Arrival in Thailand

Sitting in an outdoor Thai restaurant, looking out over the setting sun's rays shimmering on a small lake, I reflect on my first two full days in Bangkok. A breeze offers welcome relief from the sweltering Thai heat, as does the large cold beer that washes down a meal of noodles, peanuts, bean sprouts, egg and shrimp. My feet ache from the constant contact with hard teak and tile floors: They are not used to anything other than carpeting and thick shoe soles that cushion each step, but here in Thailand, one leaves shoes at the door. Tomorrow I plan to relieve the pain with a famous Thai one-hour foot massage near our home.

I've not met anyone who actually enjoys trans-Pacific flights. They are simply endured as best as one can. The airlines do their best, bless them, but free wine with meals and a long list of movies--I watched five between Atlanta and Seoul--is not enough to lull the traveler into believing that he is having fun. Of course, there are usually a number of intriguing people that share the ride and provide moments of entertainment: The American missionary who reads an ancient Bible and does yoga in the aisle (not at the same time--that would really be something to report), the Brazilian actor who repeatedly says in amazement how can any trip take so long, and the Pakistani who nervously glances at the sign in the exit row that says "Emergency seating" before asking to be reassigned. But the flight does eventually end, and fatigue gives way to excitement: People press their faces to the window as the lights of Bangkok pass by and loom closer underneath the plane, ornate temples dotting the landscape.

Emerging from the baggage claim and customs area, I spot a man holding a sign with my name printed on it. He immediately takes charge of my baggage and swiftly packs them into a car and we drive through the light rain to a service hotel where my suite awaits. A basket of bread, juice, peanut butter, jams and dehydrated soups are on the table next to a tourist guide and school brochure, neatly tied with a golden ribbon, and there is milk and water in the refrigerator, all compliments of the school. After a much-needed shower, I blissfully fall into a heavy sleep, my stomach happy with the arrival of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

I awake to find that I had, surprisingly, slept for six hours. Normally, jet lag hits me hard, but this time I decided to try the 18 hour fast before the flight, and I must say that it is the first time that I have not felt the ragged wave of confusion and disrupted sleep patterns, something that has always happened before on each of my 13 or so previous flights between Bangkok and the U.S.

A rental agent picks me up, but not before I have had a complimentary (again, from the school) buffet breakfast, a swim, and a short jaunt to do some ATM banking. the agent, Sak (Thankfully, although Thais have quite long formal names that are unfamiliar to westerners, they all have one syllable nick names), drives me to the "moobahn" or village as it is called where we will be living. This "village" has 4,000 houses, more than 200 shops, and several lakes scattered throughout. We stop briefly where I am showed the place to buy vegetables, fresh seafood, fruit and other groceries, as well as the ubiquitous 7-11 convenience stores (there are two only 2 blocks apart). I note veterinarians, restaurants, hardware shops, noodle stands, a Chinese language school, a pre-school, post office and many massage parlors. I buy some ready-made Thai food (and later return via motorcycle to buy a wok--A side note: There were parts of chicken I had not seen as part of a meal before). Eventually we pull up to our house and I am given the grand tour, shown how to turn on the water and propane, and am given a handful of unmarked keys, a Thai version of a Chinese puzzle that will no doubt keep me frustrated for days. Every door in the house locks and has its own key.

To end the day, I take a taxi to Kat's apartment, a 20 minute ride, and surprise our very confused pets who apparently don't hold a grudge: They are very happy to see me. We fall asleep together on the bed, serenaded by choruses of frogs and crickets, and, as it is the monsoon season, a deluge complete with thunder, which sends a beautiful breeze that washes over us. The next day is moving day. I'm getting much too good at it.

In Transition

Sitting at a free internet lounge in Seoul (Free? A concept U.S. airports do not understand), awaiting my flight to Bangkok. I am between countries, seemingly suspended in time and space. The trip is a metaphor for this point in my life, half-way between two worlds. Leaving a familiar, comfortable and largely predictable life for one full of unknowns and great potential for challenges, professional and otherwise. 

Although I am returning to a place that is not unfamiliar, I suspect that despite my openness toward Thailand, and anticipating the famous Thai hospitality, I will always be an outsider--a "farang"--who is taught innumerable lessons about living in a culture that is not of my upbringing. It is probably much like being adopted as an older child: Grateful for the acceptance, but never quite sure if I can fit in.

Yet, in a strange and inexplicable way I look forward to these upcoming challenges as exciting as they are unnerving. Once in a while we can use a good rocking of our comfy world. It gives a certain zest to life.

Solitude For Now

While I am excited about moving again to Bangkok and experiencing its culture, quirks, charm, and human-powered energy, I know that I must be able to find an inner calm at times when it can be overwhelming. Being on the Maine coast is a place that will help me learn to do just that. I calm my mind and spirit by spending time here, a place that is in harmony and invites synchronization with nature's rhythms. After only a few days, it is as if I am on a high: Gliding without regard to time, letting all aspects of civilization fall to the bottom of my priority list. As Kat puts it so well, "Nature is a drug; a good drug."

There is a park next to our land where it is impossible to not appreciate its aching beauty. Sitting on ancient granite, watching the gulls, eagles and ospreys glide into and out of view, smelling the salt air, and napping to the chugs of lobster boats is intoxicating. About an hour's drive away is Acadia National Park that draws millions of visitors, but here in similar surroundings, it is unusual to find more than five cars parked in the lot overlooking the rocky coast and outlying islands. Come to think of it, the lot won't hold more than five cars. One wanders through blueberry bushes and spruce woods to the rocks, where the biggest decision to make is how long to stay.

In a few days I will be headed to Thailand, a country with its own coastal beauty. These two places Kat and I hold dear, and we find ourselves returning again and again. Each person finds his or her own paradise in some part of the world. It is time for us to now spend extended time in our two very special places.