A dead man comes to me, asking, "What is it like to be alive?"
I reply, "Don't you remember?"
And no, of course no--for the only way to access the experience of alivedness is to live, the dead have no memory, and we cannot transmit this experience, particularly one of a human disposition, to a corpse or a martian no matter how effective our exhibits and advertisements. The ever-quarreling dogs below my balcony will attest to this.
Undulations:
Riding high from my travels last weekend, I went back to work with a clear head and open heart, ready to teach (learning implied in teaching). But I have this one class. A group of 2nd graders. And they are...well, 2nd graders. They don't want to learn how to offer each other markers in English. They want to shoot play guns at each other and yell and get up and walk around, and no matter how many anti-gun signs I draw on the board (I am adamant about this!) or how many times I raise my voice or take away points or use a physical response drill to calm them--nothing seems to work. And this is draining--when you give 100% throughout the day only to be met with a wall. The wound is already open, and dejection a bacteria so easy to infect. So easy to blame the children. Or blame myself! "Those little brats. No--I am just a bad teacher. No--I just have no desire to teach CHILDREN because I don't want to be a disciplinarian...especially in a language they can't understand yet..."
Planning my escape route. Through Vietnam? Maybe straight to India? Istanbul? Eventually I'll land back at my home in Boston, or the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia...
And then--! The undulation. Maybe it was a good lesson plan. Maybe just well-executed. Maybe the kids had been drugged. Maybe it was my use of the guitar? Or I began to earn their respect. Or it was completely random and meaningless. BUT. It clicked. It clicked! For 1 class--I fuckin' HAD them! Let me tell you--I walked out of there glowing, preparing schemes for indefinite elongation of my visa...and this carried me through the day, until about 6 o clock when I still had 30 minutes left of my last class and their usual respectful mature selves had been possessed by satanic unruly rudeness and I threw my hands up and handed them all books and told them to sit there silently reading until the end of class and NOT A PEEP or I'm crackin' skulls, well, something to that effect--and I don't want reading to be punishment! Fuck, when I was a kid I LOVED to read. Still do in fact (my current smorgasborg: a collection of Rumi poems, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, The Heart of the Buddha's Teaching by Thich Nhat Hanh, and yep, the Bible)--but I couldn't handle these kids--and mainly, because I was hungry. Like, food hungry. Simple shit.
Undulations.
Postulations:
This is what I would say to the dead man if he could understand it:
--outside stimuli (e.g. society) + the mind are constantly trying to make you less grateful, less present, less aware, and less whole. We go through life undulating between suffering and joy. The point: to feel the waves and recognize their meaninglessness. How? Ego-relinquishment, divine nourishment.
Inflammations:
The Thai military assumed Martial Law 3 days ago after a few weeks of an impromptu government established due to the sudden removal of the Prime Minister. Last night the army announced an official coup and imposed a 10pm-5am curfew. I fell asleep excited to be part of this, not worried for my safety in the slightest, hoping that this conflict can be resolved peacefully, and dreading the thought of facing my innocent 2nd graders this morning.
Celebrations:
I awoke and began to amble downstairs for the toilet like I do every morning and was greeted by a scrawled note from my roommate--"no school, check your email." I just about pissed myself. Subsequently, it has been a day of celebrations.
I spent the morning literally doing fuck-all: had TWO bowls of muesli, made a peanut butter banana jelly coconut yogurt shake, and watched 3 hours of Dexter--IN BED. Around noon I ambled down to the bank to try and get a cash advance on my credit card because I don't have my PIN, but they couldn't do it there, and recommended I head down the street to SBC Bank. On the way a fellow traveler guided me to a natural foods store where I spent a fortune on some deliciously select items (granola bars and real coffee!!), and Bangkok Bank happened to be right next door so I popped in there instead of SBC. It was kind of a silly situation:
As I was bumbling about in the corner trying to stir the instant coffee provided by the bank in one hand and holding my credit card and passport in the other, a bespectacled bank mistress asked me how much cash I wanted. She was a bit shocked to hear 20,000 Baht but goddamnit ain't no one here takes a credit card so I gotta stock up on cash when I can. We went through the usual rigmarole of showing ID (passport, VA license), comparing names (but this one doesn't say Nathaniel and this one does!), striking poses, spelling out L E N D E R K I N G - B R I L L ...and once again, it all came down to the fact that my card says ASK FOR ID on the back instead of my signature (that and even my passport signature is a bit dodgy, seeing I signed it when I was 16...). Dumbest thing ever. And even though the "writing-ASK-FOR-ID" trick works at the department store, it don't work at Bangkok Bank during a military coup when this silly white boy is trying to withdraw 20,000 Baht on a foreign credit card--even if his picture is on the front and ain't no one forging a name like Lenderking-Brill.
Ah, but it pays to be a teacher in this town! I dropped that little nugget, she locked herself in an office to call my school (even though it is closed I guess she got someone), and as I fumbled a bit more with the coffee, she beckoned me back and told me to sit down, ready to hand me cash as long as I could furnish my PIN.
Ah.
I figured the situation was like in Brazil--when the first bank told me to go to SBC, I just assumed they were full of shit for some reason and didn't take them seriously. Happened to me a million times. But I decided to try it out anyway, I resolved it was the 3rd and final bank I would inspect, and just a few blocks down...AND there happened to be a blossoming fruit market on the way so I furnished myself with a sack of lychees...
I am laughing right now. Fuckin' SBC bank man. Walked in, got called up--on my cell phone at the time, mind you!--was asked what I needed, said between sentences of my phone conversation (which was to my school manager who speaks English fluently 'cause I thought I'd need her help translating at this bank), "uh, cash advance, 20,000" while still bumbling about with my passport, card, and now cell phone (I left the empty coffee mug on lady 1's backroom desk)--the teller did a little shuffling and scuttling in the bank, opened my passport to the signature page and turned over my card, staring at 2 completely different-looking lines of characters, and I'm thinking "well fuck here it comes again" and she asks me to sign...shit--which one?? I took a gamble and wrote "ASK FOR ID"--she does a bit more shuffling and scuttling--haha fuck I am still laughing right now--reaches into a drawer, and after having me sign "ASK FOR ID" on about 5 other documents--passport real signature still blatantly apparent--she hands me 20,000 Baht in cash! I even got her to change it for small bills.
Celebrations.
I know who I'm banking with from now on. SBC baby! Despite their clear lack of security, I got handed 20,000 Baht today by a young Thai girl with braces wearing pink lipstick. And you know, the great thing is, I wasn't defrauding anyone. This is my money. I did what I needed to do. It just goes to show you--money really doesn't need to be taken seriously.
And then off to the gym in a torrential downpour to pump some iron with a smile on my face. And I still have 4 hours and 11 minutes until national curfew! During my travels today I noticed the soldiers beginning to congregate...what more havoc can I wreak before the sun sets?
It is only because all is nothing that all is bliss. Good night.
Friday, May 23, 2014
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Sometimes paradise is cloudy too
And thus it achieves perfection.
Riding to you writing the Blue Ridge high and free--the Blue Ridge, my home, those mountains in my heart, yet how so different from the green palm-studded hills of Thailand? Yas, but more on this later.
Tension--and resolution. That dissonant half-diminished chord taking you back into the relief of a II-V-!.
What the hell am I talking about?
Last week was my first full week of teaching. Moments of real failure. No sugar coating here people--failure to properly execute coherent lessons. AND moments of great success. That "click" when an hour is filled with order, laughter, expansion, ease, and expedience. Aligning a workout schedule with classes has not been simple--and yet, I am finding myself in a blissful arrangement that involves a trip to the gym between my morning classes (not bad!)--this coupled with a new diet involving actual consciousness (a very new concept with me regarding food) has left me feeling GOOD. Healthy.
Back to tension and release. The release came midday Friday after one of the aforementioned successes, gliding me into the weekend--a weekend highly anticipated and effortlessly executed.
I was to embark for Ton Sai, a small beach cove on the West coast near Phuket, accessible only by boat and without electricity between 6am and 6pm, a rockclimbing haven (see cliffs) and a hippie chill spot, stocked with delicious food all around and hiking trails through the lizard-crawling monkey-monkeying rainforest.
Right, and I did.
After the typical afternoon on a tropical beach, evening thunder clouds rolled in and the sky shook with darkness. Ah, but at 6, power returns...incidentally, our beach butted up against an outdoor wooden bar (the source of at least 3 but no more than 5 fruit smoothies throughout the weekend) which, incidentally, was equipped with a stage, incidentally advertising an array of incidentally rock and roll music making apparatus, and me being me, us being us, we moseyed on over and picked up a few guitars and began to strum a bit. The resident pirate with his toolkit of English catchphrases ("You like this shit!" "You'll see me when you see me." "Why not?" "Make a BIG music!") eagerly grinned his way over and plugged us in while sitting down at the drums--then the local milkboy hopped up, we made a switcheroo, and before we knew it, we had a rock and roll outfit thrumming up sounds only the thunder could compete with. After noodling on their stratocaster for a bit I decided to create some bottom and grabbed the bass leaning up in the corner--easier to get funky down low anyways, especially seeing that all these instruments were right-handed of course, less accessible to the southpaw contingent, yet adaptability friends, yes, adaptability, a saving grace in this goofy world...where were we? Yas, making music on a beach at a bar in a thunderstorm. With an audience! Oh it was great fun--the milkboy a pure natural who could pick up any beat, akin to the albino banjo-picker in Deliverance, and Blackbeard with his silliness and rhythm guitar, smirking into the microphone "you like this shit!" or a "see me when you see me!" after every song--Rolling Stones, Clapton, a blistering rendition of "Imagine"--music is everywhere friends, and it ain't goin' nowhere.
My weeks are spent eating delicious street Thai food. I love it. But holy mother of fuck the burger and banana split I devoured last night were practically orgasmic.
These tropical enclaves--they are lovely, but once you see beyond the surface, quite tragic. They lack culture in many regards--80:20 White:Thai ratio. A group of Chinese tourists speaking English to the Thai waitstaff. Everything English. Cute rustic bungalows...but also dubstep bars and tailor shops and pharmacies. Shawled Thai women begging to give you a massage to make a little dough. And we are part of the problem. Me, I am. I did what I could to pick up some litter and pay homage to the land and sea by keeping quiet and reverent. After the rock and roll music and burger, of course. And all this for less than 60 bucks--food, transport, lodging...but ah, I am on a Thai salary filled with thousands of Baht amounting to significantly less than thousands of American dollars...
The evening cleared and we did a lil' pickin' and-a-grinnin' on our own down the beach into the night and hovered back on air to the quietude of our bungalows up the hill and into the palms, away from the crashing waves below.
This morning I arose very early and with a cup of real coffee (a luxury here--the Thais don't drink much themselves but make instant concessions for the Westerners passing through) waded far out into the sea amongst coral and rusty boat propellers, only revealed during very low tide. I looked around, saw the cliffs towering above me, felt the salt and sand on my, in my body, the palms bowing to their elemental counterparts--and I was utterly overwhelmed--verklempt!--with the knowledge that everything is interconnected--you can't have rocks without water, nor humans without air, nor wooden tables without trees--in fact, nothing without the mind! All we perceive--by definition, objects of of our minds, the prevailing subject. When I ponder the sea, I ponder my mind. I am settled in mindfulness. And with this knowledge, as in I KNEW IT IN AN INSTANT, NO INSTILLATION REQUIRED, came the understanding of the impermanence of things, of every thing--and yet, it isn't this impermanence that causes us to suffer, no no, it is the attachment to something already unattachable--so why this preponderance of suffering in the face of impermanence? It is the ACCEPTANCE of such transience that brings us joy--ah, joy, yes! The spaces between the suffering! For suffering is nothing without joy, and still, joy is but an object of the mind, and on and on and on...
And coming to know this alone in the water at daybreak, I was overcome with bliss--knowing that this is empty, we are empty, we are connected, we are alive, awake, yes! But all one, the same, and all without substance, neither good nor bad or anything in between--and this, my friends, has carried me through the rest of my day.
Up and over a cliff. Down into a lagoon. The familiarity of skipping up a mountain, feet pounding into muddy earth, muscles tensing and guiding the bones they envelop, waves of strong emotions met with smiles fueled by the knowledge of their emptiness...
I will probably be heading back.
For the rest of the evening? A trip to the market for some fresh fruit and fish, still flopping on the chopping block--and a night of sound contemplation, preparing for another week of city life interacting with young people before another foray into the jungles and beaches of the Thai interior...my interior...
The trail provides. ทั้งหมดเป็นความสุข ...
Riding to you writing the Blue Ridge high and free--the Blue Ridge, my home, those mountains in my heart, yet how so different from the green palm-studded hills of Thailand? Yas, but more on this later.
Tension--and resolution. That dissonant half-diminished chord taking you back into the relief of a II-V-!.
What the hell am I talking about?
Last week was my first full week of teaching. Moments of real failure. No sugar coating here people--failure to properly execute coherent lessons. AND moments of great success. That "click" when an hour is filled with order, laughter, expansion, ease, and expedience. Aligning a workout schedule with classes has not been simple--and yet, I am finding myself in a blissful arrangement that involves a trip to the gym between my morning classes (not bad!)--this coupled with a new diet involving actual consciousness (a very new concept with me regarding food) has left me feeling GOOD. Healthy.
Back to tension and release. The release came midday Friday after one of the aforementioned successes, gliding me into the weekend--a weekend highly anticipated and effortlessly executed.
I was to embark for Ton Sai, a small beach cove on the West coast near Phuket, accessible only by boat and without electricity between 6am and 6pm, a rockclimbing haven (see cliffs) and a hippie chill spot, stocked with delicious food all around and hiking trails through the lizard-crawling monkey-monkeying rainforest.
Right, and I did.
After the typical afternoon on a tropical beach, evening thunder clouds rolled in and the sky shook with darkness. Ah, but at 6, power returns...incidentally, our beach butted up against an outdoor wooden bar (the source of at least 3 but no more than 5 fruit smoothies throughout the weekend) which, incidentally, was equipped with a stage, incidentally advertising an array of incidentally rock and roll music making apparatus, and me being me, us being us, we moseyed on over and picked up a few guitars and began to strum a bit. The resident pirate with his toolkit of English catchphrases ("You like this shit!" "You'll see me when you see me." "Why not?" "Make a BIG music!") eagerly grinned his way over and plugged us in while sitting down at the drums--then the local milkboy hopped up, we made a switcheroo, and before we knew it, we had a rock and roll outfit thrumming up sounds only the thunder could compete with. After noodling on their stratocaster for a bit I decided to create some bottom and grabbed the bass leaning up in the corner--easier to get funky down low anyways, especially seeing that all these instruments were right-handed of course, less accessible to the southpaw contingent, yet adaptability friends, yes, adaptability, a saving grace in this goofy world...where were we? Yas, making music on a beach at a bar in a thunderstorm. With an audience! Oh it was great fun--the milkboy a pure natural who could pick up any beat, akin to the albino banjo-picker in Deliverance, and Blackbeard with his silliness and rhythm guitar, smirking into the microphone "you like this shit!" or a "see me when you see me!" after every song--Rolling Stones, Clapton, a blistering rendition of "Imagine"--music is everywhere friends, and it ain't goin' nowhere.
My weeks are spent eating delicious street Thai food. I love it. But holy mother of fuck the burger and banana split I devoured last night were practically orgasmic.
These tropical enclaves--they are lovely, but once you see beyond the surface, quite tragic. They lack culture in many regards--80:20 White:Thai ratio. A group of Chinese tourists speaking English to the Thai waitstaff. Everything English. Cute rustic bungalows...but also dubstep bars and tailor shops and pharmacies. Shawled Thai women begging to give you a massage to make a little dough. And we are part of the problem. Me, I am. I did what I could to pick up some litter and pay homage to the land and sea by keeping quiet and reverent. After the rock and roll music and burger, of course. And all this for less than 60 bucks--food, transport, lodging...but ah, I am on a Thai salary filled with thousands of Baht amounting to significantly less than thousands of American dollars...
The evening cleared and we did a lil' pickin' and-a-grinnin' on our own down the beach into the night and hovered back on air to the quietude of our bungalows up the hill and into the palms, away from the crashing waves below.
This morning I arose very early and with a cup of real coffee (a luxury here--the Thais don't drink much themselves but make instant concessions for the Westerners passing through) waded far out into the sea amongst coral and rusty boat propellers, only revealed during very low tide. I looked around, saw the cliffs towering above me, felt the salt and sand on my, in my body, the palms bowing to their elemental counterparts--and I was utterly overwhelmed--verklempt!--with the knowledge that everything is interconnected--you can't have rocks without water, nor humans without air, nor wooden tables without trees--in fact, nothing without the mind! All we perceive--by definition, objects of of our minds, the prevailing subject. When I ponder the sea, I ponder my mind. I am settled in mindfulness. And with this knowledge, as in I KNEW IT IN AN INSTANT, NO INSTILLATION REQUIRED, came the understanding of the impermanence of things, of every thing--and yet, it isn't this impermanence that causes us to suffer, no no, it is the attachment to something already unattachable--so why this preponderance of suffering in the face of impermanence? It is the ACCEPTANCE of such transience that brings us joy--ah, joy, yes! The spaces between the suffering! For suffering is nothing without joy, and still, joy is but an object of the mind, and on and on and on...
And coming to know this alone in the water at daybreak, I was overcome with bliss--knowing that this is empty, we are empty, we are connected, we are alive, awake, yes! But all one, the same, and all without substance, neither good nor bad or anything in between--and this, my friends, has carried me through the rest of my day.
Up and over a cliff. Down into a lagoon. The familiarity of skipping up a mountain, feet pounding into muddy earth, muscles tensing and guiding the bones they envelop, waves of strong emotions met with smiles fueled by the knowledge of their emptiness...
I will probably be heading back.
For the rest of the evening? A trip to the market for some fresh fruit and fish, still flopping on the chopping block--and a night of sound contemplation, preparing for another week of city life interacting with young people before another foray into the jungles and beaches of the Thai interior...my interior...
The trail provides. ทั้งหมดเป็นความสุข ...
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
The reason I came here
What was it? Is it?
To feed my addiction to adventure (i.e. perpetual insatiation).
To discover a new culture (again, the concept of satisfaction foreign).
To escape the winter (ok this one is deifnitely justifiable--and I can say I've pretty certainly checked this one off the list).
But the point?
To TEACH. To begin my career. And I'm learning: it isn't just the kids who receive an education in the classroom.
After having spent weeks training, planning lessons, researching approaches, orienting with the school, meeting with colleagues...the moment of truth finally arrived last Monday...
And I was nervous. I really was.
But teaching is like everything else: it requires a calm mind, an impulsion to adapt, a stronghold of confidence and a flicker of improvisation...and there you have it. Smiling learning kids.
It wasn't as hard as I thought. It was (is) relatively easeful. Fun even. I spend my time writing days of the week and animals songs--not bad. It is useful (and a necessity re: peace of mind) having the guitar here.
And the thing is--I am finding myself paying attention to myself in the classroom. What I mean is: it isn't about executing a lesson plan. It is about finding what works. Not everything I try works. So I note it. I adapt.
And I am in "teaching kindergarten." There is an utter wealth of information previously untapped by this guy right here--and guess what? I get to learn it. PAID to learn it. Oh what a world of discovery I have before me!
Another thing: these kids are fuckin' smart. Too smart for my bonus word on hangman today, that's for sure (it was rhinoceros. I thought it was hard).
In other news: I am making a home in Surat Thani. Adapting quicker than I thought. I have a house and a job. Friends. A routine. I am in a real city, yet very conveniently stationed at the sternum of splendiferous sights sultaning over succulently sublime scents and subtle sounds...fuck! Like:
--tropical beaches
--jungles
--islands
--rock-climbing meccas
--dive-reefs
--limestone monoliths
--other interesting and exotic things
Where should I go this weekend...?
There were 2 dead rats at the bottom of my street today, and I didn't mind. As I was running this morning, a coconut from a towering palm overhead fell directly in front of me with a crack. I looked up and saw a sniggering youth and his friend. I looped back around so I could smile back. I ate a fish drenched in saucy ambrosia for lunch today. I like my motorbike but I like walking more. I get bad vibes when I go to Makro, the Costco equivalent. The daily floods soothe the swollen air and cool the earth--and fill my poorly designed half-covered bathtubesque balcony. So I bail it every morning with a tupperware container after I meditate. I'm reading Rumi, the Bible, the Buddha, and Hunter S. Thompson. I am obsessed with watermelon slushies. I am singing and playing a lot of Bob Dylan. The political unrest in Thailand and mounting tensions between SE Asia and China are non-existent in my world. I am adapting to the heat so much so that I get cold with the fan on at night. I miss home sometimes--pizza, rock concerts, autumn, the Sox, all of you that I LOVE--and I know that right now, I am home, too. I am a hybrid papyrus reed--floating down life's Nile, from the Appalachian Trail to Thailand and God knows where next...and it's all the same: beautifully empty in qualification, all simply existing, awake, pulsating, transient, suffering, joyful, and self-less enough to be calm.
Fill 'er up there, God. We do need education.
ทั้งหมดเป็นความสุข, all is bliss...
To feed my addiction to adventure (i.e. perpetual insatiation).
To discover a new culture (again, the concept of satisfaction foreign).
To escape the winter (ok this one is deifnitely justifiable--and I can say I've pretty certainly checked this one off the list).
But the point?
To TEACH. To begin my career. And I'm learning: it isn't just the kids who receive an education in the classroom.
After having spent weeks training, planning lessons, researching approaches, orienting with the school, meeting with colleagues...the moment of truth finally arrived last Monday...
And I was nervous. I really was.
But teaching is like everything else: it requires a calm mind, an impulsion to adapt, a stronghold of confidence and a flicker of improvisation...and there you have it. Smiling learning kids.
It wasn't as hard as I thought. It was (is) relatively easeful. Fun even. I spend my time writing days of the week and animals songs--not bad. It is useful (and a necessity re: peace of mind) having the guitar here.
And the thing is--I am finding myself paying attention to myself in the classroom. What I mean is: it isn't about executing a lesson plan. It is about finding what works. Not everything I try works. So I note it. I adapt.
And I am in "teaching kindergarten." There is an utter wealth of information previously untapped by this guy right here--and guess what? I get to learn it. PAID to learn it. Oh what a world of discovery I have before me!
Another thing: these kids are fuckin' smart. Too smart for my bonus word on hangman today, that's for sure (it was rhinoceros. I thought it was hard).
In other news: I am making a home in Surat Thani. Adapting quicker than I thought. I have a house and a job. Friends. A routine. I am in a real city, yet very conveniently stationed at the sternum of splendiferous sights sultaning over succulently sublime scents and subtle sounds...fuck! Like:
--tropical beaches
--jungles
--islands
--rock-climbing meccas
--dive-reefs
--limestone monoliths
--other interesting and exotic things
Where should I go this weekend...?
There were 2 dead rats at the bottom of my street today, and I didn't mind. As I was running this morning, a coconut from a towering palm overhead fell directly in front of me with a crack. I looked up and saw a sniggering youth and his friend. I looped back around so I could smile back. I ate a fish drenched in saucy ambrosia for lunch today. I like my motorbike but I like walking more. I get bad vibes when I go to Makro, the Costco equivalent. The daily floods soothe the swollen air and cool the earth--and fill my poorly designed half-covered bathtubesque balcony. So I bail it every morning with a tupperware container after I meditate. I'm reading Rumi, the Bible, the Buddha, and Hunter S. Thompson. I am obsessed with watermelon slushies. I am singing and playing a lot of Bob Dylan. The political unrest in Thailand and mounting tensions between SE Asia and China are non-existent in my world. I am adapting to the heat so much so that I get cold with the fan on at night. I miss home sometimes--pizza, rock concerts, autumn, the Sox, all of you that I LOVE--and I know that right now, I am home, too. I am a hybrid papyrus reed--floating down life's Nile, from the Appalachian Trail to Thailand and God knows where next...and it's all the same: beautifully empty in qualification, all simply existing, awake, pulsating, transient, suffering, joyful, and self-less enough to be calm.
Fill 'er up there, God. We do need education.
ทั้งหมดเป็นความสุข, all is bliss...
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
FOOD!
After experiencing a bit of blockage due to the quart of rice I eat daily I decided I needed to mix it up a bit.
It's been a butt too long since any food left me, and for a moment there I was thinking "Dang my body is freakin' efficient!" Or "yeeeahhh I've really cut down my portion sizes!"
Nope. Just too much sticky white rice. It is the basis for everything. Except noodles--ask where you can find a dish without rice, and you get "you want noodles?" Same thing.
And I realized this as I was trying to run my morning 10K around my favorite river island, when a thick brick dropped into my gut and as great as it felt to be sweating only a normal amount (because it isn't oppressively hot early in the morning--it's actually quite pleasant. In fact, I don't know what I'm saying, it's never oppressively hot--it's the fucking tropics and I love it) I knew I was about to sweat a lot more.
And sweat more I did.
Luckily there was a bog hole on the island--a very hot one--but a bog hole indeed. A squatter too--even more conducive to evacuation. Cha ching. But ah but ah but ah--the toilet of absence paper, present yet again! And this time not a squirter in sight.
But. A bowl. A little doggy dish, next to the hole, with a low-flying faucet next to it. Hmm...ok...this must be for bum splashing and subsequent hand washing, right? So, I did as the Moroccans do and did the deed--right hand only! (a slight modification for the southpaws in the building) and then splashed off and continued my run, about 15 degrees for the warmer, fantasizing about a shower.
Interesting, I thought. Nothing to flush with. No handle. Well, I guess I'll just leave it.
Well I showered, shaved, got off to work...and at lunch I found myself pissing next to a colleague (in the bathroom, in a urinal) and relaying this story with glee--yeah, he smiled and said: that bowl? It was there for flushing. Filling and flushing. Ahhhhhh
Good thing I'm not easily embarrassed.
Still, to remedy my situation, the larger problem I mean, I took a little trip down to Makro, the Wal-Mart equivalent (only after another aggressively rousing game of Chair Ball, cackling included--and today we couldn't resist a bit of friendly tug of war...who else works for a school principal who insists upon raucous competitive sport after lesson planning? It's brilliant! Apparently we are training for Sports Day, where the teachers tee off against the parents--and losing is NOT an option. We are being chiseled, trained, and scouted to annihilate. Good! AND I must say: as proud as I usually am to be a cyclist, I adore my motorbike. I have sacrificed my dignity to make life infinitely more convenient. Sue me.) to pick up some supplies.
And oh, supplies I did find!
Ham
Cheese
Peanut Butter
Jelly
Chocolate
Lettuce
Yogurt
Mayonnaise
Yes!
It cost me a fortune but my rice-filled belly and Western sensibilities were happy.
I returned home with my bag of treats to a scolding Dutch housemate: "Peanut butter and jelly? You silly American."
Ha! He says this now, until he wants a PB&J...
And you know, the funny thing is? I fucking miss Thai food.
And life goes on, in bliss, in bliss.
It's been a butt too long since any food left me, and for a moment there I was thinking "Dang my body is freakin' efficient!" Or "yeeeahhh I've really cut down my portion sizes!"
Nope. Just too much sticky white rice. It is the basis for everything. Except noodles--ask where you can find a dish without rice, and you get "you want noodles?" Same thing.
And I realized this as I was trying to run my morning 10K around my favorite river island, when a thick brick dropped into my gut and as great as it felt to be sweating only a normal amount (because it isn't oppressively hot early in the morning--it's actually quite pleasant. In fact, I don't know what I'm saying, it's never oppressively hot--it's the fucking tropics and I love it) I knew I was about to sweat a lot more.
And sweat more I did.
Luckily there was a bog hole on the island--a very hot one--but a bog hole indeed. A squatter too--even more conducive to evacuation. Cha ching. But ah but ah but ah--the toilet of absence paper, present yet again! And this time not a squirter in sight.
But. A bowl. A little doggy dish, next to the hole, with a low-flying faucet next to it. Hmm...ok...this must be for bum splashing and subsequent hand washing, right? So, I did as the Moroccans do and did the deed--right hand only! (a slight modification for the southpaws in the building) and then splashed off and continued my run, about 15 degrees for the warmer, fantasizing about a shower.
Interesting, I thought. Nothing to flush with. No handle. Well, I guess I'll just leave it.
Well I showered, shaved, got off to work...and at lunch I found myself pissing next to a colleague (in the bathroom, in a urinal) and relaying this story with glee--yeah, he smiled and said: that bowl? It was there for flushing. Filling and flushing. Ahhhhhh
Good thing I'm not easily embarrassed.
Still, to remedy my situation, the larger problem I mean, I took a little trip down to Makro, the Wal-Mart equivalent (only after another aggressively rousing game of Chair Ball, cackling included--and today we couldn't resist a bit of friendly tug of war...who else works for a school principal who insists upon raucous competitive sport after lesson planning? It's brilliant! Apparently we are training for Sports Day, where the teachers tee off against the parents--and losing is NOT an option. We are being chiseled, trained, and scouted to annihilate. Good! AND I must say: as proud as I usually am to be a cyclist, I adore my motorbike. I have sacrificed my dignity to make life infinitely more convenient. Sue me.) to pick up some supplies.
And oh, supplies I did find!
Ham
Cheese
Peanut Butter
Jelly
Chocolate
Lettuce
Yogurt
Mayonnaise
Yes!
It cost me a fortune but my rice-filled belly and Western sensibilities were happy.
I returned home with my bag of treats to a scolding Dutch housemate: "Peanut butter and jelly? You silly American."
Ha! He says this now, until he wants a PB&J...
And you know, the funny thing is? I fucking miss Thai food.
And life goes on, in bliss, in bliss.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
Sah Wat Dee, Compadre!
Let me see let me see let me see...
In Thailand, we eat lots of coconuts, yes? Its milk resides in our food, its water hydrates us on the street, its oil soothes our dirty feet (more on this later) and sautees our chilis and rice...and where do we get these coconuts?
Trees, yes--but who gets them?
If you thought monkeys--you're right!
(I can't quite name the cause for the perpetually dirty feet. This is not an exceedingly dirty place. AND nobody keeps their shoes on indoors. And yet--scrubbing is futile. I must get one of these popular massages, if only for the preliminary foot scrub. My school has a dress code of black shoes...and all said shoes ever do is sit outside of the classroom I'm in).
Monkeys get the coconuts. These monkeys are bought (from the Jungle?) by coconut farmers, enrolled in "Monkey College" for a reasonable tuition fee, and 6 months later, these little guys have been trained to pick 1,000--that's right folks, 3 zeroes--1,000 coconuts/day for their masters. On a chain.
I don't mean to raise a stink, but I visited the monkey college last Sunday, and I am simply reporting what I saw. Yeah, it is cute that a monkey on a chain can ride on a motor bike and untie a knot...but doesn't it sound a bit like slavery?
Hell, this is not a Thai problem--this is a human race problem. We do it everywhere.
Sheesh. I really did not want to start this off with such spice! A little sweetness:
Today I was introduced to my Thai teaching counterparts. An interesting note: all female.
Oh, and the cackling did ensue!! How I adore the Thai cackle!! Again--we are talking unadulterated unbridled uncontrollable laughter that persists for extended periods of time and is encouraged in any situation. What a joy to witness!
And all I had to say was ชื่อของฉันคือกรงขัง (pom chew Nick kap)--or in terms you may have a better chance at understanding: My name is Nick--and the room was thumping, I mean thumping, with joy. Can't beat that.
And how do the Thais welcome farang (foreigners) into their community? A bit of healthy sport!
Chair ball: A mixture between basketball, ultimate frisbee, and rugby. 2 teams of 6--1 person from each team stands at the end of the court on a chair holding a basket, and each team tries to move through defense with a volleyball and put it in their basket, which can be moved in any which way as long as the basket keeper stays on the chair. No dribbling or moving with the ball.
When your boss of bosses, the principal herself, is staring you down with feverish fury in her eyes as she charges with every intent to either steal the ball or lay you flat on your ass, you know it's business time. The Thais take their chair ball very seriously. And all the lovable hyenas on the sidelines cackling and cheering away with every dip dive and duck.
The farang delivered a fair snubbing in the first half but were quickly humbled by a retaliatory whipping in half 2. The Thais would not go down easily. It came down to a tie breaker--a shootout!--and just by chance 'twas I with ball in hand, needing to sink a bucket to secure a victory.
What happened? Let's just say we taught 'em farang ain't nothin' to be messed with. I reflexively supplied a spontaneous rendition of an American Football touchdown dance...oh the cackles!
I have found a gym. A kickass gritty gym that reminds be of an old boxing gym in Southie--you half expect Marky Mark to pop out of nowhere and bust a cap in yer wicked fuckin' ass. I have a favorite "restaurant" (street food vendor). I know 1 shortcut. I have doubled my Thai this last week. I did my laundry (well, I dropped it off at one of the ubiquitous street-laundresses and came back a few hours later to a neatly folded bag of lemony smelling clothes). I frequent the same coffee shop AND I order the same thing every time (fuckin' watermelon pineapple slushy so good...)
The point is: I am not just visiting. I am home. My life with a Thai accent, a kick of green chili--and moderated by some coconut monkey slave milk.
Can't wait to start educating these little buggers. The kids, I mean.
Until later....ทั้งหมดคือความสุขทั้งหมดที่มีความสุข
In Thailand, we eat lots of coconuts, yes? Its milk resides in our food, its water hydrates us on the street, its oil soothes our dirty feet (more on this later) and sautees our chilis and rice...and where do we get these coconuts?
Trees, yes--but who gets them?
If you thought monkeys--you're right!
(I can't quite name the cause for the perpetually dirty feet. This is not an exceedingly dirty place. AND nobody keeps their shoes on indoors. And yet--scrubbing is futile. I must get one of these popular massages, if only for the preliminary foot scrub. My school has a dress code of black shoes...and all said shoes ever do is sit outside of the classroom I'm in).
Monkeys get the coconuts. These monkeys are bought (from the Jungle?) by coconut farmers, enrolled in "Monkey College" for a reasonable tuition fee, and 6 months later, these little guys have been trained to pick 1,000--that's right folks, 3 zeroes--1,000 coconuts/day for their masters. On a chain.
I don't mean to raise a stink, but I visited the monkey college last Sunday, and I am simply reporting what I saw. Yeah, it is cute that a monkey on a chain can ride on a motor bike and untie a knot...but doesn't it sound a bit like slavery?
Hell, this is not a Thai problem--this is a human race problem. We do it everywhere.
Sheesh. I really did not want to start this off with such spice! A little sweetness:
Today I was introduced to my Thai teaching counterparts. An interesting note: all female.
Oh, and the cackling did ensue!! How I adore the Thai cackle!! Again--we are talking unadulterated unbridled uncontrollable laughter that persists for extended periods of time and is encouraged in any situation. What a joy to witness!
And all I had to say was ชื่อของฉันคือกรงขัง (pom chew Nick kap)--or in terms you may have a better chance at understanding: My name is Nick--and the room was thumping, I mean thumping, with joy. Can't beat that.
And how do the Thais welcome farang (foreigners) into their community? A bit of healthy sport!
Chair ball: A mixture between basketball, ultimate frisbee, and rugby. 2 teams of 6--1 person from each team stands at the end of the court on a chair holding a basket, and each team tries to move through defense with a volleyball and put it in their basket, which can be moved in any which way as long as the basket keeper stays on the chair. No dribbling or moving with the ball.
When your boss of bosses, the principal herself, is staring you down with feverish fury in her eyes as she charges with every intent to either steal the ball or lay you flat on your ass, you know it's business time. The Thais take their chair ball very seriously. And all the lovable hyenas on the sidelines cackling and cheering away with every dip dive and duck.
The farang delivered a fair snubbing in the first half but were quickly humbled by a retaliatory whipping in half 2. The Thais would not go down easily. It came down to a tie breaker--a shootout!--and just by chance 'twas I with ball in hand, needing to sink a bucket to secure a victory.
What happened? Let's just say we taught 'em farang ain't nothin' to be messed with. I reflexively supplied a spontaneous rendition of an American Football touchdown dance...oh the cackles!
I have found a gym. A kickass gritty gym that reminds be of an old boxing gym in Southie--you half expect Marky Mark to pop out of nowhere and bust a cap in yer wicked fuckin' ass. I have a favorite "restaurant" (street food vendor). I know 1 shortcut. I have doubled my Thai this last week. I did my laundry (well, I dropped it off at one of the ubiquitous street-laundresses and came back a few hours later to a neatly folded bag of lemony smelling clothes). I frequent the same coffee shop AND I order the same thing every time (fuckin' watermelon pineapple slushy so good...)
The point is: I am not just visiting. I am home. My life with a Thai accent, a kick of green chili--and moderated by some coconut monkey slave milk.
Can't wait to start educating these little buggers. The kids, I mean.
Until later....ทั้งหมดคือความสุขทั้งหมดที่มีความสุข
Thursday, May 1, 2014
When you begin to get to know a place...
...it can still feel new and exciting, but that oh so ever-present reality of glaring imperfection begins to set in.
But I thought the point of life was to be always happy, all the time...(says the whining child within, unable to deal with life's imperfections, the pockmarks of existence's slightly overcooked lattice cherry pie)!
I wonder what the Dali Lama would say...probably the same thing if you asked him what kind of pizza he'd like: "Make me one with all."
And all, the "all"--consisting of, drumroll please.......all. (To the unsatisfied pie-rejecting toddler within: that means even the crumbly bits you silly bugger...)
Why all this build-up re: the acceptance of life's imperfections? To be honest, it is kinda a big deal for me. A major stumbling block leading to frequent and palpable suffering.
(A side-note: I have never been around so many Brits in my entire life, except when in England. I keep saying bugger and rubbish and knackered and cheeky.....it actually doesn't suck).
Amusement: before moving to Surat, all the eager and naive prospective teachers here with me (including myself) Google image searched our new home and came out with this:
But I thought the point of life was to be always happy, all the time...(says the whining child within, unable to deal with life's imperfections, the pockmarks of existence's slightly overcooked lattice cherry pie)!
I wonder what the Dali Lama would say...probably the same thing if you asked him what kind of pizza he'd like: "Make me one with all."
And all, the "all"--consisting of, drumroll please.......all. (To the unsatisfied pie-rejecting toddler within: that means even the crumbly bits you silly bugger...)
Why all this build-up re: the acceptance of life's imperfections? To be honest, it is kinda a big deal for me. A major stumbling block leading to frequent and palpable suffering.
(A side-note: I have never been around so many Brits in my entire life, except when in England. I keep saying bugger and rubbish and knackered and cheeky.....it actually doesn't suck).
Amusement: before moving to Surat, all the eager and naive prospective teachers here with me (including myself) Google image searched our new home and came out with this:
And when we arrived found this:
Not bad, but different, no? And ah, the shock of a new place begins to wane when you find that you must actually survive, and your version of surviving is different from their version...
The previous days have presented me with various challenges:
The gym doesn't open until 9 am.
You can't drink the water.
I can't seem to figure out how to unlock my cell phone.
I can speak a negligible amount of Thai. A useless, pointless amount.
It is hot. Very hot.
I was feeling the weight of these difficulties upon me. Why isn't everything like Charlottesville!? he whines. Out of all the places I've been--Thailand is perhaps the strangest. To me.
But ah! In the moment of wanting to open your lungs to the sky and curse the gods begging for the instant acquisition of a foreign language or even just one drop of rain...
You don't get what you want--but you DO get something infinitely more valuable:
Perspective. And a pair of big boy pants.
a) I signed up for this
b)Life is fucking hard dummy
c) It is actually pretty damn cool being here...
And so--to get to the gym? We go in the evenings.
To get water? We haggle with the water lady down the street cause we heard that a jug is only 10 baht and she is trying to sell it for 100, only to realize that 100 is the bottle deposit after she calls her "English-speaking" friend to explain and when we try to bring it home on our motorbike it falls off crashing to the street and bursting as we round the last bend to our house so we go back to buy another and this time all goes well but when we return home we realize we already have one...
To unlock the phone? We contact AT & T. We wait. We bask in the joy of not having a cell phone for the next few days!
We learn some bloody Thai! And use hand gestures in the meantime. Luckily you can just point to food. Oh, the food, yes, yes!
No anecdote to the heat yet. But Lord it beats the cold! I kinda like it actually.
A nice touch: one must remove their shoes before entering any building. So we're always prancing about in our stocking feet over here. A bit cute.
Some isms:
--writing someone's name in red ink means they'll die
--it is bad luck to get a haircut on Wednesday
--cheese does not exist
--toilet paper goes in the trashcan
And the best part is: I am really enjoying making lesson plans for the little tykes. Gonna teach 'em "ya'll." As in: hey, I like my job.
Today I rose early. Took a glorious run by the river. Worked. Picked up some luscious fruit from the market down the street. Ate said fruit. Went to the gym to get a membership. Going to relax with my housemate and take a Thai lesson. Meditate on my balcony as the evening sets in.
And why this obsession with qualification? Good, bad--these judgments: they only spawn resentment and disappointment.
In the presence of life's difficulties, both in Thailand and the States, I write you from this very spot, a page nearly pristine with naivete--sickness, ignorance--and a drop of acceptance's ink falls, and begins to seep, slowly but thickly, into the fibers of this page's previously unadulterated but unaware, unREAL world of fantasy...
Does that make sense?
Life is.
ทั้งหมดคือความสุขทั้งหมดที่มีความสุข ...
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