Happy New Year!!

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Leadership is important. Especially in large groups. Especially during large celebrations or major holidays. Especially when alcohol is added to the equation. At 11:59pm, it was clear that the large gathering of Thais and Farangs lacked leadership. Our tiny group of fellow volunteers and friends had already become aware of this fact and were already formulating a solution to this problem.

Without question, the largest tourist attraction in the South of Thailand is Phuket. Patong beach is the tourist center of Phuket and at the heart of Patong, or perhaps it could be called its liver, is Bangla Road. Comparable to Khao San Rd. in Bangkok should it ever have had a love child with Soi Cowboy. (Google these if you're unfamiliar.) Filled with trinket shops, bars, Go-Go bars, and night clubs, Bangla Rd. also has a really good seafood restaurant just off to the right near one of the 7/11s. Good seafood at a reasonable price! Bangla Rd. is the only place in the South where you can pet a lizard and a tranny in less than 5 minutes. Then go for a burger and fries to contemplate what the hell just happened.

At some point in December, the high officials of Phuket either found or created a large Christmas tree. I'm not sure which as it was dark and to be honest, I wasn't really interested if the damn thing was real or fake. This behemoth of a thing was erected at the mouth of Bangla Rd. where the road meets the beach. This was our meeting point for our New Years celebration. It was also the meeting place of several hundred other people. Luckily for us, we only slightly looked like lost idiots. Ah hah! An advantage!

Having gathered together under the brilliant lights of the Bangla Christmas tree, we were left with the frightening realization that a stark problem to these festivities was falling into place. 2009 would arrive at 12:00am. That was in exactly 7 minutes.

10 minutes.

5 minutes.

8 minutes?

Their was a pack of Dutch or slow Germans who were already celebrating about 15 yards away. Everyone else was standing around. Drinking. Talking. Looking at their watches and cell phones.

Nobody knew when New Years was but what was even more apparent to our group was that the Thais in charge (were their Thais in charge?) probably didn't know either. And even if they did know they would probably be 15 minutes late, as usual. Something had to be done.

An open discussion and debate was started as to when and for how long a count down should begin/take place. Obviously we would all 'know' when the moment was right but how long should we count? 30 seconds? 10 seconds? 5 seconds? One volunteer wanted to count down from 2 minutes He was quickly labeled an idiot and was flogged to death with the man purse he was carrying. An item he insisted was stylish but in fact proved a very affective weapon against him. We then began to count down from 10.

Quickly asking if Everyone was ready, (It's the proper way to begin any exercise with students, ages 8-12, and has become habitual with many volunteers) we began to count down from 10. By the time we reached 8 we had everyone in the general area counting. By 5 we had the whole beach. 3 - 2 - 1 Happy New Year! At this point the entire beach erupted in celebration with dance and song and drink. A universal since a joy swept over everyone.

Peace Corps creates leaders.

Roughly 15 minutes later, a massive firework show erupted over the beach marking the New Year. As we expected, the Thais were late. We stayed to watch the show and later adjourned to a nearby Go-Go Bar to challenge the dancers to game after game of Connect 4.

Happy New Year

p.s. Never play Connect 4 with a Go-Go Girl for money. You might as well just give her your wallet.

Khun Peter

Monday, December 22, 2008

This is an e-mail which I sent to friends and a few family members just before Christmas. As the e-mail reveals, I didn't want close family to know of this for fear of the concern it would create over my safety here in Thailand. Please note that although the listed date for this entry on this blog will read sometime in December, the actual date of this posting is Feb 12, 2009. The holiday season has passed and I feel it's ok now to reveal to everyone what happened.

Dear Friends,

I hope you are all having a wonderful Christmas and are staying warm. As for me... I'm currently sun-burnt from spending too much time out on the beach yesterday and from swimming in my little watering-hole-style creek the day before. A few fellow volunteers are here visiting from way up north and so I'm showing them the spirit of the South. Spicy food, curry, and of course beaches and various water sports. It's about 3 to 5 C up in the north right now which is nothing compared to the winter storms some of you are facing but to me, that's just crazy. It hasn't dipped below 23 C so far this winter and I'd consider that cold at night. I mean, I wear pajamas to bed and am sure to curl up under a nice warm blanket! Don't get me wrong... the fan is always going but still. Boy it's cold over here!!

Well, now that you all hate me, I thought I'd share a quick story with you. This actually just happened yesterday so all of the details are still pretty fresh in my mind though I doubt they'll ever go away. I'm not sure If I ever told any of you about Khun Peter. Peter is one of about 2 or 3 farangs (foreigners) who lives in my village though he has lived both here in the village and in Thailand in general the longest. Born in Algeria but an immigrant to Australia, Peter has the strangest accent of anyone I've ever met. Like a cocky French Canadian with a Crocodile Dundee fetish. Add about half a case of beer and a bottle of whiskey and you've got Peter. He's been living in Thailand for over 20 years. Southeast Asia for another 10 or 15+ before that. And my small village for just over 2 years. Peter lives down by the beach in a small bungalow style shack with about 4 dogs. The true bohemian lifestyle in this tropical paradise. He was a teacher at one of the major universities in Bangkok, or so he claims, but now spends his time as sort of a freelance English teacher. He runs a small school just outside of his home where students can come and learn English during school breaks and he helps tutor community and business leaders on the side. All and all, not a bad way to live out ones golden years.

All the trouble started yesterday morning when my friends and I went out for breakfast. Everyone was talking about Peter. He had apparently been bitten by a snake though no one knew any of the details. More specifically, no one knew if he was alive or dead. Later on, as we made our way closer to the beach and stopped by a small mini mart for some water, we found out from the lady who runs the shop that although Peter was in fact alive, he had been bitten by a snake at his house that was about as wide around as a football. Imagine that if you will... At lunch that day we heard more stories about Peter which were then followed up by questions. People of course wanting to know if I knew anything about Peter. Details or information that they didn't already know. That night we went out for dinner with one of my co-teachers who had just heard the news broadcast over the local radio station. Peter was dead. He had been bitten twice by a king cobra. Once on the upper arm and once on the lower leg while walking his dogs down near the beach. He apparently tried to get back to his house but never made it. He died within the hour.

We ended up going to the funeral that night which was held at the largest temple in the main city. A very small affair. Only about 50 or so people came which is tiny for a Thai style funeral. But interestingly, he had a Thai style funeral. I think for many of the ecco-tourists that come and go around her, they would just ship their bodies back home and quickly forget who they were. His friends and neighbors were visibly shaken and still in shock over what happened. He had a job teaching English to higher ups at one of the small factories in the village. All of the factories in the village are owned by one woman who has various elements of her family running them. He met her, she liked him, she became his patron. At the funeral, all of the traditional rites were observed. The coffin was beautifully decorated and lavishly ornate as was the small alter in front of it. Food was offered to the guests though the funeral being last minute and late in the evening, few people were hungry. In fact, for being last minute, it was very well put together. The funny thing about it though is that I think Peter might have hated all of it. From our meetings and our conversations, he hated the Thai obsession with ritual. He also had more than a few personal problems with how Thai's show respect. A common problem with expats, the idea that respect is shown to someone regardless of who or what the person has done. If they are an elder or of a higher social ranking then respect is given. This flies in the face of the western concept of respect being something that is earned. Meh... it's a Thai thing and it will piss you off if you spend enough time here... so will their music.

I'm sorry if I just brought everyone down but I just wanted to share this story. I knew Peter casually and would talk with him when I saw him but really that's it. I think it just hits closer to home because of how close this community is. Everyone really does know each other and really shares their concerns and feelings for one another. Obviously I wouldn't be dumb enough to tell family this story during Christmas. That's why I'm telling you this story. Even though a few of you are family and I really consider all of you close enough to be family, I don't want my actual family (Mom, Dad, Aunts, Uncles) knowing about this until I return home. They really don't need to know about all of this.

So yeah. Just another interesting story from the front.

Home Coming

Friday, September 26, 2008

Dad's surgery went well. He was awake and making jokes faster than I or the nurses had expected. I'm still shocked that modern medicine has reached a point that a person can have open heart surgery and be sent home, walking under their own power, the same week. Something just doesn't seem right about that.

Flying back home to Thailand, I find it funny that I catch myself casually calling Thailand home. Weeks before, I would say things like, "I'm going back to America." or "I'm heading back home to America." If I ever mentioned home I would always classify it with America being my destination. I haven't been doing that lately now that I'm heading home...to Thailand.

It was great being back home in the States for what little time I had. I really didn't expect or plan to be back Stateside until I completed my service over here. The first night back home in my old bed was the strangest night of my life. I couldn't sleep knowing that what felt like only a few hours ago, I was thousands of miles away in a remote village living a very different life. Over the next week, I tried to explain things to friends and family but to be honest, they could never understand. This place is just to different to make simple comparisons such as Chillies is like Applebees but with better burgers and TexMex. Yeah. Sure. It's just that simple. A remote Thai village on the Andaman Sea is like rural Indiana except with better rice, fish, and more Asians and less White people. It's complicated.

Korean Air has really good food. This is a reaction to the lack of western food I've consumed over the past several months. Although I consumed all of my favorites while Stateside, the tiny surprises of good food always brings a smile to my face. They do a good steak on Korean Air. Set up with all the fixin's too. It should be noted that I haven't had a steak in about a year so when that point is factored in, this is hands down the best (first) steak I've had since then. The second might place the first in perspective. I hope not though. Good memories of that Korean Air steak.

I've got an increasingly longer and longer 'To Do' list for when I finally settle back home. Need to unpack and clean the house. Do laundry. Need to prepare the end of the year reward market for my students. Should be fun. Definitely need to make sure I have enough toys for everyone and think about appropriate prices for them. Need to kiss Christine too.

Note: For the latter, repeat until dead or until world ends (which ever comes first).

Bingo Night

Thursday, September 25, 2008

From the depths of Valhalla they come. Champions and contenders alike. Warriors upon the field of battle come to face off against each other in this age old contest of skill and determination. Brother against brother, mother against daughter, nation against nation - worlds are torn apart here upon this hallowed ground. And we? We are but guests to them. Strangers in a strange world. We only hope to escape with our lives and our dignity intact tonight. This might just be too much to ask.

....."Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here".....

The door opens and out pours the thickness of the evening which we are about to enter. The smoke of cannon fire can not begin to compare with what we are about to succumb to yet the furry of cannon fire is in fact in close relation. A great battle now rages within these walls and we are but fresh meat, unwittingly being lead to the slaughter.

And with a single breath your senses are numbed to the point where the word 'reality' loses all meaning.

"LUCKY BEARS! I GOT LUCKY BEARS! WHO WANTS LUCKY BEARS? I GOT LUCKY BEARS! LUCKY BEARS!"

Five minutes ago this would have shocked and confused any normal and sane person. Five minutes ago we would have been normal and sane. Five minutes ago we would have had all five senses operating within normal parameters with synapses firing as they should. Five minutes ago I was able to breath.

"You kids look new. Why don't ya'll just follow me over here and I'll just set ya up with Rosie. She'll show you the ropes and'll have ya'll squared away, ok?"

Oh thank you Jesus! Now you're friend Rosie, does she speak English?

"Now, what you're gonna (I16) need are three Double Down 5s! These are gonna last you the whole night unless you wanna enter into (B7!) the Triple High Score Game which starts in 3 minutes. That gets you a two to one chance of winning and entering to play our Full Spread Match at a quarter till 8. Right now we (G35!) have a 6 pack game going on right now. .........."

Ok... so you don't speak English. Is their someone who does speak English that I might be able to talk to? No? Shit.

Well, um... in that case I guess I'll just take...um...one...of each? Yes? Do these come with written instructions on the back? In English?

At this point, or perhaps roughly thirty minutes ago before we attempted to "communicate" with Rosie, or even before that during those first bold steps across the threshold into this canopy of smoke and Marlboro produced smog did the thought cross into all of our minds...

"Who's brilliant idea was it for all of us to go to Bingo tonight?!"

Short answer, it was Claude's, my sister's boyfriend. Long answer, it was all of us. Our unwillingness to stand up in protest to what we all had thought in the back of our minds was a stupid idea had now brought us into a quagmire of a conflict in a far off and distant land which none of us had ever wanted to be in in the first place. Our original destination was to go downtown for a beer and this detour not only delayed our progress toward locating and drinking beer but transferred valuable resources away from our beer drinking efforts which might have been better used else where, say... drinking beer.

But no. We can't leave now. Stay the course.

Together with Claude and my sister, their was my other sister Erin and her husband Todd who were up visiting from Kentucky and of course my Dad and my step-mom Debbie. We were all having trouble with the elements of our new surroundings until who we believed to be our Peruvian guide, Rosie, told us about the non-smoking hall which was adjacent to the larger, more modern, more densely populated smoking hall. Trekking across forgotten goat herder paths which criscrossed the mountains that divided the two grand halls, Rosie guided us upon her mighty donkey, Pedro, until we reached the non-smoking hall.

A culture of it's own, the small community of non-smokers which we discovered revealed themselves to be both friendly and wonderfully hospitable. Upon entering the village, we were greeted as welcomed travelers from a far off and distant land. We introduced ourselves and told of how we came from the outside world. With great excitement they proceeded to examine our fine wears and good luck charms (We learned second hand that it is their costume to have on hand a symbolic charm of sorts for good luck during game play. This turned out to be false information as the village we encountered did not appear to follow this custom.) but quickly lost interest once the next game began. A local community elder (And let me be frank, they were all elders.) was kind enough to translate the instructions which were given to us by our Peruvian guide, Rosie, who by now had already begun the return journey back across the mountain path to the grand smoking hall.

We learned that the game of Bingo is a fast paced game of both skill and chance. Their are many different ways to win depending upon the game being played. It's not just as simple as getting so many in a row and you must always be careful about when you call out bingo. Only during select times following the calling of a number. Such rules and order of game play we're difficult to understand at first but soon made the game that much more challenging and fun.

I can remember as a small child hunting through old copies of National Geographic while attempting to find my dad's Playboy stash and seeing one copy fall upon the floor with it's paged turned open to an article about the traditions and practices of the Midwestern North American Bingo Enthusiast and the 'Daubers' the chose to use. I didn't choose to read the article or pay much attention to the large picture of the dauber in question as I was on quest for boobies at the time but upon entering that hall and seeing those multicolored instruments of marker identification in action, a sweeping feeling of "Oh!!!!!" quickly over took me. At that point I missed two numbers and lost the round. For the remainder of the night I learned never to allow myself to be overtaken by such childish daydreams. That's how games are lost. That's how you lose.

Never once did I see where the numbers were called or drawn from. Still a great mystery that perhaps the people of the non-smoking hall themselves do not know the answer to. Actually, I bet if any of us had asked they probably could have introduced us to the guy. I'm sure their on a first name basis. His name is probably Carl. Or Bob. Probably Bob.

As the night drew to a close and the dwindling number of games which remained began to present the cold dark truth of our reality that winning just isn't for everyone, we slowly came to realize as well that maybe coming to Bingo wasn't such a bad idea. They had food but their wasn't any time to eat it. I think they might have even had beer but that would have dulled the senses and in no way shape or form would any one of us have allowed alcohol to touch our lips or delude our minds. We were green horns going up against pros. We needed every advantage we could get. Luckily over 84% of the people in the room suffered from some form of arthritis or alzheimer's. One would think this would be like playing against gold fish with a soar tail but it wasn't. It wasn't like that at all.

Our night ended and although defeated, we left victorious. Happy in the thought that we had conquered both a long held primordial fear and superstition as well as walking away with the knowledge that we can all add Bingo to our ever growing list of activities to enjoy. And at the very least, we were all pleased that we were able to find our way out without having to employ the help of our Peruvian guide, Rosie. Bless you Rosie, where ever you might be.

FYI

Monday, September 22, 2008

So my Dad will be having heart surgery in the next few days. That's why I'm currently writing from the comfort and warmth of home here in the good ol' U.S. of A. I came back to visit with him for a few days prior to his surgery as well as to be with him a bit during his recovery. I should return home to Thailand in a few days. I normally wouldn't mention, what I consider a private family matter, on the internet but the posts I'm about to make about my experiences here will require the question to be answered as to why am I even back home in the first place. Well, now you know.

As for some of the obvious questions... Yes I have been experiencing a fair amount of reverse culture shock. Americans are big and loud and holy crap are their a lot of white people around here!!

I had a discussion with a German friend of mine just the other day prior to actually making back here to the States regarding American bread. Of course she would have a negative opinion of the bread produced in the lower 48 and I felt obligated to defend the bread which made the sandwich king. At this point, I honestly can't defend any American food without understanding the point of view of my German friend. I have literally been in heaven these past view days... Mexican, Breakfast (Biscuits and Gravy), Fast food (White Castle!!) etc... and my stomach has been suffering. I can feel cancer taking hold in various parts of my body and although this is not a good thing, I will not stop unless my stomach actually explodes within my own body. Should that happen, I'll just find a goat and use his stomach.

This is in fact possible. You learn such things in a Thai village.

Holy Communion

I'M RICK JAMES, .....

Thursday, September 11, 2008

So has I've mentioned previously, it's been raining a lot. That hasn't changed. And as the weather hasn't changed from it's current state of the second Great Flood (two of every animal have slowly been migrating out of my village for the past week) my mind has been wondering more and more, even in class.

To those who don't know of the comedy of Dave Chappelle, then you probably won't find this as funny as it actually is/was.

Yesterday I pulled out my Lil' John voice and began to respond to my students roughly 87% of the time with the words/phrases of "YEAH!", "OKAY!", and "WHAT!?". Needless to say, this both confused and amused my students and co-teacher. After giving them a small project to work on, I finally broke down and started giggling to myself. I finally had to explain what I was doing to my co-teacher which involved having to explain the musical stylings of Lil' John first. She finally understood and then started to laugh as well.

WHAT!?

OKAY!

I don't blog well

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

So... I don't really blog well. This isn't really a surprise to anyone at this point since I think my last post was in June or July and we're now in September. I don't know why I don't blog. Maybe it's because I don't really see that what is happening around me is suitable in terms of story telling. That and I'm long-winded. I know this and Lord knows my friends and family know this. That's why they're my friends and as for family...well, you're just stuck with me I guess.

A personal note to my mom. Aren't you proud of me?! 'They're' and 'you're'... I know... I'm proud of me too! (To everyone else... I believe the English language is stupid and that there is no need for 3 separate spellings of the same word. The same goes for 'your'. My mom has been trying to 're-educate' me for several years now with only minor success. I remain resistant. Call me foolish but I don't expect you to understand my own personal struggle against the English language. If necessary, I will rise up in arms against the English language itself and lead an army of immigrants with thick accents to forcibly remove the extra spellings of such words from dictionaries the world over. This will be our revolution! You're welcome to join us if you like.

As for Thailand... I'm not going to mention the current political situation right now. I'm feeling to light hearted at the moment to be brought back down to earth by the complexities of the internal political climate of a Southeast Asian nation. Not gonna do it! Instead I'm going to talk about rain. Deal with it.

Previous volunteers from the south had warned the volunteers of my group (Group 120) including myself of the extended rainy season which occurs in the south. The south typically sees eight (8!) months of rain per year starting sometime around May and going for roughly 8 months. (You do the math.) When I first arrived, it would rain for about a half hour every afternoon and by looking out my front door towards the mountains in the east around noon, you could tell if it would rain around 1pm or around 3pm. You are your own weatherman and just as accurate if not more.

Slowly, the half hour rain showers turned into hour and then two hour rain showers. I figured this was only the beginning of the rainy season. But then things just got weird or I guess things got weird. I really don't have a frame of reference since this is all new. I'll be checking in on this account next year to see if things are the same. Days would go by without rain followed by entire days of nothing but. Then more and more extended periods without rain. Is it possible for a jungle to be in a drought? I talked to one of my co-teachers about this joking that I thought this was the rainy season. (This was around late July and we hadn't had rain for a good three weeks and what rain we did get didn't last longer than 15 minutes.) My co-teacher laughed but didn't really give an answer but did mention something about a day in mid-May or June which helps predict the rainy season. If it rains on this day then it will be a normal rainy season. If not then it will be a shorter rainy season. Apparently the groundhog didn't (or did...I forget the whole groundhog thing) see his shadow and so we're due to have a shorter rainy season this year. The next day we had a huge rain storm which lasted for 3 days. Rainy season...

Now we're currently in the middle of another major storm system. It's been raining for roughly a week now with no sign of stopping. A volunteer from Group 118 told me that "You will get wet. Accept it." I didn't really believe her until this point because the rain hadn't really been that bad until this point. Now I wear shorts or something else casual to work and change my cloths once I arrive. I'm looking into investing in a larger rain parka as the one I currently have is not made for a Southeast Asian rainy season.

So yeah... Rain... I've begun singing that "Rain, rain, go away" song a lot but I've changed the lyrics at the end to make them my own and now I can't remember what the real lyrics are. I could google them but that wouldn't be very fun. If someone could post them then that would be great.

"My Rain Song" (I think I learned these lyrics in school but I can't be too sure...)
Rain, rain, go away
Come again another day
I went to bed
With a gun to my head
And I didn't up the next morning

I giggle a lot when I sing it because no one around me understands English. I can sing this here. You can't sing this where you are because people will look at you funny.