Bitterly, we boarded the second bus a few hours later. Erik and I settled in to the seats directly behind the driver, our valuables nestled close to us, determined not to let ourselves be duped again. We slept sporadically through several movies until we were abruptly woken by shouting.
"Everybody! Check your bags! Check your bags!” A Swedish man was calling up the aisle to us. We have 15,000 baht (US$450) missing! Check all your bags!"
"What's happening?" I drowsily turned to Erik.
"They're missing money. Check your bag."
The Swedish man was walking up and down the aisle checking with each person. His face contorted in bewilderment and rage. While I shuffled through the bag on my lap and found that everything was accounted for, I noticed the bus driver, his accomplice, and the sleeping ten year old boy all seemed to be oddly undisturbed by the commotion.
"What happened?" Erik calmly asked the Swede.
"We have been robbed! My girlfriend is missing her passport and 15,000 baht. Another is missing 13,000!" he said frantically, perspiration highlighted from the dome light of the cabin and panic flashing in his blue eyes. One of the passengers had woken to a rustling at her feet, only to find the bus driver's accomplice going through peoples’ bags as they slept.
With the anger growing among the passengers like an active volcano, courage also grew, and with the backing of his fellow travelers the Swedish man erupted, deciding to confront the bus driver.
"You stole my money! Where is my 15,000 baht? I want my money back! Now!" he demanded behind the driver’s seat.
The Thais pretended not to speak English, quietly shrugging off the uproar. The Swede began pleading, begging and yelled again. Finally fed up with no response from the Thais, he sulked back to his seat to confer with the rest of his group.
Erik and I sat in our front row seats, shocked by the whole ordeal. My pulse was racing. What’s going to happen? I looked from the back of the bus to the front; tensions were high. Interested in what the Thais were doing, Erik leaned over the divider, spying on the driver and his accomplice.
"They're on the phone, whispering!" he reported to the rest of the bus. "Call the tourist police. Have them meet us at the bus station. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
A look of determination came over the Swede and he marched, one guy with him as backup, to the front of the bus once again.
"That’s it! Pull over the bus!" he demanded. "We want our money back! Stop the bus! Stop the bus!" he shouted, his voice now raised to a deafening roar. The Thais responded this time, barking back at the Swede to sit down and be quiet. Erik was leaning over the rail watching the whole thing as I sat back in fear. This continued back and forth, each party getting louder, arm gestures increasing with violent suggestion until the yelling came to a disturbing climax.
"SIT DOWN! You see?! You SEE?!" The bus driver and his accomplice yelled to the two men.
Erik slowly leaned back. "He just pulled out a gun," he whispered to me as the Swede and muscle walked back to their seats. "It was right in front of me! A revolver like thing. He just pulled it out, right in the guy's face."
"What?" I asked is disbelief. "Holy shit." That was the end of us having any chance of reclaiming stolen property. Can't really argue with a gun, can you?
The hushed bus bumped quietly along, the passengers exchanging wide-eyed, nervous glances. The sun was just beginning to crest in front of us, the wet smell of morning coming in through the cracked windows. All of a sudden, the continual bumping changed its rhythm; we had turned onto a dirt road in the middle of nowhere.
Oh hell, what now? Were they going to execute us? Dump us? What could they possibly be doing with a bus load of foreigners in the middle of nowhere and especially, after an altercation? I recalled the woman in the Tokyo airport, her wild hair matted to her neck, who told me about the bus massacre in southern Thailand before we arrived here. A group of militants had overtaken the bus and pulled off all the tourists, killing each American they found. I dismissed it at the time. An obvious scare tactic from an older, gullible tourist who had eaten up every word she was told. Now? Well, now I was a bit concerned.
The bus jerked to the side and we were ordered out. As we all shuffled off the bus, half a dozen men came out of the bushes — shady Thai dudes, all grizzly and big — emerging from the dust and dirt of Nowheresville.
They shoved our bags into our arms while shouting destinations at us, Phuket! Samui! Trang! At our answer, they ushered us into the corresponding songthaews. We rode crammed together, one on top of the other, three people clinging to the back railings and hanging off, and several inside, all of us in stunned confusion and terror. Where were we going? All the way to Phuket like this?
We ended up getting dumped at the real bus station — which the robbers understandably wanted to avoid — and plopped onto another bus. A nice government-run bus. We rode that bus all the way into Phuket, short a camera and some trust, a little frazzled, but hey, at least we weren't shot.
Lesson learned:Private companies suck.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Never Trust a Bus Driver- Part One
"It would save us..." I made a scrunched up I'm-a-human-calculator face, "190 baht. That's a night’s stay somewhere!"
Erik and I had been to three different travel agencies to compare the price of getting to Phuket, a southern island halfway down the Malay Peninsula, from Chiang Mai, a mountainous city close to the Burmese border in the northwest of Thailand. We had discussed all possible routes and explored combination avenues of van + bus + train, but this seemed to be the best bet with the least amount of stress. With our pockets a lot lighter than planned, we settled on a 900 baht (US$24.51 each) bus trip.
The agency of choice consisted of a nice Thai couple who were more than happy to show us pictures of the “V.I.P.” air-conditioned bus and explain the actual process of getting to Phuket in full. Their broken English was a sing-song cadence of firm instruction mixed with light-hearted jokes.
"But do you trust them? Should we just go through the guest house?" a concerned Erik asked.
"And pay 80 baht more each? They all showed us the same picture of the bus. It's all the same deal. It just depends on where you are picked up," I assured, determined in my frugality.
As we exchanged money for tickets we were instructed about the pickup: "Be here. Sik o'clock. Here. Sik o'clock. Okay? Sik o’clock? (sic)” The agent told us so many times that I was afraid I would get a tardy slip if we were five minutes late.
We turned up at six o’clock and waited in the fluorescent-lit room, its polished linoleum floor reflecting the white strips of light. A sick-sweet smell of pork buns and fish sauce added to the early morning ambience in the one-room office and home.
Erik nervously paced up and down the room past posters depicting smiling tourists atop elephants, white-water rafting, and trekking, while I hunkered down in one of three available folding metal chairs — the kind you take out from the basement for family gatherings, careful to wipe off the spider webs and dust — offered to waiting guests. Across from me sat a worn wooden desk piled with folders, brochures and an archaic computer. The owner-wife sat playing a computer game as her young daughter slept underneath a delicate mosquito net of lace.
After 45 minutes, a rusty grey songthaew (pick-up truck with a covered bed and two benches for passengers) arrived and zoomed us, packed knee to knee with other travelers, to our bus that waited for us at a gas station. The driver hurried us off the songthaew and tossed our bags into the lower compartment of the idling bus while Erik and I scurried on to find a seat. On board we were lucky enough to get two comfy, reclining chairs with blankets right in front of a large television that played such classic movies as Con Air, featuring a jacked Nicholas Cage.
The ride itself was fine. We floated in and out of sleep to adjust body positions and to stretch cramped legs. It was a decent night until we were jolted awake by our fragrantly gnarly bus driver calling, "Bangkok, Bangkok. Wake up. Wake up. Bangkok," as he went by tapping people’s shoulders.
We stretched and wiped the sleep out of our eyes. Half-glancing out of the window I saw the bus driver and staff start to toss our bags and others onto the street. Snapping awake with the threat of losing my bag, we rushed into the 5 a.m. Bangkok air to rescue them from harm. By the time we cinched up — a matter of seconds — the bus was taking off, a thick cloud of black fumes trailing behind.
"They're sure in a rush,” Erik scoffed.
I grumbled in agreement, trying to conceal my morning breath. I stood in the heavy, sticky air, blinking my eyes into coherence and my body into functionality. We stood in the middle of Bangkok at a roundabout deemed Democracy Monument. The sky was still a dark haze of bluish black with only a slight pink hint of morning peeking through the sharp cityscape.
The other passengers fanned out in varying directions around the monument. Erik and I were supposed to go to “KS Guesthouse” to confirm our seats on the next bus, so we hiked through the eerily silent streets of Bangkok, passing benches with sleeping Thais and displaced tourists from the night before.
We rolled into the guesthouse in our rumpled clothes and backpacks and found the deskman.
"We just got off the bus from Chiang Mai. We are supposed to confirm our seats to Phuket."
"Yeah, okay. Is confirmed," the unusually awake looking attendant assured us.
"Great. Here at six o'clock?" We knew the drill.
"Yeah, yeah. Here at sik o'clock (sic). Okay."
"Can we leave a bag here?" I hoped to be able to walk around Bangkok without having to lug the enormous weight around and besides, my shoulders were already hurting from the walk here.
"Okay. Bags. Yeah. In room," he said pointing to a locked gate halfway down a flight of stairs. He handed Erik the key to store my pack, and having decided to take his along with us, he unloaded some heavy objects and unnecessary weight into my bag as I waited upstairs watching Thai television with the attendant.
Sitting in the guesthouse was about as interesting as flicking boogers on the wall so, we decided to make the best of the few hours we had and walked. Our meandering lead us to Khao San Road (known as the backpackers rendezvous) as people were just beginning to set up shop for the day, and those still running from the night before were beginning to settle down. We chose a quiet café with cozy chairs, ordered two coffees and I began to read as Erik went through his bag.
"Do you have my camera?" he asked.
A rush of dread came over me. God, did I have his camera? I rifled through my little day bag. "No, I have mine. It's not in there?" I asked as he sat elbow deep into his bag, trying to conceal the panic that we both were starting to feel wash over us.
"Do you want me to look?" I asked as he sat replaying the last time he had his camera in his mind’s eye. I began looking through his bag-thoroughly. It had to be in here. It just had to be.
"My bag was disheveled when I got it from the bus,” he said wearily. “I noticed it."
Surely it couldn’t have been stolen. “Did you put it in my bag at the guest house?"
"No. I would have remembered," he answered, the anger of helplessness welling up.
"Let's check my bag. Come on," I soothed him, not knowing how exactly to fix the situation. In times of mini-crisis like these, all one can do is to try to be positive.
Back at the guesthouse, our fears were confirmed. Realistically, what could we do? We could call the guesthouse and tell them. We could call the Tourist police and make a statement but we couldn't find the bus or get the camera back. We had to come to terms with the fact that Erik's camera was stolen. The pictures from half our trip were gone — and part of me also worried about finding my digital head pasted on an illicit body on the internet or worse… someone else finding it and thinking it real.
It was a major downer. A tragic loss and a financial, spiritual, and cultural bummer.
Erik and I had been to three different travel agencies to compare the price of getting to Phuket, a southern island halfway down the Malay Peninsula, from Chiang Mai, a mountainous city close to the Burmese border in the northwest of Thailand. We had discussed all possible routes and explored combination avenues of van + bus + train, but this seemed to be the best bet with the least amount of stress. With our pockets a lot lighter than planned, we settled on a 900 baht (US$24.51 each) bus trip.
The agency of choice consisted of a nice Thai couple who were more than happy to show us pictures of the “V.I.P.” air-conditioned bus and explain the actual process of getting to Phuket in full. Their broken English was a sing-song cadence of firm instruction mixed with light-hearted jokes.
"But do you trust them? Should we just go through the guest house?" a concerned Erik asked.
"And pay 80 baht more each? They all showed us the same picture of the bus. It's all the same deal. It just depends on where you are picked up," I assured, determined in my frugality.
As we exchanged money for tickets we were instructed about the pickup: "Be here. Sik o'clock. Here. Sik o'clock. Okay? Sik o’clock? (sic)” The agent told us so many times that I was afraid I would get a tardy slip if we were five minutes late.
We turned up at six o’clock and waited in the fluorescent-lit room, its polished linoleum floor reflecting the white strips of light. A sick-sweet smell of pork buns and fish sauce added to the early morning ambience in the one-room office and home.
Erik nervously paced up and down the room past posters depicting smiling tourists atop elephants, white-water rafting, and trekking, while I hunkered down in one of three available folding metal chairs — the kind you take out from the basement for family gatherings, careful to wipe off the spider webs and dust — offered to waiting guests. Across from me sat a worn wooden desk piled with folders, brochures and an archaic computer. The owner-wife sat playing a computer game as her young daughter slept underneath a delicate mosquito net of lace.
After 45 minutes, a rusty grey songthaew (pick-up truck with a covered bed and two benches for passengers) arrived and zoomed us, packed knee to knee with other travelers, to our bus that waited for us at a gas station. The driver hurried us off the songthaew and tossed our bags into the lower compartment of the idling bus while Erik and I scurried on to find a seat. On board we were lucky enough to get two comfy, reclining chairs with blankets right in front of a large television that played such classic movies as Con Air, featuring a jacked Nicholas Cage.
The ride itself was fine. We floated in and out of sleep to adjust body positions and to stretch cramped legs. It was a decent night until we were jolted awake by our fragrantly gnarly bus driver calling, "Bangkok, Bangkok. Wake up. Wake up. Bangkok," as he went by tapping people’s shoulders.
We stretched and wiped the sleep out of our eyes. Half-glancing out of the window I saw the bus driver and staff start to toss our bags and others onto the street. Snapping awake with the threat of losing my bag, we rushed into the 5 a.m. Bangkok air to rescue them from harm. By the time we cinched up — a matter of seconds — the bus was taking off, a thick cloud of black fumes trailing behind.
"They're sure in a rush,” Erik scoffed.
I grumbled in agreement, trying to conceal my morning breath. I stood in the heavy, sticky air, blinking my eyes into coherence and my body into functionality. We stood in the middle of Bangkok at a roundabout deemed Democracy Monument. The sky was still a dark haze of bluish black with only a slight pink hint of morning peeking through the sharp cityscape.
The other passengers fanned out in varying directions around the monument. Erik and I were supposed to go to “KS Guesthouse” to confirm our seats on the next bus, so we hiked through the eerily silent streets of Bangkok, passing benches with sleeping Thais and displaced tourists from the night before.
We rolled into the guesthouse in our rumpled clothes and backpacks and found the deskman.
"We just got off the bus from Chiang Mai. We are supposed to confirm our seats to Phuket."
"Yeah, okay. Is confirmed," the unusually awake looking attendant assured us.
"Great. Here at six o'clock?" We knew the drill.
"Yeah, yeah. Here at sik o'clock (sic). Okay."
"Can we leave a bag here?" I hoped to be able to walk around Bangkok without having to lug the enormous weight around and besides, my shoulders were already hurting from the walk here.
"Okay. Bags. Yeah. In room," he said pointing to a locked gate halfway down a flight of stairs. He handed Erik the key to store my pack, and having decided to take his along with us, he unloaded some heavy objects and unnecessary weight into my bag as I waited upstairs watching Thai television with the attendant.
Sitting in the guesthouse was about as interesting as flicking boogers on the wall so, we decided to make the best of the few hours we had and walked. Our meandering lead us to Khao San Road (known as the backpackers rendezvous) as people were just beginning to set up shop for the day, and those still running from the night before were beginning to settle down. We chose a quiet café with cozy chairs, ordered two coffees and I began to read as Erik went through his bag.
"Do you have my camera?" he asked.
A rush of dread came over me. God, did I have his camera? I rifled through my little day bag. "No, I have mine. It's not in there?" I asked as he sat elbow deep into his bag, trying to conceal the panic that we both were starting to feel wash over us.
"Do you want me to look?" I asked as he sat replaying the last time he had his camera in his mind’s eye. I began looking through his bag-thoroughly. It had to be in here. It just had to be.
"My bag was disheveled when I got it from the bus,” he said wearily. “I noticed it."
Surely it couldn’t have been stolen. “Did you put it in my bag at the guest house?"
"No. I would have remembered," he answered, the anger of helplessness welling up.
"Let's check my bag. Come on," I soothed him, not knowing how exactly to fix the situation. In times of mini-crisis like these, all one can do is to try to be positive.
Back at the guesthouse, our fears were confirmed. Realistically, what could we do? We could call the guesthouse and tell them. We could call the Tourist police and make a statement but we couldn't find the bus or get the camera back. We had to come to terms with the fact that Erik's camera was stolen. The pictures from half our trip were gone — and part of me also worried about finding my digital head pasted on an illicit body on the internet or worse… someone else finding it and thinking it real.
It was a major downer. A tragic loss and a financial, spiritual, and cultural bummer.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Chinatown- Bangkok style
"Beware da pickapocket," a weathered Chinese lady said to me sternly, our eyes meeting for a brief moment as we passed in the market. Her purse was strapped to her front like an infant carrier, cradled against her body for protection.
Her friendly warning raised my already heightened awareness of my back pockets. With my right hand slightly behind me touching the pocket containing my wallet, and the left doing the same to my passport, I shuffled with the slow moving crowd through a corridor lined with, well, junk.
I'm no stranger to the dangers of traveling and I was well aware of my surroundings. Having dropped off my large pack at the bus station for storage, I maneuvered relatively well through the sea of people with their heads bobbing in and out of the shoebox-sized stores.
Erik, on the other hand, still had his pack and it was limiting his agility to wind around a family stopped to buy a pair of Pokémon socks. He instead toddled through, catching glares from shop keepers afraid that he would knock their precious cargo over.
Chinatown in Bangkok was stimulus overload. Everywhere we flowed with the masses, the scenery morphing into a different section as we went along.
"We've found the towel department!" I squealed in amusement.
"Look, it's the hair accessory aisle," Erik joked back, pointing to his right.
"Where's the sunglass section?" Our goal was to purchase a cheap pair of shades, as mine had broken. But where, in this busy, chaotic maze could they be? We walked around the tunnels of goods with the others like a colony of ants: single file and constantly looking, searching, moving.
“Which way now?" I called behind me. “Left? Right? Straight?” The right led down a small side street lined with food carts, the smells of cooking meats and sweet jellied soy hung in the air. The left was full of trinket salesmen with glittering plastic toys and porcelain salt shakers shaped like cats. Straight continued down the current path of entombment with the ants.
Decisions had to be made in split seconds; the crowd didn't stop so a tourist could look around and decide. They had twenty packs of cheap plastic doll key chains and shiny barrettes to purchase for crying out loud!
We emerged from the tight corridor, spilling into the byway. Fresh fruit stands rimmed the small area giving a splash of organic color to the dimly lit tunnel. Cart men sprayed water from plastic bottles on apples, drenching the fruit in a cool mist that beaded on the tight pink and green skins. One man meticulously placed stems and leaves perfectly atop his bunches of merlot, eyeball-sized grapes. Sliced cantaloupe, papaya, pineapple and green mango sat on ice displayed within a glass cart, ready to be placed in a plastic bag, hit with the dull side of a knife to break it into chunks, and eaten with a small wooden dowel. Piles of fruit still wrapped in its leathery skin sat in pyramids while bunches of ripe, yellow bananas hung on strings. Cardboard signs of curlicue Thai writing separated the piles of produce by price, or what I assumed was the price.
The fruit market led us into the dried-stuffs department. Little dried shrimps, fish, and unknown and indecipherable dried entities sat in large canvas and plastic bags to be weighed out and handed over. Pork rinds? Pig’s ears? Tails? Dried squid? Octopus? I couldn't say, but it looked like cheese puffs without the cheese and came in different shapes and sizes of twisted and gnarled spindles.
Sizzling meat on skewers smoked the area with a delicious tamarind-barbecue aroma. Paying the incredibly reasonable five baht price to the cart of our choice, we requested two kinds of the tender meat. The rumple-faced cart owner proudly presented the sticks, a smile wide across his face at the farang (foreigners) eating his product above the many competitors. We spilt the meat so we each had a selection to try and at each progressive chew, our eyes grew wide, our excitement mounted — how tasty!
We munched as we made our way back into the current, feeling like water going down into a dark and tight drain. We were once again squished together with the petite bodies of Asians and the odd looming tourist. We shuffled past handbags and utility belts and abruptly came to a standstill. We were all smushed together and wondering why we weren't going anywhere. In the distance the crowd separated and piled onto the sides, bodies twisted and packed together. What was going on? And then we heard it — the rumble of a motor scooter. A motor scooter! People couldn't even get through here among people, but now we had to find room to get a motor scooter by? The bike moved through the crowd like an egg passing through the body of a snake, the crowd expanding and contracting around the vehicle as it passed.
We flowed through the plastic bag and wrapping department, the textile department, the luggage department and the cheap jewelry department and as we approached the stuffed animal department, it began to rain. Booth keepers scrambled to put up large plastic sheets over their goods.
A group of men gathered around one particular booth, laughing and shuffling things. What were they looking at? We inched closer and tip-toe-peered over shoulders. Porn, lots and lots of porn: DVD's, pictures and even a sex toy magazine, its pages fluttering scantily in the breeze. Erik and I exchanged a humored glance, a chuckle and moved on in our search.
Sunglasses! A whole section of sunglasses unraveled before us. We found them! I scanned the rows of imitation Oakleys, Diors, Bvgaris and Chanels, trying on each over-sized pair for the right fit. As I looked at myself in a mirror, wearing a pair of fake Dolce & Gabbanas with encrusted faux-diamond arms, I noticed a large object over my left shoulder hanging from the booth behind me. A gun. Holy shit, guns? It couldn’t be real. Could it?
"I guess the sunglasses are in the shady department with the porn and guns," Erik snickered to himself.
The rain picked up. Huge drops began to plummet us. Time stops in Thailand when it rains; traffic pulls over, businesses close up, electricity fades in an out. Everyone at the market hurriedly covered their wares with plastic sheets and sought cover. People on motorbikes pulled off the road nearby to seek shelter underneath a building's overhang. The rain soon became a downpour. Lightning illuminated the market and a moment later the sky cracked open with the sound of a whip.
We stopped along an outer street, out of the throngs of the center market, under an awning to plan our next move. The storefront displayed large gold necklaces with cloudy green jewels. Inside the store, on top of one of the glass jewelry cases filled with yellow-gold sparkles on red silk, knelt a small Thai girl.
Her hair was tied back haphazardly. She was delicately shaking out puffs of powder and rubbing it on her skin. Several Thai women, relatives perhaps, sat around the cases talking. But this little girl, atop the gleaming case of jewelry, applied white powder on her face like a Renaissance courtesan. She had a seriousness and grace about her. She caught my eye and held it as she daintily shook more out into her tiny, upturned palm. She didn't smile, but she didn't grimace either. She just held my eye as she continued smoothing out the powder, turning her skin a ghostly white.
Everything stopped. The sound of my breathing and her eyes were all there was. She was like a pearl, a gem among the shining brilliance of the room. Was she for sale? Was she on display, or just an ordinary kid who just happened to like sitting on jewelry cases instead of the floor?
There was something so innocent, but also perverse in this act. I couldn't help thinking of all the girls involved with the sex trade here, kidnapped or bred into the life of a whore. I became enchanted with this girl, hoping that she wasn't one, but at the same time imagining she was. There was a kind of withdrawal in her eye, an absence. Maybe she was just mechanically powdering as if brushing her teeth; an act so ordinary it was boring and she dissolved into herself while doing it. Why didn't her family notice her?
It was dark and grey, drizzling outside, but this store was like a warm fire with all its radiant, lush colors.
My mind was snapped away by a jolt of lightning reflecting on the glass, a crack of thunder and of the pounding rain. We had a train to catch.
Her friendly warning raised my already heightened awareness of my back pockets. With my right hand slightly behind me touching the pocket containing my wallet, and the left doing the same to my passport, I shuffled with the slow moving crowd through a corridor lined with, well, junk.
I'm no stranger to the dangers of traveling and I was well aware of my surroundings. Having dropped off my large pack at the bus station for storage, I maneuvered relatively well through the sea of people with their heads bobbing in and out of the shoebox-sized stores.
Erik, on the other hand, still had his pack and it was limiting his agility to wind around a family stopped to buy a pair of Pokémon socks. He instead toddled through, catching glares from shop keepers afraid that he would knock their precious cargo over.
Chinatown in Bangkok was stimulus overload. Everywhere we flowed with the masses, the scenery morphing into a different section as we went along.
"We've found the towel department!" I squealed in amusement.
"Look, it's the hair accessory aisle," Erik joked back, pointing to his right.
"Where's the sunglass section?" Our goal was to purchase a cheap pair of shades, as mine had broken. But where, in this busy, chaotic maze could they be? We walked around the tunnels of goods with the others like a colony of ants: single file and constantly looking, searching, moving.
“Which way now?" I called behind me. “Left? Right? Straight?” The right led down a small side street lined with food carts, the smells of cooking meats and sweet jellied soy hung in the air. The left was full of trinket salesmen with glittering plastic toys and porcelain salt shakers shaped like cats. Straight continued down the current path of entombment with the ants.
Decisions had to be made in split seconds; the crowd didn't stop so a tourist could look around and decide. They had twenty packs of cheap plastic doll key chains and shiny barrettes to purchase for crying out loud!
We emerged from the tight corridor, spilling into the byway. Fresh fruit stands rimmed the small area giving a splash of organic color to the dimly lit tunnel. Cart men sprayed water from plastic bottles on apples, drenching the fruit in a cool mist that beaded on the tight pink and green skins. One man meticulously placed stems and leaves perfectly atop his bunches of merlot, eyeball-sized grapes. Sliced cantaloupe, papaya, pineapple and green mango sat on ice displayed within a glass cart, ready to be placed in a plastic bag, hit with the dull side of a knife to break it into chunks, and eaten with a small wooden dowel. Piles of fruit still wrapped in its leathery skin sat in pyramids while bunches of ripe, yellow bananas hung on strings. Cardboard signs of curlicue Thai writing separated the piles of produce by price, or what I assumed was the price.
The fruit market led us into the dried-stuffs department. Little dried shrimps, fish, and unknown and indecipherable dried entities sat in large canvas and plastic bags to be weighed out and handed over. Pork rinds? Pig’s ears? Tails? Dried squid? Octopus? I couldn't say, but it looked like cheese puffs without the cheese and came in different shapes and sizes of twisted and gnarled spindles.
Sizzling meat on skewers smoked the area with a delicious tamarind-barbecue aroma. Paying the incredibly reasonable five baht price to the cart of our choice, we requested two kinds of the tender meat. The rumple-faced cart owner proudly presented the sticks, a smile wide across his face at the farang (foreigners) eating his product above the many competitors. We spilt the meat so we each had a selection to try and at each progressive chew, our eyes grew wide, our excitement mounted — how tasty!
We munched as we made our way back into the current, feeling like water going down into a dark and tight drain. We were once again squished together with the petite bodies of Asians and the odd looming tourist. We shuffled past handbags and utility belts and abruptly came to a standstill. We were all smushed together and wondering why we weren't going anywhere. In the distance the crowd separated and piled onto the sides, bodies twisted and packed together. What was going on? And then we heard it — the rumble of a motor scooter. A motor scooter! People couldn't even get through here among people, but now we had to find room to get a motor scooter by? The bike moved through the crowd like an egg passing through the body of a snake, the crowd expanding and contracting around the vehicle as it passed.
We flowed through the plastic bag and wrapping department, the textile department, the luggage department and the cheap jewelry department and as we approached the stuffed animal department, it began to rain. Booth keepers scrambled to put up large plastic sheets over their goods.
A group of men gathered around one particular booth, laughing and shuffling things. What were they looking at? We inched closer and tip-toe-peered over shoulders. Porn, lots and lots of porn: DVD's, pictures and even a sex toy magazine, its pages fluttering scantily in the breeze. Erik and I exchanged a humored glance, a chuckle and moved on in our search.
Sunglasses! A whole section of sunglasses unraveled before us. We found them! I scanned the rows of imitation Oakleys, Diors, Bvgaris and Chanels, trying on each over-sized pair for the right fit. As I looked at myself in a mirror, wearing a pair of fake Dolce & Gabbanas with encrusted faux-diamond arms, I noticed a large object over my left shoulder hanging from the booth behind me. A gun. Holy shit, guns? It couldn’t be real. Could it?
"I guess the sunglasses are in the shady department with the porn and guns," Erik snickered to himself.
The rain picked up. Huge drops began to plummet us. Time stops in Thailand when it rains; traffic pulls over, businesses close up, electricity fades in an out. Everyone at the market hurriedly covered their wares with plastic sheets and sought cover. People on motorbikes pulled off the road nearby to seek shelter underneath a building's overhang. The rain soon became a downpour. Lightning illuminated the market and a moment later the sky cracked open with the sound of a whip.
We stopped along an outer street, out of the throngs of the center market, under an awning to plan our next move. The storefront displayed large gold necklaces with cloudy green jewels. Inside the store, on top of one of the glass jewelry cases filled with yellow-gold sparkles on red silk, knelt a small Thai girl.
Her hair was tied back haphazardly. She was delicately shaking out puffs of powder and rubbing it on her skin. Several Thai women, relatives perhaps, sat around the cases talking. But this little girl, atop the gleaming case of jewelry, applied white powder on her face like a Renaissance courtesan. She had a seriousness and grace about her. She caught my eye and held it as she daintily shook more out into her tiny, upturned palm. She didn't smile, but she didn't grimace either. She just held my eye as she continued smoothing out the powder, turning her skin a ghostly white.
Everything stopped. The sound of my breathing and her eyes were all there was. She was like a pearl, a gem among the shining brilliance of the room. Was she for sale? Was she on display, or just an ordinary kid who just happened to like sitting on jewelry cases instead of the floor?
There was something so innocent, but also perverse in this act. I couldn't help thinking of all the girls involved with the sex trade here, kidnapped or bred into the life of a whore. I became enchanted with this girl, hoping that she wasn't one, but at the same time imagining she was. There was a kind of withdrawal in her eye, an absence. Maybe she was just mechanically powdering as if brushing her teeth; an act so ordinary it was boring and she dissolved into herself while doing it. Why didn't her family notice her?
It was dark and grey, drizzling outside, but this store was like a warm fire with all its radiant, lush colors.
My mind was snapped away by a jolt of lightning reflecting on the glass, a crack of thunder and of the pounding rain. We had a train to catch.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Heaven, heaven is a place...where nothing, nothing really matters... Talking Heads
The Talking Heads song, Heaven runs through my head as I listen to the repitition of the tides touching the white sand. It is quite different from the hustle and bustle of Phuket Town. The constant whirring of motorbikes and incessant honking of horns seemed to have missed the island of Ko Samui. Oh, they're here all right, but not on the same scale as my former residence.
I was picked up, blery-eyed and exhausted from the airport by Erik. I stood at the baggage claim amongst Farang travelers and a group of boisterous young (dare I say) hooligans. Their tousled hair and foul language echoeing throughout the plane and now the terminal. "Are you guys going to the Full Moon party?"
"Yeah, fuck we are." they hooted to each other. I wasn't sure if there was going to be belly bumps-Friar Tuck style- or just high-fives. Turns out they just kind of shoved each other around a bit. "Are you?"
"Yeah. See you there." Nice chaps. I was watching for my bag while scanning the airport for Erik. It was as if he was a figment of my imagination, an old memory on replay, as he walked towards me. I may have rubbed my eyes in disbelief. Was it really him?
We crusie around this island on his silver bullet of a motorbike. I, with my pink helmet and rockets blasting on the side and he, with his red domed cap helmet. The sun shines down on us in blessing as we venture into uncharted territories. We have covered this island, circumvated it, and tomorrow we will criss-cross it.
The only bad thing was the alien I had in my stomach for a few days. I was Sigorny Weaver, hunched over in agony, begging the little bugger to move on or just take me down. It was the oddest thing. Was it the damn noodle house I went to for lunch? That tea, God! The tea! I drank the whole thing. Or was it something more serious? An implanted viral insect burrowing into my guts and turning everything to mush. Everything hurt. My stomach erupted at random moments bending me in half and making me curse to the sickness gods to make it all stop for Christ's sake. My kidneys ached with a dull pain, my shoulder was sore and my head began to be its own construction site.
"Erik, what's wrong with me?"
"Here, drink this. It'll make you feel better. I had the same thing." He said as he handed me what looked like a glass of dark orange urine.
"What is it?"
"Drink it." I took a swig of the liquid as he eyed me, making sure that I finished every last drop. It tasted like warm iodine and salt. Bitter, but sweet and revoltingly salty.
"Ugh, God! What was that?" I moaned. He laughed at me as I lay fetus position on the corner of the bed making faces to change the taste in my mouth.
"It's good for you. Electrolyte stuff. It was recommended to me."
swell, I'd try anything at this point. I tossed and turned throughout the night in an inferno of chills and soaking my pillow. I had half dreams of going to the pharmacy (where you go if your sick. They are basically doctors for non-emergencies) given some miracle pill and doing cartwheels down the street in celebration of being released from the grips of death.
As time wore on, it lifted like the hood of the grim reeper and I was restored side-kick Molly. It was amazing. I really have never felt so out of control of my own body. I can usually ignore things, eat them off, or deal (sometimes whiskey helps), but this, I tried it all and it just wanted to hang around. One more day and I would have sought help. One more.
Now, back to myself, things are much more enjoyable. We moved to a bungalow on the beach and roll off of our porch and into the ocean. A lovely restaurant and Thai family accompany the rental of our little hut and the children squeal and bring things on platters to us. It's nice to be back.
I was picked up, blery-eyed and exhausted from the airport by Erik. I stood at the baggage claim amongst Farang travelers and a group of boisterous young (dare I say) hooligans. Their tousled hair and foul language echoeing throughout the plane and now the terminal. "Are you guys going to the Full Moon party?"
"Yeah, fuck we are." they hooted to each other. I wasn't sure if there was going to be belly bumps-Friar Tuck style- or just high-fives. Turns out they just kind of shoved each other around a bit. "Are you?"
"Yeah. See you there." Nice chaps. I was watching for my bag while scanning the airport for Erik. It was as if he was a figment of my imagination, an old memory on replay, as he walked towards me. I may have rubbed my eyes in disbelief. Was it really him?
We crusie around this island on his silver bullet of a motorbike. I, with my pink helmet and rockets blasting on the side and he, with his red domed cap helmet. The sun shines down on us in blessing as we venture into uncharted territories. We have covered this island, circumvated it, and tomorrow we will criss-cross it.
The only bad thing was the alien I had in my stomach for a few days. I was Sigorny Weaver, hunched over in agony, begging the little bugger to move on or just take me down. It was the oddest thing. Was it the damn noodle house I went to for lunch? That tea, God! The tea! I drank the whole thing. Or was it something more serious? An implanted viral insect burrowing into my guts and turning everything to mush. Everything hurt. My stomach erupted at random moments bending me in half and making me curse to the sickness gods to make it all stop for Christ's sake. My kidneys ached with a dull pain, my shoulder was sore and my head began to be its own construction site.
"Erik, what's wrong with me?"
"Here, drink this. It'll make you feel better. I had the same thing." He said as he handed me what looked like a glass of dark orange urine.
"What is it?"
"Drink it." I took a swig of the liquid as he eyed me, making sure that I finished every last drop. It tasted like warm iodine and salt. Bitter, but sweet and revoltingly salty.
"Ugh, God! What was that?" I moaned. He laughed at me as I lay fetus position on the corner of the bed making faces to change the taste in my mouth.
"It's good for you. Electrolyte stuff. It was recommended to me."
swell, I'd try anything at this point. I tossed and turned throughout the night in an inferno of chills and soaking my pillow. I had half dreams of going to the pharmacy (where you go if your sick. They are basically doctors for non-emergencies) given some miracle pill and doing cartwheels down the street in celebration of being released from the grips of death.
As time wore on, it lifted like the hood of the grim reeper and I was restored side-kick Molly. It was amazing. I really have never felt so out of control of my own body. I can usually ignore things, eat them off, or deal (sometimes whiskey helps), but this, I tried it all and it just wanted to hang around. One more day and I would have sought help. One more.
Now, back to myself, things are much more enjoyable. We moved to a bungalow on the beach and roll off of our porch and into the ocean. A lovely restaurant and Thai family accompany the rental of our little hut and the children squeal and bring things on platters to us. It's nice to be back.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Bona-Fide
Yessirree folks. I'm a certified TESOL teacher. I'm ready to break new ground in molding minds in the ways of the English language. Now, I just have to find a job. But that will come. First thing is first- more traveling. I head out of Phuket Town tomorrow to reconnect with my other half. I fly to Ko Samui and then continue on to Ko Pan Yang (spelling?) Then we'll cruise back to Bangkok and head north to Chaing Mai and everywhere inbetween and finally dropping down the Adaman coast and back to Phuket--all the while waving my certificate around!! Yippee.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Here comes the rain again....
My travel alarm clock chirped into my ear as I lay sprawled out on my twin bed, wrapped in mosquito netting. Another restless night of tossing and turning has torn my bed into shambles. As I fight my way out of the cacoon, blindly grasping for the cool, metal clock, a ray of light illuminates my room into a golden hue. At least it's going to be another beautiful day. I toss the netting and mexican inspired blankets over my head as I swing my feet to the floor, rubbing my eyes and letting out a howl of sleep before sliding the little button on my clock to 'shut the hell up.' With a yawn and a stretch of my arms over my head I pull myself up to standing, let's get this show on the road. As I do every morning, I pull open my shades in a perfected, dramatic swoop of the arms, allowing the outside sun to brighten up my room. The palm tree outside my window is birthing more coconuts and the blue sky is patchworked with clouds.
I morning-walk to my bathroom and brush my teeth with the bottle of water I keep by the sink. Perfecting the skill of limited water brushing. It begins to sound as though my neighbor is taking a shower and I think, how odd. I've never noticed hearing that before. I finish up, spitting the last glob of toothpaste down the drain while sticking my contacts into my eyes. I walk out of my bathroom groping the wall with my hand, switching off the light, and the room has gone a sort of purplish-grey, the window covered with drops of water and the palm tree outside almost bent over as if to gather her fallen children from the ground.
That's how fast it happens here. You turn around and the rain has snuck up on you. Sometimes, a fog of smokey purple wraps itself around the mountains and you can anticipate the arrival; other times you blink and it downpours. The worst was the day it shook my building. A storm we, in the States, would call a tropical storm, is a mere whisper here. Electricity went out and the wind was whipping in and out of cracks in the plaster, speaking in Thai. But within an hour, it was sunny. The frogs were singing a memoir to the rain- an orchestra of themselves, and I was able to walk to class avoiding puddles, but dry.
I morning-walk to my bathroom and brush my teeth with the bottle of water I keep by the sink. Perfecting the skill of limited water brushing. It begins to sound as though my neighbor is taking a shower and I think, how odd. I've never noticed hearing that before. I finish up, spitting the last glob of toothpaste down the drain while sticking my contacts into my eyes. I walk out of my bathroom groping the wall with my hand, switching off the light, and the room has gone a sort of purplish-grey, the window covered with drops of water and the palm tree outside almost bent over as if to gather her fallen children from the ground.
That's how fast it happens here. You turn around and the rain has snuck up on you. Sometimes, a fog of smokey purple wraps itself around the mountains and you can anticipate the arrival; other times you blink and it downpours. The worst was the day it shook my building. A storm we, in the States, would call a tropical storm, is a mere whisper here. Electricity went out and the wind was whipping in and out of cracks in the plaster, speaking in Thai. But within an hour, it was sunny. The frogs were singing a memoir to the rain- an orchestra of themselves, and I was able to walk to class avoiding puddles, but dry.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Conducting a Student Profile, and Receiving A Lot More.
Molly F. McGill
“You learn a lot in your classes, but you can’t learn about human relationships and about life from a book.”
-Julie Venci, Washington University
Molly F. McGill
“You learn a lot in your classes, but you can’t learn about human relationships and about life from a book.”
-Julie Venci, Washington University
It was a little daunting at first. In fact, I was downright nervous. “Go out and find someone in the community to do a student profile on.” Find someone in the community? I was already plunked half way across the globe, in a totally different culture attending a TESOL Certification course, and now I had to go out on my own and offer someone an hour-long, free one on one course—oh, my!
Conducting a student profile seemed like an impossible feat, but as time progressed I came to realize the importance of one. As described in a chapter from the Diversity Institute: “In order to effectively choose teaching methods and help students learn, you must first know something about who you are teaching to…” On completion of my course, I intend to stay in Thailand and to seek a teaching position in one of the various schools. But how else could I get to know the people I would soon be teaching better than getting out and meeting some of them?
Deciding who I would ask was the hardest part. Various locals ran through my head that I had met: the local bar owner’s wife, a waitress at a restaurant I frequented, a staff person where I was staying, even someone I had met out on the town. Eventually, I choose a local business man who I had met when I went to purchase my mobile phone. The biggest challenge in starting the student profile was getting up the courage to ask someone.
A student profile consists of two parts: the evaluation, and the lesson itself. The evaluation consists of a needs analysis, where you and your student decide what they would like to learn. And a placement evaluation, where the teacher does a series of tests (verbal, reading, and possibly written), to determine the level the student is at. My student was in the starter group decided by his pronunciation, answers to questions, and reading and comprehension ability. But what was important wasn’t the completion of the evaluation and scheduling of the lesson, but the fact that he invited me to stay for coffee, to chat and get to know each other. It gave me insight into teaching and one on one lessons that I hadn’t experienced in the classrooms yet—a building block to a relationship. The National Academies Press hit it nose on when they wrote, “Good teaching requires that we bridge the chasms of perception, language, background, and assumption that may impede effective communication…” Effective communication begins with the formation of a relationship. Whether that relationship is formal, informal, friendly, or serious, the creation of one opens up the potential for greater learning.
The one on one community lesson has been one of the most enjoyable lessons I have taught as of now. I tailored a lesson to what he wanted to learn and things that I thought would be useful to him. We went through the material carefully and methodically, but with an ease and comfortable air that is only attained through conversation. On completion of the lesson, we talked about life, about his family, his businesses and about what I have experienced in Thailand so far. This gave me the opportunity to not only become a better teacher, but to understand the culture and be invited to see inside it a little more deeply. Rob Collins is quoted on the Washington University Service Office website as stating, “Getting out into the community changes your perspective in a positive way, but you may not realize that until afterward,” and I couldn’t agree with him more.
Resources:
Diversity Institute: Center for the Integration of Research, Teaching, and Learning,
Importance of Knowing Your Students, 1997: http://cirtl.wceruw.org/DiversityInstitute?resources/resource- book/addressingstudentsneeds.htm
The National Academies Press: http://www.nap.edu/readingroom/books/str/8.html
Washington University in St. Louis Community Service Office:
http://www.communityservice.wustl.edu/quotes/
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Act 1 Scene 12
It was like a scence from a movie and all I could think was, Wow, This is my life now. I was in a wooden longboat skimming across the turquoise water-bikini clad with shades on- and people back home are in cubicles typing up reports. How fortunate for me. We had a hell of an intinerary planned and even three bottles of Samsong whiskey from the previous night couldn't slow us down...for the most part. Sure we were in rough shape: red-rimmed eyes and wrinkled, slept in clothes, unbalanced walking and a queasiness that came in waves, but by God we were on one of the most beautiful islands in the world, Ko Phi Phi!
The island itself has 2 parts: Phi Phi Don and Phi Phi Leh. One bigger than the other and both connected by a thin beach and village, water visible on both sides. With most of the area a Marine Park, natural beauty is bountiful. Myself and four others arrived on a tour I saw in a brochure, 'Only 1,100- Baht.' Food, snacks, snorkeling, sight seeing and-gasp-transportation to and from your hotel. The cab fare that it would have cost to get to the pier equaled the price of the trip.
The day started off grey. It was a little cloudy, but it soon burned off as we neared Phi Phi (pronounced P. P.), an hour later. We pulled into the dock and dropped some people off but where instructed, because of our little green stickers, to stay aboard. We motored to the bay and were given snorkel and mask, a lovely bright yellow and black, and were let loose among the coral. Being afraid of water-ocean more so- it took me some time to warm up to the activity. I finally got it and orchestrated my breathing. Once I calmed down enough to actually stay underwater I was amazed by the scope of color and variety of marine life: Parrot-fish, their chubby blimp like bodies and electric colors each a little different from the other, Angel fish, clown fish, and all kinds of flashy bright fish whom I have no idea on the names. It was amazing. At one point I was completely encompassed by a school of stripped blue, black, and yellow mini fish. I could feel their little bodies whirl past me. Holding out my hand I tried to catch some, but they are fast little devils! It was hard not to smile as they danced in front of your mask, almost teasing you to try. After an hour of snorkeling, of which my friends and I were the first in and last out (got my money's worth!), we had fresh fruit on the boat as we cruised on a sight-seeing tour of the island and all of its lagoony, cliff wonder.
Phi Phi explodes out of the crystal teal water in completely steep vertical shoots. The walls of which are a geology lesson in itself. Krabi, the province that Phi Phi belongs to, is known for it's limestone cliffs and ultimate rock climbing, but I am not sure if these were in fact limestone. These rock walls were more grey with orange clay like color mixed in. It was like peanut brittle ridged and flaky, covered by green little shrubs, palms, and trees. The root systems of which blend into the stone turning grey as it connects making intricate sprawling lines in spots. The cliffs let to white sand beaches in spots creating coves of pristine, picture-postcard perfect mini heavens where green meets grey meets white meets turquoise: Kodak moment. Nestled in the cliffs are a series of coves. One being the "Viking Cave" from years past. Others are higher up in the cliffs and many have locals living in them- a small bungalow and dishes inside.
The whole was moving, mind blowing and spiritual. As we docked for lunch we all had an urge to stay, and I voiced it:
"Let's stay!"
"You want to? I'm down."
"Yeah, let's get a bungalow."
"Dude, if we can get a cheap one, I'm in."
"Let's check it out. We can find the cheapest one."
"Really?"
"Totally!"
We sat down to the buffet style meal: Tom Yam seafood soup, rice, sweet and sour fish with vegetables, spaghetti and sauce, stewed local veggies, fried fish squares, fresh pineapple and watermelon and more. The flavors created a delicious mix and I had to stop myself from going for a third helping.
We found a reasonable bungalow and set up camp. It was time to explore...Which led us right to the beach as our bodies overheated and begged for salt water relief.
By four it was happy hour and nothing says happy like Samsong buckets. By buckets, I mean children's beach pails filled with ice, a bottle of whiskey, red bull, and cola. It was two for one. So we went for it. Splitting it four ways as one of our companions had gotten really ill and had to go back to the room.
The next morning was filled with "Do you remembers" and pointed fingers teamed with fits of laughter. It was seven a.m. and we were ready to roll, chowing food and figuring out what to do with our day. The streets are lined with various shops boosting, Tours, Scuba, Sights, and Sales! But the way to go is to hire a local in one of their Longboats. Longboats are long, wooden boats with a small tarp for shade in the middle and a large propeller controlled by the local in the back for steering. After some barter we sloshed out to it and hopped in. Donning the normal blessings of flowers and sashes on the front, our boat was ready to voyage. We checked out the caves up close and personal first. That is when we realized the residency. After that we scooted into crystal clear water in a small cove. It was too much and we had our driver stop so that we could jump out into the water and swim around. It was unbelievable. Surrounded by jutting green cliffs I floated on my back and took it all in, the water warm and the scenery amazing. We then went to a snorkeling spot (but you didn't even have to snorkel. The water was so clear that you could see the fish right from the boat!), and our driver showed us a secret way to get to Maya Bay.
We swam from the boat to the side of the cliffs. The waves pushed us to a little cave opening, and entrance to the valley. We each floated through the small hole and it opened up to a grassy mini beach with a trail. We followed the trail through the woods and as it turned from packed dirt to white loose sand, we emerged from the white flowered field and into Maya Bay. With stalactites hanging from the cliffs rimming one side of the white sand beach, we swam. Almost fully enclosed with a small outlet to the sea where boats access it, it truly was a small paradise.
We walked back- more to do- but I veered off and followed another path for curiosity sake.
As I was walking my eye caught a small movement and a butterfly, the size of one of my hands, fluttered in front of me. As I was watching its black and iridescent blue wings beat the fragrant air, heavy with the dense smell of forest and wet dirt, another, larger, butterfly joined it. This one with orange and red accents and dew drop bottom wings. Together they danced around me, and I swore that they were doing it just for me. I held out my right pointer finger for a landing post and they twirled around it delicately moving around it, up my arm, and around my body. I gasped with the sheer beauty of it-magical- and they flew off into the palms. I hurried back to my group and met them as they slipped back through the cave.
After, we went cliff jumping and to "Monkey Island" but unfortunately we saw no monkey. A big let down for me as I'm dying to see some monkeys and have yet to. We also went to "Shark Point" to swim with sharks (his broken English reassuring me that they wouldn't bite, "Just small baby.") But alas, no sharks either.
The rest of the day was filled with sunshine, salt water, and curried dishes on rice topped with a fried egg. But we all departed with the memory of paradise, and a promise to return.
The island itself has 2 parts: Phi Phi Don and Phi Phi Leh. One bigger than the other and both connected by a thin beach and village, water visible on both sides. With most of the area a Marine Park, natural beauty is bountiful. Myself and four others arrived on a tour I saw in a brochure, 'Only 1,100- Baht.' Food, snacks, snorkeling, sight seeing and-gasp-transportation to and from your hotel. The cab fare that it would have cost to get to the pier equaled the price of the trip.
The day started off grey. It was a little cloudy, but it soon burned off as we neared Phi Phi (pronounced P. P.), an hour later. We pulled into the dock and dropped some people off but where instructed, because of our little green stickers, to stay aboard. We motored to the bay and were given snorkel and mask, a lovely bright yellow and black, and were let loose among the coral. Being afraid of water-ocean more so- it took me some time to warm up to the activity. I finally got it and orchestrated my breathing. Once I calmed down enough to actually stay underwater I was amazed by the scope of color and variety of marine life: Parrot-fish, their chubby blimp like bodies and electric colors each a little different from the other, Angel fish, clown fish, and all kinds of flashy bright fish whom I have no idea on the names. It was amazing. At one point I was completely encompassed by a school of stripped blue, black, and yellow mini fish. I could feel their little bodies whirl past me. Holding out my hand I tried to catch some, but they are fast little devils! It was hard not to smile as they danced in front of your mask, almost teasing you to try. After an hour of snorkeling, of which my friends and I were the first in and last out (got my money's worth!), we had fresh fruit on the boat as we cruised on a sight-seeing tour of the island and all of its lagoony, cliff wonder.
Phi Phi explodes out of the crystal teal water in completely steep vertical shoots. The walls of which are a geology lesson in itself. Krabi, the province that Phi Phi belongs to, is known for it's limestone cliffs and ultimate rock climbing, but I am not sure if these were in fact limestone. These rock walls were more grey with orange clay like color mixed in. It was like peanut brittle ridged and flaky, covered by green little shrubs, palms, and trees. The root systems of which blend into the stone turning grey as it connects making intricate sprawling lines in spots. The cliffs let to white sand beaches in spots creating coves of pristine, picture-postcard perfect mini heavens where green meets grey meets white meets turquoise: Kodak moment. Nestled in the cliffs are a series of coves. One being the "Viking Cave" from years past. Others are higher up in the cliffs and many have locals living in them- a small bungalow and dishes inside.
The whole was moving, mind blowing and spiritual. As we docked for lunch we all had an urge to stay, and I voiced it:
"Let's stay!"
"You want to? I'm down."
"Yeah, let's get a bungalow."
"Dude, if we can get a cheap one, I'm in."
"Let's check it out. We can find the cheapest one."
"Really?"
"Totally!"
We sat down to the buffet style meal: Tom Yam seafood soup, rice, sweet and sour fish with vegetables, spaghetti and sauce, stewed local veggies, fried fish squares, fresh pineapple and watermelon and more. The flavors created a delicious mix and I had to stop myself from going for a third helping.
We found a reasonable bungalow and set up camp. It was time to explore...Which led us right to the beach as our bodies overheated and begged for salt water relief.
By four it was happy hour and nothing says happy like Samsong buckets. By buckets, I mean children's beach pails filled with ice, a bottle of whiskey, red bull, and cola. It was two for one. So we went for it. Splitting it four ways as one of our companions had gotten really ill and had to go back to the room.
The next morning was filled with "Do you remembers" and pointed fingers teamed with fits of laughter. It was seven a.m. and we were ready to roll, chowing food and figuring out what to do with our day. The streets are lined with various shops boosting, Tours, Scuba, Sights, and Sales! But the way to go is to hire a local in one of their Longboats. Longboats are long, wooden boats with a small tarp for shade in the middle and a large propeller controlled by the local in the back for steering. After some barter we sloshed out to it and hopped in. Donning the normal blessings of flowers and sashes on the front, our boat was ready to voyage. We checked out the caves up close and personal first. That is when we realized the residency. After that we scooted into crystal clear water in a small cove. It was too much and we had our driver stop so that we could jump out into the water and swim around. It was unbelievable. Surrounded by jutting green cliffs I floated on my back and took it all in, the water warm and the scenery amazing. We then went to a snorkeling spot (but you didn't even have to snorkel. The water was so clear that you could see the fish right from the boat!), and our driver showed us a secret way to get to Maya Bay.
We swam from the boat to the side of the cliffs. The waves pushed us to a little cave opening, and entrance to the valley. We each floated through the small hole and it opened up to a grassy mini beach with a trail. We followed the trail through the woods and as it turned from packed dirt to white loose sand, we emerged from the white flowered field and into Maya Bay. With stalactites hanging from the cliffs rimming one side of the white sand beach, we swam. Almost fully enclosed with a small outlet to the sea where boats access it, it truly was a small paradise.
We walked back- more to do- but I veered off and followed another path for curiosity sake.
As I was walking my eye caught a small movement and a butterfly, the size of one of my hands, fluttered in front of me. As I was watching its black and iridescent blue wings beat the fragrant air, heavy with the dense smell of forest and wet dirt, another, larger, butterfly joined it. This one with orange and red accents and dew drop bottom wings. Together they danced around me, and I swore that they were doing it just for me. I held out my right pointer finger for a landing post and they twirled around it delicately moving around it, up my arm, and around my body. I gasped with the sheer beauty of it-magical- and they flew off into the palms. I hurried back to my group and met them as they slipped back through the cave.
After, we went cliff jumping and to "Monkey Island" but unfortunately we saw no monkey. A big let down for me as I'm dying to see some monkeys and have yet to. We also went to "Shark Point" to swim with sharks (his broken English reassuring me that they wouldn't bite, "Just small baby.") But alas, no sharks either.
The rest of the day was filled with sunshine, salt water, and curried dishes on rice topped with a fried egg. But we all departed with the memory of paradise, and a promise to return.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Coup Coup Ca Chu Coup Coup Ca Chu...
So, before eveyone gets all Coup'ed up and nailbiting lets make two things clear: Each media outlet you use has their own agenda, You don't know what is going on unless you're here with the people. With that said, Yes, there is a coup. A military coup.
What's going on? Well, Thaksin the Prime Minister has been deemed corrupt (maybe rightly so as his family owned the largest telecommunications network in Thailand and just sold it for something along the lines of a few billion). People are calling for his resignation for tax avoidance and profiting off of the Thai people. Hmmmm. I'd be a little bitter too. (Echo Mr. Bush and his family's multimillion Haliburton and C. Group dealings). With that, The Royal Family and the military have to do something about it.
So, you can't just go on T.V. and say, "There's a Coup." You have to actually bring in some tanks and military to make it look official. Just because there are tanks, soldiers with guns, and things are shut down DOESN'T mean that there will be any shots fired. The military has moved in and taken over Bangkok. Everything is shut down IN BANGKOK. They have issued Marshall Law which means each commander is now in charge of their region. There has been NO VIOLENCE and it is doubtful there will be any. If shit hits the ol' rotating fan I'm Sure King Bhumibol will step in. He has had a good track record of 60 years calming coups and riots. Thailand has been stable for the past 15 years with the last uprising in the early nineties with which the King stepped in and humbled the then Prime Minister.
Things are fine. Well, maybe not for Thaksin as he was in the U.S. for a U.N. meeting and will probably be arrested on his return. But for the people. We're just dandy. Just all government buildings are shut down for the day. Beach anyone?
Channels not to watch for updates: Fox News- they are the epitome of swayed hot aired filled media. They tend to blow things completely out of proportion. BBC will be rather conservative.
What's going on? Well, Thaksin the Prime Minister has been deemed corrupt (maybe rightly so as his family owned the largest telecommunications network in Thailand and just sold it for something along the lines of a few billion). People are calling for his resignation for tax avoidance and profiting off of the Thai people. Hmmmm. I'd be a little bitter too. (Echo Mr. Bush and his family's multimillion Haliburton and C. Group dealings). With that, The Royal Family and the military have to do something about it.
So, you can't just go on T.V. and say, "There's a Coup." You have to actually bring in some tanks and military to make it look official. Just because there are tanks, soldiers with guns, and things are shut down DOESN'T mean that there will be any shots fired. The military has moved in and taken over Bangkok. Everything is shut down IN BANGKOK. They have issued Marshall Law which means each commander is now in charge of their region. There has been NO VIOLENCE and it is doubtful there will be any. If shit hits the ol' rotating fan I'm Sure King Bhumibol will step in. He has had a good track record of 60 years calming coups and riots. Thailand has been stable for the past 15 years with the last uprising in the early nineties with which the King stepped in and humbled the then Prime Minister.
Things are fine. Well, maybe not for Thaksin as he was in the U.S. for a U.N. meeting and will probably be arrested on his return. But for the people. We're just dandy. Just all government buildings are shut down for the day. Beach anyone?
Channels not to watch for updates: Fox News- they are the epitome of swayed hot aired filled media. They tend to blow things completely out of proportion. BBC will be rather conservative.
A Quicky
Saturday I bought a phone....and lost it three hours later. Sweet deal. At least it wasn't my camera or wallet. Sympathy donations can be given straight to my bank account.
I'm a mosquito buffet right now. I'll tell ya'll the story later.
I'm a mosquito buffet right now. I'll tell ya'll the story later.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Night Ride (r)
"Hullo, where you go?" He seemed to have popped out of nowhere. Eight of us had just finished dinner at E Saan, a local Thai restaurant, just a hop, skip and a jump away from both our school and living accommodations. With multiple levels, an algae-green spouting fountain in the middle, balcony set with Christmas lights and an open-air kitchen, it was a good deal. The place even had its own litter of puppies lolling around and sneaking up and nipping your toes. I was especially found of the white pup, its face divided down the nose with tan on one side and white on the other.
After a delicious meal of soupy coconut curry chicken and multiple shared dishes, we decided to go downtown to a local pub, O'Malley's, to start the night. O'Malley's is the only Irish bar in town and is run--funny enough--by an English man and his Thai girlfriend. It has sort of become the TEFL hangout bar and they offer a grand "Two for One" Chang beer night... But that was last night and that is a different story. Tonight was Friday night. As the mob of us left the restaurant and walked onto the sidewalk and into the night air heavy with curries, fish sauces and herbs, we were greeted by a slight drizzle and heavy traffic.
It was getting late, nine already. So we decided to all take motor taxis as people were waiting for us to arrive. As eight of us stood on the corner anticipating the usual 'meep, meep' of the motorbikes (aka scooters) we were surprised that not one had driven by in the past 40 seconds. Figures right? When you don't need one, you are swarmed. When you do need one, they are no where to be found.
Finally, one wheels over after Charlie, a blond from England with an infectious laugh and large eyes, hopped into the street waving her arms.
"Alright, two to a bike, yeah?" Dean, the big brother of us all, instructs. "You two get on this one here, yeah. And we just have to get a few more, and we should be good, eh?" Charlie and Tony begin climbing onto the bike while Dean gives the driver instructions.
Meanwhile, I'm looking up the road to see if I can flag another down. As I'm peering into the night with the hood of my raincoat protecting my face from the drizzle, I turn and am surprised by a small Thai man, his arms out to his sides as if he is going to give a bear hug palms up, "Hullo, where you go?" His wide missing tooth smile climbing from ear to ear.
"Uh, O' Malley's." I look around a little confused. This guy just, like, materialized out of thin air.
"Where'd he come from?" Suzie, a nice Liverpool native, half whispers to me with a perplexed look reflecting the one on my face.
"I dunno?"
"Right, okay. Here's another. Who's on this one?" Dean asks while his hands give directions to the previous bike carrying the other two.
"Where you go?"
"O'Malley's...Irish bar...You know?" I ask him.
"No problem. Okay, okayokayokayokay." He half spins back to his bike.
"Okay?"
"Yeeees. O'Malley's. No problem." He lets out a little chuckle, more of a 'hehehehehe' than a chuckle. It has an eerie kind of giggle aspect to it; it's the kind you'd let out as a kid when you saw something you knew you weren't supposed to and thought that maybe you'd get in trouble, "50 baht."
"Two people?"
"Yeeeeeaaah. 50 baht. No problem."
"30 baht."
"Oooookay. No problem." ...And the chuckle returns.
Right, I think to myself as I hop on the back of the bike.
"Don't worry about us. We'll get the next motor." Suzie calls as she and her Scottish boyfriend, Matt, continue to look up the street. The first bike motor offs and Dean walks toward us. Meanwhile, the driver had been talking to me. Mind you, I have no idea what he is saying, and it is starting to seem a little weird. Especially when he begins to lets out that chuckle...
"Who's coming on? Let's roll." I say. Dean hops on and the bike almost topples over.
"Hehehehe, no problem." and we wheel off, a little wobbly, down the road. We see our other two friends walking on the side of the street.
"Heeeey!" we call out, thinking that we'd just fly by. But our driver decides that he wants to have a little chat. Maybe he forgot we were on. He asks the guys if they want to see girls and we all kind of give each other 'the eyes'. You know, the 'wait a minute what's up with this guy' eyes. Yeah.
We give the driver a tap to make him go, "No problem. Hehehehee. Girls. HAHA." He says to himself as we wobble back into traffic. Well, actually. It is kind of a problem. I'm not really ready to die. Because at this point I realize that this dude is either drunk, stoned, or something else. I just got done a heated conversation about crack cocaine being a huge growing problem in Phuket and with this guy's missing teeth and demeanor, I become a little uneasy. Dean and I look at each other and it's obvious we are both thinking the same thing. I lean forward and give him a little sniff. He doesn't smell like alcohol. This guy just talks away in Thai, laughing to himself and asking us questions. You can tell he is going through his Farang repertoire. We have no idea what he is saying. We just kind of nod, say "kha" and "Krup" and hope to God we make it to O'Malley's.
He is weaving in and out of the lane, wobbling all over the place. This is it. This is how I'm going to go? They'll have to tell my loved ones I was on my way to the bar and a drunk taxi driver singing 'You are Always on My Mind' crashed and killed us. That's it. Dear, Lord. He continues singing and I join in with him for two reasons: one- if I'm going to go, I'm going to be having a good time, two- he drove a LOT better when he was singing. We approach a light and I can see the green counting down, "3,2,1...No problem" he calls out as we wheel right through. Geezus. We pass the street O'Malley's is on and holler to him to pull over. Half in relief, half in just wanting to get the frick off of the death bike.
We pay the man and burst into O'Malleys, "You'll never guess what just happened..."
*To the parental figures. Lessoned learned just sharing funny story. No lectures please. HA!
After a delicious meal of soupy coconut curry chicken and multiple shared dishes, we decided to go downtown to a local pub, O'Malley's, to start the night. O'Malley's is the only Irish bar in town and is run--funny enough--by an English man and his Thai girlfriend. It has sort of become the TEFL hangout bar and they offer a grand "Two for One" Chang beer night... But that was last night and that is a different story. Tonight was Friday night. As the mob of us left the restaurant and walked onto the sidewalk and into the night air heavy with curries, fish sauces and herbs, we were greeted by a slight drizzle and heavy traffic.
It was getting late, nine already. So we decided to all take motor taxis as people were waiting for us to arrive. As eight of us stood on the corner anticipating the usual 'meep, meep' of the motorbikes (aka scooters) we were surprised that not one had driven by in the past 40 seconds. Figures right? When you don't need one, you are swarmed. When you do need one, they are no where to be found.
Finally, one wheels over after Charlie, a blond from England with an infectious laugh and large eyes, hopped into the street waving her arms.
"Alright, two to a bike, yeah?" Dean, the big brother of us all, instructs. "You two get on this one here, yeah. And we just have to get a few more, and we should be good, eh?" Charlie and Tony begin climbing onto the bike while Dean gives the driver instructions.
Meanwhile, I'm looking up the road to see if I can flag another down. As I'm peering into the night with the hood of my raincoat protecting my face from the drizzle, I turn and am surprised by a small Thai man, his arms out to his sides as if he is going to give a bear hug palms up, "Hullo, where you go?" His wide missing tooth smile climbing from ear to ear.
"Uh, O' Malley's." I look around a little confused. This guy just, like, materialized out of thin air.
"Where'd he come from?" Suzie, a nice Liverpool native, half whispers to me with a perplexed look reflecting the one on my face.
"I dunno?"
"Right, okay. Here's another. Who's on this one?" Dean asks while his hands give directions to the previous bike carrying the other two.
"Where you go?"
"O'Malley's...Irish bar...You know?" I ask him.
"No problem. Okay, okayokayokayokay." He half spins back to his bike.
"Okay?"
"Yeeees. O'Malley's. No problem." He lets out a little chuckle, more of a 'hehehehehe' than a chuckle. It has an eerie kind of giggle aspect to it; it's the kind you'd let out as a kid when you saw something you knew you weren't supposed to and thought that maybe you'd get in trouble, "50 baht."
"Two people?"
"Yeeeeeaaah. 50 baht. No problem."
"30 baht."
"Oooookay. No problem." ...And the chuckle returns.
Right, I think to myself as I hop on the back of the bike.
"Don't worry about us. We'll get the next motor." Suzie calls as she and her Scottish boyfriend, Matt, continue to look up the street. The first bike motor offs and Dean walks toward us. Meanwhile, the driver had been talking to me. Mind you, I have no idea what he is saying, and it is starting to seem a little weird. Especially when he begins to lets out that chuckle...
"Who's coming on? Let's roll." I say. Dean hops on and the bike almost topples over.
"Hehehehe, no problem." and we wheel off, a little wobbly, down the road. We see our other two friends walking on the side of the street.
"Heeeey!" we call out, thinking that we'd just fly by. But our driver decides that he wants to have a little chat. Maybe he forgot we were on. He asks the guys if they want to see girls and we all kind of give each other 'the eyes'. You know, the 'wait a minute what's up with this guy' eyes. Yeah.
We give the driver a tap to make him go, "No problem. Hehehehee. Girls. HAHA." He says to himself as we wobble back into traffic. Well, actually. It is kind of a problem. I'm not really ready to die. Because at this point I realize that this dude is either drunk, stoned, or something else. I just got done a heated conversation about crack cocaine being a huge growing problem in Phuket and with this guy's missing teeth and demeanor, I become a little uneasy. Dean and I look at each other and it's obvious we are both thinking the same thing. I lean forward and give him a little sniff. He doesn't smell like alcohol. This guy just talks away in Thai, laughing to himself and asking us questions. You can tell he is going through his Farang repertoire. We have no idea what he is saying. We just kind of nod, say "kha" and "Krup" and hope to God we make it to O'Malley's.
He is weaving in and out of the lane, wobbling all over the place. This is it. This is how I'm going to go? They'll have to tell my loved ones I was on my way to the bar and a drunk taxi driver singing 'You are Always on My Mind' crashed and killed us. That's it. Dear, Lord. He continues singing and I join in with him for two reasons: one- if I'm going to go, I'm going to be having a good time, two- he drove a LOT better when he was singing. We approach a light and I can see the green counting down, "3,2,1...No problem" he calls out as we wheel right through. Geezus. We pass the street O'Malley's is on and holler to him to pull over. Half in relief, half in just wanting to get the frick off of the death bike.
We pay the man and burst into O'Malleys, "You'll never guess what just happened..."
*To the parental figures. Lessoned learned just sharing funny story. No lectures please. HA!
Friday, September 15, 2006
"Thank You, Teacha'"
It was 5:17 pm (or 17:17 as they say here), and four sets of eyes beamed up at me from their little wooden desks. They were arranged in the white walled classroom in a mini horseshoe lining the perimeter.
"Hello, I am Molly."
A chorus of "hellos" echoed in the small classroom as I wrote my name in squeaky dry erase marker on the white board. As I went around the room asking the students their names, I made a mental note as to which ones were difficult, and which ones I would possibly have trouble pronouncing during my class. I tried to associate their names with things I knew. Ex: Oiy was like the ACDC or Aussie exclamation, OY!
*(Thais have formal names given at birth and as they grow up they get a series of nicknames. For instance, your name could be Thomas, but as a baby everyone called you Tiny because you were rather small. And in the same sense, "Trouble" as a child, "Hairy" as a teenager, "Chubby" as an adult and so on).
I began my class with what TEFL International calls an "Engage" technique:
a: apple
b: boat
c: cat
d:?
"Dirt!" a student called out smiling from ear to ear, obviously very pleased with herself.
"Dirt. Very good. A,b,c,d...?"
"E!"
"Egg!"
We continued all the way through to the letter Z. The students shouted out examples and rattled out the alphabet so fast that my pen could hardly keep up with them. A student popped in halfway through the exercise and apologized profusely.
I stood in front of the white board; feet covered in dress shoes, knees covered by my black, purple, and white checkered capris, and white collared shirt buttoned up to cover my chest, shoulders and stomach. In Thailand, teachers are four down in the hierarchy of respect, directly under Monks. So, it's important to look the part and to carry yourself well. A good place to be a teacher if I ever heard of one.
I glanced at the little blue plastic clock to the right of me hanging between the closed windows and began to teach my lesson: Pronouns.
TEFL teaches you to try to elicit all your responses from the students to maximize student talk time and limit lecture style. My class was a beginner class with two strong students and two very weak students. I never imagined how hard it is to try to get your students to participate and fill in the blanks you need when they have no idea what you are talking about. I kind of just wanted to tell them the answer, fill it in, tell them why--but you can't. You have to do whatever it takes to get them to say it.
Fortunately for me, they understood the concept and question.
"Oiy, what time do you eat breakfast?" I asked while writing the question on the board so that they could ingest it visually.
"I eat breakfast at 8 0'clock." she half-whispered, glancing around the room for affirmation and congratulatory nods from her peers.
"Very good. I eat breakfast at 8 o'clock." I mimed back to her as I wrote her reply on the board. We continued this until I generated a list of five different responses to use in changing the name to a Pronoun.
"What is another way of saying this?" Blank stares.
"How can I say this without saying the name?" Stares. Someone coughs. A desk groans as someone shifts their weight. I had to think of something fast, I was losing them. I was on the pier and they were struggling to tread water. I think I saw a head bob under slightly, exhausted faces pleading with me to throw them a life preserver, an inflatable chair, anything! The dry erase marker glared up at me with it's beady little eyes, "Use me, ya tool." I could hear it saying in my head. Ah, yes. The mighty pen. But how shall I use thee?
"Okay..." I began circling the name of the person with vicious ferociousness, "Oiy eats breakfast at 8 o'clock." Drawing a line to the other side of the board, I wrote the sentence again but missing the subject, an arrow pointing to it circled in black. I tapped the pen on the empty space surveying the classroom for a light to go on in any of their heads.
"I?" a student squeaked out.
"Yes, I. What else?" The students began speaking in Thai, trying to figure out what the heck I wanted.
"She?" a student directly in from of me asked.
"Yes! She!" I thought I was going to burst from relief. "She eats breakfast at 8 o'clock! Now, Gim goes to work at 9 o'clock. Gim?" I asked as I rewrote the sentence missing the name and tapping the empty spot at the beginning of the sentence.
"He!" the same student more confidently chirped out. They all looked at me, awaiting my answer in suspense.
"Yes! He! He goes to work at 9 o'clock." We were on a roll now. The pen was a-squeaking away, if the students were a different culture I imagine high-fives would have been thrown out around the room, bells were tolling in churches, handicapped of all ages were miraculously healed, I was amped up.
The lesson continued with more examples and Pronoun placement. It was time to move onto the worksheet I had worked so hard on cutting and pasting, rewriting, editing, and copying until my fingers bled. Maybe not that hard, but close. This was the true test, would they pass? Would they become Jedi Pronoun users?
I monitored their work as the pairs dove into it. The three more advanced students whipped it out as if I had only asked their addresses. The new students scratched their heads and squinted at the paper as if to force the writing into something more comprehensible. With a little help from their peers, the students got it and began filling it out. I called on them to read their answers aloud. When an error came up I put it on the board.
"She go to the store? She go?"
"No, no..." They called out, "goes!"
"Ah, goes. Very good. She goes to the store."
I wanted to explain it, to tell them about conjugating verbs but it would have only caused more confusion. I continued on, giving an example on the board and then passing out worksheet number two.
"This time Maya and J." I told them, pointing to the two girls and suggesting together with my hands. By golly it worked! They switched seats and began working diligently away. I glanced at the clock, 5:35 pm. I still had 25 minutes left. Shit, I was running out things to do. I still had one more worksheet and a game to play. I could always stretch it out I suppose.
The students did pretty well for the most part. A few errors here and there, but as soon as I turned to put the wrong sentence on the board they self corrected the error. The hardest part was being able to hear them. I felt like I was wearing protective earwear. The big earphones one wears while shooting guns or other loud activities.
"Say it again?" I asked
"Shmimg."
"What?"
"Shiming." She replied as she looked around the room for help. The other students talked to her in Thai.
"It's okay." I said with the friendliest don't be afraid it isn't necessarily wrong I just can't flippin hear what you're saying because I am a deaf 24 year old from American smile, "Again?"
"Shiming."
"Can you spell it?
"Swimming. " The person next to her calls out.
"Ah, swimming. Yes, I like swimming too. Great." I mimicked swimming a little and they all giggled.
The class went well and the Activate activity (game) was okay, but not as fun and useful as I thought it would be. I handed out the board game and showed them how to play,
"Take a Pronoun card. " I said while taking a purple card, "Take a Verb card." I took a green card, "Pick a sentence," I put the piece down on the board, "and make a sentence." They began scanning all the cards and trying to fit them into sentences. I looked at the clock, 5:50. Ten minutes. I can do this. We're almost there. Just a little longer. I thought to myself as the students continued to make sentences. After my one minute warning, I had each of them tell me a sentence that they made. I then wrote it on the board and had them correct any errors.
6:00. "Thank you. Buh-bye." I said waving to them.
"thank you, teacher!" they sang out. wai'ing at me as they got out of their desks. (wai: to bow with hands together in an act of greeting or departure). I shuffled my papers and they helped me to collect all the pieces of the game, almost fighting over who got to clean them up for me. They left and I wiped off the white board. Clean, ready for lesson number two.
"Hello, I am Molly."
A chorus of "hellos" echoed in the small classroom as I wrote my name in squeaky dry erase marker on the white board. As I went around the room asking the students their names, I made a mental note as to which ones were difficult, and which ones I would possibly have trouble pronouncing during my class. I tried to associate their names with things I knew. Ex: Oiy was like the ACDC or Aussie exclamation, OY!
*(Thais have formal names given at birth and as they grow up they get a series of nicknames. For instance, your name could be Thomas, but as a baby everyone called you Tiny because you were rather small. And in the same sense, "Trouble" as a child, "Hairy" as a teenager, "Chubby" as an adult and so on).
I began my class with what TEFL International calls an "Engage" technique:
a: apple
b: boat
c: cat
d:?
"Dirt!" a student called out smiling from ear to ear, obviously very pleased with herself.
"Dirt. Very good. A,b,c,d...?"
"E!"
"Egg!"
We continued all the way through to the letter Z. The students shouted out examples and rattled out the alphabet so fast that my pen could hardly keep up with them. A student popped in halfway through the exercise and apologized profusely.
I stood in front of the white board; feet covered in dress shoes, knees covered by my black, purple, and white checkered capris, and white collared shirt buttoned up to cover my chest, shoulders and stomach. In Thailand, teachers are four down in the hierarchy of respect, directly under Monks. So, it's important to look the part and to carry yourself well. A good place to be a teacher if I ever heard of one.
I glanced at the little blue plastic clock to the right of me hanging between the closed windows and began to teach my lesson: Pronouns.
TEFL teaches you to try to elicit all your responses from the students to maximize student talk time and limit lecture style. My class was a beginner class with two strong students and two very weak students. I never imagined how hard it is to try to get your students to participate and fill in the blanks you need when they have no idea what you are talking about. I kind of just wanted to tell them the answer, fill it in, tell them why--but you can't. You have to do whatever it takes to get them to say it.
Fortunately for me, they understood the concept and question.
"Oiy, what time do you eat breakfast?" I asked while writing the question on the board so that they could ingest it visually.
"I eat breakfast at 8 0'clock." she half-whispered, glancing around the room for affirmation and congratulatory nods from her peers.
"Very good. I eat breakfast at 8 o'clock." I mimed back to her as I wrote her reply on the board. We continued this until I generated a list of five different responses to use in changing the name to a Pronoun.
"What is another way of saying this?" Blank stares.
"How can I say this without saying the name?" Stares. Someone coughs. A desk groans as someone shifts their weight. I had to think of something fast, I was losing them. I was on the pier and they were struggling to tread water. I think I saw a head bob under slightly, exhausted faces pleading with me to throw them a life preserver, an inflatable chair, anything! The dry erase marker glared up at me with it's beady little eyes, "Use me, ya tool." I could hear it saying in my head. Ah, yes. The mighty pen. But how shall I use thee?
"Okay..." I began circling the name of the person with vicious ferociousness, "Oiy eats breakfast at 8 o'clock." Drawing a line to the other side of the board, I wrote the sentence again but missing the subject, an arrow pointing to it circled in black. I tapped the pen on the empty space surveying the classroom for a light to go on in any of their heads.
"I?" a student squeaked out.
"Yes, I. What else?" The students began speaking in Thai, trying to figure out what the heck I wanted.
"She?" a student directly in from of me asked.
"Yes! She!" I thought I was going to burst from relief. "She eats breakfast at 8 o'clock! Now, Gim goes to work at 9 o'clock. Gim?" I asked as I rewrote the sentence missing the name and tapping the empty spot at the beginning of the sentence.
"He!" the same student more confidently chirped out. They all looked at me, awaiting my answer in suspense.
"Yes! He! He goes to work at 9 o'clock." We were on a roll now. The pen was a-squeaking away, if the students were a different culture I imagine high-fives would have been thrown out around the room, bells were tolling in churches, handicapped of all ages were miraculously healed, I was amped up.
The lesson continued with more examples and Pronoun placement. It was time to move onto the worksheet I had worked so hard on cutting and pasting, rewriting, editing, and copying until my fingers bled. Maybe not that hard, but close. This was the true test, would they pass? Would they become Jedi Pronoun users?
I monitored their work as the pairs dove into it. The three more advanced students whipped it out as if I had only asked their addresses. The new students scratched their heads and squinted at the paper as if to force the writing into something more comprehensible. With a little help from their peers, the students got it and began filling it out. I called on them to read their answers aloud. When an error came up I put it on the board.
"She go to the store? She go?"
"No, no..." They called out, "goes!"
"Ah, goes. Very good. She goes to the store."
I wanted to explain it, to tell them about conjugating verbs but it would have only caused more confusion. I continued on, giving an example on the board and then passing out worksheet number two.
"This time Maya and J." I told them, pointing to the two girls and suggesting together with my hands. By golly it worked! They switched seats and began working diligently away. I glanced at the clock, 5:35 pm. I still had 25 minutes left. Shit, I was running out things to do. I still had one more worksheet and a game to play. I could always stretch it out I suppose.
The students did pretty well for the most part. A few errors here and there, but as soon as I turned to put the wrong sentence on the board they self corrected the error. The hardest part was being able to hear them. I felt like I was wearing protective earwear. The big earphones one wears while shooting guns or other loud activities.
"Say it again?" I asked
"Shmimg."
"What?"
"Shiming." She replied as she looked around the room for help. The other students talked to her in Thai.
"It's okay." I said with the friendliest don't be afraid it isn't necessarily wrong I just can't flippin hear what you're saying because I am a deaf 24 year old from American smile, "Again?"
"Shiming."
"Can you spell it?
"Swimming. " The person next to her calls out.
"Ah, swimming. Yes, I like swimming too. Great." I mimicked swimming a little and they all giggled.
The class went well and the Activate activity (game) was okay, but not as fun and useful as I thought it would be. I handed out the board game and showed them how to play,
"Take a Pronoun card. " I said while taking a purple card, "Take a Verb card." I took a green card, "Pick a sentence," I put the piece down on the board, "and make a sentence." They began scanning all the cards and trying to fit them into sentences. I looked at the clock, 5:50. Ten minutes. I can do this. We're almost there. Just a little longer. I thought to myself as the students continued to make sentences. After my one minute warning, I had each of them tell me a sentence that they made. I then wrote it on the board and had them correct any errors.
6:00. "Thank you. Buh-bye." I said waving to them.
"thank you, teacher!" they sang out. wai'ing at me as they got out of their desks. (wai: to bow with hands together in an act of greeting or departure). I shuffled my papers and they helped me to collect all the pieces of the game, almost fighting over who got to clean them up for me. They left and I wiped off the white board. Clean, ready for lesson number two.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Back to school
9:20. I was supposed to be down stairs in the conference room to begin my first class. Good thing I was up at 7:oo am. I just can't sleep when I'm in a new spot. It's like falling asleep on a friend's couch-- you're awake unusually early, even if you didn't get to sleep until the wee hours of the night.
From my balcony I could see a couple of farang (foreigners) sitting downstairs on the porch. Good as time as any to meet some people. After some chatting, we all went up to the conference room to get our schooling on. It was your usual introductions to the course and to your instructors and classmates: "Two interesting things about the person sitting next to me were that she has met most of the royal family, and that she is a certified scuba diver that hasn't dove in seven years." That kind of stuff.
The course is pretty jam packed with things to do. I actually just got out of my first observation class. We had five Thai students in a "starter" class, which is basically beginner speakers. I observed a teacher here at the a school. The lesson was on time: telling time, reading time, am vs. Pm, morning vs. Afternoon, afternoon vs. Evening, evening vs. Night. It was great to get a demonstration before jumping in. There were worksheets, games and question and answer segments. It was really interesting to watch. The Thai students (all teenagers), knew for the most part what to say, but needed coaching on pronunciation. They struggled to get the "ch" in "couch" and the "ish" is "finish". But after some impromptu sounding of words they felt more comfortable.
I start teaching on Weds. WEDNESDAY! I have to prepare my lesson tomorrow when I know what level I have. I'm a little nervous, but appreciative to be able to jump right in. What's that old motto? Practice makes perfect? Yeah, that's it. Well I'll sure be getting enough of that.
From my balcony I could see a couple of farang (foreigners) sitting downstairs on the porch. Good as time as any to meet some people. After some chatting, we all went up to the conference room to get our schooling on. It was your usual introductions to the course and to your instructors and classmates: "Two interesting things about the person sitting next to me were that she has met most of the royal family, and that she is a certified scuba diver that hasn't dove in seven years." That kind of stuff.
The course is pretty jam packed with things to do. I actually just got out of my first observation class. We had five Thai students in a "starter" class, which is basically beginner speakers. I observed a teacher here at the a school. The lesson was on time: telling time, reading time, am vs. Pm, morning vs. Afternoon, afternoon vs. Evening, evening vs. Night. It was great to get a demonstration before jumping in. There were worksheets, games and question and answer segments. It was really interesting to watch. The Thai students (all teenagers), knew for the most part what to say, but needed coaching on pronunciation. They struggled to get the "ch" in "couch" and the "ish" is "finish". But after some impromptu sounding of words they felt more comfortable.
I start teaching on Weds. WEDNESDAY! I have to prepare my lesson tomorrow when I know what level I have. I'm a little nervous, but appreciative to be able to jump right in. What's that old motto? Practice makes perfect? Yeah, that's it. Well I'll sure be getting enough of that.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Patong, tong, tong tong tong.
"I'm frum Switzerland, yeah. My friend, he's frum Norgwey."
The little Thai girl in her string tank top and too tight jeans smiles and nods. I saw her walk by a second ago...Alone.
"You go and I follow. Get un veer frum da shop."
I watch as the large Swiss follows the girl down the front of the bars while he slobbers and struggles into his black tank top. I glance away to the ocean, half smirking to myself. I take in a breath as the crystal water rolls out to low tide. I scan back in their direction; like a drug, I can't look away. She is showing him her motor bike and he hands her his beer as he wheels it out of the parking spot. Rotated to leave, he hops on. She climbs onto the back, almost falling off from his size, and hands him her jazzy helmet. He squeezes his fat head into it and off they go...
That's kind of the scene at Patong beach. That, tourists, and people trying to sell you something. Every middle aged man has a hot little Thai girlfriend? Doubtful. Maybe for a few thousand Baht and a time limit they do. Yowza.
I walked into town today (I think the taxis are really starting to hate me. I'm the only one that walks. They beep. I smile. They ask, "Where you go?" I answer, "Mai Kha." they wheel off and it all happens again about 50 times into town). I reached the market, the supposive hub of buses and after a little cruising around and squinty eye reading of signs I was directed to Phuket Patong bus. As I surveyed the digs, a man on the bus in front started asking me, "Where you go?" He was a bit strange and he straddled the back pole of the bus, his legs dangling like Willow tree spindles.
"Patong."
"Ah, Patong, Patong. Patong, Patong. Patong, PAtong!"
Okay, he was a bit odd. I just smiled and boarded my bus...In the back...Away from him. For 20Baht (50 cents) I bumped along to Patong. Of course my seat was the one with the rickety window rattling away in my ear, but at least I could enjoy the view. We climbed up and over a mountain, (and when I say climbed I actually mean crawled up. It was like the little bus that could. I just keep saying I think we can. I think we can). The mountain broke off on the side to cliffs falling into a valley and at the top there was the most amazing view of my city surrounded by jungle covered mountain and littered with red roofed houses. The sun fell right into the city creating dark shadows that creeped up into the mountains. I nodded.
We descended and wrapped around a corner and there she was, Patong with all her crystal blue wonder and white sand gorgeousness. I hopped off the bus and started my exploration. My feet took me straight to water's edge, the surf tickling my toes and pulling my legs into it's warm wetness. Beach. Walking up the beach you find lots of beach chairs. For 50 baht you get one, an umbrella, and a nice Thai to cater to your whim. It was quite nice.
As the day went on my stomach grumbled, letting me know that I had forgotten something: lunch. After much cruising I settled on a place and had Massaman curry. Which is basically a thick curry (aka soupy for you non-curry lovers) with chicken over rice. God, this food is good. As long as I don't get a fish head and other waterdwelling appendages I'm fine. Choosing food in Phuket is like playing the lottery. It's a game of survey, point, and hope to God it isn't some sort of seafood dish. Tonight I'm going to try the brown one. The other day I had an interesting fish pastey oystery one. Bad move. Don't get the milky white one. Molly No like.
Patong is lined with shops, massage parlors, shops, restaurants, shops, and oh, shops. It's like Old Orchard beach in Maine. Only these aren't stores. There aren't any stores for the most part. Everything is tarped roofed and in little cubes with the front completely open and the walls lined with whatever it is that certain shop sells.
"Tuk, Tuk?"
"Madame, a scarf. Madame, you like? One minute, you look inside"
"CD?"
"'allo. You look inside?"
"allo Madame, you like beach shirt?'
"Tuk, Tuk?"
"Tour? You want elephant?"
"'allo. Come see. Silk"
Jeepers people! Can't a girl just walk down the sidewalk rimmed with shops and NOT buy something? Apparently they didn't think so. But I didn't. HA! One point me.
I t was getting late so I went in search of my dear Tuk Tuk as it was too late to catch the bus. It stops at 5. But I wasn't worried. If there is one thing that there isn't a shortage of it is transportation. I bargained with a motor taxi man and hopped on. That's right, folks... On the back of one of these crazy motorcycle taxis. Rush hour. We went a totally different way then I had in the morning. Maybe it's Thailand's way to make tourists sympathize because I went through some seriously hurt areas. I'm talking tin huts on stilts. It was humbling. But we did go over the mountain and I got a glimpse of that spectacular view as we whirled with the other bikes, cars, and carts.
Ah, my town.
The little Thai girl in her string tank top and too tight jeans smiles and nods. I saw her walk by a second ago...Alone.
"You go and I follow. Get un veer frum da shop."
I watch as the large Swiss follows the girl down the front of the bars while he slobbers and struggles into his black tank top. I glance away to the ocean, half smirking to myself. I take in a breath as the crystal water rolls out to low tide. I scan back in their direction; like a drug, I can't look away. She is showing him her motor bike and he hands her his beer as he wheels it out of the parking spot. Rotated to leave, he hops on. She climbs onto the back, almost falling off from his size, and hands him her jazzy helmet. He squeezes his fat head into it and off they go...
That's kind of the scene at Patong beach. That, tourists, and people trying to sell you something. Every middle aged man has a hot little Thai girlfriend? Doubtful. Maybe for a few thousand Baht and a time limit they do. Yowza.
I walked into town today (I think the taxis are really starting to hate me. I'm the only one that walks. They beep. I smile. They ask, "Where you go?" I answer, "Mai Kha." they wheel off and it all happens again about 50 times into town). I reached the market, the supposive hub of buses and after a little cruising around and squinty eye reading of signs I was directed to Phuket Patong bus. As I surveyed the digs, a man on the bus in front started asking me, "Where you go?" He was a bit strange and he straddled the back pole of the bus, his legs dangling like Willow tree spindles.
"Patong."
"Ah, Patong, Patong. Patong, Patong. Patong, PAtong!"
Okay, he was a bit odd. I just smiled and boarded my bus...In the back...Away from him. For 20Baht (50 cents) I bumped along to Patong. Of course my seat was the one with the rickety window rattling away in my ear, but at least I could enjoy the view. We climbed up and over a mountain, (and when I say climbed I actually mean crawled up. It was like the little bus that could. I just keep saying I think we can. I think we can). The mountain broke off on the side to cliffs falling into a valley and at the top there was the most amazing view of my city surrounded by jungle covered mountain and littered with red roofed houses. The sun fell right into the city creating dark shadows that creeped up into the mountains. I nodded.
We descended and wrapped around a corner and there she was, Patong with all her crystal blue wonder and white sand gorgeousness. I hopped off the bus and started my exploration. My feet took me straight to water's edge, the surf tickling my toes and pulling my legs into it's warm wetness. Beach. Walking up the beach you find lots of beach chairs. For 50 baht you get one, an umbrella, and a nice Thai to cater to your whim. It was quite nice.
As the day went on my stomach grumbled, letting me know that I had forgotten something: lunch. After much cruising I settled on a place and had Massaman curry. Which is basically a thick curry (aka soupy for you non-curry lovers) with chicken over rice. God, this food is good. As long as I don't get a fish head and other waterdwelling appendages I'm fine. Choosing food in Phuket is like playing the lottery. It's a game of survey, point, and hope to God it isn't some sort of seafood dish. Tonight I'm going to try the brown one. The other day I had an interesting fish pastey oystery one. Bad move. Don't get the milky white one. Molly No like.
Patong is lined with shops, massage parlors, shops, restaurants, shops, and oh, shops. It's like Old Orchard beach in Maine. Only these aren't stores. There aren't any stores for the most part. Everything is tarped roofed and in little cubes with the front completely open and the walls lined with whatever it is that certain shop sells.
"Tuk, Tuk?"
"Madame, a scarf. Madame, you like? One minute, you look inside"
"CD?"
"'allo. You look inside?"
"allo Madame, you like beach shirt?'
"Tuk, Tuk?"
"Tour? You want elephant?"
"'allo. Come see. Silk"
Jeepers people! Can't a girl just walk down the sidewalk rimmed with shops and NOT buy something? Apparently they didn't think so. But I didn't. HA! One point me.
I t was getting late so I went in search of my dear Tuk Tuk as it was too late to catch the bus. It stops at 5. But I wasn't worried. If there is one thing that there isn't a shortage of it is transportation. I bargained with a motor taxi man and hopped on. That's right, folks... On the back of one of these crazy motorcycle taxis. Rush hour. We went a totally different way then I had in the morning. Maybe it's Thailand's way to make tourists sympathize because I went through some seriously hurt areas. I'm talking tin huts on stilts. It was humbling. But we did go over the mountain and I got a glimpse of that spectacular view as we whirled with the other bikes, cars, and carts.
Ah, my town.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Destination Attained
I wonder when they are going to hand me my helmet and very own jumpsuit...maybe with a stylish silver strip over the shoulder and down the leg--fast. The traffic has no rules only that you better go if you're going to go. Motor bikes go wherever they want and squeeze into tiny spaces like mice. As we whirled, honked and skimmed through traffic I made small talk with the girl who picked me up at Phuket Airport... She wan't much of a talker, but I did get some yummy green tea gum from her. Score.
Phuket is, well, Markety? I guess I should start with my whereabouts for all you parental types. I am in Phuket Town. The east side near the bay, but don't get me wrong, I see no bay. I'm inland right smack dab in the heart of Phuket Town. I have a sweet double room in a hotel (self titled "The Mansion", which it isn't), I have a little balcony that looks over a nice creamy brown river, a leaky toilet and unlimited Thai channels on the ol' tube. Yes, that's right, I flicked on some Thai Star Seach-esk show as I unpacked. The boy band tore it up.
I'm 20 mins from the beaches by bus, TukTuk or motor bike. I'm going there tomorrow.
I'm sitting in this internet cafe next to five thai adolescents screaming and fighting over a computer game. One is in what appears to be a boyscout uniform. He must be the leader.
I walked into town (20mins?) against the wishes of every Motorbike taxi and TukTuk driver in town. I've been wandering around bobbing in and out of curious shops and food markets. I found the worst smell in the world: piles and piles of dried fish, shrimpies, and other aquatic beings. It's definately different.
Bangkok was a hoot. Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime. I miss my sidekick.
The leader just killed the large monster and gained immunity and lots of points... gotta go.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Arrival in Thailand
Hey everyone! we figured that this would get t everyone more efficiently. I only have 2 mins. so... We are good. We are in Bangkok and everything went fine...ish. Jet lag be damned. Write more when we have time and can find internet.
Molly & Erik
Molly & Erik
Monday, September 04, 2006
And it's one for the money... Two for the show... Three to get ready...
Holy schnikes. It seemed like just yesterday teaching abroad and Thailand was just an amusing idea-- Now concrete and formulated, bag packed and busting at the seams-- it has become reality. I find myself getting sentimental over little things: a ring my mother gave me from Czech Republic, the smell of Erik, An old T-shirt I've had for years, seams worn and tattered, but snug in all the right places. I love to move on. I love to be able to go. To leave. To grow. But it is always hard when it comes down to the last minute... You think you are leaving nothing, that there wasn't anything here that was inspiring you to be more than comfortable... but then you say goodbye and it hits you in the face like wrinkles when you're older, unsuspecting.
I am excited to go. I'm thrilled to be able to do this adventure with someone I love. But I'm going to miss some people more than they might ever know. I'm going to miss their growth and development and it chokes me up to think that I'm not going to be there.
I downsized my closet aproximately 10 times, and again as I packed and it wouldn't all fit. It is so hard to move your entire life into a duffle bag and a carry on. How thrilling? My life has become one checked bag and a carry-on-- beautiful.
I'm going to miss breakfast: runny eggs, bacon, homefries. But I am going to appreciate a whole new taste. I hope I can correspond with you all and share it with you.
...And here we go....
I am excited to go. I'm thrilled to be able to do this adventure with someone I love. But I'm going to miss some people more than they might ever know. I'm going to miss their growth and development and it chokes me up to think that I'm not going to be there.
I downsized my closet aproximately 10 times, and again as I packed and it wouldn't all fit. It is so hard to move your entire life into a duffle bag and a carry on. How thrilling? My life has become one checked bag and a carry-on-- beautiful.
I'm going to miss breakfast: runny eggs, bacon, homefries. But I am going to appreciate a whole new taste. I hope I can correspond with you all and share it with you.
...And here we go....
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