across the green behind the building. I walked feeling like an outsider (Christ, could I be more of an outsider?) past open windows where lectured students giggled and pointed at me. I was like an Ostrich in a city in New England- quite an odd site.
I was lead to a cafeteria like structure where six teachers sat eating. Oh, God. Exactly what I didn't want to happen. An angry looking Principal shot piercing eyes at me as I was introduced-I think I was introduced- to him. I tried again, "Hello, are you hiring an English teacher?" I asked. All eyes were on me and whispers from the chowing Thais hunkered at the table burned my already red ears.
"English teacher? Yes." He answered as sternly and bitter as humanly possible. He motioned for me to sit at one of the long tables.
"Here is my CV. I was wondering if you needed an English teacher." I said as I handed it to him.
"Ah," he moaned as he placed his specs on his eyes.
"I recently graduated from TEFL." I added, trying to communicate something.
"We have teacher. Come two days one week. N.A. You know? N.A.?"
"No, Sorry. I don't," I confessed.
"In Patong. How long you in Phuket?"
"Almost three months." He got up, throwing my CV onto the table as a line of tee-heeing children donned in green shirts marched in. The made eyes at me. Some hid behind their friends. I smiled back at them while begging to be struck dead by lightning in my head. He returned and told me to follow a different teacher to get an address. I thanked him for his time and followed the man through the line of children. We came to a door where a loud speaker was blaring out instructions in Thai. I waited while he went inside to retrieve the address of N.A. (whatever that was) for me. The first man I had approached came up to me and asked me if I spoke Thai. I told him no, only a little and he laughed. Then he pondered something for a minute into the air and turned to me, "This school...No good. No money."
Wow, okay. "Thank you. Um," What do you say to that? I took it as my cue to leave as I could see the other man hiding inside the room waiting for me to go. As I was saying goodbye to him, two boys approached and he told them to say hi to the Farang. "Hello, Teacha'" one said. The other, the more daring of the two cleared his voice, "Good afternoon," and stuck out his hand to be shook. I shook and replied, "Good, afternoon. Nice to meet you too. Goodbye."
I walked away wishing that I could disappear. Where was that magic fairy dust? I just wanted to shrivel into my shoes and walk unnoticed. As I approached my bike the two boys came running up to me. "For you Teacha," the daring boy told me as he held out a cup of soggy, cold fries drizzled in ketchup towards me. "For me?"
He smiled. "Thank you." I said as I walked to my bike and they giggled off to a bench. I placed them, in the basket under my book bag as I mounted my bike to drive off. He ran back up to me, extending his hand. I shook my head and said, "No, High five!" and slapped him five as I gunned my bike and tore-ass out of there thinking, hey, at least the kids like me.
To be continued...Still to come: The rest of the day. ergh.