‎"The bathroom? oh, just past the karaoke, left of the chickens, it's a squatter, real nice" - jessie, acclimating lao style (provided by Margit)

“Adventure is a path. Real adventure – self-determined, self-motivated, often risky – forces you to have firsthand encounters with the world. The world the way it is, not the way you imagine it. Your body will collide with the earth and you will bear witness. In this way you will be compelled to grapple with the limitless kindness and bottomless cruelty of humankind – and perhaps realize that you yourself are capable of both. This will change you. Nothing 

will ever again be black-and-white.”

             Yes, these signs exist ; )                                                            -Mark Jennings

In the beginning of December, yes three months ago, Margit, Camille and I crossed into northern Laos from Chiang Khong, Thailand. Laos, being the final leg of Margit’s journey had been anticipated since our arrival in Thailand in the beginning of August. We had heard whispers in the backpacker community of the enchanted lands and countless rumors arguing it would be the highlight of our trip, and if anything – they underestimated the beauty of Laos.

After crossing into Huay Xai, Laos we booked a bus to Luang Namtha – famed for eco trekking and rural villages. The roads were in superior condition, a detail we learned was not to be taken for granted, and our hearts were eager. The four-hour drive was a journey through the greenest of mountains and aside from Margit nearly wetting her pants, the drive passed smoothly. The same night we arrived in Luang Namtha we booked a trek into a Khmu village. Now, although we avoided treks in Thailand for ethical reasons, the reputation for eco tourism in this part of Laos left us feeling confident our dollars would be used in sustainable ways. We were not disappointed. The three of us woke early the morning of our departure, packed the necessary hiking gear (not forgetting to pick up a couple bottles of liquor for villagers and our selves alike), and hopped in a van with another couple. The five of us stopped at a beautiful market outside of Luang Namtha, made it to the first village (reachable by road) and then began our hike through the stunning (and leach infested) jungle. The hike worked us thoroughly, but more than anything, it embarrassed us. As we each struggled to inhale and found ourselves in need of short rests, a village duo of two women carried our lunch gear: while they trailed behind us trudging through the forest in their flip flops, they chatted in their local dialect, and wove twine baskets. I’m certain the need for air silenced us on many occasions, but these women were seasoned: it was their life, a life I am so thankful I was able to witness and participate in.

Upon arriving in the village, we were shown our hut; a bamboo woven room with no water, no power, no toilet and a view of the schoolhouse.  First priority, according to our guide’s instruction was a communal bath with the locals in a diverted river. Bathing in Laos is a public event and even in areas with water & power dusk means men, women and children bearing bars of soap fill the waterways. Next mission was to convince the children to try their hand at Ring Around the Rosie and Duck-Duck, Goose (with pats to the shoulder and not the head – an important alteration in a Buddhist country); after countless rounds of the three of us playing these highly technical games by ourselves (with a bit of exaggeration on the “all fall down” phase) the children slowly trickled forward to participate. We spent our evening drinking Lao-Hi (whiskey in a jar is the direct translation) and well – its whiskey in a jar. Across Laos you will find a very similar rice whiskey, Lao-Lao, drank fervently by locals and cheap back packers; the firewater gets everyone feeling loose and can be purchased for less than potable water. Lao-Hi varies from Lao-Lao in that although still a rice whiskey, it is less potent and is drank out of rubber tubes ascending out of a hand made stone jar. The jar is filled with fermented sticky rice and warm cups of water (local water, that is) are poured over the rice concoction and finished entirely by each boozer. Sitting up all night with a group of 5 local Laotians over many jugs of Lao-Hi made the cold night warm enough to catch some dreams.

We woke the next day to a dozen sets of eyes peering into our hut: the local children, fascinated by our presence, were spending the morning watching our chests rise and fall. Being that our hut was situated across the field from the school, we made for interesting entertainment before they shuffled into the small two-room schoolhouse. Opened to tourists just two years ago, this Khmu village was not a top ranking minority village to visit (not sure what the politically correct alternative is for minority). Having been in SE Asia now for 7 months, I have come to realize that tourists are most inclined to pump their money into “exotic” experiences. This tendency to be captivated by misconceptions about culture has resulted in the exploitation of groups famed for their dress (such as the “long neck Karen” as well as the mistreatment of elephants, often associated with “real” Thailand). 

Although frustrating, I’ll avoid too much of a political tangent and just say the village’s lack of popularity made it especially rewarding for us. Foreigners are still a relatively new sight for villagers and as we wandered around the local children trotted behind us but ran every time we turned our heads. A local woman, with the help of a translator, asked if we’d mind leaving our empty liquor bottles behind in preparation for an upcoming wedding (there was virtually no glass, plastic or metal in the village). And finally, we enjoyed most of our meals on large palm leaves hacked down by our guide. Together we would sit on the ground and with our hands we would roll balls of sticky rice and gorge ourselves on the best fare I’ve encountered in all of SE Asia. Hot chili paste, flowering greens, an abundance of fresh mushrooms, and perfect sticky rice

Although I’ve studied questions of ethnic authenticity while at UCSC and have learned to be critical of Western notions of what rural ethnic minorities SHOULD be, I found myself so gratified: the absence of satellite dishes, the presence of bare-bummed smiling children in the schoolhouse, and a morning poop in the hills right along side my beloved Margit, made it feel…well authentic. I have found that this sense of “realness” is not always the case when doing organized treks, and I am so glad that our one and only experience paying to hike and stay in a village left us feeling empowered with new experience. We had spent months avoiding trips like these because they seemed to violate our sense of ethics and listened with disdain as others accounted their cheap “treks” into “villages” where they rode abused elephants and were taken to shopping stalls in the mountains and told this was village life. Again, it is not by any means up to me to determine what a village SHOULD be, but we were all so pleased with our experience in Luang Namtha and thank the Khmu people for being gracious and welcoming hosts.

From Luang Namtha we caught a bus into Udomaxi – a stopover on our way to Nong Khiaw. We stayed in a rather charmless guesthouse near the bus station, had an excellent bowl of noodle soup (with a backdrop of drying handmade noodles) and caught a bus onward towards Nong Khiaw. Situated along the Nam Ou River, Nong Khiaw is a sleepy town with a few guesthouses, one dirt road, and a meager bus station.  Sadly, I realized I had forgot my fancy gadget phone in Udomaxi and after a bit of research we learned the town is infamous for Chinese brothels because of its proximity to China. Having said a tearful goodbye to Camille the day before, Margit and I hitchhiked/used public transport 4 hours back to the guesthouse we had stayed in two nights prior. We arrived at the guesthouse only to find that no one there spoke English and the phone’s whereabouts unknown. I felt pretty good about having tried and optimistically reminded myself that traveling becomes easier when valuables find themselves in someone else’s hands.

We headed back to Nong Khiaw for a night and then upriver to Mong Ngoi, a village surrounded by Karst formations and only reachable by boat. Once in Mong Ngoi we settled down for a few days. The small town is within walking distance to a number of tiny rice cultivating villages that you can reach within an hours walk and the travelers in these lands were friendlier than ever. Not a place exploited by tourism, the novice and drunken travelers (or at least the obnoxious ones) are kept at bay. Here you can lounge along the river in a hammock, eat well, visit caves, chat with locals and go on hikes. This was my favorite destination in Laos, and had we not devised plans to work our way down to the southern tip of Laos I could have spent weeks here. The scenery is some of the most stunning I have encountered: the “town” consists of one dirt road (which you can walk from beginning to finish in 10 minutes) and a small handful of walking paths. And as the traveler’s story goes, we made new friends--a mixed bag of young and old, male and female all holding passports owned by different nations.

Going from Mong Ngoi to Luang Prabang, a town known for its temples, monasteries and morning alms processions, involved an interesting ride in the back of a pickup truck jam-packed with Lao peoples, chickens, and rice. After some street side negotiations about price (written down in the dirt with a piece of rock to work through language barriers) we were in a vehicle. Crisp air, a tire change on the side of the road, and witnessing some fellow riders hang their heads off the back of the truck and puke made it memorable. When in Laos bathroom breaks are always pulling off to the side of the road and traipsing into the forest, and unless traveling in a tourist-service bus, you never know what the local bus might entail; butttt, for certainties sake, it will be over booked, people will puke, and an array of animals will join you in the journey!

Luang Prabang was the first “big-city” we visited since our arrival in Laos and marked the end of rugged streets littered with small hut villages (and nearly the end to the alluring and massive bowls of noodle soup, jaoew (a chili paste staple) and Kao Soi (a curry noodle soup also found in northern Thailand). Luang Prabang, like Chaing Mai, is a popular tourist destination because of its accessibility to Buddhist culture. Every morning at sunrise hundreds of monks fill the streets to collect food from anyone with offerings and temples dot the streets like McDonalds do in the U.S. and 711’s do in Thailand. Luang Prabang is a hybrid town; like many other places in Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam, the French colonial history is evident in the French speaking Laotians, the wine and cheese bars, and the architecture.

The afternoon we were slated to leave Luang Prabang for the coffee plantations in the Bolaven Plateau, some familiar faces from northern Laos came strolling by and sweet-talked us into staying put and visiting a nearby waterfall with them. Ironically, a day’s diversion resulted in Craig and Tom becoming our travel companions for the coming month (months in the case of Tom) and made for some pretty radical company. Together we hiked around the teal waters of Kuang Si falls, a multi-tiered waterfall and spent the evening building a ramshackle (but rather effective) fire along the Mekong River--a life line that flows from the Tibetan Plateau down through Cambodia. The following day we said our goodbyes and spoke of our intentions to reunite.

A final note about Luang Prabang (especially for foodies) was the $1.25 vegetarian buffet hosted in one of the small alleys off the night market. This is where Margit and I ate dinner every night, and with a selection of over twenty random dishes, this was no burden to bear.

An incredibly uncomfortable overnight bus (and believe me, we’re not picky) from Luang Prabang to Vientiane ensued. We had a morning of public-bathroom bathing and getting lost while wandering around the capitol and then caught another overnight bus to Pakse, the gateway into the Bolaven Plateau. From here we rented a motorbike (my first go at a semi-automatic) and toured the Arabica coffee plantations of this famed coffee-growing region. Being two of just a handful of tourists resulted in quite a bit of hangman, girl talk (a lot of that…) and probably at least one joke about being lesbians.

From the Plateau we reunited with our waterfall and riverside fire buddies Craig and Tom. Together the four of us lazed about Don Khong, one of the islands of the Mekong Delta. Here it was our prerogative to bike, build a few more fires, drink a few more jugs of Lao-Lao, devise lofty boat and kite building plans and celebrate Margit’s solstice. With sarongs, a bottle of wine, some candles, and a random fire in a field we welcomed solstice and anticipated the four of us spending Christmas and New Years together. Things were getting pretty serious ;)

From Don Khong we ventured to Don Det, which is another sleepy Mekong island popular amongst backpackers. Here we spent our days in hammocks, eating mediocre food (always a problem when traveling in backpacker hubs where the local cuisines come to mimic the bland dishes of the west), and enjoying the betel root chewing mouths of local women (a signature image in SE Asian photography, betel root leaves an entire mouth stained red and looks a bit vampire like). The highlight of Don Det was undoubtedly the lovely gifts we received from the boys for Christmas (tee shirts with nicknames written on them and QTIPS!).

A lazy week along the river in the company of good friends was the perfect way to end the Laos trip, the month of December, and my traveling life with Margit (this phase of it, that is). After five months together, a tearful goodbye marked the end to some of the best experiences of my life. Having made a new best friend, shared secrets, laughs, a few too many beers, and life & academic philosophies, the departure wasn’t easy, but I am nothing less than blessed. As we often did, quoting Xavier Rudd is quite appropriate. This girl owns a piece of my heart and I am certain that we will blaze new paths together again. Cheers, Choke Dee, all my love and appreciation, my super human, most beautiful friend.

Now its time to remember Cambodia. At the end of December Craig, Tom, and I crossed from southern Laos into northern Cambodia with the intention of working our way south through the country. Because this was my second visit and therefore now my second entry about Cambodia, I will leave some of the details about Cambodia’s history and politics out of this entry (sighs of relief anyone?).

Beginning in the north, we stayed in Ban Lung where we visited waterfalls and a volcanic crater lake. Hot and dry meant the dirt roads left us covered in dust and reminded me of fake tans (of which I am not grateful for, haha). The three of us roomed together like a happy family, and tried to mend each other’s emotional wounds caused by Margit’s departure. After nearly two weeks in southern Laos where the people are not as friendly as they are in the north, it was a relief to be around the northern Khmers (Khmer is the name of the Cambodian people). They were kind, and found endless amusement in us—like the night when Craig, Tom and Sam ordered a hot pot of duck soup (where they bring the ingredients out and you cook it yourself) and the staff could hardly cease laughing at us struggle to scoop noodles into our bowls.

From Ban Lung we ventured south to Kratie where we stayed for just one night but still, a couple mention worthy happenings….we met a fabulous Austrian family whose purpose in traveling was to document the food culture of the Mekong River. Michele, the father, and his two daughters were photographers traveling through Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam taking superior shots of life along the Mekong. They were a rad family, and the idea was fascinating and therefore mention worthy. Also, that night, a bit intoxicated, Craig and I wandered down to the street vendors to pick up a snack for everyone we had coaxed into enjoying whiskey on the deck. We found a vendor selling boiled eggs and bought a little army of them, only to realize that our boiled eggs had small and fully formed ducks inside them. Unable to snack on the duck fetuses, we passed our many eggs along to a Khmer guy who treated them as a delicacy. Although there are obviously weirder foods in Asia, cracking your egg and seeing a beak-and-all fetus was a bit…unappetizing. 

 

 Next stop was Cambodia’s capital city of Phnom Penh, a destination for travelers interested in understanding and remembering the Khmer Rouge’s genocidal legacy. We visited the Killing Fields where the Khmer Rouge executed nearly one third of the country’s population and S27, an old schoolhouse that was converted into a torture camp. Another traveler’s guide explained how “…there came to be so many people sent here from Tuol Sleng (torture prison), that they were not able to kill them all in one day.  Most were killed with an axe or hoe, or had their throats slit. You will see the skulls later, broken from the impact. You see, they wanted to save the bullets. Bullets cost money.” To make this more real, after heavy rains the staff must come and collect remains that continue to be washed up 30 years after the genocidal leadership. Unbelievably, as of 2005, a Japanese for-profit company is leasing the Killing Fields; the recent and painful history borne by all Cambodians is financially benefiting Japanese elites in one of the world’s poorest nations. Turn your stomach a little?

Other then that…I’ll keep myself from writing a long narrative about the Khmer Rouge and my disgust for western negligence in educating people about this history, but only because I have included it in my last entry about Cambodia.

After spending a day learning and or remembering the recent history of Cambodia, we welcomed in the New Year on the streets of Phnom Penh (literally, dancing in the streets with a handful of travelers and locals). All in all, Phnom Penh was a rad city, and we left stoked on all that we had witnessed. Aside from Craig’s satchel being swiped by some local kids and the ensuing efforts to retrieve the bag, we had a good time.

After about a month and half without seeing a coastline it was time to venture south towards Cambodia’s beaches. We arrived in Serendipity where the tourism scene was distasteful and ultimately, rather dull. The next day we organized an island tour/snorkeling trip with the intention of staying on one of the island we visited. Bamboo Island, home to just one guesthouse, proved itself to be a worthwhile stop. Although not the most impressive beach in Southeast Asia, it was good to be away from the mainland where endless bars dominated the scene.

From Bamboo Island, we headed a bit outside of Serendipity to Otres Beach, which is a destination more popular among backpackers. Here we spent the next week frolicking the warm waters, lounging on the beaches, getting silly, and well…I guess…letting Thomas swoon me.

Finally we headed towards the Cameron Highlands on motorbikes. There were five of us, so with three motorbikes we journeyed towards some of the most minimally explored mountains in Cambodia. Likened to Costa Rica without the research, the Cardamons are supposed to house a vast array of species--some of which remain undescribed (a biology phrase for species not yet studied and documented). Although I landed my motorbike in the gravel more than once getting there, we had a good time on the bikes and it was great to visit a community based eco tourism site!

If you’re interested in eco-tourism the mission statement for the project:

“Community-based ecotourism in Chi Phat and Trapeang Rung communes aims to support protection of the natural and cultural resources of the area and create job and income opportunities for villagers through the development of community-based ecotourism products and activities, providing training and alternative livelihoods to hunters, loggers, and non-timber forest products (NTFP) collectors, as well as improving commune infrastructure and public facilities.”

http://ecoadventurecambodia.com/

Finally, back to Otres and then a bus towards Bangkok for me and towards Siem Reap, Cambodia for Craig and Tom. This bus ride proved to be one of the more interesting ones I endured, and despite booking a sleeper bus, I enjoyed my ride in the front of the bus next to the driver on a hard bench seat. Apparently the bus was overbooked and after standing on the side of the road in the middle of the night for a hour, when the bus finally did arrive I was more than happy to get cozy next to the driver. The seat I was prepared to make my home for the next twelve hours was nothing more than a 90 degree angle wooden seat which is sort of fine, aside form the fact that watching someone drive (especially a bus) in SE Asia feels a bit suicidal. Luckily I made it back to Bangkok in one piece, spent a night there enjoying the city I called home for a short time and then traveled up to Chiang Mai to secure housing for my TEFL class. 

Laos Pictures:

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.369090139771334.104620.100000110547271

&type=3&l=7a67f53713

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.369115213102160.104624.100000110547271&type=3&l=1c0866d7d7

Cambodia Pictures: 

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.290581194288896.88407.100000110547271&type=3&l=36c9ab121b

Ends and pieces of the highest mark

I have titled this entry based on sensibility: after nearly two months of cancelled classes due to flooding in Thailand, and then a month and a half backpacking through Laos and Cambodia only so much can be accounted for. I can merely hope it is enjoyable to my readers, and meagerly commensurate for all that I have seen and felt over the course of the last three months.

The last time I told my tales I was eagerly awaiting a visit from Brandon, Josh and Ivania – it feels like distant history, but Ill try my hand at the historians’ art form.

The trio arrived late, on the eve of completing midterms, so we sought nourishment and then rest.  We spent a couple days in Bangkok and then headed southeast towards the Thai island of Koh Chang (pronounced Chong). We played there for nearly a week, rode scooters through windy island/mountain roads, cleansed ourselves in waterfalls and observed the obscurities or absurdities of tourism in Thailand. As some of you may know, Thailand is known for a number of great adventures—and sex tourism is one that makes the cut. Though not generally the target of this attention (I’m left pondering my deficiencies) traveling with two studs collectively made us a more likely client and therefore an object of their cat calls. Brandon’s induction into Thai lady bars ended with a working girl’s tongue licking up his salt. Without need for explanation, Brandon was ready to move on ;)

We made it back to Bangkok, saw Josh and Ivania out, and then hopped on a train headed west towards Kanchanaburi where an impressive waterfall has made herself at home. We spent a few days there dancing in the streets and lounging along the river before our journey back to the concrete jungle (Bangkok). Perhaps worthy of mention, and now a chuckle is our first experience with a bag-snatch. Whilst strolling home Margit had a run-in with two guys on a motorbike. They slashed her bag (got away with a pack of celebratory American Spirits) and gashed her side. We had heard stories about bag theft in SE Asia, but up until this point had lucked out. In the end Margit had some impressive (but not serious) wounds and a more scandalous dress to strut her stuff in.

This is when things get interesting… its early October at this point, I’ve just finished midterms and Brandon leaves in a couple of days...but…dun-dun-dun: flood warnings hit and our school announces the suspension of our studies. Despite the innumerable unfortunates, including lost lives, businesses, disruptions in employment, mobility, and in some cases, food -- the Thai community I have called my own, pulled together through this difficult and long period of flooding and then recovery. At the time, however, no one was aware of how serious the threat of flooding was and honestly; I was excited about the extra week of free time (an extra week that became an extra two, four, six, and then eight and half weeks). Before I even made it home from school to share the news with Brandon he had caught wind of the suspension and was already figuring out how to extend his flight. That night we made plans to head down to southern Thailand – the picturesque teal watered paradise that you see on postcards, with the infamous Greencurryobsessions blog STAR Margit Mclaughlin.

We arrived in southern Thailand on an overnight bus. With loose plans in mind, we headed towards the climbing Mecca of Tonsai beach. A tiny little community of climbers and backpackers, Tonsai offers epic views, cheap accommodations, and a herd of beautiful bodies heading up the face of limestone cliffs. People seem to linger in this paradise for months on end, but we had to drag ourselves out after a week. Margit later admitted she cried when we left – even despite the enormous monitor lizards (striking resemblance to komodo dragons), swarms of monkeys that lingered around our bungalows, and the rats that scurried about after dark.

Next stop was a calm few days on another island called Koh Lanta, which supposedly has excellent diving (we opted out after diving out of Tonsai and not seeing much). Highlight of this island: the English woman who ran our guesthouse when she said ‘prick naam plaa’ which is Thai for chili fish water. Imagine a Queens English accent hybrid with tonal Thai and if you’re not amused, you’re probably not that interesting.

Then back to Bangkok to see Brandon out and presumably return to my studies. I was sad to see him go, but his timing was perfect. About a day after his departure I’m standing on my balcony and nearly three weeks after school is first suspended watch floodwater seep into my neighborhood. Within an hour the water levels went from dry to waist-deep and as I witness this from the comfort of my seventh floor balcony I’m torn between anxiety and amusement: Thai youngins’ seem to be under the impression the Gods have just built for them an enormous swimming pool; I watch the little ones loft about on tires (i.e. tubes) and jump off street rails (i.e. diving board) into murky depths. Being a product of sanitation obsessed western-wired ontology (although I myself, not always the most hygienic, haha), I think first of the water composition: the fecal matter, the animals that didn’t make it through the floods, the flotsam and jetsam of Bangkok routine; secondly, being a big fan of mother nature and the goodness she shares with me, I think of the pesticides, already pervasive in our waters, and now ever more mobile; being a participant in conversations about and a student of environmental justice, I agonize over the disproportionate burdens natural disaster imposes on marginalized groups of our communities (Katrina anyone?).

This is the first time I’ve ever bared witness to natural disaster. It’s not the same. Being in it. Having our apartments evacuated. Being labeled ‘flood refugees’. Trudging through 4 feet of water with your belongings on your back in a culture that isn’t your own. Trying to explain to your family that you’re safe. Knowing that your life, as a western visitor, is being prioritized. Knowing you have somewhere safe to go, the financial means to get there, and that your family is safe back in the States. There’s no feeling like this. I remembered the footage of the recent tsunami in Japan and I knew it to be real, to be painful, to be destruction, but until you witness disaster you can only imagine disaster – and trust me, they’re not the same. Most fascinating (if you can say that) about the whole experience was the resilience of the Thai people: business owners shoveling water out of their shops, standing waist deep in water and still trying to sell their goods. Street vendors and motorbike taxis still at work. Their worlds couldn’t be paused; their debts wouldn’t have understood why no money had been made.

The night before I left Bangkok I packed frantically. I watched the floodwaters inundate my neighborhood, I was told taxis could not longer enter our streets and I couldn’t handle any more exposure. I guess it was a telling experience for me – in many ways, but mostly I became better acquainted with my threshold for chaos. I walked out to the streets, bag packed and stowed on my shoulders, and as I realized the depth of the water was even higher on the main road than it was on my little soi, I nervously turned back towards home. But I couldn’t stay. I sat in my apartment and felt more anxiety than I have in quite some time (maybe since the last round of finals at UCSC..hehe). I knew I had to leave, to walk until I reached somewhere not yet inundated, so I did. I walked until I could get a taxi, went to the airport and planned to be in Vietnam the next morning.

Jake from the Seabright compound (“bohemians” as this eclectic mix of my old Santa Cruz neighbors call themselves) booked a flight out on a couple days notice and we spent a week exploring the north of Vietnam. Just a short visit, but well worth it. We were able to witness the pandemonium of Hanoi and the magnificence of Halong Bay. In Hanoi there are more scooters than ants in an underground empire (ant farms quite easily likened to the reaches of Monsanto, but at the micro scale). The roads remain unregulated, with both police and traffic lights completely absent. Traffic weaves in and out, and intersections leave you feeling like a character out of an old low-budget video game. No matter the direction you’re traveling, or the mode of transit a fierce game of chicken dictates who goes, who slams on their breaks, who swerves out of the way, and well – who goes anywhere at all. It took a full day of garnering my inner strength, procuring the brave child within, knowing that if I didn’t find her I’d be bound to the walls of my guesthouse. By the second day I was jumping in front of cars as though I had the physical strength to stop them with my bare hands if they didn’t back down. This was the most intense road experience I’ve ever had, and after some months in SE Asia, and a few points on my driving record that says A LOT. I’m pretty sure Jake spent about 50% of his time commenting on the road conditions and I’m sure had I dared to suggest a place to sit for a snack or a drink that didn’t offer roadside views he’d have declined the offer. From Hanoi we ventured maybe 6 hours east to Ha Long Bay, an UNESCO World Heritage city and home to massive karsts formations that loom over cruise ships (called junks) in the South China Sea. With a deep environmental and cultural history (although changing rapidly due to the influx of tourism) the site made for an impressive few days. Difficult, however, to visit “floating fishing villages” and see that rather than fishing in these now polluted waters, families have become fully dependent on selling goods to tourists. Small paddle fishing boats wander along side large junk boats selling Pringles at inflated prices to tourists at sea. I had collected a montage of pictures I looked forward to sharing, but my forgetfulness caught hold of me once again and I left my camera in a taxi the night before our flight back to Bangkok.

Getting back to Bangkok was weird and brief. Rather than troubling myself to get back to my apartment (where mandatory evacuations were still ordinance) I booked a flight south to Krabi to meet my beloved Margit and fellow traveler Camille. Having found themselves yet again on Tonsai Beach, I happily joined their tiresome routine: wake late in a cheap seaside bungalow, grab breakfast, have a sun session, a swim, an afternoon beer, lunch, sun, swim, and then an evening dance at one of three bars on Tonsai. We lost nearly three weeks mastering our beach bumming techniques and earned ourselves some wicked tans and maybe another wrinkle or two around the eyes from smiles and laughter. Building neck muscle, we’ve since declared. I even had my go-around with a night of bartending for Thailand’s most famous reggae artist, Job 2 Do.

Highlight of round two on Tonsai: a trip out to a local island to watch climbers solo free dive. Basically this entails climbing the face of an overhang without gear so when you tire you simply plummet into the warm waters of the Gulf of Thailand. My efforts were pathetic, but some of these humans (I’d like to think of them as machines) were unbelievable. We wrapped up the evening by setting up camp (by camp I mean a fire, that’s all) on an empty beach where we shared some drinks and a song and dance. Along side the beach was a massive cave and as the night progressed the number of people that migrated into the caves grew. From two or three, to fifteen or so, we each chanted, tapped the inside of the cave walls with random instruments picked from the cave floor, and admired our posse’s didgeridoo and harmonica players. When we tired of the cave we indulged ourselves in a phosphorescent swim caused by dinoflagellates. As you swim these critters emit an electric blue light when disturbed. You can’t see the little life forms, so it feels a bit psychedelic and painfully beautiful. We fell asleep after indulging in our packed in (and packed out) watering holes and then woke for a morning swim in the clearest water I’ve encountered in Asia. Swarming around us were fish anywhere from 2-8 inches long and as colorful as one could imagine. A truly tropical experience: we knelt in the still warm  waters for hours alternating between feeding the fish pineapple chunks (which they’d eat out of your hand) and watching a few of the others attempt to cross an epically long tight rope they had anchored between two cliff faces. I’m not the best at measurement estimates but I’d say this was at least 30 meters across and was poised above the ocean and ran parallel to the beach we camped on. Most rewarding about this experience was the group’s ability to independently organize (if you could call it that =P) the trip; rather than booking through a tourist agency, we purchased a bunch of to-go food from one of the street vendors and hired some boatmen to take us out to the island (with the promise of retrieving us, we hoped…). This was without a doubt one of the most rewarding things I’ve done in all my travels thus far.

It was time to leave Tonsai though. I’m leaving out fun details about the mushroom tea party, the base jumpers that came flying down from the mountain tops every afternoon, the depth of the people we bonded with, the goodness of the shells I acquired (and am now awkwardly lugging around southeast Asia), the richness of the locally grown and ground (with pestle and mortar) coffee beans, the tasty grub provided by Crazy Mama and Chicken Mama (two alley vendors that slop up some of the best Thai fare I’ve had…so long as Crazy Mama hadn’t already smoked too many doobies and forgotten your order!), the late night dancing, the monkeys jumping us for our bananas on our walk back to our bungalow, the further bonding of us three ladies, the number of mangoes we collectively consumed, and our attempts to learn how to hula hoop and fire spin under the direction of some skilled travelers. Although each of these snippets, and of course the forgotten stories are worth telling, we had to move on from Tonsai so now I’ll move on from the subject of Tonsai (but know I left part of my heart there). Word on the street (a single dirt road without cars that leads into the jungle bungalows) in Tonsai, a mantra of sorts and a slogan slapped on tees goes a bit like this: front of the shirt “I’m leaving Tonsai!!!!!” back of the shirt “maybe tomorrow…” and after nearly two weeks of postponing our trip to Malaysia we argue it’s no exaggeration.

This diligent historian has dug through a month and a half of memories so far. Somewhere around the middle of November we severed the umbilical cord we had with Tonsai and booked a bus down to Malaysia. This being my first time in a Muslim nation, I was excited to experience Islam in a region of relative peace and liberty. Beginning our journey in the northeast, we were able to see Kota Bharu, where morality police are said to be ubiquitous here and apprehend people who engage in acts perceived immoral. Kota Bharu is the most conservative city in Malaysia, and I was reminded of this when I attempted to leave my guesthouse for dinner and was asked to move my handbag in front of my chest to further conceal my ‘lovely lady lumps’. This was especially interesting, because I am culturally sensitive and was dressed as conservative as I thought necessary – wearing an ankle length skirt, a low cut sweater (although not necessarily cold out) with a tank top under the sweater to conceal the possibility of cleavage. This same guesthouse also had signs posted that asked that tourists not use their glasses for alcohol, put beer cans in their trashcans, or interrupt prayers by coming to the office during prayer times. Everywhere we stayed, not just in the more conservative Kota Bharu, indicated the direction of Mecca for prayers and this guesthouse was not the only one that didn’t offer alcohol. This means Margit and I were naturally quite thirsty, especially when we ended up in a remote hotel where drinks were completely out of reach…well, aside from one large can of Chang beer I had been lugging around in my backpack. We savored this golden liquid as though it were…well, gold – and to us it may as well have been. We weren’t exactly having the best time in Malaysia and a cold beer always jumpstarts the spirit.

Highlights of Malaysia: crossing the border lugging bottles of liquor in each of our three backpacks after being warned of the inflated prices. We get to the border and are for the first time stopped for security checks (hasn’t happened anywhere else for overland entrance). Were waiting in line to have our passports stamped when Margit notices a security officer extract a bottle of what we presume to be alcohol from a man’s bag before letting him pass. Now if it had been just one bottle this wouldn’t be so disconcerting but with Margit’s bottle of gin, Camille’s bottle of whiskey, my bottle of red wine and a large can of Chang beer we’d say it was awkward. Margit braved the check first and when asked about the bottle they spotted on the computer screen after scanning her bag she quickly tried to spit out an unintelligible ‘gin’ in hopes of him not knowing what gin was, or not making out her words and not caring to continue the conversation. Low and behold the guard’s lips form a smile, he knows what gin is and is happy to send us on our merry way, booze in bag. Camille and I both go through the same process and if anything, they seem pleased. Surprising after the guard who stamped our passports interrogated Margit about the whereabouts of her significant other.

Other small highlights include, very briefly, the abundance and cheapness of Indian food, the history of the Straights of Malacca and the city of Malacca, the seeming livability of Kuala Lumpur (for a big city), a trip to the cinema to catch the only Malaysian film being screened that night (the popcorn, obviously), the coexistence of Buddhist temples, Islamic mosques, and Hindu temples, witnessing a group of Malaysian swimming having a swim completely veiled from head to toe, and meeting Margit’s lovely mama who flew into KL to join us in our travels for a bit.

We returned to Bangkok at the end of the month to fully move out of our apartments. The floodwaters, after lingering in the streets outside my complex for a month, had receded in most of Bangkok and street cleaning efforts were underway. The roads were being swept and large piles of debris were scattered up and down the streets. This reminded me of my hometown where once a year the trash pickup service permits families to use their curbs as personal dumps for a few days before they come and pickup all your discarded tree limbs, couches, roofing, broken bicycles, pieces of plastic, wood, timber and glass that were once something. These piles had scores of junk and scores of discarded gems and lucky finds—also similar to my hometown where homeless people (and members of my family, haha) would rummage through the junk for those special finds. Oddly, though, the town looked clean—refreshed, I’d say. Bangkok is by no means a clean place, but after a long bath and swarms of people with brooms and tractors, the town looked like a giant had generously polished the roads while I was away. A warm welcome back…warm and short that is! I came back to pack up my apartment now that we were allowed to enter them again. Three days later Margit, Camille and I were packed and on a night bus up to Chiang Mai in northern Thailand to finish up our distance-learning research papers and be fully done with our term at Thammasat University. From Chiang Mai we journeyed another four hours north to Chiang Rai where we emailed our profs our papers and hopped on a Laos bound bus. As for Laos, it’s been one of the highlights of my time here and deserves another blog entry wholly dedicated to my time there and in Cambodia where we spent a month and half backpacking. I’ll try to motivate myself to chronicle my experiences in these two most beautiful countries in the coming days, but for now this is a long update—a long chunk of time and a long bit of prose.

Today I sit here on a veranda in Chiang Mai. From the balcony littered with cushions and friendly travelers I can spot the top of an aging temple. I’ve spent the better part of my day eating and writing this entry so I do hope those that have been encouraging me to write again are pleased to know the nitty-gritty details of Jessie Rae Rudd in Asia. I’ll be here for about a month because I enrolled in a TEFL certification course at Chiang Mai University. This course basically makes me employable in most places in the world and promises me a few years of working and traveling before I think too seriously about my return to academics. I’m excited about the process, but at the same time bummed to be stationary for nearly a month after city/country hopping for awhile. Sometimes sitting still is what you need though, I suppose. I hope to get some yoga in, spend a bit more time on a bicycle, and do some rock climbing. Also, I haven’t had the chance to fully explore the north of Thailand so being here for awhile means Ill be able to check out some of the nearby cities famed for hippies, famed for beauty, famed for rural villages, and famed for dancing yourself silly, and visiting the water holes (obviously not every city is famed for each of these things, haha –pretty sure I wont find a drunken dance party in a rural village, but I’m quite happy to do it all in segment - alternating between cultural exchange/insight and getting groovy).

So, ladies and gents, I’m finally reunited with my computer, will have regular Internet access, and will get this blog up to date. This is a good step for me. I was starting to fear I wouldn’t have the motivation to return to my writing and although this was painful and I feel rusty after not writing for a while, it was also therapeutic. I’ll be available for Skype and have hundreds of pictures from Laos and Cambodia to upload so keep checking the blog and my facebook for news.

Not sure when I’ll consent to life in the States, but I love and miss everyone. I’ve been thinking about my JJ-- my bubbas--obsessively and I hope he knows how much I love him and is holding no grudges. Man’s best friend is his dog, and I couldn’t argue with that (so long as I can have a lengthy list of besties). I know that everyone I know and love understands my urge to be away, and I hope he does too.

What a little stud, eh?

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.” – Mark Twain

It is officially fall back home and I can’t help but imagine a pair of snazzy brown leggings paired with a ridiculous pair of boots, and a light sweater dress complemented just perfectly by one of many of my beanies or head scarves. Brisk mornings, changing leaves, streets covered in leaf litter (conveniently hiding the litter of my brothers and sisters that neglect to respect Our Mother) an oven nurturing an aromatic spiced pie and good o’l bike rides. I’m thinking about my mom and knowing she’s been splurging on new Halloween decorations; I’m imagining the kids too scared to approach her front door on Halloween evening; and feeling nostalgia for the holiday cheer of her annual pumpkin carving party—always enough liquor to keep the adults smiling while finishing off the couple dozen pumpkins the kids started and abandoned.

And then there’s the hot tub -- a place where friends can gather from October-February. Trips home from Santa Cruz may or may not have been inspired by this big tub of hot water.

But…about Bangkok.

As much as I have thought about home, I’ve yet to feel homesick. I know that everything and everyone I love will be there when I return =)

So three weeks is a lot of updating, especially when those three weeks encompass a trip down to Koh Chang (an island SE of Bangkok) and a weekend in Cambodia! However, as I mentioned in my last blog, updating under time constraints is probably a good strategy. I’m in the midst of preparing for midterms and writing papers, so in having less time, I’ll test your patience less ferociously.

On Thursday September 8, Jake arrived for a visit from Santa Cruz. I had my English instruction interview on Thursday morning and an afternoon class, so we didn’t do much visiting until Thursday night. Friday morning we woke and caught a flight over to Koh Chang, which is a wonderfully beautiful island not too far from Bangkok. This island is dense in forests and steep mountains….and beaches! Incredible. I thought Santa Cruz was fortunate in its composite of redwood forests and coastal sublimity, but on Koh Chang it’s seriously one unit. I’m starting to think the 7-mile drive from beach front living to hiking in the redwoods was a bit arduous!

Despite the rain (another wet vacation on an island) we had a stunning time. Luckily rainy season is wrapping up now, and hopefully I’ll be able to get some real beach time in while everyone in California packs on the layers (well….layers in that California kind of way). We spent a lot of time chatting, napping, reading, eating, and drinking so the rain wasn’t much of a damper.

AND…dun dun dun….

We met the coolest baboon ever. We named him Bamboo (admittedly because I was struggling to remember the word baboon and kept slipping up with Bamboo) and were able to feed him fruit from our fingertips right outside our guesthouse. Apparently a troop of them reigns in the trees that hung over our rooftops and this brave soldier has discovered the ease of survival when in cahoots with the kind human; and, despite the generosity of our lodge owners, Bamboo still found it worthwhile to steal from the Buddhist shrines. Jake snapped a fantastic shot of Bamboo in action; in the photos (available on Facebook) the little dude is in midflight, fruit in hand. A nimble feller who presumably has some experience with this sort of illicit behavior. No wonder you hear stories about thieves and monkeys, they’re really good.

Our guesthouse was nothing less than perfect. With cold running water, a squat toilet, a slanting floor and an unobstructed view of the gulf, one couldn’t ask for more.

Sadly Jake’s visit was cut short because of a full schedule and he caught a flight back to California at around 5am Wednesday morning. We both woke around 3, him to prepare for his flight, and me to prepare for my first Thai language quiz. How’d it go you might wonder? Let’s just say FARANGs (fer-ay-ng, meaning foreigners) don’t seem to hear tones. It’s baffling; the professor goes over and over these tones, laughs because the distinctions are “so obvious” and yet we all blurt out a medley of answers: high tone, low tone, rising….and then she announces it was mid tone. Ayyyy, accepting defeat is tough. However, on Wednesday I get another chance. Our Thai midterm starts promptly at 9am, and were expected to give a short presentation in Thai, be able to perceive tones, write the Thai characters, and conjugate sentences correctly. Whew.

Despite all of the Thai language’s efforts to sour my morning, I remained optimistic. Students from California universities have the best advisor ever, and he planned for us a super swanky dinner in the commercial district of Bangkok. Many floors up, and many bottles of wine later, we all left totally satisfied. The dinner taunted our tongues with artichokes, cheese, chocolate, bread, and olives. I’m going to rethink luxuries when I return home.

So the quiz and dinner were on Wednesday, meaning Thursday would be dedicated to class and laundry because after loitering around Bangkok for forty-eight hours, it was time to get out of town. Cambodia and I had a date.

Traveling once again with Margit, Shannon and Camille, the three of us caught a 5:55 train out of Bangkok to the Thai border town of Aranyaprathet. Luckily we had done our research and managed to avoid the slew of scams that have gained notoriety on these seemingly lawless lands. Passing through Thailand to Cambodia was actually quite easy and we spent nothing more than we should have on our Cambodian Visas. What an accomplishment!  

Once in Poi Pet (the Cambodian side of the border) we managed and to snag a taxi  (paying little regard to the fact that the driver had the hood up and was working on it at the time) for less than the bus charged per head. Thailand has trained us well. We grabbed our first local brews, and by we I mean Margit and I—maybe the alcoholics? I think not, we just know how to appreciate the finest parts of life. Plus, we had a two hour ride ahead of us and weren’t totally sure our car was going to make it the two hour stretch through Cambodia into Siem Riep. What better way to prepare for a potential let down? It all worked out though, we only had to pull over once while I driver stuffed his head in the hood of his Camry, the sunset was great, watching kids playing in mud “ponds” (maybe a foot of water) had me grinning, and the Indian sounding Cambodian music our driver grooved to was in fact groovy. We checked into a cool guesthouse where us four ladies split a room for $6 U.S. (Cambodia uses U.S. dollars, the Cambodia Riel ($4200 Riel to $1 U.S), and in some cases the Thai Baht). Their currency isn’t terribly strong and we were advised to use U.S. dollars while traveling...plus, it took me awhile to master the math behind $30 baht to $1 U.S, let alone a messy conversion like $4200!

Our first full day in Cambodia was leisurely. We slept in, rented bikes (it felt so good to roll around town on two wheels), munched on some “happy herb pizza,” (the dough is in fact prepared with marijuana and is considered traditional Khmer food) got tugged on by street kids asking for candy, money, or perfecting their entrepreneurial skills in mostly book and jewelry retail. Many of them were quite young, I wouldn’t suspect over 10, and were out into the wee hours goofing with the other streets kids and trying to earn some money or snag a snack from the overflow of tourists that visit their beautiful city.

The next day, sadly already our final day in Cambodia, we visited Angkor Wat. One of the Seven Wonders of the World, Angkor Wat boasts temples that balk at you in their enormity. I’ve yet to watch it, but apparently Tomb Raider was filmed here! A spread of numerous temples, each with own mighty flights of stairs, makes this a worldwide tourist destination. We lucked out too because we got just the slightest of showers, and caught some amazing sunrises and sunsets. The weekend prior some folks had visited Cambodia and spent their few days wading through knee high water due to poor infrastructure. Another guy I chatted with mentioned a man had been bit by an alligator while treading through the flooded streets! Luckily, our roads were dry, and the burnt red soils that contrasted with the bright green vegetation are what post cards were made for.

Overall, I loved Cambodia and did not want to return to Thailand. I cannot wait for my visit to Cambodia in December. I’ll be backpacking through Laos, Vietnam and Cambodia with a lot more time on my hands.

I’m so intrigued by the history of Cambodia and have been slightly obsessed with learning about this beautiful country’s past. Only recently have they had political stability, and the aftermath of the Khmer Rouge genocide from 1975-1979 dictates the demographics. With most of the population under 30, many of the older Cambodians we saw were victims of landmines. During the Cambodian/Vietnam war the Khmer Rouge (under the financial and political support of the United States) planted landmines throughout Cambodia and did not map where these immoral agents of destruction were planted. Consequently, travelers in Cambodia are warned to stay on the beaten path; in fact, blogs and brochures caution hikers to call for help immediately and remain still if on unfamiliar terrain. Also consequential for Cambodia’s prosperity is the discerning killings of the Khmer Rouge: because the regime hoped to limit Western influence and devise an egalitarian community, all educated members of society were targeted in their genocide. Children at Angkor Wat were selling books that illustrated this history, and I recently finished First They Killed My Father, a novel based on the reflections of an 8 yr old Cambodian girl whose family was murdered and disenfranchised.

The country is currently a recipient of large sums of development aid and this alone is reason to be concerned. Although I understand the need of these nations and their peoples, development aid is always offered with strict stipulations. The World Bank and International Monetary Fund are not selfless donors, and these loans are always chalk-full of carrots for the donors. In Latin America the consequences of neoliberal reform are well researched and these nations remain indebted to the U.S. and in shackles. With little room to support social services, the privatization of all sectors breeds gruesome inequity. Open Veins of Latin America by Eduardo Galeano chronicles this process with great depth and passion if you’re interested.

So I am back in Bangkok and took a weekend off traveling. It is midterms week so were all busier than usual. I have been studying and writing over the last few days and have come to the conclusion that midterms and Thailand do not pair nicely. Buttttttt, they are over on Wednesday and I receive Brandon Rudd & Ivania and Josh Rocha tomorrow night. I’m so excited for their arrival. Brandon will be sharing his birthday with me and I know that we will have some blog-worthy travel experiences while they’re here.

Finally, once again the value of my life and the many opportunities I have been awarded has been put into perspective. Earlier this month a woman of deep strength and deep love for her community passed away at the hands of someone she cared for. May my neighbor’s spirit live on, may her family and friends remain strong, and may the justice she fought for prevail. Celestial Dove Cassman, you are in the hearts and minds of many.

And, so not to close on premature goodbyes, the vegetarian festival officially begins tomorrow and street vendors have begun hanging their yellow flags of meatless goodness around their stands. Vegetarians indulge in real Thailand.

Namaste

CAMBODIA pictures

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.290581194288896.88407.100000110547271&l=36c9ab121b&type=1

KOH CHANG pictures

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.290569227623426.88386.100000110547271&l=39c34d2633&type=1

To marvel at life's marvels

The lulls of home have emerged; I suppose this indicates having fully adapted to life in Thailand – paying rent, doing homework, cleaning house, and writing myself little lists of to-do’s, most guaranteed to be lost and forgotten. I am well, and I am happy but thoughts of obligations have set in. My calendar has been decorated with due dates, and with visitors coming and a Visa set to expire (Which means I need to schedule a trip out of Thailand in the next 3.5 weeks.) I’m feeling rather uncommitted. Two goals for the day: better plan the next month and make time for blogging. I’ve written three sentences now, and am already working on the fourth, about 1% progress.

It has been exactly two weeks since we have spoken, and why, I don’t even miss the feeling of pouring thoughts and memories onto a Word document in hopes of not forgetting the intricacies, not boring my readers, not foregoing moments of laughter and first times and more generally, not announcing to the world I’m still learning my native tongue. Writing without addressing a particular person or subject, as one might do for academia, poses interesting insights into one’s own limitations. I am voluntarily keeping a blog, but perhaps because this is the first time I’ve done such a thing, I feel rather exposed by it. I think I’d like it better if someone else did the documenting…but then again, I wouldn’t want to read someone else’s perception of my life unless I of course paid them off or they were stunning wordsmiths. Note to readers: if this blog suddenly becomes prodigious, don’t ask questions.

As for the update, assuming that’s what this blog is about, I have much to divulge: an emergency room, culinary transcendence (a revealing testament of self-indulgence), more temple time (called Wats (sounds like Wot) and fun to say “What Wat”), taxi tales (perhaps a publishable “Short and Simple Annals of Carriage in Bangkok” – certainly it would be amusing), a not quite quixotic island adventure, however fun, and random other accounts of eating, learning, and traveling in Bangkok.

I’m mighty convinced that upon reading “emergency room” in my last paragraph many of you struggled to completely read even such a short passage. An age of drama infused lives – blood and glory, we cry. I shall answer your calls for excitement with a disappointing level of ruckus. Sometime soon after my last entry a few of the gals and I ventured out to the Silom District in Bangkok. Silom Soi (street) 2 & 4 serve as the hub of gay nightlife in Bangkok and an evening full of dancing and a short (and impressive) lady-boy show painted smiles on everyone’s face. Until…suspense builder…the sound of breaking glass. A new friend of ours, met just two night prior, was having perhaps too much fun? He fell through a sheet of glass and after about twenty minutes of technical investigation, we discovered it was in fact our friend that had caused a piece of wood to replace what was once a piece of glass -- and was now in the emergency room. Lightly injured, a few stitches, and nearly two hours later we all laughed in exhaustion and caught a taxi home. Luckily we had about five hours before have to land our butts in lecture.

Having jumped right to the emergency room, I failed to mention the night prior: Margit and mine’s first real success eating vegetarian food in Bangkok. Traveling by foot, we planned to dine at a vegetarian restaurant in a familiar neighborhood about 25 minutes away. While strolling over to our intended destination we were lured by an owner of a guesthouse, dubbed JENNY’S (not terribly authentic sounding) and nearly scoffed at his attempt to draw Western diners to his eatery with a name like Jenny’s. We continued onward only to discover that our dining plan required some revisions – the vendor was closing shop and Jenny’s was just around the corner. We turned back towards Jenny’s, and expecting little, pulled out the chairs at a small outside table. Within seconds Jenny (the chosen name of this Thai man) served us a bowl of local fruits and a friendly smile. Wearing a t-shirt that read “if you make peaceful protest impossible, you make violent revolution inevitable” I began to warm up to the idea of dinner at Jenny’s. Unfounded judgments can be prudently humbling.  The meal was delicious, the price commendable, the spice nearly enough, and the generosity, unmatched. Jenny purchased us a small dessert from a street vendor and poured a stout gin and tonic J

The rest of the week included a visit to Wat Pho, the largest and oldest temple in Bangkok and home to the well-known Reclining Buddha statue, another unnerving afternoon in a taxi to the wrong destination (losing just 3 hours and 400 baht), an incredible street vendor (more to come on this) and planning a trip down to nearby Koh Samet.

As previously mentioned, although not quite a quixotic island adventure, Koh Samet offered a nearby escape from urban life. A popular destination among Thais, and just a 3-4 hour bus ride, Samet is an easy escape. And the bus ride – let me just say it was no 3^rd class train ride! We went in one of those awful tourist buses that one hates to see in their own town, but boy are they cushy: curtains on the windows, reclining chairs, free water, an icy A/C – one couldn’t help but sing The Jefferson’s Moving On Up. The island, adored for being one of the driest archipelagos in Thailand rained nearly the Whole time. Of course the rain is warm and the alcohol warming, so we managed with ease, but indulged in a trip a bit different than the one we had envisioned. Rather than drinking in sunlight, we drank in copious amounts of booze; rather than reading, we found ourselves escaping to the ocean waters for a swim; rather than hiking the island, we found ourselves frequently dining. Trip highlights: fire jump roping and fire limbo, dancing late into the night while the skies poured rain onto our happy souls, and no bed bugs in this guesthouse – trip detraction: the mosquitoes were implacable.

 I’ve only caught you guys up on one of two weeks – every time I sit down to write in my blog this seems to happen. Perhaps I should plan to update when faced with strict time constraints? And for all the effort, not one of you should be skimming!

We returned from the island late Monday night and after grabbing a quick bowl of soup from a street vendor across the street, we set our minds on sleep. Having to act out carrots, cabbages and all things green is getting to be quite the show. Lots of pointing, laughing, and optimism are required for these feats. I’m glad I’ve met other vegetarians and I’m glad a Thai vendor has yet to throw something at me. Luckily, because of a scheduled class field trip this weekend, my Tuesday morning class was canceled. Sleeping in after the island was much needed.

A few more confessions to go and then dinner time and a trip to a folk music pub, apparently popular among the politically active Thai.

On Thursday, before heading off to my Ethnic Studies class, Margit and I met for lunch at a street vendors stand a 15-minute stroll from our apartments. Having just been introduced to Pok (the woman who runs the stand) a week prior we marveled at her technique and sniffled as we scooped Tom Yum with noodles into our greed filled mouths. And because I was impressed by Margit’s own blog about our lunch, I chose to thieve rather than be creative myself. As a wise woman once described:  “Pok makes a mean tôm yam, and she’s not shy to make it phèt (spicy) when she’s asked. This has been a constant problem in Thailand — farang girl asks for phèt, yes, chây-ka, and you’re served up a big bowl of some plain-ass watery noodles by your Thai server, who’s all excited, certain: “Yes yes you say no spicy good yes okay?” When this happened last week, we emptied the entire bowl of chili flakes into our flavorless soup bowls, eliciting gasps and pointing fingers and “phèt farang”– priceless. As Margit said, getting spicy with this shade of skin, this particular shape of eyes, and this color of hair is almost impossible. Not only does Pok earn kudos for the tears in our eyes, but also for the free tastes of Thailand she’s provided both visits: the first time, an incredible Thai omelet and the second time, a fresh baby coconut and a Thai pomegranate. Her English is better than most, and she’s quick to ask the name of a new guest: Chan Chuu Jessieeee (My name is Jessie, with a long draw on the E sound).

After a nearly life-changing lunch date, and a lecture on ethnicity, I strategically planned my route home: having yet again forgot my umbrella (I only bring it on the days that don’t rain), my motherly instincts guided me as I protected my beloved Macbook from the rain and sprinted from shelter to shelter as I made the 20 minute trek home. Maybe I learned this time?

On Thursday night a group of SIXTEEN of us – not sure how this always seems to happen in Bangkok, jumped into four taxis to visit a restaurant dubbed Cabbages and Condoms. The website explains how “… [the] restaurant was conceptualized in part to promote better understanding and acceptance of family planning and to generate income to support various development activities of the Population and Community Development Association (PDA).” The entire place is decked out in condoms, from the centerpieces in the tables, to the art on the walls, family planning and greater acceptance of contraceptives is the statement. A neat place to eat and support.

August second was our One Month Anniversary with Bangkok and although I don’t generally celebrate One Months, this one called for fine dining, a hot date, a big bill, and some cute attire. Although initially planned to involve more people, everyone seemed to find better things to do so Margit and I headed on over to Little India in a true romantics kind of way. Dressed in a blue Thammasat t-shirt,  horts and hiking sandals, she knew we were getting serious. In a deep alleyway, in an unmarked restaurant, we found a little “hole in the wall” that featured about 6 premade Indian dishes, a huge bowl of rice, and some roti. We ordered enough food to feed four and a Lassi for under $6 U.S. Were getting pretty serious.

The night capped off with a little dessert I picked up off Kao San road – a leaf full of mixed fried insects and a bag of small crickets. Vegetarian failure? I just had to do it.

Finally, yesterday was Saturday and for one of my classes we visited a convention on Thai Traditional Medicine. Although I mostly ate at this event (not surprising, I know) seeing almost everything written in Thai, a large display of medicinal plants, and traditional massages was nothing short of interesting. One of the assignments for the field trip was to receive a massage? Tough work. UC professors should keep these things in mind when dulling out the workload.

I hope everyone at home is filled with love and happiness. To those of you in Fresno, don’t let the heat sour your souls and remind yourselves of the humidity in other parts of the world *cough *cough. I’ve been thinking a lot about Santa Cruz and the abundance of local organic foods and vegetarian fare – spending time away from those luxuries surely helps you realize just how much of a luxury they are. Access is word of critical significance: access to health, education, sustainable food, agency and autonomy and political transparency. For all that I intend to change and the activism that fuels my heart, I am grateful to be born an American citizen where although inclusion and access are lacking, I have the ability and the knowledge to recognize these deficiencies and the power to feel as though I am able to make a difference.

On Thursday I have an interview to start teaching English at an exclusive all girls campus in Bangkok that is funded by the royal family and has a mission statement of cultural exchange and increased awareness in the global community. I am also thinking a lot about volunteer options in Thailand and the surrounding areas  -- once my program in Bangkok wraps up, I will spend sometime traveling without time restraint and then hopefully settling down in some random South East Asian city where food and accommodations are traded for one’s services in English, on farm assistance and other clinics designed to help orphans, HIV patients, animals, and women. There are many opportunities to volunteer in Asia and I can’t wait to see this region from that perspective.

To all those without Facebook accounts:

For the rest of Koh Samet Island photos see:

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.279324685414547.86006.100000110547271&l=526fc40b21&type=1

For the rest of random up to date Bangkok see:

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?

set=a.281840785162937.86393.100000110547271&l=13b4855afa&type=1

With Gratitude,

Jessie Rae