Expat Teacher in Thailand

Thai Adoption: Coming Home

2011-12-26T06:11:00.000-08:00

There will be no long detailed posts about the arduous three and a half year process and accompanying emotions of our adoption of a Thai child. That would take volumes and a willingness to share parts of a very private event that I do not wish to do. Neither is it a commentary on Thai culture or bureaucracy which we will probably never completely understand, despite living many years in the country. It is also not a slide show of our new daughter: She will not be on display.

Rather, this post is about the eye-opening experience of traveling to her home and school in a rural part of the country, spending two days with her loving foster family, and coming to grips with these layers of her life that have been peeling away slowly ever since, giving us a deeper understanding of many aspects of Thailand, her life, and the complex and often confusing parts of the adoption process in this country. We were surprised to learn from the agency's psychologist that many western adoptive parents are not interested in traveling to the foster homes where their soon-to-be children live, preferring to wait in a Bangkok hotel and have them "delivered." Frankly, I cannot understand that no matter how hard I try.

After two days of being introduced to her life as one of five foster kids in a very poor family (although we are not strangers to poverty here, we were nonetheless unprepared for the depth of it we saw), we returned with her to our Bangkok home, offering her what comfort we could as she wept upon leaving the only home she has known. Poverty versus opportunity was not on her mind: just love, and it was evident that they gave her and her foster siblings a lot of it. It is impossible to know what she is going through, now still living in a Thai community, but one that is so different from where she had been; houses with hot water and flush toilets, screens on the windows, her own bedroom, more than one pair of shoes, and toys she doesn't have to share. Starting life with an eight year old whose English level is below that of my Thai fluency, we speak mainly in Thai--of course Kat carries the load there, but I do my best, and Kat and I speak English between us, with Thai translations interspersed. How does this language acquisition best work? Thankfully, attending an international English language school will help, as will playing with other kids; her first play date is tomorrow with a bilingual eight year old here in the neighborhood.

We have already begun to deal with the confusion and perplexing idea of adopting in Thailand, where adoptions by Thais are rare. Here orphans are called "throwaways," and most Thais we meet--but certainly not all--wonder why we would do such a thing. Most adult Thais she meets tell her how lucky she is, but we are just as fortunate to receive such a gift, and appropriately, at Christmas time.

We are taking it one day at a time; what else can we do? There is a slow building of trust, smiles that eventually lead to laughter, introversion opening into chatter, an amazing willingness to lend a hand in every chore, following Kat around like a duckling, and the inevitable downturns of melancholy and loneliness. She is precious, she is very brave, and she is reminding us continually about what is important in life.

The foster home

The extended family has many dairy cows.

One of two beds for a family of seven

Kitchen

A school class welcomes Kat

Second graders

As westerners, we were a rarity in this rural school, and drew quite a crowd wherever we went.

Bangkok Chinatown Prowl Take 2

2011-12-04T18:38:00.000-08:00

During the three day King's Birthday weekend, we stayed in Chinatown close to the maze of tiny alleys and back streets that are jammed with stalls and customers at all hours; as the night shops close, the morning markets begin setting up well before dawn. In the evening, customers flow from one curb-side restaurant to the next, filling intersections with a buzz of gastronomic activity, mouth-watering dishes delivered steaming to your table. Of all the places in Bangkok I know, this is my favorite place to hang out at any time of day or night. Here are scenes from a 20 hour period, shown chronologically from our check in and first wander down a street near the hotel, to the fresh market the next morning.

Interior of Shanghai Mansion Hotel, Yaowarat Road

A typical shop jammed with merchandise

Ceramic jars filled with tea from China

Sausage shop with good luck garland

Monks' clothing drying at a small Chinese buddhist temple off Yaowarat Road

Etched skull at Chinese temple

You want it, they have it...somewhere in there.

Examining amulet quality, New Road.

New Road shop full of Chinese decorations

Curb-side hair removal service, New Road. Does it hurt? One replied, "Not much." Another, "A lot!"

Outside monk's dormitory on a temple's grounds

Monks waiting for a taxi outside a temple. Yaowarat Road


An outdoor Chinese buddhist shrine

These workers piled the carts from a store behind me, moved it across the street, and unloaded into another shop.

Pushcarts have the advantage of moving from one location to another if sales sag!

Popular evening street-side noodle stand, Yaowarat Road

After a soothing foot massage, we ate at a curb-side table and watched the passing scene

Amazing...a walk/bike/drive-in reel to reel movie shown in the street near Yaowarat Road!

The early morning markets bustle with activity

A surprising scene: A Himalayan visitor strolls the market

Random Scenes

2011-11-25T18:00:00.000-08:00

While sorting through recent random shots taken as I go to work, take walks, or run errands, I came across a cross section of scenes that give a glimpse into the life we now have in Thailand for most of each year. Although they at first seemed so different and exotic, now that they are part of our everyday life, they seem normal. Despite their familiarity, I still view them as exotic and wonderfully unique; I would never take them for granted. These scenes help illustrate Thai life, but their counterparts exist in every land around the globe, showing peeks into various cultures. Here are some scenes from our neighborhood, and a few from just beyond.

The jack fruit man, Ramkhamhaeng Road

A quiet scene near Saen Saep klong (canal)

Traditional ox cart for carrying timber, near Jomtien beach

Night guard, Summakorn Village, Soi 36

Spirit House detail, Ramkhamhaeng Road

A job I do not want. Summakorn Village, Saphan Sung

A popular food stall at the weekend open air market, Summakorn Village

Many Thais keep birds. This one is just off Ramkhamhaeng Road.

Water buffalo wallow at the entrance to our school.

Negotiating the recent flood on Ban Ma klong near Ramkhamhaeng Road

Begging on Sukhumvit Road, downtown Bangkok

Lost in translation: restaurant near Jomtien.

Bangkok Chinatown Prowl

2011-11-18T02:00:00.000-08:00

One of the most fascinating areas of Bangkok is Chinatown. Unlike in many of the world's great cities, Chinatown is not simply a section of the city in which Chinese culture and immigrants tend to congregate: Thai history is closely linked to China and Chinese culture, thus Chinese Thais make up a significant proportion of the population. Chinatown thus is an exciting, colorful, energy-laden blend of Thai and Chinese (with a sprinkling of Indian) food, fabrics, hardware, electrical parts, and anything imaginable in the tiny dark alleyways, including items you never knew you needed. If one cannot find something anywhere else in Bangkok, the directions are simple: Go to Yaowarat Road and ask someone. Chances are, you will be directed to it posthaste.

My long time friend Jeff Harper and I went on a flood intermission, roaming another area of this amazing city on one of our occasional photo shoots. Accompanying us was first time Thailand visitor Peter Stiehle. A word of caution for anyone wishing to wander the non-commercial back alleys of Chinatown. Don't. If you must stray off the main shopping road, go with someone who knows the area, speaks Thai, and recognizes the potential dangers of poking your nose in places you shouldn't or don't know you shouldn't, especially after dark. Ask us about one of the reasons why sometime, preferably over a beer at Saxophone Pub.

Newly constructed flood walls protecting store fronts create another place to sit and chat with friends.

I'm glad I didn't want a key chain or necklace. I'd still be there deciding.

A typical Chinatown scene: Finding a spot to have some lunch and check messages during a shopping break.

Inside a Chinese Buddhist temple grounds, a crematorium and entrance gate frame a distant building's zig zagging stairs.

Chinese dog statuettes guard an old offering site outside the temple.

Still life study on a wall adjacent to the temple

Entryway to the temple

Decorated temple rooftop and captive birds lend an air of authentic charm.

Lanterns can be found in every corner of a Chinese temple

Commerce doesn't end after dark. Loading merchandise for motorbike delivery.

A lonely wall down a small back street


Lately, boats are a hot commodity in Bangkok

I don't know, this scene just seemed to scream "CHINATOWN"


This food stall is just outside one of Thailand's six gazillion 7-11 ("se-WEN") convenience stores

A small shop closing up for the night

Beautiful old architecture is found throughout Chinatown. At night they are enhanced by the glow of street lights.


This little shop was jammed with goods, typical of "Mom and Pop" establishments found in abundance.

Helping Kids Learn

2011-11-14T05:05:00.000-08:00

Two weeks ago, Kat, I and friends Miho and Police met a wonderful young lady (nicknamed Bang ["Powder"]) who is studying to be a teacher. She and her extended family live in a poor community near a major klong (canal) in Bangkok not far from our home. As of this writing, every one of their homes has taken on flood water. Despite this, every weekend, twenty children gather on a raised dirt platform with no roof, sit at rickety tables and study Thai language, math, history and English. They cross the water on planks to get to the "school."

We joined them yesterday and had a wonderful time, although the excitement of foreigners showing up pretty much killed the math problem-solving momentum, and created an ongoing distraction during the English lesson. We have offered to help with their English learning each week. Miho also teaches them a bit of Japanese. If you would like to volunteer an hour a week teaching English, just let me know and we will make a rotating schedule.

Bang and one of the future students!

A fund raiser has been started to build a small, simple enclosed building that will house a library for the children (They have no books). Books in English and Thai may be donated, along with notebooks, calculators and pencils. We are also seeking cash donations to build the library. For those in Thailand, donations may be made to us at school, or by other means, such as bank fund transfer. If from North America or other regions, you may send donations to me. If you would like to donate funds, contact me at drjrstiles@yahoo.com or by Facebook message and I will send you the address.

Flooded Community

2011-11-10T21:23:00.000-08:00

Another walk brought friends and me to the other side of our development, to a klong-side community that has existed for over a century. As we walked, people smiled and waved, stopping to chat, and inviting us to see their flood defenses (Some worked, some did not). It was quite a dichotomy; leaving the dry middle class mooban and stepping literally only a few meters away through a door in the wall that divides it from a poor mooban in which everyone was dealing with the flood. It was sobering to think of how "we" (the "haves") have been anxiously wondering whether or not we will get any flood waters, and our neighbors (the "have nots") have been in it for at least two weeks, and expect it to get deeper. Our neighbors along the klong seem to be handling it better than any of us would, or will.

Working when you can, with what you can, on whatever you can build above the water.

Wooden planks across piled sand bags form a temporary walkway from homes to the main

elevated concrete walkway along the klong.

Potting plants will have to wait for a while!

Normally a quiet place to sit and chat with neighbors, it is now a place which offers

visitors a subject for photos.

The only place that remains dry is the community mosque

(I have always wondered where the calls to prayer were coming from).

These men greeted us and asked us--the two of us who are male of course--to have tea.

It's a guy thing.

Vacationing in the 'Hood

2011-11-10T02:09:00.000-08:00

When consulting a calendar as a holiday approaches, many expats cast a wide net, traveling to exotic destinations that cost a fraction of what they would if commencing from one's home country. We are no exception: we have had the good fortune of experiencing various cultures and geographic locales of Southeast Asia, booking flights to rather short hops that take us to interesting places. Lately, as the slow flood waters approach and surround Bangkok, we have remained in our home, and as default, have struck out on very different kinds of trips, all within walking distance from our house. What we have discovered is that we have unique and exotic places right in our own neighborhood. Let me take you on a walking tour of communities that are within a few minutes of our house, but which we had not discovered until recently. I have compiled a visual tour of two ramblings near Sammakorn Village. We did not know how little we knew about our own neighborhood.

Cats and "aungs," rain water containers for the dry season,

two mainstays of any Thai country village. Country life can be found tucked away

in one of the world's great bustling cities.

We walked into this extended family's world quite by accident and were invited to celebrate Eid al Adha with them. What a delightful morning we had! This young woman is studying to be a teacher. We had much to talk about.

These teens so wanted to have their photo taken, but were too shy to ask.

So I asked them! Their faces tell you their reply.

There are many instances where time seems to stand still.

This was one of those moments.

This man was very proud of his fighting rooster, which he was bathing.

Young children who we thought came to see the visitors,

but in reality wanted the candy we brought!

These cattle were not for milking. Little did we--or they--know that two of

them would be sacrificed at the mosque as part of the Eid celebration.

The meat was distributed to families in the community.

Few people are as popular as the snow cone man!

Only a few hundred yards away from one of Bangkok's busiest thoroughfares

are peaceful country scenes.

The Waiting Game

2011-11-07T06:59:00.000-08:00

A contributor to an online discussion thread about the Thailand flood situation said that it is “like watching a train wreck in slow motion.” For two months, an immense volume of water—estimated as equivalent to the amount of water in Lake Ontario—has been slowly, agonizingly, creeping toward the Gulf of Thailand. Standing in its way, and slowing its advance, is the city of Bangkok, capital of Thailand, and home to more than 8 million people. Despite the best, and some would argue, incompetent efforts of the government, sections of the city are systematically falling prey to the advancing wall of water. Its slow speed is due to the flatness of the terrain, which has a slope well less than one degree.

After three weeks of conflicting reports, we now realize that flooding in our area of the city is inevitable. Roadway ditches are filling, klongs, or canals that criss-cross the city are overflowing, and drainage pipes are backing up. Today we saw the first street in our village accept water from the swollen klong nearby, and observed numerous side streets flooded as we traveled to school on an errand. We are now at the southern border of the advancing flood waters.

An odd atmosphere prevails. Five hundred have died of flood related accidents including drowning and electrocution, thousands have been displaced, vast untold agricultural areas have been submerged, industries paralyzed. Visions of people wading waist deep through the flooded streets dominate television screens everywhere, and yet in this small island of central Bangkok, life goes on as usual in a surreal alternate world. Patrons sit in Starbucks with laptops open, restaurants run normally, residents of this well-known mooban for which taxi drivers need only its name to drive you there, go about their business: children play badminton in the street, cars are washed, dogs walked, joggers circle the several lakes as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening just a few miles away. And yet there is an air of anxiety and tension that is woven into the shopping trips and foot massages. The phrase naam tuam is on everyone’s lips. “Flood” (literally, “water rising”). It is the topic of conversation at each encounter.

Everyone now knows it is coming, and yet we seem to be frozen with indecision and uncertainty. Maybe tomorrow we will hear more. Maybe we will escape with only a little water. But that hope dwindles by the day as more people erect sandbag barriers around their houses, roadside vendors appear selling rubber boots and plastic boats, and large trucks park along the major road, Ramkhamhaeng (“The King’s Road”) loaded with hundreds of sand bags selling for 30 baht (one dollar) each. I walk to the trucks and purchase enough to cover the downstairs drains and plug the toilets, just in case, and load them into the trunk of a taxi. The driver laughs and says “Naam ja tuam:” Flood is coming. It is an enduring Thai trademark that no matter how serious things get, no matter how inconvenienced they become, Thai people are able to keep a positive outlook. I don’t know how they do it, but I’m glad they do. It helps the rest of us cope.

Adding to the otherworld feel is our school administrators’ decision to reopen the school this week. The timing could hardly be worse, or the decision more puzzling. After three weeks of canceled classes as the flood approaches, they now announce—as the streets around the school begin to fill—that we will resume classes on Thursday. Students and faculty who have decided to move to safer ground are now told that they are to return. As if to underscore their “flood denial,” ground crews put final touches on the new artificial turf soccer field, paint the parking lots and plant new flowers on the lawns. Perhaps by not believing the potential of the gigantic body of water surrounding them, it can be somehow persuaded to move around the school, much as Moses parted the Red Sea. I don’t know; it strains the boundaries of reason.

Meanwhile, the small communities along the klongs see their homes inundated as the water moves over the banks in its relentless march to the sea. Our little island is next in its path. We make contingency plans, contacting kennels outside of the city to keep our pets safe should we have to evacuate. Will the flood be as bad here as it has been to the north, or will the dikes, canal dredging and directed flow spare us? We should know in a couple of days. We sit and wait, and prepare for school.

Morning sounds

2011-11-02T18:07:00.000-07:00

Each morning just before dawn, sounds of our neighborhood stirring to greet the morning begin to seep into my subconsciousness, gradually lifting me out of slumber: The opening of metal gates, dogs barking, doves cooing, muffled voices from neighboring houses, and then it comes, even in the dark. Swish, swish, swish, the rhythmic broom on pavement begins. Thai brooms are not made with straw bristles. They are thin, straight twigs bound around a bamboo stick, much as they always have been. The quiet atmosphere of our moobaan would be incomplete without the lulling cadence of the brooms. At this writing, I can hear two brooms at work, slightly different in their speed and even in the sound made by the varying size of the brooms' twigs.

25 baht (75 cents) each at the local hardware store.

Two types of people sweep their driveways and street beyond: Maids take on the chore during the day, but in early morning it is the retired Thai men who generally do the sweeping. I'm not sure why they find it necessary to sweep every morning; maybe it is just habit. Even if I was retired, which won't be far away now, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't join the broom parade. I don't even know what it is they're finding necessary to sweep up. A few leaves flutter to the ground every day, but hardly enough to warrant a thorough cleanup on a daily basis.

Retired neighbor making his daily sweep.

I am reminded of the fall ritual as autumn leaves pile up in the lawns all over the northern U.S. and rakes are brought out from the garages and put to use. Of course, much of that tradition has changed as the annoying leaf blowers have become part of the average family's arsenal of gas-powered lawn maintenance, and the zen-like rhythm of rakes gives way to ear shattering machinery. Fortunately, leaf blowers have not yet broken the calm of Thai neighborhoods.

Thai Klong Housing

2011-10-27T08:15:00.000-07:00

For a great many residents of Bangkok, housing developments consist of clusters of subsistence housing, often lining one of the numerous klongs, or canals, that criss-cross the city. Home construction varies, from solid concrete and wood two story, to those made of any available material, and kept up through the years by repairing with such items as discarded political posters, corrugated tin sheets, odd planks, and baling wire. The structures are simple, usually one room with mats on the floor for sleeping, cook stoves next to the house, and rainwater conserved in large clay urns for showering during the dry season. Scavenged wood planks allow access to doorways across mud or water.

One of the best ways to see the "other" Thailand, always just within reach of any tourist destination, is to walk along a klong settlement and talk to the folks who live there. That is the subject of this photo essay.

Klong settlement, Ramkhamhaeng Road, Minburi

These gentlemen insisted that I have two shots of whiskey and a soda chaser...at 9 AM. I obliged, of course.

Many times one sees groups of men sitting in the shade, chatting, smoking, playing cards, drinking, just about anything other than working. Some are retired, some unemployed, others piece together jobs when they can. Nearly always they are congenial and happy to shoot the breeze with a farang (foreigner). It goes particularly well if one can speak at least a bit of Thai. It shows respect for their country, culture, and language.

Where do these little kids learn about "the pose?" Delightful youngsters.

It doesn't seem to matter where I am, kids materialize out of the nowhere, either to stare at the farang who they rarely see in their neighborhood, or to pose for photos. In this case, it was both!

This was as far as I got on one side of the klong. Notice the planks leading over the water to the back door.

This particular klong was at capacity, unlike most others in our area, and spilled a bit over its banks and across the walkways into an adjacent rice paddy. The residents are undeterred, simply walking or biking across.

Raising roosters for cock fighting. The adult fighting males are kept sequestered in one of the baskets.

Chickens roam freely in most Thai neighborhoods, and this one is no exception. Once the roosters reach maturity however, they are trained to fight, and spend the rest of their lives (the losers usually end up as dinner) alone in a split bamboo cage.

Time for hair brushing.

Some scenes are simply variations on universal domestic themes: watching TV, preparing food, washing clothes, bathing, sipping tea and chatting with friends, helping the kids get dressed in the morning.

The simple life and smiles seem to go together in Thailand.

Each home allows a peek into the private lives of the people who live on the klong. Wide open doorways and windows provide access that at first seems impolite, too intimate, to a westerner. I had to take many trips into such neighborhoods until I learned that if I was to be welcome--and to feel comfortable--I had to smile, show respect and greet each person I came across, and really mean it. More often than not, people are happy to chat, as in most parts of the world, about the weather (in this case, impending floods), their children, the beautiful spirit house that they lovingly attend. I find that it is a two-way street: they also want to know about me, and especially what I think of Thailand and khon Thai (Thai people).

These ladies were not too concerned about the coming flood. "We're safe up here." It was less than a meter above klong level.

Aungs, ceramic water urns full of monsoon rain water for use during the upcoming dry season.

This was my first, but not last, visit to this neighborhood. I look forward to returning and getting to know the gracious folks who allowed me to experience a tiny slice of their klong life.

Bangkok Flood Preparation

2011-10-25T19:53:00.000-07:00

As the massive flood waters rise to the tops of levees around Bangkok, residents prepare in various ways. Some have taken belongings upstairs, some have left for locales away from the city, schools have canceled for 10 days. Here in our moobaan neighbors have made preparations all along the continuum. Here are a few photos that illustrate:

Some erect strong barricades. Nothing goes in or out!

Some do nothing, not believing the reports.

Others go to extremes, like a boat complete with outboard motor.

Our street guards will deploy a metal boat if necessary!

We've decided to take no chances! Prioritize!

Bangkok Flood Photos

2011-10-23T18:21:00.000-07:00

For the best photos of the current Bangkok flood, visit this website: Beautiful shots of how people, their livelihoods, and personal lives are affected, taken by my friend Jeff Harper.

http://drjeffbangkok.squarespace.com/journal/2011/10/22/the-bangkok-flood-of-2011.html

Don't mess with Mama

2011-10-20T07:41:00.000-07:00

Bangkok is abuzz about the flood "of the Century" (an already worn-out phrase used across the globe to describe recent natural disasters--We're only 11 years into this century and already we somehow know that this one will be worse than any in the next 89 years). Anyone with a scientific understanding of heat and water can tell you that there will be many to come that will be far worse. But that is irrelevant at the moment.

Almost anything that could have been done to prevent this devastation was not done, beginning with the filling in of Bangkok's drainage canals (klongs) a century ago to make room for pavement that would cater to the automobile. The resulting gridlock and pollution do not seem to deter the typical Bangkokian: more autos add to the traffic headaches daily. The swift elevated skytrain and subway systems help, but are too little too late; they cannot offset the new vehicles being sold.

The Thai army and engineers are feverishly working to build dikes and dredge the klongs in an effort to divert billions of cubic meters of flood waters around the city center to preserve the financial district (and of course the important embassies and homes of the wealthy). This could have been done years ago, but of course, human behavior dictates only reacting to effects, not prevention. Finger pointing is the choice of communication. As of this writing, the main body of the flood waters are just reaching the city. There is little to do but get possessions to the second floor, buy canned food and bottled water, and wait.

An obvious lack of understanding was indicated earlier this month, even as flood waters began their slow march to the gulf: Thai and Cambodian officials celebrated an agreement to jointly drill for more oil offshore. But it doesn't really matter if people believe the overwhelming scientific evidence regarding global warming and climate change: Physics will dictate more powerful storms, continued bleaching of coral reefs (a friend told me a few days ago that the beautiful coral he saw three years ago off Koh Tao in the gulf is completely gone), heavier rains and resulting floods. Nature pays no attention to surveys.

Every once in a while, to quote my wife Kat, "nature shows us just how unimportant the physical things are that we place arbitrary value on, and forces us to deal with it."

Weekend Images

2011-09-13T09:16:00.000-07:00

I never tire of the changing scenes in the street life of Bangkok. Each day I always see something that I've never witnessed before. One of the pleasures of living abroad is the opportunity to add to one's knowledge of diverse cultures. Thailand is one of the growing Asian countries, its culture influenced by its past and traditions, as well as subtly accommodating perspectives from other regions each with a unique cultural footprint. The result is a country with strong cultural beliefs and practices, overlaid by a blend of people and traditions from around the world. Following are a few photos of a typical Saturday as we run errands.

Shoppers at Victory Point night market

Fortune teller at Chinese Temple, Minburi

Street sweeping crew, Sammakorn Village

Fish monger, Chatuchak 2 market, Minburi

A Day in the Life

2011-09-09T09:39:00.000-07:00

Every so often, I realize just how unusual my life must seem to others. I have become so conditioned to living in Thailand that it just glides by me each moment of every day, and I don't stop to think about how unconventional it is. Surreal, really.

So, I decided, in a cloud of Thai beer buzz, to chronicle one day. Here goes...

The alarm wakes me at 4:50 AM, and I stumble downstairs to prepare breakfast--first for the rather insistent Maine-born cat, Guido, and the rescued Thai street dog Baba Ganoush as Kat takes Baba on her ritual morning walk. Next comes the chilled fruit and "Healthy Breakfast" shake procured the night before at the shop two streets away. We dress in our "workout clothes" and wait for mr. Chanachai to pick us up as usual. He is prompt, pulling up to the
gate at 5:45. Traffic is light at this time of day and we speed down Ramkhamhaeng Road and onto the 3 km (2 mile) speed bump laden "Soi" 184 that takes us to school where we enjoy a quiet half hour of exercise in the weight room or pool before moving on to our classrooms.

I feed the various animals in my Biology room and await the Friday "Assembly bell" at 7:10. We laugh at a primary school skit and listen to the rarely seen director and stand at attention as the national anthem is played.

The day is standard global school, except that I am interacting with primarily Asian students who need occasional admonishment to speak English. I say hello to former students who have returned from university to visit; one brings me oyster shells from the Gulf of Thailand to add to my specimen collection. I join Kat at the French restaurant on campus then complete my day with clueless IB students, who if tradition holds, will step up and record the highest Biology averages in Thailand as seniors. It is an amazing transformation.

Once outside the school environs, the surreal begins. I share a taxi with an American and two British colleagues, then head to my weekly three hour Thai and oil massage just a minute from the house. Kat is off to her favorite spa in another part of town. As I rise groggily from the massage table, I become aware that the daily rain deluge is in full throttle. Sipping ginger tea, I plan my escape, but in reality, I just have to pedal away through the downpour. The masseuses laugh as I take my. sandals from a shoe tree inside: they will be soaked in a minute.

Pedaling axle deep through the flooded streets, I decide to stop at a local Thai "saloon" for dinner (and to escape the deluge). As I down a fish burger and potato wedges, chased by two large Leo beers, I strike up a conversation with a young Thai man (Yod) who informs me that his father also likes classic rock that is pounding from the speakers. I notice that inside, the large screen TV is showing, of all things, a Thai "western" that appears to be taking place in Arizona, but with a completely Thai cast. CCR, Harry Chapin, Fleetwood Mac and Aretha blast out into the flooded streets, interrupted briefly by a commercial for Lowe's. The program is, of course, being streamed from somewhere in the States.

The rain subsides as it tends to do a couple of hours after beginning, so I pay my bill and pedal off in the flood, splashed by occasional passing cars. I pass the "banana man," who despite the hour and meteorological conditions, continues to sell his fruit at 9 PM. After all, it is Friday, and people come home late.

Lights from various shops and restaurants illuminate my way home. I make it just before the next drops of rain begin to fall, and park my bicycle under the roof overhang. Toads and frogs send out a deafening chorus and guard dogs remind me not to venture too close to our neighbor's castle.

It is time for bed, the fan swinging lazily in a cooling arc. Tomorrow we head to the weekend market after an American breakfast at our favorite Thai-run cafe.

They're Baaaack!

2011-08-18T05:38:00.000-07:00

It's time to engage the annual invaders. After mysteriously disappearing last spring, the ants are back. They always take me by surprise, appearing suddenly to swarm over one small kibble that has escaped the pet food bowl or struggling to take a crumb of bread up the wall and into some dark inaccessible recess of the roof where they no doubt confer with the squirrels who disrupt our sleep, joyously romping across the bedroom ceiling in the wee hours of the night. Once the ants gain access to a space that holds even the slightest possibility of scoring a hit on people or domestic animal food, they send back ever more scouts until they find a morsel that obsessive cleaning nonetheless has missed.

Experience and education has taught me that a chemical defense is unwise. Not only do the toxins stay on the surfaces awaiting absorption by a mere touch of our skin, but drift easily on the heavy tropical air until being pulled into our lungs. Even a heavy dousing of the house interior only delays their return: following their own chemical trail, the thousands that escape the human made sprays simply sacrifice a few hundred scouts until a new reconnaissance path around the insecticide can be blazed and the hordes return. Those that survive a brush with the aerosol bombs send on their genetic resistance to the next generation anyway. It is well documented that we are growing super pests and simply making the chemical companies rich in the bargain.

So, faced with an 11,000 species adversary who has had about a 100 million year evolutionary head start on us cocky Homo sapiens, I use the only weapon I have left: the power of thought processes that leads to complex problem-solving. Surely, I reason, my superior brain can come up with a solution and defeat the automatons marching through my kitchen. I use all sorts of techniques such as soapy water or citrus rinds to disrupt their trails, hoping it is enough to discourage them. I especially enjoy watching them suddenly break ranks and scramble around aimlessly when the pheromone trail is washed away (I know that it is only a temporary victory, but it's entertaining and interesting, at least from a Biology teacher point of view).

The pet dishes now sit in water-filled trays to stop their advance, and it works until the dog, in her voracious energy, pushes the bowl to the side of the tray, kindly offering easy access to the persistent arthropods; setting the kitchen table legs in coffee-filled margarine tubs also halts their advance (OK, so it won't be in a Martha Stewart spread--the containers don't even match). Despite all my tricks, however, nothing can stop them from running across the shower stall to the sink and back into a hole in the wall. Even sticking cloves into their holes only diverts them to another opening. I eventually concede, and let them have limited access to our space. They don't bite, they eat very little, and if I happen to put a small bit of cat food out of sight, they are content to bite off microscopic bits for 24 hours, so I can at least declare a temporary victory. It would work fabulously if only I'd remember to replace the nugget with another, but of course I never do, and exactly 24 hours and twenty minutes later, about six hundred finely honed ant scouts descend on the kitchen and fan out in all directions. Their greatest victory, I grudgingly admit I admire, is the penetration of the tightly capped honey jar that sat in a bowl surrounded by a moat of seemingly impassable water: scores of them gave their lives to build a bridge to the jar for others to eventually drown, blissfully I imagine, in the sweet nectar. By mistake, I had constructed a rather effective ant trap.

For the next few months we will battle it out, and they will let me think that I am winning once in a while. At some point, they will simply leave and stay away for months, just long enough for me to let my guard down. Wait till next year! I think. Yeah, right.

Charming English Street Names

2011-08-11T06:09:00.000-07:00

One of the charms of England is its adherence to tradition, particularly in place names. One has to search hard to find a street name there that is a number. Come to think of it, I don't remember any. Here are just a few that by their very names tell you that you are not in Kansas anymore. Honestly, one might expect Pooh, Tigger, Eeyore and Christopher Robin to come skipping by at any moment. Photos taken in Strood and Rochester, Kent.

A "close" is an area, e.g. a field, enclosed by a hedge.

I vote for the former name.

Unfortunately, I didn't see the object that inspired the name.

A "row" is a narrow street, lined with identical houses. In the U.S. the only one I know is "Skid" Row. That American term originated in the Northwest lumber towns when skids, or logs were used to move or slide ("skid") the large timbers down the street. Later, of course, it meant any area where those who were down on their luck lived.

By the way, a "mews" is a 19th century term that describes a cobbled street with rows of stables and carriage houses facing one another. Alas, such is no longer the case on these streets.

Night Market

2011-08-06T22:10:00.000-07:00

Every now and then I get together with my good friend Jeff Harper (former colleague at the American School in London, now, happily, in Bangkok [counselor at ISB, and photographer extraordinaire]) for a walkabout in a Thai market, followed by a most satisfying session of the best live blues in Asia in an adjoining night club, Saxophone. This time we were accompanied by friends, one of whom was visiting from New York City, and one of the best photographers I know, Ed Haynsworth. To view exceptional photos by both of these fine photographers, go to the following links:

http://www.edhaynsworth.com/

http://drjeffbangkok.squarespace.com

Following are some of the scenes I happened across. The ever-changing market bubbles with energy and activity, giving a glimpse into Thai life. As we shared our photos, we quickly realized that none of us had taken the same shots as the others, despite criss-crossing the buzzing marketplace numerous times.


I think I found half of the remaining pay phones in Thailand.

Ahhhhhmsterdam

2011-08-03T06:53:00.000-07:00

There simply is no other city like it in the world. Amsterdam, where one can sit for hours alongside a canal, sipping some of the best beer on the planet and watch the Dutch life glide across your field of view. The Netherlands shows what "laid back" means. For a change of pace, get up and walk around the city, alternating between pubs, coffee shops (they like it strong and often--I'm talking coffee AND beer!), and pot cafes (be warned: you can't buy alcohol there, just marijuana and soft drinks). Bicycles, "pommes frites," storefront prostitutes, bicycles, window boxes, cheese and pastry shops, sex shops, more bicycles, houseboats, and did I mention bicycles? Following are some of the sights that are unique to Amsterdam, one of my all-time favorite cities, the first place outside the U.S. I ever visited when I was 16. It draws me back again and again.

How in the world do folks find their bikes? Notice the bike parking ramp in distance. Outside Centraal Station.

A quintessential Amsterdam scene.

The city has preserved a great many of its beautiful 17th century houses.

Some of the newest cars are so small that they park in spaces traditionally reserved for bicycles.

John's version of "Where's Waldo?" Find the photographer in this Amsterdam pub.

This scene could be nowhere else.

If you want it, Amsterdam has it.

Express Education

2011-08-01T05:59:00.000-07:00

During a recent visit to England, I was educated about the lack of education that special needs kids receive in many parts of Britain. The teacher I talked to has an autistic child who attends a public primary school. One would think that in a 21st century western school setting, with the great mounds of research done regarding essential services for those with special needs, a rich country would readily provide everything necessary to assist those recognized with learning difficulties. Let me describe the school setting and you tell me if you think there is anything amiss.

The school sits in a pleasant neighborhood, and is accessed by a stroll down a lovely shaded path. In the morning uniformed children run and play on the grounds with friends while parents gather to chat on the basketball courts. At the appointed time, each teacher gathers her charges and troops them off to the classroom. Imagine if you were the parent of a young boy or girl who is very bright, but has trouble interacting with others without pacing about the room. Imagine also that your child is but one of THIRTY. Then imagine that the school will provide no special services for your child, not even a teacher aide in the room. Finally, imagine what will happen when the child reaches the ripe age of 11, and must sit (in some--not all--areas of Britain), a four-part test that will determine the quality of grammar school the child will attend. If your child is highly verbal with a high IQ and adult vocabulary, but cannot concentrate to write well for any length of time, you know s/he will not likely pass, as writing and math are weighed double that of verbal reasoning.

It must be frustrating for parents with a talented child who nonetheless needs special accommodations but does not receive them, and agonizing to wait as the exams get closer. According to the child's mother, she and her husband are resigned to receiving the news that their child will not be admitted to grammar school, which is basically the college-track route. This 9 year old child has enough science knowledge to easily pass my grade 10 biology course now, as long as the exam is not written! It is a sad situation when a school has such a high stakes exam for such young children. Shameful, really.

Legal Piracy

2011-07-11T20:59:00.000-07:00

Banks continue to take advantage of customers. At least mine (The bank will remain anonymous...I'll call it "Stagecoach Bank") does. Apparently, the recent financial blowout of the country's economic stability has taught large banks nothing about customer care. Or, come to think of it, maybe it taught them quite a lot about what they do not have to do for customers.

Earlier this year, I called Stagecoach Bank because they had not sent me a statement of my interest earnings for 2010. When I finally was able to talk to an online "banker," I was shocked to learn why:

Me: "I didn't receive a form that tells me my interest earnings."
Bank voice (after looking up the account): "I'm sorry sir, we don't send tax statements out if it is under a certain amount."
Me: "Well, can you tell me how much it was?"
Bank voice: "It was 52 cents."
Me: (Initial response deleted). "Are you serious?"
Bank voice: "Yes, sir. Fifty-two cents."

After composing myself, I asked the voice, "Well, how much interest do you charge customers you loan my money to?"
Bank voice: "I'm sorry sir, we can't give out that information over the phone."
Me: "Let me guess, then: It's a bit more than you pay me for using my money, is that correct?"
Bank voice: "It depends on the use, sir." (I was getting annoyed by being called "Sir.")
Me: "How much do you charge me each month to keep my savings account open?"
Bank voice: "We charge five dollars a month service fee."
Me: "Does it seem fair to you that I pay YOU $60 a year for you to use my money, and you give me back fifty-two cents?"
Bank voice: "I understand what you mean, sir."

I closed my account and transferred my savings to my checking account. In the big banking world scheme of things, it was a tiny amount, but I'm all about principles. I felt a lot better.

Last month, I opened a savings account in another bank, a small local institution, and called Stagecoach to transfer funds to the other bank. All went swimmingly until I checked online and found that Stagecoach Bank had debited my account (read "taken my money"), but it had not shown up in the other bank. It was time for another call.

Me: "I see you have taken money from my acount, but it has not been sent to my other bank."
Bank voice: "It takes 3-5 days to transfer, sir." (There they go with "sir" again)
Me: "Why is that? Isn't it an electronic transfer?"
Bank voice: "Yes it is."
Me: "Then shouldn't the time scale be in milliseconds rather than days?"
Bank voice: "That is the policy, sir."
Me: "Well, if it is not in either bank, where is it?"
Bank voice: "It has gone to a holding account, sir."
Me: "Why is it being held?"
Bank voice: "It takes--"
Me: "Yeah, 3-5 business days. Look, I could withdraw the funds from a branch in Iowa and drive the money to Maine and deposit it in less time. What are you doing with the money?"
Bank voice (After a pause): "I...really don't know what is being done with it."
Me: "Think: Since it takes only 24 hours to transfer the funds WITHIN the Wells Fargo system, why do you think it has to take up to five days to go to another bank?"
Bank voice: "I'm not sure."
Me: "Well, if you had some money and knew you had five days before you had to send it, what would you do if you were a good investment banker?"
Bank voice: "I see what you're getting at, sir."
Me: "Look, I know they don't tell you these kinds of things, and I'm not blaming you. But I do want you to tell your supervisor that I'm not happy about this."

To underscore my pointing out of this legal piracy, here's what happens when I have money deposited into my savings account in THAILAND and have it wired to my Stagecoach account: The deposit into my foreign bank AND the wire transfer AND the funds appearing in my U.S. Stagecoach account took less than 24 hours. In fact, it all happened the same business day.

We could use a real-life "It's a Wonderful Life." We need a lot of George Baileys more than ever before. One thing is certain: George doesn't work for Stagecoach Bank.

Physics lesson

2011-06-11T04:41:00.000-07:00

It seems that whenever I visit my good friend and colleague Pete in upstate New York, we run into some situation that involves a lesson in physics. A few years ago, it was "How do we get an 8 ton dump truck out of the hole it created when it fell through the barn floor loaded with four tons of wood?" Not wanting to spend the $1200 to hire a crane to haul it out in 20 minutes, we decided to use our knowledge of physics to get it out ourselves. It took more than 12 hours, but eventually we accomplished it through a series of built ramps and strategically placed floor jacks. And it only cost one case of beer. The spectacle also drew a small crowd of curious onlookers and many helpful friends, who added their suggestions. It was not only a great feeling of accomplishment when it was pulled from its abyss, but a lot more fun--and surely more stupid--than simply paying someone else to do it.

This time, the lesson involved us again as unsuspecting participants of a dilemma. The "contributor" to the real-life physics problem was a 15 year old Amish boy who worked at his parents' saw mill. As one familiar with the very conservative Amish in eastern Iowa, I was surprised to find a family who did not shun gasoline-powered machinery. The boys, dressed in the traditional straw hats and suspendered long pants, were busy sawing trees into planks with a power buzz saw, while the girls--dressed in bonnets and long dresses--cut the lawn with a large mower.

Pete picked out a hefty bundle of wood trimmings, and the helpful boy picked it up with a front loader and drove it to the waiting trailer. Pete commented, "That front loader looks a little small to be handling this." As the machine slowly approached the trailer, Pete's words proved to be prophetic: As the load was lifted and extended, and the loader started toward the trailer, we realized that we needed to get clear of the area, and quickly backed away. The load came crashing down onto the trailer, sped up by the loader's momentum and shifted center of gravity, smashing one trailer fender and pinning the front loader in a precarious position.

Now what?

Fortunately, no one was hurt (the young man was wearing a seat belt). So began or problem-solving: we needed to get the front loader out and onto four wheels without damaging it or endangering anyone. It took a few minutes of pondering with the entire family who had of course come over to analyze the situation, and then with the assistance of a younger brother and another piece of equipment, the front loader was safely lowered and the fork released from under the ton of wood. I suspect that the young man learned some important physics principles, and did it without memorizing any formulas. Not a practical way to learn physics in a school setting, though.

It's Fundamental

2011-06-06T07:02:00.000-07:00

The more I think about going back to America, the more I dread the in-your-face religious fundamentalists that ambush the unwary at every turn. It is what I like least about my native land, and one of the reasons I so enjoy living in a country where they are rare. The most offensive in the U.S. are the politicians who feel it is their duty to legislate religious values, in effect ignoring the Constitution. I'm not sure why they insist on peppering me with unsolicited metaphysical lessons, but it reminds me very much of living--as I did for two years--in a Middle Eastern country. There is not a lot of difference: fundamentalism is fundamentalism, only the symbols one displays differ. At least the U.S. does not have a state religion. Not yet anyway.

I have never met or seen a Buddhist fanatic. Devout, yes, but never preachy or with an air of superiority fundamentalists wear when believing they have somehow been chosen by a supreme being over others by virtue of their spouting scripture to the unsuspecting and keeping track of Sunday church attendance. The irony of the gentle nature of Buddhists, who have no weekly holy day (one visits the temple on auspicious Buddhist anniversaries, otherwise they make visits when they feel like it), is that there is no belief in a supreme being. I guess more correctly, Buddhists choose whatever god or gods or spirits they wish to add to their practice, such as Hindu deities or the spirits manifested in luck or fate. Many non-Buddhists assume that Buddha is a god, but as I pointed out to a fundamentalist friend who refused to take a photo of a Buddha statue ("a false god" he called it), Buddha was a teacher, and reminded followers of that. He insisted that they question his words, and to not worship him. Admittedly, many have not taken that teaching to heart. Yet, the result is a very non-judgmental religious practice. Not once in my six years here have I ever been preached to by a Buddhist. Freely given history and explanations, yes, but only if asked.

I do not begrudge anyone their beliefs, but I am offended by what I know is the coming rudeness of the American fundamentalist interruption of my life. I can smile and nod, which seem to pacify them, as they assume I agree with their memorized rhetoric. However, I can't ignore a challenge, and if pressed, will engage them in debate. If it is one thing that fundamentalists can't stand it is the combination of reason and science, neither of which is familiar to them.

End of School Year

2011-05-25T11:57:00.000-07:00

I've read 15 chapters of a novel during the past week. Why is this significant? For starters, I have several other books lying around the house with bookmarks protruding at various places, none of them completed. It is rare for me to finish any book other than a science resource journal or text during the academic year. I have a tendency to begin reading interesting tomes in good faith, but then weeks go by in which school work spills over from school and dogs me at home all week and on weekends. I simply put my leisure reading on hold until term breaks are on the calendar.

Now, however, the second semester is winding down. The IB exams are finished, and students no longer attend classes while exam week is in progress. Of course, there are exams and projects to evaluate, posters to take down, and piles of papers to file, but now that I have time to work on them at school, I find that there are actually free hours at home for such things as reading or watching sitcoms that I have delayed viewing. It is a luxury that signals the imminent summer break during which many educators continue their personal professional development, teach summer sessions or work at some other endeavor. For me, it means that in a matter of days I'll be heading to the States via London, ready to enjoy doing anything I want for a few weeks. I'll have my book with me.

India

2011-04-25T15:38:00.000-07:00

I had not been back to India for more than 20 years. Then, I had vowed to return and learn more about this intriguing country, and now I was eager to explore more of the Himalaya region, this time in Uttarakhand, a newly formed state that borders Tibet and Nepal. While there, we learned that the first photos ever taken of the elusive and beautiful snow leopard had been taken in Uttarakhand, unfortunately not by me.

Upon learning that we were taking a trip to India, many people were skeptical. Why? they would ask, or Aren’t you afraid of the filth and constant beggars? Most had never been to India. On my previous trip I had learned that India is a fascinating country of great diversity in its cultures and geography, and full of delightfully gentle and friendly people. Of course, as one of the most populated countries, it has more than its share of poverty and pollution. This we knew. But we were not headed to Mumbai or Kolkata.

DELHI

Our first stop is Delhi, where we are forced to overnight due to flight schedules that didn’t quite mesh. What a lucky break! Our first surprise is the spacious New Delhi airport. So large, that people have massive amounts of room to wander its huge areas.

Indira Ghandi International Airport, New Delhi

New Delhi and Delhi could hardly show more opposite atmospheres. While New Delhi, laid out by the British colonials, is spacious and green, with housing estates and embassies, Old Delhi is chaotic, historic and cramped. Despite the frenzy, it is nonetheless a worthwhile stop, at least for the mildly adventurous. The Lal Qila, (aka Red Fort) commands a mighty view of the old city, and offers a glimpse into the Moghul life from the 17^th century.

Lal Qila arches.

Red Fort scene

Lots of visitors: It was a national holiday.

From there, we walk along the jumble of shops along the famous Chandni Chowk, Delhi’s main market street. Taxis and cars, their horns blaring (We came to realize that honking horns are a way of life everywhere in India: Upon our return, Bangkok is by comparison blissfully quiet), compete with masses of people, pedicabs, and handcarts. Sidewalk vendors shout to prospective customers, and little boys ask for money. Hot, tired and stunned by the noise, we duck into—of all places—Macdonald’s, which offers air conditioned comfort and of course, this being India, veggie burgers. From there we watch the ever changing and interesting sidewalk show.

Along Chandni Chowk, Old Delhi

Man making chaat, a popular snack prepared on and licked from leaves. Old Delhi

Hand washing station outside of Macdonald's, Chandni Chowk, Old Delhi. Photo by Kat Hudson

Streetside ear cleaning service. No, I didn't.

We also end our journey in Delhi for the same scheduling reason and this time go in search of art, crafts and fabrics, laid out in a seemingly endless chain of shops on the Janpath Road. If you go, make it the last thing you do in India, as you are sure to spend every rupee you have left.

Shopping on Janpath Road, Connaught Place, New Delhi

Washing hands in rose water at restaurant, New Delhi

Three wheeler ("auto rickshaw"), New Delhi. Photo by Kat Hudson

DEHRADUN TO UTTARKASHI

Jostled and bounced in a hire car, we spend six hours careening around continuous curves and switchbacks along beautiful mountain valleys on the road to Uttarkashi, our actual destination. Dehradun is a 40 minute flight from Delhi; the alternative drive was not even considered. We climb from the plain at Rishikesh, passing through small villages, horn sounding at every turn or approaching pedestrians or livestock (often both). Children run dangerously close to oncoming traffic, oblivious to its potential for harm.

The highway is cut into steep mountainsides and hugs the edges of precipitous valleys, each slope covered with an amazing system of terraces where wheat, rice and family gardens grow. Often we stop to carefully negotiate the small cleared lanes through the rubble of recent rock slides. Every large truck and bus exhibits the words “Blow Horn” on rear panels, and everyone obliges. Barbers shave customers at roadside, women stop to rest and chat, laughing at some secret we can only guess as we pass by, horn blaring.

Valley terraces

An amazing abundance of produce everywhere we went.

School uniforms

Waiting for lunch to be prepared at a roadside restaurant

More people walk than travel by any other means.

Tight squeeze caused by rock slide on National Highway 108

There are always people waiting...for something.

Even in the remote villages, the message is spread. Photo by Kat Hudson

OK, then...where?

UTTARKASHI

The sun peeks over the foothills of the Himalayas, bathing our hotel balcony with warmth. The welcome chill of the mountain night begins to dissipate, and our clothing layers are shed one by one. Before us is the Ganges River, known here close to its source as the Bhagirathi. A small tumbling stream rushing southward, its rapids lulled us to sleep last night; we had opened the windows to enjoy the sound and to snuggle under fluffy blankets against the cold. The valley’s steep slopes are marked with scores of terraces that march halfway up before giving way to pine forest. In the distance, drums beat and bells clang, musty charcoal smoke floats across the river. I am struck by the similarities to Bhutan. A man urges his small herd of pack mules along, their hooves clacking on the river rocks; children laugh on their way home through the wheat fields, swallows swoop low, their bellies flashing brilliant yellow. We eat a breakfast of spicy potato stew, chapatis and a delicious chai tea, and then apply sunscreen for our excursion into the town.

A chilly morning on the hotel balcony overlooking the Ganges (known locally as the Bhagirathi).

The Ganges here is shallow, clear, rapid and icy cold!

On the main road to Uttarkashi center from the hotel

Rain clouds descend on our hotel

A walk through Uttarkashi, an important stop for Hindu pilgrims, and a center for meditation, is like walking through a kaleidoscope. Where to begin describing the sights, sounds and smells of the narrow, twisting back streets? It is lively, it is colorful, it is crowded and dirty, it is totally exotic. Women in a dazzling array of colorful saris, wearing clanking silver ankle bracelets and gold nose rings, stroll by or chat in small groups. Wide-eyed children watch us as we walk slowly among the jumble of shops, dodging speeding motorcycles and ambling cows.

A typical street in Uttarkashi

A marvelous collection of spices and grains

A proud restaurant owner and his son

A smithy making machetes

Is there a better word to describe her than "cute?"

A vendor in the central market

Religious processions wind through the narrow streets, gold ribbon and silk-laden palanquins carried on the shoulders of celebrants, drummers leading the way to the temple, Inside, holy water is sprinkled by priests, paint is dabbed onto our foreheads as blessings are given. Bedraggled, thin men with dark skin and long beards wave us over and ask where we are from, others want to be in a photo with us. A man in a wheelchair follows us, mumbling, spittle in the corners of his mouth as he raises his fingertips to his lips. I give him 100 rupees ($2) and he touches the note to my forehead in thanks.

A wedding party comes to the temple for a blessing. Is it just me, or does the groom not look all that happy?

Women collecting holy water for washing. Photo by Kat Hudson

A sadhu or traveling holy man who is committed to living an austere life. Photo by Kat Hudson

Colorful paste ('kumkum") applied to the forehead as a blessing marks the "inner eye" of wisdom

Despite the many delicious teas, juices, and always available bottled water, we nonetheless feel a thirst for the amber brew, but to our surprise, find that there is no alcohol available at any restaurant in Uttarkashi. A restaurant owner directs us down a tiny street to the only outlet where liquor is sold. Imagining a 7-11 type convenience store (silly me, I hadn’t been paying close attention to Uttarkashi), we instead happen upon a small black walled shop with no sign, easy to miss had it not been for the tight knot of pushing men shoving rupees through a wire mesh and shouting out their liquid desires. I take a breath and wade into the small crowd, and pass 200 rupees through the wire before being pushed aside by more scrambling patrons. Fortunately taller than the others, I reach over their heads and grab two bottles of 8% Kingfisher beer that are thrust through the grate and retreat into the street.

"Wine Shop" Photo by Kat Hudson

In the center of town where buses board for outlying areas, several streets intersect at the local market. The result is a cacophony of horns, shouts, bells, and revving diesel engines. Overlooking the scene is a popular juice café where we order two pomegranate drinks. They are so delicious that we order two of pineapple. The son of the owners, 29 year old Sonu, sits to talk with us and we end up lingering, delighted to talk with this personable young man. In excellent English (self-taught: “I didn’t do well in school.”), eventually we hire him to take us to Gangotri Temple the next day. Little do we know what an excellent guide he will turn out to be.

On our way to the hotel, we pass more market stalls, cows lying in the street nearby. Further on, we are hailed by a man sitting at a table outside a small restaurant. He asks us to share tea with him. A jovial man, his deeply tanned face is framed by long flowing snow white hair and beard, a large circle of white paint, a “kumkum,” symbolizing his Hindu faith. The paste is generally put on at a temple, always just above the nose where the “third eye” for inner wisdom is located. Guru Rashmikhant is a teacher (Yogi) from Gujarat, a western state. As with every Indian encountered, he is pleasant, polite, personable, and wise. I offer to pay for the tea and he says, “Oh, you Americans always want to pay. But it was I who invited you.” Of course, I say, and thank him.

Having tea with Guru Rashmikhant

GANGOTRI

Our final destination is at the end of National Highway 108, in Gangotri, a Hindu holy site near the Tibet border. We are picked up by Sonu at the hotel, and spend the day leisurely driving through the magnificent Himalayas, stopping often to have tea or wander through small villages. As we move deeper into the Himalayas, stunning snow-capped peaks appear all around us. Deep valleys, lined with terraces and mustard fields enchant us. We are slowed by two types of monkeys, the ubiquitous Asian macaques, and the large handsome black-faced langurs that lope across our path. At other times, flocks of sheep and goats, or herds of slow moving cattle bring us to a standstill, Sonu blowing the car horn to no avail. We must wait until a passageway appears at the discretion of the livestock.

Our guide, Sonu, and Kat enjoying breakfast on the way to Gangotri

One of several "road conditions" that slow traffic on the Gangotri Highway

Mustard fields in the Ganges River valley

We meet many people, thanks to the social nature of Sonu. Everyone seems to know him, from drivers of army trucks to hotel proprietors. We briefly stop to soak in a hot spring, soothing our travel-jarred bodies. Men in one bath, ladies in another.

Hot springs bath. Photo by Sonu Bhole

Pilgrims on their way to Gangotri

We finally reach Gangotri. Admittedly, my first impression is one of disappointment. What I expected to find is an isolated, iconic white temple nestled into the magnificence of the Himalayas. The reality however, is a small time-worn temple surrounded by shuttered shop fronts and run down guest houses, none yet open after the long harsh winter. Workers paint the temple walls and sweep the debris from the street leading to the holy place. Piles of human feces clog the public toilets. Despite this scene that would surely send most tourists scurrying in retreat, we analyze the situation seeking the hidden gem or lesson that must be lurking nearby.

Gangotri Temple

Bells above doorway to bathing platform on the river

We notice a path leading into the wooded valley toward distant snowy peaks and decide to follow what turns out to be a well maintained and marked trail to the glacier from which the Ganges originates. We do not have time to travel the 17 km (10 miles) to the source, but go far enough to finally burst onto a sight of breath taking beauty: snow-clad mountains of 22,000 feet (6700 meters). We simply stop in our tracks and stare, unable to find words to appropriately express the emotions brought about by the scene before us.

Noting the late hour, we grudgingly returning to find Sonu, but do not, so I walk to a café where a dark-skinned, smiling man invites me to have tea with him and his companion, who smiles continuously but never speaks. I gladly accept, and spend yet another short, but delightful few minutes chatting with an interesting person. In perfect English he introduces himself and the other pilgrim as gurus. I learn that not too surprisingly, he spends half of each year meditating in a nearby cave. The rest of the year he spends in Uttarkashi. Of course he knows Sonu’s juice shop. I marvel at how this small town Iowa raised boy now finds himself sitting in the Himalayas with men who, if nothing else, are icons of stories, legends, and even New Yorker cartoons of legendary solitary sages who give wise advice, or in this case, have a friendly conversation over tea. It was a very good day. It was a very good trip.

“To my mind, the greatest reward and luxury of travel is to be able to experience everyday things as if for the first time, to be in a position in which almost nothing is so familiar it is taken for granted.” – Bill Bryson

Streets of Jakarta

2011-04-21T03:00:00.000-07:00

Wherever I travel, I find that the best stories are told in the lives of the people who live there. Although cultures and customs may differ, there is a common thread of quiet dignity in all people, particularly those who may at first seem to be "less privileged" than the "haves." But as I walk through the back streets of cities around the world, the common folk bear witness to such a misconception. Remarkably, even the homeless laugh and enjoy what little they have. As a friend in India recently said, "I think that those who have the least are often the happiest." Earlier this month, I spent a few days at a student-led conference in Jakarta, Indonesia's capital city; 500 high school students from around Asia converged on Jakarta International School for the annual Global Issues Network Conference, started by two former colleagues: Clayton Lewis (former principal at the American School in London), now head of school at the Washington, D.C. International School, and Linda Sills (former teaching colleague at the International School Bangkok), now a consultant in San Francisco.
Here is a glimpse of the lives of the people in Jakarta's less traveled neighborhoods. Next: Northern India.

Repairs in a fishing village near the Jakarta port.

Many years of hard work in the face of this boatyard worker.

Rickshaw driver taking a break.

Homeless under the freeway.

Proud shopkeeper.

Tattoo contest: I lost big time!

A quiet scene in Jakarta's back streets.

Light moment, waiting for alterations. Note the sewing machine mounted on a bicycle!

Colorful canisters with rice cake snacks

Jakarta kids.

Boat repairs, using sawdust jammed between the planks!

Preschoolers in their bus.

Of Mangoes and Zucchini

2011-03-17T04:04:00.000-07:00

A friend once told me while standing in a parking lot in Down East Maine, "Mainers never lock their cars." Never? I asked. "Well, except for August." Why August? "If you don't," he said grinning, "Someone will fill it with zucchini." Most Americans can relate to that. Here in Thailand, it isn't August, but early summer, in March. And it isn't the green squash, but mangoes.

Our tree is heavy with the popular fruit. Since February it has become a hazard walking from the door to the gate, as mangoes drop regularly when they ripen, or often as the squirrels yank them off the branch and snack on them. We salvage what we can, and when feeling industrious, raise a picking basket ten to fifteen feet (3-5 meters), fastened to a bamboo branch, fixed to it by a bungee cord. I'm pretty proud of the contraption I pieced together. Two years ago we watched helplessly as the fruit splattered on the driveway all throughout February and March. If eaten green, the mango has the sourness of lemon, but if wrapped in newspapers until yellow, the pulp is soft and sweet.

Mangoes are the zucchini of Thailand. This time of year they are sold everywhere, from the tiny mobile street carts to grocery stores. One large mall has row upon row of mango merchants vying with each other to sell the tropical fruit of the season. Riding recently with colleagues, I listened to them explaining the various ways to eat mangoes: Mango pie, mango chutney, mango jelly, and a favorite of Indians, mango "lasseh," blended with yogurt and ice, and just a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg. We have a constant supply of mangoes in our refrigerator, peeled and sliced for breakfast. I never thought I would tire of eating it, but in truth, I am. A little. And with a bit of guilt, for it is a luxury when we are back in the northern tier of U.S. states. One saving grace: we have no car here, so we needn't worry about the free bags of mango that might show up in the back seat in early summer.

Paradise Lost

2011-03-06T00:34:00.000-08:00

Thailand welcomes over 43,000 tourists each day (compared with the environmentally conscious Bhutanese who allow only 21,000 per year into the Himalayan kingdom paradise). Such numbers bring massive amounts of money, but of course the consequences on the environment are painful. Coral reefs have been declared off limits to visitors and beach cleanup crews simply bury the mounds of trash under the glistening sands (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I6G_AFVZsEw). The tourist-related damage to the ecology is as great as the Thai authority's ability to ignore it.

Recently, I returned to Samet Island (Koh Samed) for the first time in over 20 years. I would not have gone had it not been the site of a friend's wedding. Although officially a "national park," the island now looks no different than Phuket's clogged beaches. Payment of 200 baht (US$6) collected by "park rangers" is the only indication of Thai park interest.

Garbage dumps line the road, and bars, spas, shops and massage parlors jam the sidewalks, all vying for the tourist dollar. Resorts (what's in a name?) are a jumble of bungalows between the speakers blaring rock music. Indeed, I did could not locate a restaurant that did not consider that the sounds of rolling surf might be a soothing alternative. Loud tourists, mostly European, bared nearly all of their ample lipid-enhanced bodies; a painful sight to this wanderer's eyes.

Along the main road to the beach

As usual, a temple and its grounds offered solace as I sought respite from the ATVs, loud music and parade of cars along the main rutted dirt road (it has not been paved in the time since I was last there). I wandered among the greenery and sat for a few moments to let the peacefulness soothe me. It lasted nearly ten minutes before the amplified sound of the annual music festival invaded the atmosphere. I gave up and returned to the crowded beach. I realize that I am but one more contributor to the despoiling of what was once a beautiful hideaway. But no more. That was my last visit to Koh Samet.

Finding Home

2011-02-28T03:43:00.000-08:00

When one lives in a country other than his or her birth, there is sometimes a curious struggle involved in answering the question "Where are you from?" It may seem like a simple question, but often is not. The correct answer may well be "It depends."

It depends on what one considers to be the definition of "home." For me the answer is easy if I am asked by a Thai. I always answer "Saha raat" (United States). Thais are not interested in where you may consider home, even if you have lived in Thailand most of your life. If your official nationality is not Thai, you are from somewhere else, no matter what. Come to think of it, that's the attitude in Maine: if you are not at least a third generation Mainer, you are from "away."

So back to the question: Where is my home? As one who has moved around quite a bit, that's a difficult question to answer. Is it where I grew up and graduated from high school, even though I rarely visit the town? Is it the town where my siblings spent their high school years, and parents lived there far longer than where I grew up? Is it San Francisco or Iowa City where I spent the most time in my adult years? What about the place where we now have our property and will spend much of our retirement years? I guess it is a bit more complex than if I had simply stayed put. If someone in the States asks where I am "from" I have a ready three part answer which I always trot out: I grew up in the Midwest, am now in New England, and work in Thailand. It takes a few moments for it to register, but usually makes for interesting conversation.

But an interesting thing has happened in the past year. Now in my sixth year in Thailand (although not all in one continuous time span), I realize that I feel the most comfortable in Bangkok. This is a weird realization, that for all practical and psychological purposes, Thailand is my home. I know the rhythms, both of the day to day ways of life and the seasonal weather swings; I wave to the banana man and security guards; I know the masseuses at the corner spa; the grocery checkout scanners know that I bring my own bags; my neighbors chat with me; and I don't have to tell the local taxi drivers where I'm going. Most importantly, I feel "at home" here, as one does when the comfort level is so high as to make coming home something to look forward to. The other day, we just looked at each other and said, "This feels right." It's the same no matter where you are: if you feel comfortable, you are "home."

In a way, I like the thought that I can move comfortably between such diverse places as Maine and Thailand, and call both places "home." It is difficult to explain to someone who has not had that experience. Simply put, I like having more than one home.

Lost in Translation

2011-01-02T03:36:00.001-08:00

When one lives in another country, one of the greatest challenges is communication. Americans (and visitors from other English-speaking countries) often make a somewhat arrogant assumption that host nationals "should" be able to speak English, rather than the American visitor honoring the culture and people by attempting to learn a few phrases of the land that is being visited. I've seen this phenomenon far too many times to count, and it can be an embarrassment, although granted, the lingua franca in today's global community is English by default, and it is very helpful to have a native speak your language.

Because so many services and products are now targeting multiple languages, one often sees English (as well as German, Russian, Swedish, Spanish, Chinese and Japanese) on labels to assist consumers in the purchase and use of various goods, and on signs to better help tourists.

Very often, the translation is downright puzzling. Menus in Asia are notorious for fractured English translations, and often the result is humorous. Take for example the following brewing instructions on a package of Cambodian coffee, which we brought back with us because we were struck by its flavor and aroma. I'm still stymied by Step 3.

Visit to a Cambodian Mountain Village

2010-12-11T22:29:00.000-08:00

"For a long time, living in Cambodia was like being a frog in a well," my Cambodian friend told me. "When I was young, and the Khmer Rouge controlled everything, I was like the frog. All I knew were the walls around me, and the small circle of sky above. I knew nothing about the rest of the world." He paused, thoughtful. "But then the Blue Caps came, and everything changed." Blue Caps? "The U.N. peace forces," he explained.

We were riding to a mountain temple, a two hour trip from Siem Riap. When I was first in Thailand in 1988, I could not go to Cambodia. In 1993, however, Cambodia gained its freedom from the cruel grip of the Khmer Rouge and its genocidal killing fields (see the "Killing Fields Museum," http://www.killingfieldsmuseum.com/). This time around, I have been fortunate to visit Cambodia twice. The first visit was to fulfill a long-time dream to see Angkor Wat, the spectacular 12th century temple, one of the 7 wonders of the ancient world. My second trip recently was to explore a little visited temple ruin far from Angkor, and also to see a massive reclining Buddha carved into a mountaintop. What I did not expect was to find a secluded Khmer village accessible off the main road only by foot.

Typical village house

"These people," my friend explained, "are still in the well, but they may climb out. It depends on the government." He went on to explain that many villagers still do not have the basic necessities of modern life, such as running water and electricity. Indeed, the village we wandered into had neither.

Mother and child in front of house.

Along a dusty trail that meandered first through the forest, then into a clearing, the small village of ten simple houses materialized. Each was built off the ground and consisted of a one room platform with walls and roof made of thatch, either rice straw or remarkably, woven leaves that had been picked up from the ground and fixed into place using small pieces of wood. When I asked how long the walls and roof would last, they told me "We'll have to replace them in two years."

House and potato field (Photo by M. Sabb)

The huts were surrounded by small plots of crops that sustained the village: potatoes (different than those grown in the U.S.), rice, black beans (to mix with sticky rice), bananas, papaya, and tobacco. One pen of nine young pigs provided a meat source, which was supplemented by captured mice and squirrel.

There was no well, as it was mountainous; the water was carried in 6 liter plastic jugs strung on a pole, carried over the shoulder. I don't know how far they had to go to get it. Extra rice and bananas were sold at the roadside to supplement their basic lifestyle. Despite what a westerner would consider an unacceptably low standard of living, there did not seem to be a cloud of despair over this little village. Instead, the people seemed quite happy. Children ran shoeless, caked with dirt, but their laughter rang throughout the village as they played. Adults smiled and chatted, waving us to their houses for a look.

Black beans and tobacco drying in the sun as woman and daughter rest in shade

Tending the pigs

Roof detail showing small sticks used to secure leaves

Grilled mice for dinner (Photo by M. Sabb)

Squirrel tails to be made into key chains and sold (Photo by M. Sabb)

Woman in house window

Maybe, just maybe, the frog in the well can be as happy--or happier--than the one that has climbed out. And yet, one wonders what they would choose if given the opportunity to scale the walls and peek over the rim. Perhaps we will soon find out.

Impressions of Tokyo

2010-11-25T03:14:00.000-08:00

Traditional hand washing at Buddhist temple

Count me as a fan of Tokyo. If one were to combine five Manhattan islands, connect them with the eight most efficient rail lines known and convert most--but not all--residents to Zen Buddhism, you'd have Tokyo. It's Amsterdam with rules.

Gingko tree in autumn splendor near Imperial Palace

One cannot begin to describe Japan's capital city without mentioning its toilets. Anywhere else a humdrum topic, but honestly, nowhere else approaches the creature comforts one finds in the WC's of Tokyo. Start with heated toilet seats and a console that allows one to choose the type of warm water that gently bathes one's derriere and for how long, it is typical of Japanese efficiency and comfort. And, if ever deciding to lift off of said basin and opt for a shower, one would find, upon stepping from the steamy stall, that the mirror is foggy save for a rectangular section of clear glass right above the sink. Why this has not been adopted in western hotels is beyond me.

Toilet console in hotel room

Venturing into the streets, it is difficult to find a scrap of litter in this metropolis of 12 million, yet in a discrepant turn, it is equally difficult to find a trash bin. Where, one might reasonably ask, do the residents stow their waste paper? It remains a mystery to me. Despite the order and cleanliness of Japanese society, one unhealthy aspect has not yet been resolved: Smoking. Cigarette machines are found all over the city, and restaurants have not banned the addiction from their premises; it remains an illogical yet critical part of Japanese life.

The rail system in Tokyo reduces the traffic flow to such an extent, that the air is surprisingly clean, and I never once witnessed a backup of vehicles. Bicycles prevail, pedestrians move through the city by the thousands, and institutions find ways to use renewable forms of energy.

Solar panels and wind turbines on buildings of urban university

Japanese fashion remains an enigma. Combination of clothing that would seem outrageous or silly anywhere else seems to work in Tokyo. If I could have the rights to one economic sector it would not be Japanese cars or Apple computers, it would be ladies boots in Tokyo. It is difficult to find an adult female who does not sport one type of boot or another: knee-high leather boots and fur-trimmed calf length boots dominate ladies' footwear, even though they may be causing excruciating discomfort on the cobbles or steps of the subway.

Although a modern city, there remain pockets of tradition that balance life in Tokyo. Palaces and temples in spacious green parks dot the landscape, providing respite from the high energy of the city. Occasionally one finds a corner of old Europe among the skyscrapers where artists go to capture the serenity of an 18th century garden.

Tokyo Tower and Zojoji Temple

Artist in Marunouchi Brick Square

Names of donors at Zojoji Temple, Shiodome

It was a short first visit, but enough to lure me back. In this globetrotter's opinion, Tokyo is one of the world's great cities.

Prostitution in Thailand

2010-11-24T02:45:00.001-08:00

Many readers are well aware of Thailand's reputation for prostitution. Few are aware, however, of the complexities of the problem. I came across a very good commentary by a young American woman who now lives in Thailand, and who has made some astute observations. You can read her blog at the following address: http://ericainthailand.blogspot.com/. Those interested in all things Thai may find that following her blog will give insight into the experiences of a newly arrived "farang."

Relaxing with a little help from nature

2010-10-20T06:30:00.000-07:00

Do you sometimes take several days just to get to a point where you can truly relax? I do, and dislike the realization.

It is Day 4 on the island of Koh Chang ("Elephant Island") in the Gulf of Thailand near the Cambodian border, and it is the first day I have felt free of some unknown anxiety that has limited my relaxation time. I even felt hesitant to leave the house for the relatively short (4 hour) trip. I think it has something to do with my body and mind resisting the go-go-go routine of intense uninterrupted work even though by last Friday the students and teachers at the school showed obvious signs of fatigue after two straight months of non-stop interaction. I felt nervous and wound up, unsure of letting myself go. I realized then how differently I react to life now than when I was much younger. I miss the freedom I felt then. I asked myself, "Can I get more of that feeling back into my life?" I was hopeful but not sure.

Despite the isolation and beautiful scenery on this tropical isle, and the lulling effects of the slowed down way of life, it was only today that I was able to spend time without thinking about the time or checking for phone messages, and simply enjoy the peaceful surroundings. My muscles relaxed and my spirit soared as I wandered the beach doing nothing, read a chapter or two from a book, or floated on the gentle waves with no schedule in mind. I took the time to become more conscious of my surroundings and let go of the trappings that I allow into my busy work life, and which had accompanied me to the island.

Perhaps the signal that I had finally had escaped the grip of work was the sight of two beautiful butterflies flitting about the hedges, the female busily sipping nectar while the male hovered continuously over her, awaiting his chance to add his gametes to hers (There I go, back in science class mode). So involved were they that I was able to slip my hand under her and coax her to alight on my outstretched palm. Such a small event, yet one that more than anything illustrated how taking the time to watch and just be can enrich one's view of the world and slow the pace away from you, and shift it to nature's. I invite you to share in this wonderful moment by clicking on the play button below.

Hot dog!

2010-10-15T04:06:00.000-07:00

How does a fluffy canine cool off in the heat of the world's hottest city? Here's how one pooch did it. We found him fast asleep in the noon heat of the Sunday market, his breath forming puffs of fog as he slumbered on a pile of crushed ice, likely provided by a sympathetic vendor. Ahhhhhhhh!

Does Anyone Really Care?

2010-10-09T06:23:00.000-07:00

One of the top stories on Yahoo this week went something like this:
"Khloe and Kim Kardashian are spotted just days apart in the same form-fitting frock. Who wore it best?"

To quote the great rock group Chicago, "Does Anyone Really Care?" This is what concerns America? More than anything, I think this obsession with celebrity signifies the absolute meltdown of intellectual pursuit in the U.S.

Come, on, really, does ANYONE out there really care? And if you do, PLEASE explain why!

Keeping the Faith?

2010-10-02T00:36:00.000-07:00

Wandering the backstreets of Silom, one of Bangkok's busiest areas, I came across two cemeteries, one Christian, one Chinese, although the Christian burial ground was mainly of Chinese people. The neglect of the grave sites was not only a bit sad, but also somewhat disquieting. Photos of the deceased stared eerily at me as I walked by their overgrown resting places. These persons once laughed and cried, and were cared about long ago. Their bodies and ashes now give way to neglect and fading memories of descendants. It is appropriate, I thought, for nature to take back their remains and to slowly and imperceptibly take away their tombs grain by grain with each cycle of tropical storms.

The Christian cemetery

The roots of a sacred bodhi tree entwine a misplaced marker in the Chinese cemetery

Photographs on the tombs are personal links to those who have died

How many years ago was this incense last lit?

A faithful Chinese lion stands guard in perpetuity

A couple gaze from their resting place

Ashes no longer protected by the vault's seal.

The haunting glass eyes of a guardian lion keep watch through the encroaching vines

This Could Be Anywhere

2010-09-29T05:57:00.000-07:00

This charming scene of adolescent girls is reminiscent of young females around the world. Meeting in a public place, chatting about "girl issues," putting on make-up, hoping the boys will notice, in short, just hanging out together. Photo taken at Victory Monument in downtown Bangkok.

I Give Up!

2010-09-27T05:29:00.000-07:00

Although I consider myself open-minded regarding differences in cultural norms, and make an attempt to observe and respect the culture and history of any country I visit, I have been perplexed by one particular aspect of Thai people. There is an overriding urge by Thais to correct a person's behavior whether it is requested or not. I first encountered this when my decisions regarding the maintenance of our yard and the resident plantings therein was apparently considered sadly incompetent by our housekeeper. I had arrived home from school and upon entering the yard had the distinct feeling that something was amiss, although I could not quite determine what that was. As I slowly wandered around the yard, I suddenly stopped in my tracks and gazed in shock at what once was a 15 foot tall tree. In its place was a seven foot stump.

The next-door maid had come over during my investigation. I pointed at the chopped arbor and said to her in English, which she could not understand, something along the lines of "What in the hell happened to my tree?" Obviously understanding my rising stress level and assuming it had something to do with the severed trunk that I was indicating with ever increasing grand gestures, she said--and I'm paraphrasing here as I didn't understand most of what she was telling me--that our housekeeper, Pim, who had been on the job less than a month, had done it. With what? I wanted to know. We had no saw. Through pantomime, I thought she told me she had chopped it off with a kitchen knife, which must have taken hours. That was the end of our conversation until Kat got home, and then the holes in the conversation were filled.

"Why had Pim done it?"
"Because it was ugly."
"But she didn't ask us before doing it!"
"Don't worry, it will grow back and be much nicer looking."
"But she should have asked first."
"Really? Why?"
"Because it's our tree."
"Oh, you mean you are upset?"
"YES!"
"Okay, I will tell her."
"No, no, don't tell her we are upset, just ask her to talk to us first before doing it again."
"Okay, but it WAS ugly."

I later had to stop contracting two gardeners who would come every two weeks to cut the grass and trim various bushes and plots of greenery. I would always walk them around the yard each time they came and point out the plants that needed trimming. At first I figured that was all I needed to say. However, after the very first time they worked on the yard, I discovered to my surprise that not only did they trim what I had pointed out, they added just about every other plant in the yard to the list that in their minds needed cutting back. I explained to them that I only wanted those things trimmed that I had mentioned, and nothing else. Seems simple enough, right? After three failed tries, I finally figured out that the best thing to do was to tell them what I didn't want trimmed. That didn't work, either. I began to be known in the neighborhood as the funny farong who had a strange obsession with his plants.

At one point I had to have a large tree limb removed because it had grown into the lamp shade on the front gate and was threatening to break it. Afterward, I nurtured a tiny growth that had sprouted beneath the cut, hoping to coax it into a graceful arch over the gate to fill the space lost with the removal of one of the main branches. A month later, just as the new branch had grown to about a foot in length, it was casually removed by the rental agent who had stopped by to chat. I watched in shocked surprise as he slowly twisted the young limb until it broke off, then crumpled it into a ball and tossed it unceremoniously into the street. I was speechless.

The embattled limb

Twice more, although I remained ever vigilant, and reminded the visiting gardeners that whatever they did, they were not to cut off the next new sprout, it came off after I had gone inside the house. At one point I ran into the yard screaming "Stop! Mai daht! Don't cut the branch!" (They have not been asked back.) I finally hired a man whose sole job it was to cut the grass, nothing more. All was well until he brought an underling with him who promptly snipped off the beautiful arching branch.

So, I give up. I have no idea why Thais are compelled to trim someone else's greenery, but it is apparently deeply ingrained and beyond my control or reasoning power. Kat simply shrugs with a bemused look and says I shouldn't try to figure it out. I concede the battle of the branch.

Back Streets

2010-09-17T21:18:00.000-07:00

If one sticks to the main tourist streets in Bangkok, opportunities for richer cultural experiences are lost. Of course, one must be careful, and use discretion with personal safety in mind no matter which city is explored. In the heart of Bangkok's "old city" is the famous Banglumpoo district, and its main thoroughfare, Khaosan Road where masses of tourists and backpackers flock in the search for cheap accommodations, food, souvenirs, drinks, and other substances, although the atmosphere itself can be mind altering.

I don't often travel to Khaosan Road, as the tourist scene is usually too noisy and crowded, but once in a while--generally annually--I venture there to buy an item I know can be found at one of the stalls when I can't find it anywhere else, or if in search of souvenirs to take back as gifts and I don't want to face the crush of the huge weekend market at Jatujak. But, once there, I don't linger. I head to the side streets where the "Bohemian" Bangkok exists. Sitting at a sidewalk cafe, sipping a beer and watching people is an enjoyable way for me to pass the time before I must get back into a taxi and face the long ride home.

Wandering down the tiny connecting alleyways, one may find little "hole in the wall" bars and food stalls, dimly lit by bare overhanging bulbs. One such establishment is "Happy Bar" which lives up to its name. Nothing fancy, just friendly owners and patrons. Below are examples of the urban artwork seen on the walls outside the bar.

Thai Market

2010-09-11T09:36:00.000-07:00

This scene can be duplicated a thousand times across the country. This market is under the BTS ("Skytrain") station at Victory Monument in Bangkok. Scores of shops and small eateries vie for the visitors' money. In this photo are the bustling shops that draw customers every day near one of the city's most traveled spots. Enjoy the walk through the market!

You never have to worry about finding a place to eat!

Stop and have your fortune read!

The corn man

The sweet candied fruit stall

Scene as you descend from the skytrain at Victory Monument

Moose at the Beach?

2010-09-06T20:00:00.000-07:00

It isn't often that one sees a "Moose Crossing" sign anywhere outside of northern climes, but here's one found in the seaside resort city of Pattaya in Thailand. There are lots of Europeans and North Americans who have retired in Pattaya, and thousands more lured here mainly by the sex trade in this Thai "Sin City." The area where this sign is located has many Norwegian and Russian residents, with at least one who has a sense of humor. I wouldn't mind a bit of the northern autumn weather right now to go along with it!

English Chic

2010-08-22T00:46:00.000-07:00

I've noticed a curious thing about "fashion" and "entertainment" magazines in Thailand. Most of them retain the look of the U.S. or U.K. parent publication, right down to the English headings. But when you look more closely, the article of interest is written entirely in Thai. Why is it that American and European fashion is so chic in Asia that it is necessary to camouflage the content in large English titles? Have Asians (mostly women) joined the herd of worshiping consumers so blindly that they can be brainwashed into paying inflated prices for sleek commercial publications that simply mimic the look of western chic? If so, how terribly sad.

From Harper's Bazaar

Would someone please explain this to me?

Images of America #8: Maine

2010-07-30T00:38:00.000-07:00

If you ever get to the extreme northeast corner of America, you won't forget it. Interesting people, spectacular scenery, an easy-going lifestyle, and of course famous Maine "lobstah." Since we spent the most time in Maine this summer, this set of photos is larger than the others, but I hope you agree that it gives a sense of the place known as "The Way Life Should be."

Sunset in Washington County, the easternmost county in the U.S.

Front page news in the Ellsworth American

Dream-like Atlantic shore scene, McClelland Park south of Milbridge

Lobster traps being checked and baited, off Southwest Harbor, Mt. Desert Island

The proper Downeast method of eating lobster and clams: Just do it!

Quiet morning scene, Southwest Harbor pier

This lovely scene just off U.S. Rt 1 greets us every time we drive to town.

Boats in dry dock near Milbridge, Washington County

Canoes and kayaks on the shores of Alamoosook Lake near East Orland, Hancock County

Rt 1 east of Ellsworth

Typical summer takeout spot, Milbridge

Transition

2010-07-27T21:25:00.000-07:00

Living the life of an expatriate has its positive aspects as well as drawbacks. One of the most difficult challenges I face is the annual transition between two very different cultures: that of my temporary adopted home, and that of my native country. No matter which way I travel, whether from Thailand to America, or back, I find myself at an odd point for the first few days after making the trip. Regardless of how well I try to mentally adjust to the move, the change is so relatively abrupt that the 24 hours spent on the plane in transit is but a wink as if opening a door and stepping from one place to the other. And no matter how well I know each place, they both envelop me in an awkward embrace upon arrival, something like the eccentric relative you haven't seen for some time but feel obligated to attempt to hug: it just doesn't feel comfortable at that moment. But it may very well once you've spent some time together.

Part of the discomfort is, I think, the fact that there is always at least a twinge of regret I have in leaving one culture or the other. I love both places, so it isn't a matter of not being so excited about the trip that I can't wait to get there. It's more of a reluctance to let go of wherever I've been for a significant period of time even though I look forward to seeing the other.

So, here I am, Day 2 of my return to Thailand, gradually trying on the Thai culture, and hanging up America, not out of sight, as some of it will never come off, but rather laying it aside for a while. I don't hang it up completely of course; I wear much of it like a piece of jewelry. I can always be completely anonymous in America--it's possible to spend months at a time without an inkling of my other life showing--and equally impossible to do in Thailand: I could never hide my genetics here, even though I can hide my nationality fairly easily. Thais find it as difficult to tell the difference between me and other Euro-types as I do sorting Southeast Asians who live in the U.S. and speak English.

It takes me at least three or four days to take in the new surroundings, as familiar as they may be. I readjust to everything: Modes of transportation, the volume level of speech, currency value, culturally defined behaviors, interactions with others, which way to look first when crossing the street, even my humidity tolerance level is different depending on where I am. In America I sometimes feel as though I am eavesdropping when I suddenly realize that I understand what people around me are saying. In Thailand, it's easier to let conversations become part of the background noise, as my knowledge of Thai language is quite basic. It takes a few days to readjust to using Thai; I struggle to form even the simplest sentence that generally comes quite easily. It amazed me how long the pause was while I was giving directions to the taxi driver from the airport, struggling to determine the difference between the words for "left" and "right." I know it will come back, but not as readily as one might think.

As the days go by, I feel more and more "at home" regardless of which country it is, and I am able to--or perhaps unable to stop--letting go of where I've just been. Gradually I become more a part of the place where I have returned, and I push off from the "transition window" with increased confidence, the place where I've just left becoming a bit fuzzier, yet somewhere I will look forward to transitioning into again and again. That's the life one has when standing with one foot in each of two cultures.

Images of America #7: Upstate NY & Western Mass

2010-07-25T23:54:00.000-07:00

A leisurely drive through northern New York and Massachusetts turned up these scenes. The fourth one was a surprise and hopefully a once in a lifetime occurrence!

Classic movie theater in Brockport, NY.

Early cemetery, Clarendon, NY

Erie Canal bridges, Brockport NY

A surprise thrown our way from a not-so-well-covered trailer on I-90 at the NY-Mass state line at 65 mph!
I had to bury my underwear.

Amherst, Massachusetts Art Fair

Images of America #6: Western Iowa

2010-07-20T20:20:00.000-07:00

No photo essay of the American midlands would be complete without an outrageously iconic figure such as "Albert the Bull" in Audubon, Iowa. Twenty-five feet (8 m) in height, Albert has loomed over the western Iowa hills for more than four decades. Truly Americana!

Images of America #5: Nebraska

2010-07-17T20:24:00.000-07:00

Nebraska is often thought of as that long boring stretch between the Rockies and the verdant midwest. But despite its length and lack of imposing landscapes, if one leaves I-80, there are many interesting stops that are typical of the Great Plains, and undeniably American images. Traveling west to east, the landscape changes from vast sandy ranches to the lush flatland green of cornfields.

A typical scene in the dry western part of the Cornhusker state.

Along the Lincoln Highway; U.S. Route 30

National Cemetary

The rolling contours of the Sand Hills

Images of America #4: Utah

2010-07-10T19:41:00.000-07:00

Southern Utah hosts an amazing array of geological formations. One could spend weeks exploring their unique nature. Unfortunately, I could spend only half a day as I headed east on my trek to New England. I hadn't been back for 35 years. It is still a magical place.

Mexican Hat. I was hoping I would be the only witness when it finally fell. Not this time.

An odd bit of Americana: A 5,000 square ft. house IN the giant rock!

Arches National Park

Images of America #3: Northern Arizona

2010-07-03T21:58:00.001-07:00

Nowhere else on Earth can one view the spectacular results of geologic and atmospheric forces that eroded and shaped the ancient uplifted volcanoes and vast lakes that covered what is now northern Arizona and southern Utah. Besides the amazing Grand Canyon, there are incredible formations that dazzle the eye and touch the emotions like no other place. Here are a few examples. Next: Utah.

Sunrise near Kayenta

Dinosaur tracks in ancient lake bed near Tuba City; Navajo Nation

Rain storm at dawn in Monument Valley, Navajo Tribal Park

Lynx Lake, Yavapai National Forest near Prescott

Redundancy

Volcanic granite, Willow Lake north of Prescott

Anasazi ruin, Wupatki National Monument near Flagstaff ca. 1200 AD.
No one knows why these ancient people disappeared.

Images of America #2: Iowa

2010-06-23T20:04:00.000-07:00

Continuing my travels, I captured these shots of the quintessential midwest farm state. For other images, scroll down to St. Louis photos. Up next, the American Southwest.

Summer storm, Webster County

Main Street, Jewell

Shakespeare Street, Stratford

Store front, Fort Dodge

The omnipresent grain storage elevator

The official Iowa summer past time

Wind farm, Hamilton County

Cottage and oaks, Fort Dodge

Casualty of the 1980s farm recession and corporate farming

Images of America: St. Louis

2010-06-14T14:42:00.000-07:00

As I travel across America during my annual summer visit, I will share snapshots of various cities or states, taken from a more intimate perspective than those one might see on a postcard. First up: St. Louis, Missouri.

Perhaps Monet was inspired by looking through a rainy window.

Laclede's Landing near the Mississippi River

The massive Gateway Arch (a small portion)

The Broadway Oyster Bar.

A typical midwest downpour under the metro rail near Busch Stadium

A classic drive-in

A humorous juxtaposition in this multi-cultural city

Sign of the Times

2010-06-10T06:31:00.000-07:00

In most government buildings one finds only, well, government offices. But Thailand is not like anywhere else. While waiting for my visa to be updated at Immigration in the sleek new glass and steel Government Complex, I wandered into the vast central hall which was filled with stall after stall of food, clothing, leather goods and jewelry. Although patterned after the bustling outdoor markets, this Singaporean-style indoor air conditioned market was sparkling clean, surreally subdued and caught in the echoes bouncing off interior walls. Vendors were similarly subdued, lacking the energy and smiles found at all outdoor markets. If this is the future of Thai markets, it is a sad foreshadowing. It's much too sterile to be authentic; Much too American "mall-ish."
Photo courtesy of Carlos Anendegui.

Chaos, Confusion & Cacophony

2010-06-08T22:07:00.000-07:00

The prize for world's worst shopping mall designs must go to Thailand hands down. Malls in this kingdom for some reason draw hordes of Thais; more people jam into the shopping high-rises than in any other place I've seen, and certainly far more than in the U.S. In the capital, Bangkok, there are hundreds of them to cater to the city's ten million residents. One would think that with so many potential customers, mall architects would carefully lay out a plan to fully and easily direct the teeming throngs, but no.

Imagine if you will a six story shopping plaza, complete with the requisite multi-cinema complex and amusement park on the top floor. Now imagine walking into the huge structure, which has several wings off a central foyer with shops ringing each floor. If one wanted to find one's way to the cinema, it would be a daunting task for three reasons: 1. There are no signs directing one to the actual cinema; 2. There is no floor plan anywhere in the complex; and 3. Asking for directions is fruitless, as no one seems to know exactly where it is, or if they do, how exactly to get there. After trying hopelessly to find the sixth floor (the escalators stop at the fourth floor), a shop owner graciously led us through the maze of hallways and shops to another set of escalators on the other side of the mall that led to the cinema.

As an experiment, I asked for a shop that I knew was not in the complex, and four people directed me in different directions and to different levels in search of the non-existent store.

If trying to find a particular shop isn't frustrating enough, adding to the claustrophobic experience is a curious personality trait of the collective Thai culture: A mall must not be tranquil: the more noise that can be generated, the better. Throughout the complex, what can only be described as "midway fair barkers" send amplified messages into the chaos, often competing next to one another.

If you visit Thailand and wish to experience the indoor multi-level version of the massive Bangkok weekend market, go to "The Mall." An iPod with earbuds is highly suggested if you dare enter the "malls from hell." Oh, yes, and it is best if you do not have a specific store in mind to locate.

The Banana Man

2010-06-04T23:14:00.000-07:00

Every day the banana man's smile greets us as we pass by. All day he sits by his stand, listening to the radio and greeting customers with a wave. Once a week we stop to buy a bunch for 20 baht (60 cents). Saphan Sung, Bangkok.

Saying Goodbye

2010-06-02T05:42:00.000-07:00

This is the time of the school year I dread. As the last week winds down, the rooms are cleaned, piles of papers accumulated over the last ten months find their way into files or recycling bins, and people become restless as they prepare to fly to various places on the globe. For the past three days, we have had several parties with good food and drink, all to celebrate another year's success. In reality, they are to say goodbye to colleagues who have decided to move on. I dislike these social events but attend just the same.

Bidding farewell to colleagues is not unique to this school, but international schools are different than others. Teachers and administrators come and go everywhere, but in an international school, one knows that there is a good chance that it is the last time these friends will share a good story or beer with you. They don't just move to the next town, or even the next state. They head to all corners of the globe. Once in a while we get lucky, and our meandering path brings us back in touch with a former colleague, whether years down the road at another international school, or by chance we discover to our amazement that our summers will find us within mere miles of one another. The worst feeling is hearing "Come visit us" when we know it will never happen, as distance and circumstances will conspire to prevent it.

Colleagues I have come to call friends are leaving for such places as Canada, Wales, Hong Kong, New Zealand, Singapore, China, Vietnam, Japan, Nepal and various U.S. states. Although my heart is heavy as I say goodbye, I realize how fortunate I am to have known them, even if for a short while. Such is the nature of teaching internationally. Amazing people with remarkable talents assemble in a spot somewhere in the world, work together educating children and learning about each other's cultures, a process that gradually creates global citizens. Despite the regret at seeing friends come and go, I will be ready to do it all again in two months, greeting new colleagues, preparing for a new page in our overseas adventure and finding ways--at least for a while--to stay connected with friends who have left.

If You're Going to Order Coffee...

2010-05-30T23:43:00.000-07:00

...you might as well be entertained while it is being made! Weekend market, Saphan Sung, Summakorn Village, Bangkok.

Laundry day

2010-05-26T23:34:00.000-07:00

A fence is a handy drying rack for tablecloths. Luang Prabang, Lao PRC.

Top Ten Reasons to Live in Thailand

2010-05-24T06:09:00.000-07:00

Here are my top ten. What would YOU add?

10. Animism, Hinduism and Buddhism interweave into a culture that is gentle, accepting and friendly.
9. You never have to check the weather: T-shirt, shorts, flip flops all year round.
8. Taxi drivers are happy with a 60 cent tip.
7. You can never NOT be near a Thai restaurant.
6. Grocery store clerks "wai" you (Pay respect with palms pressed together) for buying a carton of milk.
5. Noodle carts are considered part of the traffic flow.
4. Beaches!
3. "Traffic" can be used as an excuse for anything.
2. You draw more attention than an elephant.
1. You never have to pay for a steam bath!

Add your own!

Attitude Street

2010-05-22T22:38:00.000-07:00

An informational sign in Hong Kong that really tells you where to go!

Ancient Serenity

2010-05-19T22:30:00.000-07:00

A peaceful scene in the ancient capital in Thonburi, on the grounds of Wat Arun (Temple of Dawn) near Bangkok.

Bangkok Burning

2010-05-19T07:24:00.000-07:00

There is a feeling of helplessness and despair in Bangkok. A pall of smoke from buildings torched by retreating "red shirts" blankets this usually happy, bustling metropolis as the Thai army today invaded their stronghold in the downtown financial center. Friends use the word "sad" to describe their feelings about what has happened to this tourist mecca known as "The Land of Smiles," and Thais are uncharacteristically grim. It's a word that once was rarely uttered about this beautiful country, but now seems fitting.

For more than three years there has not been a stable government, and the polarization resulting from political infighting has rocked this country where saving face is normally deeply woven into its cultural fabric. What has happened? I'm only a visitor, but from what I've seen in my five years as a resident, it seems to stem a great deal from two things: far too many people in Thailand are much poorer than need be in this relatively rich developing country. Add to that a greater awareness of this discrepancy by the poor enhanced by media reports and cell phone communication, and the country was ripe for such a series of devastating events.

When the generally well educated elite realized that former prime minister Thaksin was corrupt and immoral, they organized demonstrations to remove him and put pressure on the government to outlaw his political party. Successfully taking over the international airport and closing it for a week was enough to effect change. Is it any surprise, then, that the opposition party, composed largely of rural poor and urban blue collar workers who supported Thaksin did the same to downtown Bangkok? No doubt they were certain of success as well, as the government seemed powerless to stop them. Bankrolled by Thaksin and other wealthy Thais, the red shirts grew more confident by the day, as the government seemed unsure of what to do. But when tourism dollars began to shrink, and wealthy business owners saw their shopping malls and banks shut down, it was obvious that the government had to do something to shore up its image.

With neither side willing to compromise, the stage was set for disaster, and when the tanks rolled in today, the nightmare got worse. The army got what it wanted: the shopping district is now under army control, but at a huge expense. The second largest shopping mall in Asia is burning, as are TV stations and shops. People have died, and the red shirts have dispersed, presumably to all parts of the country. Despite his central role in this terrible two months, Thaksin may be right when he said, "A military crackdown can spread resentment and these resentful people will become guerrillas." A desperate prime minister used the only tool he thought left to him, that of military violence against his own people. And I fear that the resulting resentment will linger for quite some time as it has in so many other countries where police or military use force against a stubborn group of angry citizens. This resentment could spawn far worse events than what has happened lately, and for a long time.

At the moment, I feel very different about the country that I have come to love and consider my second home, in many ways similar to the disappointment I feel about my home country where people have fallen prey to fear mongering and xenophobia, resulting in near hysteria concerning various issues. Perhaps there is a connection in all of this, a strand running through many countries of the world. It's a strand of distrust, and most of it is not a product of reason, but rather unchecked emotion, whose flames are fanned by those who care little about the people they use for the fuel.

Bangkok Red Shirt Standoff Continues

2010-05-18T01:47:00.000-07:00

Today by order of the Thai Ministry of Education, all schools within Bangkok must close for the rest of the week. For me, it means that our instructional days at the high school are finished; for the middle and elementary schools, they will continue next week as usual. Our high school exams will begin Monday, rather than this Friday. Online lessons and reviews have been posted by high school teachers, and the International Baccalaureate seniors are still required to come take their exams. It puts such an awkward spin on the end of year routine: Graduation has had to change its venue, and the last week of instruction or reviews are left hanging with final exams upcoming. Our faculty is required to be at school to work on report comments and, if not giving a final exam, to post final grades. For me it means I might actually finish marking all of my lab reports. Kat's school, however, is not within Bangkok, so does not have to abide by the mandate.

An ultimatum deadline by the government for the demonstrators to evacuate their last stronghold came and went yesterday. Apparently, behind the scenes negotiations have been ongoing, and now both parties have agreed to talk in hopes of ending the violence. A neutral senator has agreed to mediate. It remains to be seen whether it actually happens. People are weary of the demonstrations that have turned Bangkok into the opposite of its natural atmosphere of positive, smiling interactions, and tourism has decreased by a third. Some colleagues who live downtown have not been able to go home for several days now. The red shirts are overwhelmingly seen in a negative light, and they are increasingly desperate and unorganized. In the land of "saving face," the best solution will be, if possible, one that is win-win, and one that takes no more lives.

Bangkok Unrest

2010-05-16T01:50:00.000-07:00

Lately, we have been getting messages from friends stateside about the media reports that use words like "War zone," "anarchy," and "civil war" to describe the crack down on protesters in Bangkok. One relative suggested that we "grab the nearest weapon and get to the airport!" Kat, in an aside to me dryly noted that the only knife she needed was one to butter her croissant. While I certainly do not wish to downplay the seriousness of the situation a la Marie Antoinette, we are fine. It is a strange phenomenon: Citizens are concerned, of course, but despite what one might think, that everyone is locking themselves indoors or huddling around TV sets, that simply isn't the case. One would not have a clue that anything out of the ordinary was happening by the looks of things where we live: everyone is just carrying on normal routines. I went to a party last night downtown (No, not in or even near the "fire zone"), Kat is at a beach resort with girlfriends, and the weekend market was bustling as usual. But, there isn't much else anyone can do anyway.

While the violence is confined to a small area of Bangkok (about 1 sq. mile--Bangkok is about 620 square miles in size), and about 20 miles from where we live, we know that it can spread, so we stay tuned into news reports on the computer, the US Embassy reports to our email addresses and of course by our friend cell phone network.

The prime minister has ordered that all schools in Bangkok close tomorrow, and while no one is sure if that applies to non-Thai schools, my school, as well as many other international schools will not be open, just in case. This of course is for the safety of students and faculty who live or travel downtown to get to school. We may not have school for a longer period, but that won't be known until tomorrow at the earliest. That gives me more time to grade lab reports. Kat's school is not in Bangkok, so it will stay open. As a colleague at another school that is staying open noted wryly, "If any kids are shot on their way to school, at least it will be for a good cause!"

This is a problem for us, as seniors are taking their final exams, and the rest of the students begin theirs on Friday. The seniors are expected to take theirs, as most are externally graded internationally. I assume all schools with students in the International Baccalaureate or AP programs will still give their exams. Who knows? Maybe we will get an early summer break. At least the airport is open. Last time it was the other political party ("yellow shirts") that closed it down. The red shirts instead want to disrupt the elite hotels and business district with all the big malls. And they have, big time.

It's anyone's guess how this will all end. It has no precedent here in terms of the strategies used by the protesters and the government. It will likely change how urban resistance is played out in the future, at least in Thailand, but possibly elsewhere. The British found out about fighting an enemy that didn't play by the rules of war during the American revolution, as did the Bush administration when it declared "mission accomplished" before getting mired down in Iraq and Afghanistan. We'll see what the Thais have learned from history as well. Perhaps they are in the process of adding another chapter to the futility of war.

Tastes Like Chicken

2010-05-14T22:57:00.000-07:00

These unfortunate amphibians will likely end up on the grill by the end of the day. Local weekend market, Summakorn Village, Bangkok.

Life in the tropics: The International Teacher- A New eBook

2010-05-14T22:25:00.000-07:00

Life in the tropics: The International Teacher- A New eBook
Check out this online book for educators who are considering a career teaching overseas!

Take Your Pick

2010-05-12T04:49:00.000-07:00

In Thailand it's considered impolite to dislodge food particles from one's teeth without hiding the toothpick and the user's teeth. Thais and acclimated foreigners sit in restaurants after a meal with one hand covering the manipulating hand and the diner's teeth while the cleaning is in progress. Unenlightened visitors not only pick at teeth in the open,even with their fingers, but also then keep the pick in their mouth for a time afterward. Thais disapprove, but politely dismiss the cultural taboo as the product of a person lacking in manners or education.

While discreet covering of the mouth is the norm, nose picking and expectorating seem to be national pastimes. It is not at all unusual to see businessmen in suits or grandmothers minding their shops busily mining their nasal passages, or mightily hacking up half their mucous lining to be spat unceremoniously into a flower pot, the street, or if in a hurry, simply ejected onto the sidewalk, where along with dog scat and bird droppings, it becomes part of a bacterial minefield for pedestrians.

How interesting our cultural norms are; accepted in once place while frowned upon in another corner of the world!

Cavemen in Asia?

2010-05-10T02:36:00.000-07:00

Interesting interpretation of the Ramayana mythology, painted on a temple wall in Laos.

Tropical fall

2010-05-07T02:33:00.000-07:00

Even in Thailand, leaves fall and lend color to the landscape. Koh Hai.

New Candidate for Most Spoiled Child

2010-05-03T05:05:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I described here what was then the most spoiled child I had ever known. As of today, I must revise that and hand the award to another young person. Earlier this evening, Kat pointed out a scene that stopped me dead in my tracks. A young girl, approximately four years old, was on a bicycle with training wheels. Preceding her was a nanny who pulled the bicycle with a rope. Next to the child walked another nanny, holding a small tray on which sat a cup of yogurt. Every few steps the first nanny stopped pulling, which allowed nanny #2 to scoop some yogurt into the child's gaping baby bird-like maw. I didn't want to stare, but couldn't help it. Nothing in my 60+ years of existence on this planet, and nearly 40 years of teaching could help me think through any possible reasoning a parent might have that would set this practice into motion. Can you?

Barbershop Quartet

2010-05-03T02:16:00.000-07:00

Makeshift barber shop at Hua Lumpong railway station, Bangkok.

Ready for Market

2010-04-29T02:10:00.000-07:00

Rice flour sheets drying before being used to wrap spring rolls. Luang Prabang, Lao PDR.

Good luck taxi

2010-04-26T17:49:00.000-07:00

Amulets are important to Thais. They bring good luck while paying respect to revered monks and the Buddha. Often dangling from rear view mirrors with flower garlands, the more one has, apparently the more luck one receives. That, or some just enjoy collecting them. This taxi driver has 39 around his neck. Why 39? "I'm 40!" OK, the next obvious question, why not 40 amulets? "Only odd numbers of amulets are worn. Even numbers are not lucky. I'll add two next birthday." With that much luck and protection, I was tempted to unbuckle my seat belt as we headed onto the expressway. But only briefly.

Bangkok Chaos

2010-04-24T23:23:00.000-07:00

Usually when one hears the words "Bangkok" and "chaos" used together, it creates visions of typical traffic gridlock in Thailand's capital city. Lately, it has become indicative of the country's economy, political structure and security. For the past several weeks, the center of Bangkok has been the scene of political protests (rather than re-hash the situation, see my previous post update) that have brought the financial center to a virtual standstill.

The anti-government demonstrators ("Red shirts"), composed largely of upcountry laborers and small business people, who back the exiled former prime minister found guilty of corruption, have a coordinated and formidable strategy to disrupt commerce in the city's center. The army has decided not to force a confrontation, as it will result in huge casualties on both sides (a clash a week ago left more than 20 dead), and the sitting prime minister refuses to bow to the "intimidation" (his words) and negotiate an early election. Counter demonstrators have taken to the streets, and the pro-government supporters ("Yellow shirts") are considering their options. The resulting stalemate is increasingly evident of a serious problem and potential threat to national security. Grenades from an unknown source exploded at several sites a few days ago, resulting in one death and dozens of injuries. Each side blames the other, and no one seems to have evidence pointing at any one group or individual responsible. No one has taken responsibility for the attack.

Thai friends are worried, and I note a touch of embarrassment: They say that the situation is worse than any previous situation, even those that resulted in military coups. No one seems to know how it will all play out, and tensions are rising. It is almost surreal how life is carrying on normally in most places, without recognition that there is a problem. Perhaps their fears prevent them from voicing concerns. Tourists pose for photos in front of police lines and buy red shirt souvenirs; Thais bring entire families to the red shirt "parties."

Thailand, as in most countries, operates its government behind the scenes, where deals are made. A friend passed on a quote about the U.S. government that is appropriate here, I'm sure: "It's like a sausage, it looks delicious on the outside, but you sure don't want to know what's on the inside!" Stories abound about back door negotiations so that everyone can "save face," an important part of Thai culture. I hope that this is true. The present situation cannot go on much longer.

Creepy Fashions

2010-04-22T00:15:00.000-07:00

For some odd reason, these bizarre laughing mannekins are seen in numerous clothing shops across Thailand. Photo taken at Chatuchak weekend market, Bangkok.

Solar dryer

2010-04-19T02:06:00.000-07:00

Chilis and garlic drying on a rooftop in Bhutan

Bangkok Unrest Update

2010-04-17T22:03:00.000-07:00

Street demonstrations in Bangkok by the anti-government party (UDD aka "Red Shirts") who are followers of ex-prime minister Thaksin, ousted by a coup in 2008, continue to shut down parts of the city. A week ago, clashes with police left more than 20 dead, each side blaming the other for the violence. The current prime minister (Aphisit) is backed by a coalition known commonly as PAD or "yellow shirts" (also supporters of the king) who presently are not demonstrating, but are meeting today to consider their response. They are the ones who shut down the airport last year to protest the UDD's control of parliament. Another group, known as the "online" peace group, or "no color" is now gathering strength and counter demonstrating for peaceful negotiations.

Aphisit has extended a compromise to have new elections in December, a year ahead of schedule. However, the red shirts have rejected his proposal, wanting parliament dissolved immediately, and new elections held sooner. They are angry that their party was eliminated and results of the last election nullified by the courts (The UDD had taken control of parliament). The red shirt leader (Thaksin) was found guilty of corruption and an arrest warrant issued. He continues to reside in exile, but communicate with followers.

What many people thought would be a temporary demonstration is now seemingly getting more serious and growing with sophisticated strategies countering the police initiatives to arrest the UDD leaders. Security has now been handed over to the army. No one knows what will happen. The government has lost patience with the red shirts and is pursuing blockades of their positions.

So far, there is no danger to us at all as long as we don't do something stupid like go downtown to "watch" the drama (which, amazingly, entire families do, even buying souvenir red T shirts). The U.S. embassy keeps us updated via email. Should there be more violence, it is not likely to seriously disrupt the lives of most people here. Oddly, this is a fairly common occurrence unique to Thailand, as they continue to transition fully to a democracy. Casualties are fortunately few and confined to small areas. Airports remain open, and people come and go.

No one can know what the outcome will be, but there is lots of speculation. The army could declare another coup, dissolve parliament, and set new elections. The government could back down and dissolve, and call for new elections. The red shirts could simply get tired and give up (not likely). The yellow shirts could mobilize and set up counter demonstrations, but that wouldn't help the situation at all. The word is that whatever happens, it will come to a head within a month.

We are fine, and living our lives normally as possible. Our schools are closely watching the situation, and should the need arise to cancel for the safety of the students who travel from all parts of Bangkok, they may close for a while. So far, that doesn't seem to be imminent. But of course, things can change quickly. Meanwhile, realize that things you see on TV are real, but confined to a small section of the city, and that life goes on as usual. We are in no danger. Our address may say "Bangkok," but remember that this is a province as large as Rhode Island, and we are 20 miles (30 km) away from the demonstrations.

Rack 'em up

2010-04-15T01:55:00.000-07:00

Children's bicycles at an orphanage in northern Thailand

Shrine detail

2010-04-12T01:52:00.000-07:00

Detail of a colorful shrine in Paro, Bhutan

Coffee Wars

2010-04-10T17:24:00.000-07:00

Coffee is big business. In the world of expensive boutique coffee shops, small businesses in Thailand have cropped up to claim a slice of the cup of joe windfall. A walk down a street in Minburi, Thailand revealed the following shop. Wow--the LORD of coffee! With such a name, this must be the best coffee!

But maybe not. Across the street is this competitor. And, it has WI-FI! OK, so this will be my favorite!

Hold on! A short walk further:

What's a coffee lover to do?

Heads Up

2010-04-08T01:49:00.000-07:00

This humorous juxtaposition was captured in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.

Paying respect

2010-04-05T01:46:00.000-07:00

A decorated bodhi tree, the type under which the Buddha is said to have reached enlightenment. All bodhi trees in Thailand are usually wrapped with colorful silk garlands.

Field Trip

2010-04-01T04:26:00.000-07:00

A student from my school's first year advanced biology classes on our field trip to study mangroves. Pranburi, Thailand.

Floating Village

2010-03-27T01:05:00.000-07:00

Children playing at a Vietnamese floating village on the Tonle Sap, Cambodia.