Mariela says Thailand is out to get me.
First, leaving the school campus last week via a tree-lined sidewalk, a bird deposited something that looked very much like sandy ketchup on my arm. I mean, it was red. Red, and disgusting.
Then, a few days ago, I discovered spots of fuzzy, pale green mold on some of the clothes hanging in my wardrobe. I looked in another of my cabinets, and a wooden fan I bought was covered in the stuff! I really ought to tell the management about that one... Maybe I'll get new furniture out of the deal!
The latest incident in this series happened today. It was rainy, the sidewalks were damp, and Mariela and I were making our way back to the apartment while browsing through the street vendors for cheap clothes. We had to cross an intersection at an area that's been under construction for a while now.
While looking down at the ground in an attempt to avoid puddles, I failed to notice a bright orange construction cone marking off a patch of freshly-poured concrete. I saw that some concrete was darker than the rest, but I thought it was just damp with rain. I stepped forward, confidently expecting (as I often do) that the ground beneath me would be solid.
It was not. With the momentum I had going in these trusting steps, I found myself with two feet stuck in concrete mud.
All Mariela heard was, "Agh. Agghh!! Aghhhhhh!" because when something like this happens to me, I tend to lose the ability to form coherent sentences. She turned around and burst out laughing.
I unstuck myself and waddled out of the way of the other pedestrians so I could inspect the damage. A construction worker stared. I gave him a pitiful look and yelled, "Sorry!"
Walking around the city, you often see footprints in patches of concrete. I'm not the first, and I surely won't be the last, but I've officially made my mark on Bangkok.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
they're called strangers because they're strange
Mariela, Alyssa, and I spent our day on Thong Lo Street, visiting wedding gown shops.
Around lunchtime, we were standing on a sidewalk, looking for a restaurant Mariela had heard about, when an American walks by. He stops, turns around, and asks us where we're from, shaking our hands all the while. He asks if we've seen the movie Bangkok Dangerous, starring Nicolas Cage. We say we've heard of it.
He tells us he played the part of Michigan in the movie, which meant absolutely nothing to me. Then he goes on about how he used the money he made from the film to purchase some apartments in Bangkok that were opening in November.
"There'll be a big opening party. You girls should come. Nicolas Cage will be there; it'll be great PR for you girls." (Great PR? What??) Then he asks for our phone numbers. Excuses are made, and I ask what working with Nicolas Cage was like. Apparently, he's swell.
Anyway, this man, Steve, asks our names, shakes our hands again, and writes down his Bangkok cell phone number. He tells us he's heading back to San Francisco soon, but that he'll be back in Thailand for the party. He tells us to call him in November, and that we'll be invited.
I checked IMDb when we got back, and he's legitimate. His name is Steve Baldocchi. I hope he makes it big, so I can say I met him in Bangkok once.
It was, by far, one of the most random things that has happened to me since I've been here.
Around lunchtime, we were standing on a sidewalk, looking for a restaurant Mariela had heard about, when an American walks by. He stops, turns around, and asks us where we're from, shaking our hands all the while. He asks if we've seen the movie Bangkok Dangerous, starring Nicolas Cage. We say we've heard of it.
He tells us he played the part of Michigan in the movie, which meant absolutely nothing to me. Then he goes on about how he used the money he made from the film to purchase some apartments in Bangkok that were opening in November.
"There'll be a big opening party. You girls should come. Nicolas Cage will be there; it'll be great PR for you girls." (Great PR? What??) Then he asks for our phone numbers. Excuses are made, and I ask what working with Nicolas Cage was like. Apparently, he's swell.
Anyway, this man, Steve, asks our names, shakes our hands again, and writes down his Bangkok cell phone number. He tells us he's heading back to San Francisco soon, but that he'll be back in Thailand for the party. He tells us to call him in November, and that we'll be invited.
I checked IMDb when we got back, and he's legitimate. His name is Steve Baldocchi. I hope he makes it big, so I can say I met him in Bangkok once.
It was, by far, one of the most random things that has happened to me since I've been here.
Friday, June 26, 2009
a school play
As so often happens at our school, the kids had a random morning assembly. I knew something exciting was happening when I saw several students walking around in costumes.
When I walked into the office, Pikay (the second grade English teacher) was telling the American teachers that the kids were putting on a play, and that we could go downstairs and watch it. So we did.
Unfortunately, plays don't come with English subtitles, so we had no clue what was going on. There were no spoken parts. An adult was singing a song - I presume he told what was happening - and the kids pantomimed.
After the second act, I decided that the play didn't make any sense. I turned to the teacher next to me and said, "So... what's going on?"
Apparently, it wasn't a play with a plot, but more of a series of lessons on manners and propriety from the olden days. The first act was about hygiene. Girls should fix their hair nice and neat, and boys should scrub their faces.
The second was about walking like a proper lady. The third taught that one should never walk and talk at the same time; always wait until you get inside your house. The fourth was a kind of fashion show with seven little couples. They were dressed in the colors of the day. If you wear red on Sunday, you'll have luck.
The fifth part was my personal favorite. One should never use the river as a toilet. The sixth was about respecting the sun, the sky, and monks. The seventh was about saying your prayers every night.
When I walked into the office, Pikay (the second grade English teacher) was telling the American teachers that the kids were putting on a play, and that we could go downstairs and watch it. So we did.
Unfortunately, plays don't come with English subtitles, so we had no clue what was going on. There were no spoken parts. An adult was singing a song - I presume he told what was happening - and the kids pantomimed.
After the second act, I decided that the play didn't make any sense. I turned to the teacher next to me and said, "So... what's going on?"
Apparently, it wasn't a play with a plot, but more of a series of lessons on manners and propriety from the olden days. The first act was about hygiene. Girls should fix their hair nice and neat, and boys should scrub their faces.
The second was about walking like a proper lady. The third taught that one should never walk and talk at the same time; always wait until you get inside your house. The fourth was a kind of fashion show with seven little couples. They were dressed in the colors of the day. If you wear red on Sunday, you'll have luck. The fifth part was my personal favorite. One should never use the river as a toilet. The sixth was about respecting the sun, the sky, and monks. The seventh was about saying your prayers every night.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
photo editing skillz
One of the first things we were asked to do after we arrived at our school was to have photos made. We needed a few 1x1 inch and passport-sized pictures to use on our various and sundry ID badges.
We had our picturess taken at a place near our apartments, and, as requested, we gave the school a passport photo and two smaller photos.
Two weeks passed, and they told us they needed another small photo. No problem. We had each bought four copies.
The next week they wanted one more. How many ID cards do we have to carry?!, we wondered. We started getting suspicious. The two working theories are:
a) They keep losing the photos and don't want to admit it. Plausible, because a different person requested the photos each time.
b) They were making a collage and needed fillers. Less likely, but more amusing.
We handed over our last photos, thinking that five were more than enough to make our ID cards. Alas, at the beginning of this week they asked for yet another photo. This meant a second visit to our neighborhood photo shop.
But simple errands here are never simple.
I went alone and asked for four small photos. "120 baht," said the clerk. I had paid 80 before, and I told her so. She argued with me for a bit, but I was firm. She ran it past the older guy manning the digital camera. He looked put off, but agreed to the price.
By the time I sat down, I was irritated. He motioned at me not to smile, so I didn't. When a dozen photos printed out 15 minutes later, he snipped four of them apart, put them in a plastic baggie, and (somewhat aggressively) thrust the baggie and the remaining sheet of photos at me.
It was the most horrific picture I've ever taken. It could have easily been a mugshot; the only thing missing was an orange jumpsuit. Even worse, the lighting was off, making half my face look super shiny. Whatever. I didn't want to argue with them anymore.
I turned in my photo the next day.
Today, one of the teachers came into our office and informed me that my photo wouldn't work. I was wearing a tank top when it was taken, which is a no-no.
I was vexed. I did NOT want to deal with the rude photo shop man again, and I didn't want to waste money on more unattractive photos.
While venting about my predicament at lunch, I hit on a workable - even brilliant - solution. I would draw in a new shirt.
The other girls thought it would work, and one offered me her Sharpie. I carefully filled in my offensive, exposed shoulders, replacing the green tank top with a black V-neck.
I showed it to the others. They said it looked legitimate. Pleased with my tricksy solution, my mood improved.
Looking at the photo an hour later, I felt less sure. I decided to wait and turn it in tomorrow.
One of two things will happen. The optimist in me hopes the photo passes without a second glance. The realist in me predicts that I'll be greeted with a look that says, "You're an idiot."
We had our picturess taken at a place near our apartments, and, as requested, we gave the school a passport photo and two smaller photos.
Two weeks passed, and they told us they needed another small photo. No problem. We had each bought four copies.
The next week they wanted one more. How many ID cards do we have to carry?!, we wondered. We started getting suspicious. The two working theories are:
a) They keep losing the photos and don't want to admit it. Plausible, because a different person requested the photos each time.
b) They were making a collage and needed fillers. Less likely, but more amusing.
We handed over our last photos, thinking that five were more than enough to make our ID cards. Alas, at the beginning of this week they asked for yet another photo. This meant a second visit to our neighborhood photo shop.
But simple errands here are never simple.
I went alone and asked for four small photos. "120 baht," said the clerk. I had paid 80 before, and I told her so. She argued with me for a bit, but I was firm. She ran it past the older guy manning the digital camera. He looked put off, but agreed to the price.
By the time I sat down, I was irritated. He motioned at me not to smile, so I didn't. When a dozen photos printed out 15 minutes later, he snipped four of them apart, put them in a plastic baggie, and (somewhat aggressively) thrust the baggie and the remaining sheet of photos at me.
It was the most horrific picture I've ever taken. It could have easily been a mugshot; the only thing missing was an orange jumpsuit. Even worse, the lighting was off, making half my face look super shiny. Whatever. I didn't want to argue with them anymore.
I turned in my photo the next day.
Today, one of the teachers came into our office and informed me that my photo wouldn't work. I was wearing a tank top when it was taken, which is a no-no.
I was vexed. I did NOT want to deal with the rude photo shop man again, and I didn't want to waste money on more unattractive photos.
While venting about my predicament at lunch, I hit on a workable - even brilliant - solution. I would draw in a new shirt.
The other girls thought it would work, and one offered me her Sharpie. I carefully filled in my offensive, exposed shoulders, replacing the green tank top with a black V-neck.
I showed it to the others. They said it looked legitimate. Pleased with my tricksy solution, my mood improved.
Looking at the photo an hour later, I felt less sure. I decided to wait and turn it in tomorrow.
One of two things will happen. The optimist in me hopes the photo passes without a second glance. The realist in me predicts that I'll be greeted with a look that says, "You're an idiot."
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
"i went to thailand and all i got was this lousy prescription drug addiction"
If I could say one thing about the Thai health care system, it's that they aren't stingy with the pills.
I found myself back in the clinic today. On Friday afternoon, I started feeling sick. My throat was fine, but my nose was runny and my head felt stuffy. I spent all day Saturday and most of Sunday in bed, sneezing and coughing. Yesterday, I convinced myself that I was almost better and didn't need to see a doctor, but last night the snottiness hadn't improved.
By today, the coughing had stopped completely and the sneezing wasn't too bad, but the snot remained. I took my runny nose to the clinic with the idea of getting a simple decongestant. I left with five - count them, five! - medications.
A decongestant,
an antihistamine,
a pain/fever reducer,
a cough suppressant,
and an antibiotic.
Perhaps it's just that they haven't learned to combine medicines so that one prescription treats multiple symptoms.
I looked them up, and the antibiotic is used to treat pharyngitis, tonsillitis, pneumonia, acute maxillary sinusitis, Lyme disease, and a few other things. I suppose my cold could turn into sinusitis.
I'll definitely take the decongestant, and I might take the antibiotic. I won't be needing the rest, and I'm not sure why the doctor gave it to me in the first place, since I described one symptom to him.
Let's just hope I don't come down with anything more serious than the sniffles. Who knows what they'd give me!
I found myself back in the clinic today. On Friday afternoon, I started feeling sick. My throat was fine, but my nose was runny and my head felt stuffy. I spent all day Saturday and most of Sunday in bed, sneezing and coughing. Yesterday, I convinced myself that I was almost better and didn't need to see a doctor, but last night the snottiness hadn't improved.
By today, the coughing had stopped completely and the sneezing wasn't too bad, but the snot remained. I took my runny nose to the clinic with the idea of getting a simple decongestant. I left with five - count them, five! - medications.A decongestant,
an antihistamine,
a pain/fever reducer,
a cough suppressant,
and an antibiotic.
Perhaps it's just that they haven't learned to combine medicines so that one prescription treats multiple symptoms.
I looked them up, and the antibiotic is used to treat pharyngitis, tonsillitis, pneumonia, acute maxillary sinusitis, Lyme disease, and a few other things. I suppose my cold could turn into sinusitis.
I'll definitely take the decongestant, and I might take the antibiotic. I won't be needing the rest, and I'm not sure why the doctor gave it to me in the first place, since I described one symptom to him.
Let's just hope I don't come down with anything more serious than the sniffles. Who knows what they'd give me!
Sunday, June 21, 2009
christ church
I think Mariela and I will stick with Christ Church. She's figured out the right buses to ride so that we don't get stuck walking for an hour in the heat to get home every week.
Since our first Sunday morning there, we've learned that you shouldn't always wait for a free bus. They don't come frequently enough, and the next level of bus only costs 6.50, which is about 20 cents. We took non-air con bus 77 home today, and we were the only farangs on the thing. I really enjoy riding the bus, actually. It makes me feel less like an outsider and more like someone who lives here.
I think I've adjusted.
Tonight, I sat on my balcony toward dusk reading The Brothers Karamazov and eating rambutan. It was breezy and cool and I looked up at the sky and out over the trees and rusty corrugated metal rooftops below and sighed. Contentment is certainly a good feeling.
Sometimes I forget I'm here, though. Yesterday I stayed in bed because I have a cold. I must confess that I spent nearly the entire day looking at wedding Web sites. With Mariela talking about getting her dress made here, it's impossible not to catch wedding fever.
Anyway, last night I was lying in bed, thinking about wedding dresses. I got the urge to go to my mom's closet and put on my huge, white, poofy gown from floorshow my senior year of high school, and then I remembered that I was in Thailand.
Since our first Sunday morning there, we've learned that you shouldn't always wait for a free bus. They don't come frequently enough, and the next level of bus only costs 6.50, which is about 20 cents. We took non-air con bus 77 home today, and we were the only farangs on the thing. I really enjoy riding the bus, actually. It makes me feel less like an outsider and more like someone who lives here.
I think I've adjusted.
Tonight, I sat on my balcony toward dusk reading The Brothers Karamazov and eating rambutan. It was breezy and cool and I looked up at the sky and out over the trees and rusty corrugated metal rooftops below and sighed. Contentment is certainly a good feeling.
Sometimes I forget I'm here, though. Yesterday I stayed in bed because I have a cold. I must confess that I spent nearly the entire day looking at wedding Web sites. With Mariela talking about getting her dress made here, it's impossible not to catch wedding fever.
Anyway, last night I was lying in bed, thinking about wedding dresses. I got the urge to go to my mom's closet and put on my huge, white, poofy gown from floorshow my senior year of high school, and then I remembered that I was in Thailand.
Friday, June 19, 2009
cafeteria dessert
The school dessert today was the most unappetizing mess I've seen since I've been here.
Lunch is set up kind of buffet-style for the teachers, with plates and silverware at the start of a long table, then two huge pots of rice, the farang (foreign) dish - usually cooked meat, potatoes, carrots, and some kind of brown non-spicy sauce, and then the various Thai dishes. Second-to-last is the dessert of the day, and the end of the table holds a basket of fruit.
Today's dessert was wrapped up in banana leaves folded into small pyramids. Sweet sticky rice desserts are also wrapped up in banana leaves, so I hoped these were just extra-small servings of sticky rice.
The contents of the tiny leaf packages were a far cry from the delicious, sticky, coconutty rice I love. I unwrapped my dessert to find a pyramid made of a substance which bore a most unappetizing resemblance to mucous. Most desserts here involve flavorless gelatin in one form or another, and this extra-thick, extra-sticky opaque brown blob was no exception.
The outer layer surrounded a filling of uncertain chemical composition. What I do know is that the dry, crumbly yellowness inside tasted like black pepper. It was the strangest thing, and definitely not delicious.
Lunch is set up kind of buffet-style for the teachers, with plates and silverware at the start of a long table, then two huge pots of rice, the farang (foreign) dish - usually cooked meat, potatoes, carrots, and some kind of brown non-spicy sauce, and then the various Thai dishes. Second-to-last is the dessert of the day, and the end of the table holds a basket of fruit.
Today's dessert was wrapped up in banana leaves folded into small pyramids. Sweet sticky rice desserts are also wrapped up in banana leaves, so I hoped these were just extra-small servings of sticky rice.
The contents of the tiny leaf packages were a far cry from the delicious, sticky, coconutty rice I love. I unwrapped my dessert to find a pyramid made of a substance which bore a most unappetizing resemblance to mucous. Most desserts here involve flavorless gelatin in one form or another, and this extra-thick, extra-sticky opaque brown blob was no exception.
The outer layer surrounded a filling of uncertain chemical composition. What I do know is that the dry, crumbly yellowness inside tasted like black pepper. It was the strangest thing, and definitely not delicious.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
i should probably eat more apples
I hate going to the doctor more than almost anything else. I put it off and put it off in hopes that whatever's wrong will fix itself.
And I don't have a lot of faith in the medical system here. Exhibit A: Jordan. He was having serious health problems after arriving, feeling weak and fainting a few times. He spends the night in the hospital and they send him home with Valium and muscle relaxers - when he was fainting (Eventually they determined that it was a potassium deficiency.)
Exhibit B: Ryan. Ryan had an ear infection. For the pain, the doctor gave him a prescription for arthritis meds.
Exhibit C: Little Girl at the school nurse's office. Little Girl cuts her finger in class. Kristy walks her down to the school nurse. When she sits down, Little Girl notices the blood on her hand and faints. The nurse starts doing CPR. Has she never seen a child faint before? We're not sure what to make of this incident.
Yesterday, my throat started feeling sore. I didn't want to deal with a week or more of discomfort - especially since my job involves shouting at a room full of children - so I decided to brave the palace grounds' clinic when it opened at 8:30 this morning. It's all free for us teachers - no copayment, and prescriptions are included and filled while you wait.
I walk in at three minutes after and the waiting room is already full. Full of sick people. Sick old people, sick young people, sick babies. They're all coughing and sneezing sickness into the air. As soon as I walk in, I feel worse than I did before.
I walk to the window, fill out a form, and sit down, looking at the clock. My first class starts at 9:20, so I have about 45 minutes. I'd left a note for Nummon telling her I might be late, so all my bases were covered.
I wait, and wait, feeling hot, irritated, bored, impatient, and occasionally flooded with self-pity. The man sitting to my left keeps shifting around in his seat and changing positions.
What is his deal? Does he have hemorrhoids??
My throat hurts. My stomach hurts. Do I have a fever? Is it strep?
I put my head in my hands. I stare at my shoes for awhile. They have blue chalk on them. It won't come off.
At 8:55 they call my name. I walk to the desk. They weigh me and take my blood pressure, pulse, and temperature. No fever. They tell me to sit back down.
At 9:22 I see the doctor. I tell him what's wrong, he looks at my throat, and says I have a couple of lacerations or ulcers at the back of my mouth that are making it hurt to swallow. No strep, no virus, no nothing. Just ulcers! He prescribed a foul-tasting spray to numb the pain.
I had to wait 10 minutes more to get my prescription.
The whole visit took about an hour, which, I guess, isn't too bad for walking in with no appointment. One point for Thailand's medical care.
Lunch is over and now it's time for my favorite thing - grading!
And I don't have a lot of faith in the medical system here. Exhibit A: Jordan. He was having serious health problems after arriving, feeling weak and fainting a few times. He spends the night in the hospital and they send him home with Valium and muscle relaxers - when he was fainting (Eventually they determined that it was a potassium deficiency.)
Exhibit B: Ryan. Ryan had an ear infection. For the pain, the doctor gave him a prescription for arthritis meds.
Exhibit C: Little Girl at the school nurse's office. Little Girl cuts her finger in class. Kristy walks her down to the school nurse. When she sits down, Little Girl notices the blood on her hand and faints. The nurse starts doing CPR. Has she never seen a child faint before? We're not sure what to make of this incident.
Yesterday, my throat started feeling sore. I didn't want to deal with a week or more of discomfort - especially since my job involves shouting at a room full of children - so I decided to brave the palace grounds' clinic when it opened at 8:30 this morning. It's all free for us teachers - no copayment, and prescriptions are included and filled while you wait.
I walk in at three minutes after and the waiting room is already full. Full of sick people. Sick old people, sick young people, sick babies. They're all coughing and sneezing sickness into the air. As soon as I walk in, I feel worse than I did before.
I walk to the window, fill out a form, and sit down, looking at the clock. My first class starts at 9:20, so I have about 45 minutes. I'd left a note for Nummon telling her I might be late, so all my bases were covered.
I wait, and wait, feeling hot, irritated, bored, impatient, and occasionally flooded with self-pity. The man sitting to my left keeps shifting around in his seat and changing positions.
What is his deal? Does he have hemorrhoids??
My throat hurts. My stomach hurts. Do I have a fever? Is it strep?
I put my head in my hands. I stare at my shoes for awhile. They have blue chalk on them. It won't come off.
At 8:55 they call my name. I walk to the desk. They weigh me and take my blood pressure, pulse, and temperature. No fever. They tell me to sit back down.
At 9:22 I see the doctor. I tell him what's wrong, he looks at my throat, and says I have a couple of lacerations or ulcers at the back of my mouth that are making it hurt to swallow. No strep, no virus, no nothing. Just ulcers! He prescribed a foul-tasting spray to numb the pain.
I had to wait 10 minutes more to get my prescription.
The whole visit took about an hour, which, I guess, isn't too bad for walking in with no appointment. One point for Thailand's medical care.
Lunch is over and now it's time for my favorite thing - grading!
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
bureaucracy
We have non-tourist, multiple-entry visas. The school reimbursed us for our visa costs, which was really nice.
For whatever reason, we have to leave Thailand at least once every three months, or something will go wrong with our visas and the only cure will be paperwork and headaches. That's fine with us, because we all want to travel while we're here.
What's not fine, we learned yesterday, is that you need a re-entry permit to get back into Thailand once you've left. You can buy a single re-entry permit for 1,000 baht, or a multiple re-entry permit for 3,800.
My question is, why doesn't a multiple-entry visa cover re-entering the country? It seems unneccesary to require two different types of permissions just to let someone inside your borders.
Professor Mueller didn't say anything about re-entry permits at our orientation, and neither did the Baylor alumni who had gone in past years. In fact, there are two couples here now who taught last year. They've both said they never needed re-entry permits.
In conclusion, I'm irritated at "the man."
* Several hours later *
Some of the American teachers from Matthayom (7th-12th grade) went with Geoffrey (a snarky old Englishman who works in the Matthayom) to the immigration office today to see about all this permit business. Turns out, you only need the permits if you didn't buy a multiple-entry visa. Some of the Sacramento State teachers only bought single-entry visas, so this applied to them. I'm relieved, and "the man" and I are on speaking terms again.
For whatever reason, we have to leave Thailand at least once every three months, or something will go wrong with our visas and the only cure will be paperwork and headaches. That's fine with us, because we all want to travel while we're here.
What's not fine, we learned yesterday, is that you need a re-entry permit to get back into Thailand once you've left. You can buy a single re-entry permit for 1,000 baht, or a multiple re-entry permit for 3,800.
My question is, why doesn't a multiple-entry visa cover re-entering the country? It seems unneccesary to require two different types of permissions just to let someone inside your borders.
Professor Mueller didn't say anything about re-entry permits at our orientation, and neither did the Baylor alumni who had gone in past years. In fact, there are two couples here now who taught last year. They've both said they never needed re-entry permits.
In conclusion, I'm irritated at "the man."
* Several hours later *
Some of the American teachers from Matthayom (7th-12th grade) went with Geoffrey (a snarky old Englishman who works in the Matthayom) to the immigration office today to see about all this permit business. Turns out, you only need the permits if you didn't buy a multiple-entry visa. Some of the Sacramento State teachers only bought single-entry visas, so this applied to them. I'm relieved, and "the man" and I are on speaking terms again.
the facts of life
When I walked into class today, I noticed a group of students - mostly boys - crowded around a window. They seemed fascinated. Naturally, I walked over to see what had captured their attention.
Perched on the window was a small fly, with a larger one on its back. Now, I'm no entomologist, but I think we all know what that means.
I shooed the students back to their seats and left the flies to their own devices.
Any time there was an opportunity to get up during class (bathroom breaks, turning in papers, etc.), they would go to the window to check on the flies.
Awesome.
Perched on the window was a small fly, with a larger one on its back. Now, I'm no entomologist, but I think we all know what that means.
I shooed the students back to their seats and left the flies to their own devices.
Any time there was an opportunity to get up during class (bathroom breaks, turning in papers, etc.), they would go to the window to check on the flies.
Awesome.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
church
We visited a different church this morning. We wanted to go to the 9:00 service, so we left at 8:00, figuring that would leave us plenty of time. The church's Web site said they provide shuttle service from the Asok metro stop. Easy enough, we thought.
But, no. We got to the metro stop and stood on the curb, searching for vans with the church's name on it. We didn't see anything, and the service was starting in 10 minutes. It wasn't far, according to Mariela's map. We decided to walk it.
And we did walk. In the wrong direction. For about 25 minutes. By the time we figured it out, we were already late for the service. We turned around and got going the right way, opting to wait around for the 11:15 service once we arrived.
The church is looking for a head pastor right now, so someone else gave the sermon. It was okay enough, until he made a comment that went something like this:
Righteousness is a church word. It's a theological term that we use all the time. Now, I don't have a seminary degree; I'm not a professional and I don't know what the professors would say, but what I think it means is doing the right thing.
I didn't want to listen to him anymore after that. The way he said it reminded me of what Mark Noll talks about in The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind. I don't want to attend a church where academic understanding of the Bible is talked about so dismissively.
Another factor might be the hassle of using the BTS to get to the church. That could get expensive. I wish there was a church within a block or two of where I live. It would be much easier to get involved.
After church, a group of 11 Baylor folks went to eat at this Middle Eastern restaurant nearby. I had vegetable curry and naan bread, and it was delicious.
But, no. We got to the metro stop and stood on the curb, searching for vans with the church's name on it. We didn't see anything, and the service was starting in 10 minutes. It wasn't far, according to Mariela's map. We decided to walk it.
And we did walk. In the wrong direction. For about 25 minutes. By the time we figured it out, we were already late for the service. We turned around and got going the right way, opting to wait around for the 11:15 service once we arrived.
The church is looking for a head pastor right now, so someone else gave the sermon. It was okay enough, until he made a comment that went something like this:
Righteousness is a church word. It's a theological term that we use all the time. Now, I don't have a seminary degree; I'm not a professional and I don't know what the professors would say, but what I think it means is doing the right thing.
I didn't want to listen to him anymore after that. The way he said it reminded me of what Mark Noll talks about in The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind. I don't want to attend a church where academic understanding of the Bible is talked about so dismissively.
Another factor might be the hassle of using the BTS to get to the church. That could get expensive. I wish there was a church within a block or two of where I live. It would be much easier to get involved.
After church, a group of 11 Baylor folks went to eat at this Middle Eastern restaurant nearby. I had vegetable curry and naan bread, and it was delicious.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
a day in the life
5:45 - Wake up, go through morning routine.
6:55 - Head downstairs to the van.
7:30/7:45 - Arrive at school (time depends on traffic).
7:30 - Breakfast, consisting of various pastries from the bakery on the school campus. Today's pastry of choice was a very purple bread with taro in it. I have no idea what taro is, but I like its taste.
8:00 - 8:30 - Reading Rainbow, or my second least-favorite part of the day. It's kind of like the idea of the Accelerated Reader program back in the U.S., but the kids usually don't read the books on their own time, and they don't take computerized tests. For first through third graders, we have them read easy books aloud. Each book is worth one stamp on a paper card. They can redeem their cards for prizes on Fridays. Older kids can read the books at home and answer simple questions. The thing is, there are about 720 kids in first through sixth grade, and seven American teachers. It gets a little hectic at times.
8:30 - 9:15 - Get ready for classes.
9:20 - 12:00 - Teach! My kids call me Teacher Lalen. They aren't so great at pronouncing the 'r' sound. Then again, a lot of the Thai teachers aren't, either. I like it. On Mondays I teach speaking, which means the class gets divided up and I have 20 students at varying levels of skill. Mondays are wild. Tuesdays and Wednesdays my Thai counterpart, Nummon, and I teach grammar, Thursdays we teach spelling and phonics, and Fridays a girl named Kristy and I teach a first grade speaking class. Going from fourth grade all week (where they at least understand basic English commands) to first grade on Fridays (where they understand almost nothing we say) is like being showed unexpectedly into a cold swimming pool with your clothes on. And not in a refreshing way.
12:00 - Speed walk to the lunch room to snatch some fruit before it's gone. Stuff myself with rice, kale, and a main entree in which fish balls are uninvolved.
12:30 - Check e-mail in the computer lab. You have to take your shoes off before entering various offices on campus, and the computer lab is one of them. Others include the craft supply room, the dancing room, and the nurse's office. I haven't yet figured out why shoes are a no-no in these particular places.
1:00 - 3:15 - Grading. Definitely my least favorite part of the day. The tedium makes me desperately want a nap. And I start getting irritated when I read the same simple mistake over and over again. Now I know how Spanish teachers feel when students always forget the personal 'a'. As in: A mi me gusta el chocolate, pero a ella no.
4:00 - Walk home.
5:00 - Yoga in my room.
6:15 - Dinner: Either in the apartment cafe, or from the street vendor lady that sells steamed corn and bags of tiny sweet potatoes (pictured).
Monday, June 8, 2009
the beach, or: what i imagined thailand to be
Having grown weary of the pollution, bad smells, and crowding of the city, 
our group of 21 American teachers decided to venture to a nearby island called Ko Samet. The first leg of the journey was a van ride from Victory Monument to Banphe. This van operation was run out of a purple tent and the "tickets" were... unofficial, to say the least.
The van ride normally takes three to three and a half hours. We got there in two and a half. Our driver couldn't be bothered with that whole "stopping at traffic lights" thing. He would turn left at the light and then turn left again immediately to catch the green light at the intersection.
We took a 15-minute speedboat ride from Banphe to the island, avoiding the state park entrance fee of 200 baht by doing so.
The entire journey cost about $9 and took between three and four hours.
Our hotel was made up of little bungalows. They were simple inside, but comfortable enough. And cheap - which is the really important thing - with four people to a room. The hotel for two nights cost around $18 a person. Not bad at all.
We ate lots of good food, lounged around in the sand, played in the waves, and got eaten up by mosquitoes. Glorious - except for the mosquito part. That was actually kind of miserable. I scratched the bites on my legs, which, combined with the heat, was too much for my poor skin to take. It's getting better since I've been back.
I had one creeper incident, although he wasn't too much of a creeper. The first morning there, Mariela and I went out early to look for a quiet piece of beach. We set our towels out and laid down to nap. When we woke up and sat up to look at the ocean, a Thai man in torn jeans was walking by. He came up to us, trying to introduce himself and his friend. He said something about a camera and we shook our heads, not understanding. He walked away for a minute and came back holding a camera. He wanted a picture with me. By this point, I was confused. Was this his hobby? Collecting photos of himself at the beach posing with random white girls? It's a lame hobby, if you ask me. He'd be much better served by learning to garden.
I tried to tell him I didn't want my picture taken. He wouldn't be dissuaded, so I figured it'd be less trouble to just smile for the camera. He bent down next to me and his friend snapped the photo. When he stood up, I held out my hand palm up and demanded, "20 baht! 20 baht!" "Oh, no, no..." he said. Then he went to Mariela and took a picture with her. They walked away. A minute later camera man was back, holding a bottle of water. He offered it timidly, trying to tell us what it was. We caught the word "osmosis," but that was about it. He left for good, and we started laughing. And no, we didn't drink it.
Friday and Saturday night we watched fire shows at two different restaurants. The second night it was all really young guys, from ages 14 to 19ish. The had rap music playing and each one came out individually to do tricks. The first guy was twirling what amounted to a Molotov cocktail. He was the most impressive, in my opinion, because it seems like it'd be harder to spin and throw and catch a bottle than it would a long stick. He was even dancing to the music while juggling the bottle between his hands and throwing and spinning it into the air.
I've told some of you about my laser lawn cutter idea. As it turns out, the Germans have already done that. I've got a new product idea for a different niche market: A braille oven/stove. I haven't checked Google to see if it's been done, but I think blind people should be able to bake brownies just like everyone else.
our group of 21 American teachers decided to venture to a nearby island called Ko Samet. The first leg of the journey was a van ride from Victory Monument to Banphe. This van operation was run out of a purple tent and the "tickets" were... unofficial, to say the least. The van ride normally takes three to three and a half hours. We got there in two and a half. Our driver couldn't be bothered with that whole "stopping at traffic lights" thing. He would turn left at the light and then turn left again immediately to catch the green light at the intersection.
We took a 15-minute speedboat ride from Banphe to the island, avoiding the state park entrance fee of 200 baht by doing so.
The entire journey cost about $9 and took between three and four hours.
Our hotel was made up of little bungalows. They were simple inside, but comfortable enough. And cheap - which is the really important thing - with four people to a room. The hotel for two nights cost around $18 a person. Not bad at all.We ate lots of good food, lounged around in the sand, played in the waves, and got eaten up by mosquitoes. Glorious - except for the mosquito part. That was actually kind of miserable. I scratched the bites on my legs, which, combined with the heat, was too much for my poor skin to take. It's getting better since I've been back.
I had one creeper incident, although he wasn't too much of a creeper. The first morning there, Mariela and I went out early to look for a quiet piece of beach. We set our towels out and laid down to nap. When we woke up and sat up to look at the ocean, a Thai man in torn jeans was walking by. He came up to us, trying to introduce himself and his friend. He said something about a camera and we shook our heads, not understanding. He walked away for a minute and came back holding a camera. He wanted a picture with me. By this point, I was confused. Was this his hobby? Collecting photos of himself at the beach posing with random white girls? It's a lame hobby, if you ask me. He'd be much better served by learning to garden.
I tried to tell him I didn't want my picture taken. He wouldn't be dissuaded, so I figured it'd be less trouble to just smile for the camera. He bent down next to me and his friend snapped the photo. When he stood up, I held out my hand palm up and demanded, "20 baht! 20 baht!" "Oh, no, no..." he said. Then he went to Mariela and took a picture with her. They walked away. A minute later camera man was back, holding a bottle of water. He offered it timidly, trying to tell us what it was. We caught the word "osmosis," but that was about it. He left for good, and we started laughing. And no, we didn't drink it.
Friday and Saturday night we watched fire shows at two different restaurants. The second night it was all really young guys, from ages 14 to 19ish. The had rap music playing and each one came out individually to do tricks. The first guy was twirling what amounted to a Molotov cocktail. He was the most impressive, in my opinion, because it seems like it'd be harder to spin and throw and catch a bottle than it would a long stick. He was even dancing to the music while juggling the bottle between his hands and throwing and spinning it into the air. I've told some of you about my laser lawn cutter idea. As it turns out, the Germans have already done that. I've got a new product idea for a different niche market: A braille oven/stove. I haven't checked Google to see if it's been done, but I think blind people should be able to bake brownies just like everyone else.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
tut, tut, it looks like rice
The second floor of my apartment building has a dry cleaner, a minimart, and a restaurant. I like to eat in the restaurant because it's cheap, the food is tasty, and it's nice not to have to venture out on rainy nights.
I should preface this story by saying that one of the women that runs the restaurant has the cutest little three year old boy you've ever seen. He can usually be found tearing around the second floor. That's one of my favorite things about little kids; they run everywhere. They're not in a hurry - they just like going fast.
Last week, I was eating in the apartment restaurant alone, sitting just outside on this little balcony. Cute Little Boy was climbing around on a couch and some chairs. He wandered over to where I was sitting and started jabbering to me in Thai. Of course, I had no idea what he was saying. I just smiled and nodded. He pointed at my water bottle. I picked it up and pretended to drink from it. He ran away.
He ran back to my table, holding his own Winnie the Pooh sippy cup. He handed it to me. I pointed at Pooh and asked, "Who is that?" "Pooh," he said. He took it back and ran away.
He came back and started jabbering again. I nodded and said, "Uh huh. Yeah. Okay!" He ran back to the kitchen and shouted something to the woman who was cooking. I began to wonder if he was changing my order. He ran back to the table, said something to me, and ran back to the kitchen. I was getting suspicious.
A few minutes later, the lady brought out my food. It was what I had ordered, but this time, instead of the usual rounded mound of rice, my rice was molded into a bear shape! I guess he told her I wanted Pooh-shaped rice.
Now, every time I eat at the apartment restaurant, my rice is bear-shaped. And I LOVE it.
I should preface this story by saying that one of the women that runs the restaurant has the cutest little three year old boy you've ever seen. He can usually be found tearing around the second floor. That's one of my favorite things about little kids; they run everywhere. They're not in a hurry - they just like going fast.
Last week, I was eating in the apartment restaurant alone, sitting just outside on this little balcony. Cute Little Boy was climbing around on a couch and some chairs. He wandered over to where I was sitting and started jabbering to me in Thai. Of course, I had no idea what he was saying. I just smiled and nodded. He pointed at my water bottle. I picked it up and pretended to drink from it. He ran away.
He ran back to my table, holding his own Winnie the Pooh sippy cup. He handed it to me. I pointed at Pooh and asked, "Who is that?" "Pooh," he said. He took it back and ran away.
He came back and started jabbering again. I nodded and said, "Uh huh. Yeah. Okay!" He ran back to the kitchen and shouted something to the woman who was cooking. I began to wonder if he was changing my order. He ran back to the table, said something to me, and ran back to the kitchen. I was getting suspicious.
A few minutes later, the lady brought out my food. It was what I had ordered, but this time, instead of the usual rounded mound of rice, my rice was molded into a bear shape! I guess he told her I wanted Pooh-shaped rice.
Now, every time I eat at the apartment restaurant, my rice is bear-shaped. And I LOVE it.
Monday, June 1, 2009
"I never eat dolls on the weekend."
You've seen the show, "Kids Say the Darndest Things," right? The inner workings of children's minds both mystify and tickle us grown-up types.
Yesterday in my fourth grade speaking class we reviewed the adverbs of frequency we learned last week - always, often, and never.
I handed out sheets of paper divided into three sections. The top section said: I always _____ on the weekend. The bottom left section said: I often _____ on the weekend. The bottom right section said: I never _____ on the weekend.
Their assignment was to think of something for each section, write it in the blank, and draw a picture to match. Typical responses were: I always play games on the weekend. or I never go to school on the weekend.
But there are always kids who give more... creative... responses. Here are a few of my favorites:
Apparently, this kid rides his bike in a war zone. Notice the downed power lines, flames, and the sign that says: Danger: Bombs Underground.
Dinner tonight: White corn on the cob from a street vendor (10 baht), and some rambutan I bought from a vendor last night. Yum!
Yesterday in my fourth grade speaking class we reviewed the adverbs of frequency we learned last week - always, often, and never.
I handed out sheets of paper divided into three sections. The top section said: I always _____ on the weekend. The bottom left section said: I often _____ on the weekend. The bottom right section said: I never _____ on the weekend.
Their assignment was to think of something for each section, write it in the blank, and draw a picture to match. Typical responses were: I always play games on the weekend. or I never go to school on the weekend.
But there are always kids who give more... creative... responses. Here are a few of my favorites:
Apparently, this kid rides his bike in a war zone. Notice the downed power lines, flames, and the sign that says: Danger: Bombs Underground.
Dinner tonight: White corn on the cob from a street vendor (10 baht), and some rambutan I bought from a vendor last night. Yum!
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