Monday, May 2nd 2011 – Angthong, Thailand, 9:30pm
It was Friday night; Khao San Road is filled with street vendors behind carts carrying loads of fresh cooked noodles and meats on sticks grilling in the heat, or fried squid laid vertical on a tall grid – the smell is unmistakeable. Others are selling small bright pocket lights perfect for clubbing or dance parties. Little children walk around convincing you to buy flowers. Older Thai men openly, yet discreetly, solicit the infamous Ping Pong shows. And the sidewalks are overloaded with stalls selling T-shirts, electronic gadgets, buckets of strong drinks, hookahs, lighters of all varieties, exquisite cases of cigarettes, knock off Ray Bans, converse shoes, cheap CD’s and DVD’s, picturesque paintings and photos of Thailand and its wild animals…. The music is bumping from every local bar, live guitar, people on the streets singing and dancing and drinking and sweating with arms around one another.
I finally met a friend of a friend who has been living in Thailand for over two years, and with whom I have been talking to online for about five months. He introduced his group of friends to my group of friends, and we stayed up until two in the morning drinking and talking. Sometimes the big wide world seems so small. Or maybe the connections we make simply enlarge us. There is a great quote by a man whose name escapes me, but it is something about how the true philosopher does not try to make the world fit his vision, but expands his vision to fit the world. That is what I feel happens to me when I travel, or when I read (which is a type of travel): Transformation of the narrow mind I once inhabited, and which I am always seeking to develop. Like a vaporous essence heated by the hot sun, I swell to the size of my surroundings.
That was my last night in Bangkok, at least until I return, probably every weekend I’m able to. I fell in love with that stinky city, its plethora of aromas mixed with the tinge of sewage, the number of foreigners from every corner of the globe. I felt welcome, and yet, I have only explored a tiny portion of all there is to see. I have read of the many who spend years exploring the mysteries of Bangkok, and still they are perplexed, impressed, enticed to return. The “Venice of the East” seems far more intriguing to me than the real Venezia ever was. But I suppose each has had its time, and both are now plagued by a vicious tourism that both supports and threatens the culture it attempts to preserve. The small roads we travel are sometimes very slippery slopes when it comes to understanding, and adapting, culturally.
The next morning, my two teaching companions and I hopped a cab to Liberty Monument, and then a minibus to Angthong, north of the ancient ruins of Ayutthaya. Ang Thong in Thai means “Golden Bowl,” aptly named for a region of mostly rice cultivation and numerous temples. Culture shock, of which I had yet to experience here in Thailand, finally set it. This is a small town, probably no more than thirty or thirty-five thousand in the “downtown” area. Let’s put it this way, there is only one main road (a highway to and from the larger cities), and there are no signs in English. Not one. Except for maybe the English schools, or the 7/11’s. Only in other countries do I appreciate 7/11’s. In a place where nothing is familiar, the double sing-song beep of the sliding door when you enter its sweet air-conditioned market of junk food and cheap beverages never sounded so good. A little bit of home.
Except now this is to be my home for the duration of my teaching contract. And I’m hoping by the end, it will be just as painful for me to leave this home as it was for me to leave Colorado. Because I know, when I travel abroad, I assimilate to the culture and the people as much as I can. I make it my own, so that when I leave, a piece of myself remains among the shadows of the palms, the banks of the river, under the umbrellas of street restaurants, even the gritty fingernails of the hands I’ve held, or the vessels of the hearts I’ve touched. For those things are forever with me once they enter my eyes. Travel is transformation. Like the cobras slithering in the jungles and forests of the North, pieces of my shedding skin shall be found throughout the territories I claim, but which end up claiming me.
Our house is charming. Much more than any of us were expecting, with a large living room, a front and a back porch, a decent kitchen (complete with appliances and dishware), ample storage space, three well-sized bedrooms with air-conditioning, a T.V. with multiple English news channels, a bathroom with a Western style toilet (as opposed to the Thai style squat toilets), both a cold and a hot shower, and bookshelves already stocked with many (less than intriguing) titles (although some are okay). We are all quite content with this situation, considering both what our colleagues are receiving in other places, and the conditions in which our Thai associates live every day of their lives.
Today was a deep cleaning day. Though our new home was relatively new and clean, the corners of the ceiling seemed to be well insulated by cobwebs and plenty of friendly spiders that we, or at least I, killed with a bit of a heavy heart. There were just too many, and the ceilings too tall, to capture each one by one and let them run free outside. And the ant highways on the kitchen counter just had to go. I have no illusions of being a real Buddhist, but I understand the notion of not wanting to kill creatures that could possibly be your loved ones changed by the capricious winds of Karma. And yes, I realize how pretentious and full of bullshit this whole entry is, but I’m feeling lofty this evening.
Today was also our first day as teachers. We signed our contracts, got our desks, met many of the other teachers in our department, mostly Thai and Philippino, and everyone seems to speak quite a bit of English. It was all much more professional than what we were expecting, given what our training program had indicated. But then again, we are teaching in a very good government school, and some kids commute from other cities just to attend this school. I also learned, coincidentally enough, that this particular school is home to the best girls basketball team in the country, many of whom continue on to play for the national Thai team. This must be a dream. I must be dreaming. As a veteran “balla” my eyes lit up at the opportunity to assist the team in whatever way I can. It’s been a long time since I had anything whatsoever to do with organized ball, and here an opportunity lands in my lap to once again be part of a team. And I hear that they would be delighted to have a native English speaker show up to their practices.
Oh yes, I forgot to mention (though it may have been implied) that this whole experience of moving to Angthong may very well be my first experience being an evident minority. In Thai, they call us “farang,” outsider, but the word is not necessarily used with any malicious intent. Quite the opposite, teachers are the third most respected tier in Thai society, after Monks and royalty. And native English speaking teachers seem to be a welcome spectacle. We are three of maybe fifteen light skinned foreigners walking the streets or day markets, and the eyes that follow us never let us forget it.
They are not evil eyes, simply curious. To the children, we are such as celebrities are made of – they love to tell us “Hello,” perhaps the only English they know, and wave to us. A few girls even came up to shake our hands and give us hugs, a strange but very welcome occurrence. The older ones are a great mix of unreadable opinions. Perhaps some are glad that we are here, and some wouldn’t mind to see us go. Some are ecstatic to talk with us and make a big fuss, to others, we may as well be invisible, and so they would rather not serve us, or hike up the price at the market due to our non-native status. Such is the world, and I have never really cared what other people think of me, so I have no reason to care now. What I care about is not insulting their culture or way of life because of my “farang” ignorance. The world certainly does not need another stupid American reinforcing the stereotypes that seem to define us internationally. I am here to break those labels, not fortify them.
Goodnight Neverland
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