Numbers

In the course of a conversation about English teaching techniques and teacher training with a colleague this morning, I was informed that we have 309 days remaining until our official close-of-service date on March 20, 2014.

This particular colleague has a countdown app on her iPhone. Such calculations are well beyond the capacity of my Samsung Hero, which, while it will convert temperatures, lengths, weights, and a few other units between metric and American units, has nothing to say about the passage of time, except always to reset to January 1, 2010, when the battery is removed and replaced.

According to the online calculator I used to verify my fellow PCV's iPhone, we do in fact have 309 days left, not including March 20 (which I suppose is relevant, considering that will be the day we're released from our vows as PCVs). By the time that day actually rolls around, we will have been here for a whopping 799 days. (Minus the 10 or so that we spent in India.) But still, nearly 800 days away from home. That means we're just over 61% done with our service.

And that means....

Well, I'm not really sure. But I thought I'd share.

Buat Chang anyone?

This week, we returned from our mid-service conference where we had 3 days worth of mostly great sessions and were honored with the appearance of a special guest speaker, Surin Pitsuwan who enlightened us on many issues pertaining to this country we are trying so hard to serve. Following that was medical check-ups, the standard western food bank account draining ritual, and then for me an early return to sight while Erin waited for her childhood friend Sherron to arrive in BKK.

I opted to come back early based on an invitation that E and I had received from a teacher in a neighboring village. He told us that on the 7th of April, there would be a Buat Chang (lit. transl: elephant ordination) in Sukhothai, and that we were invited to attend with him should we be free that day. Erin had to decline the invite straightaway because of arrangements that were already made with Sherron. I told the guy that I would like to go and would call him when I returned from BKK to make arrangements. For some reason I got the feeling that the offer was less viable when he knew Erin would not come, but I had already decided that an elephant ordination sounded like something I had better at least try to attend.

Fast forward to when I do return to site early. My buddy, fellow volunteer and Americanist, JM, decided to come back with me and stay for a few days. Immediately upon arriving at site Saturday evening, I called the teacher to make arrangements. Over the phone, I could pick out only that he had some sort of excuse as to why he could not go, and that he was "not free". I told him that was no problem and that I would call someone else. So I did, and was able to recruit another friend, Pi Noi, who said she had nothing to do and would be glad to take the trip with us. Incidentally, the original teacher called back five minutes later and was excited to offer that he had found a friend who would take me in his stead. He was also quite surprised to hear that I had already found another ride.

The next day we departed my house at 7:17 AM to get to Si Satchanali by 9. We were surprised by my friend Noi's early arrival, because usually a 7:30 plan equals an 8:15 (or later) departure.

This is where the text part of this story ends and the photographic part begins. Once a year, only in this province, an elaborate ceremony is put on for a group of young men who are entering the monk-hood. How do you enter the monk-hood with true style you ask? On an elephant.

And the seasons, they go round and round...

In January, we noted our "year in Thailand" mark with little fanfare. A few Facebook posts and a couple of conversations marked the day for Josh and I. That was it. Then, sometime in February, we passed our official "half way point" in Thailand. Someone else was counting the days, and I didn't question them when the posted it on Facebook, just noted down the date - I think it was Valentine's Day, which is the only reason I now remember it - and moved on. Nothing much seemed to have changed; our language skills improve gradually every day, as do our cultural comprehension and relationships. (Well, most days, anyway.) 

But this last month, the effects of time have come into sharper relief for me. My mom used to sing me that Joni Mitchell song, 

... and the painted ponies go up and down. 

We're captive on this carousel of time. 

We can't go back; we can only look

behind from where we came, 

and go round and round and round, 

in the circle game...

and it's be drifting in and out of my head as the events of last year start to repeat themselves in this one. As the Thais might say, "Same, same. But different."

The first event that was the same, but different happened on March 20. I don't know if the Muu-Baan (village) party was the same date last year, but the purpose of the party we attended last Wednesday was certainly the same. Every year, the village pools a fund of money, which they give to the village leader (puyaibaan). With that money, the puyaibaan purchases food (which is usually prepared by members of the village) to serve to the monks, a collective tamboon (merit-making) activity. Then, they use the rest of the money to throw a huge party, to which everyone in the village (and the bigwigs from neighboring villages, and the Nayoke) are all invited. People give to the puyaibaan what they can. They don't have to give, but no matter what, they're invited to partake in the feasting, drinking, dancing, and festivities (which of course include karaoke and coyotees - young women dancing in skimpy outfits). This year, we missed the tamboon, as it took place in the morning, but we made it to the party, which was held at the puyaibaan's house, right outside the house where we lived with our host family last year. This year, the food was delicious and familiar, and the people were friends, neighbors, and familiar faces. This year it rained. This year, we weren't afraid to pipe up when we were ready to go, and our Paw fetched our host-brother to drive us back to our house right away. 

Last year, we didn't know who organized the party or why. We followed Mee out the door at about 5 pm and made it to the tamboon, sitting on the floor in the open-air village meeting area, embarrassed and self-conscious that people we barely knew were serving us cokes, sending us to the best seats in the house, and generally whispering about us instead of paying attention to the chanting of the monks. We didn't know how to react, but tried to sit up straight and pretend we didn't notice, when one of the monks pulled a cam-corder from his flowing orange robes and trained it on the crowd, spending a suspicious amount of time on us. Of course, this was made even more awkward (and hilarious) by the fact that the video camera was connected to a projector that was simulcasting the video recording onto a screen mounted behind the seven or so seated monks who were variously chanting and sitting throughout the ceremony in which our village donated uncooked rice and other non (immediately) perishables. Then we went to the party, which was held in an empty lot where the weekly market is also held, and close to a hundred tables were set up to accommodate the guests. We sat near the back with our family, in a bit of shock, and wishing we could hide, when of course we were called up to the stage to be introduced to the crowd by the Nayoke. A few minutes later Josh was belting out Hotel California and I was laughing and making my way back to my seat. (Karaoke isn't in my repertoire. Wasn't then. Isn't now.)

This week marks several more iterations that bring into sharp relief just how much really has changed here. It was the last week of school when I arrived last year. The students were already out, but the teachers were still coming in to work and grading and sending their final student reports, etc., to the central state government. I came a few days to one school and then to another, sitting around, mostly, eating mangoes with a few female teachers I didn't really know that well because my co-teacher wasn't around for one reason or another. We spoke broken Thai and English to each other, as necessary, alternately playing on Facebook and doing work. We sat downstairs, cooled by fans, and on a Wednesday night, four teachers kidnapped me for a ride to "Hot Pot" a restaurant about an hour and a half away for an overpriced, but silly and fun, meal. Last year I planned for about two days with my primary co-teacher before she promptly disappeared to deal with family matters and preparations for the Thai New Year (fast approaching on April 13). I only interacted with my secondary co-teacher for one day, when I came to the school to celebrate the graduation of the sixth grade. I sat with the teachers, eating hot-pot at our table while the kids reveled in their special meal at their own tables. I was appalled and confused by the consumption of alcohol at the teachers' table, right in front of the students, and especially put off by the level of intoxication some of them reached. I worried what it meant for the next year. I was asked to say a few words to the students, and I spoke in Thai, using my dictionary to prepare the speech and checking it with a teacher who has since moved on to another school in another province. 

This year, when I spoke to the graduating sixth grade students, I spoke to a group that I had taught, a group that, as I told them, is truly wonderful. I spoke to students that I will truly miss, some of whom I will teach again next year at the other school, and some I will likely never see again. I didn't shed the tears they did, but I felt the sadness of the passing of time, time that can never be gotten back. This year, I expected the alcohol and was pleasantly surprised that few teachers partook of the opportunity to get drunk at school in the middle of the day. (As I will have to explain another time, my fears about the alcohol at school have turned out to be both overblown and completely founded.) This year, I end the school year, sitting among new friends, who are grading papers, eating mangoes, and cursing their computers - upstairs, in an air conditioned room that was installed several months ago. We are speaking Thai to one another as I write this. I brought the mangoes. I know what's going on. 

This morning, I came to school after stopping by the preschool graduation that was hosted by the aubautau, yet another repetition of something that happened last year, and this time, like the Muu-baan party, it was smaller and less overwhelming. But there were still overly made up girls (and boys) dancing with wildly inappropriate (to our still unaccustomed eyes) moves to songs that we find barely listenable. There were still long speeches to preschoolers, the presentation of certificates and teddy bears by the highest ranking government officials in our town, and of course, a large, catered lunch (which I skipped to come to school and sit with the teachers). But this year, I knew some of the kids dancing their hearts out on the stage. I decided at the last minute to come so the teachers I know would know that I care, that I find their kids and these events worthwhile, and important in some way. 

I have no idea what else this year will bring. Certainly it will be different. Certainly it will be over before we know it. Right now, we approach another holiday, Song Kran (Thai New Year), that will again be the same, but different. The differences are startling reminders of how many, many things have changed, how different we are, how little time we in fact have left. Each day is both a repeat and a new day. Who knows what each of these days will reveal, either about the present or the past?

Nung bpi

This week marks one year of living in the little village we have called home since breaking company with the other 50 volunteers we came to Thailand with, last March. Group 123 is going/gone home, group 125 is finishing training, and 124 is down to 45 members from 52. We have a thriving garden on one side of the house, planted by our landlord, and a failing one on the other, planted by us. We have our Thai eating habits and weekend routines. I read more books last year than any in my life. Finally, the same events have arrived on my calendar as the one's that were there when we dropped into this cute little village.

On the 29th, there is the graduation ceremony for the pre-school students. Some of you probably remember those photographs. Toward the middle of next month will be the massive new years water festival, Sonkran. We know this not just by meetings going on in our SAOs, but by the multiple warnings issued by PC regarding drunk driving and careful passengering when traveling around Thailand this time of year.

"One year in, and one to go" I tried to explain to my nayoke over the lunch table today using the language of what I know to be 1/2 and the word for time. The concept of a halfway point was more difficult to communicate than I thought it would be, and after going through it with 3 different people, I have concluded that Thai's just do not think in "halves". Once I did get the point got across however, the nayoke immediately mentioned the project that I began working on in February and started yelling at the officer around us about when that was going to happen (I have been waiting on SAO support). Not in a mean way, but in an authoritative "what is going on with this?" kind of way. He immediately thought of this project because while Thai's may not think in halves, they certainly do think in subtext. My comment about half my time being over was immediately understood by the nayoke as a question about why my work involvement at the SAO is still fairly non-existent. Even I did not realize this when I initially brought it up today, but on reflection it is stupidly obvious. The nayoke repeated to the staff several times that "Josh wants to work" to which of course I could not appreciate any meaningful reply. So I opened another line of questioning on how exactly it came to be that I wound up in this community. Essentially asking the nayoke, what he had to do, and whether it was difficult. Every time I broach this topic with someone, I am surprised about what I find out. As my language continues to improve, what appeared to be conflicting information before seems to gain clarity. Not become clear, but gain clarity. Enough on that for now.

One year in of course, is a time of questions. For the two volunteers living in Sukhothai for sure, and I assume also for everyone else out here trying to do something meaningful with their lives under the banner of this organization. These questions may include what have I done in the last year? Why have I not been able to do more? How is my second year going to be different from the first? And also a lot of much more critical and indicting questions that one should be careful about posting on a blog. Thinking these things over, and discussing them with the "old lady" late into the night, we realize we don't really have any answers. It's hard not to feel like you are failing a lot of the time out here. Especially for those who are used to achieving in a more conventional setting. It is hard not to have animosity for hosts whose national government has requested your presence, whose local government has facilitated it, but who do not seem all too concerned with making much use of your time while you are here. Also, we often have the opportunity to compare ourselves to other volunteers whose situations at times appear to be going so much more smoothly than our own.

For the most part, the country of Thailand has been so generous and so welcoming that it is hard for me to hold hard feelings about any of our hosts...for the most part. People really are happy that we are here. As a friend mentioned to me earlier today, "[the Thais] seem to be happy just to be your friend." And I am happy to have made such wonderful Thai friends as well. The hitch is, Erin and I are Americans, and as such we measure ourselves by our work. We know that we will return to a world that focuses on productivity and compete with peers there who have spent their lives trying to master that, whatever it is. This is a stark contrast to what appears to be the general attitude in rural Thailand. So while we struggle to find ways to make a contribution in Thailand, many here cannot imagine what it is we are so concerned with doing. That, in short, is our 1 year dilemma, through this farang's eyes anyway.

It's not that we have not done anything at all in a year living in the rice fields. Erin's co-teachers now use some teaching methods she introduced. I never hear the end of how "geng maak" she is from other teachers at the schools. I have seen several peoples' faces light up when using certain IT tools for the first time that I showed them how to use. We are now building good relationships with our jointly taught life-skills activities on Friday's. For all else I could list out here, for a year's work, it does not seem like enough. We think daily on how we can be more effective. We discuss nightly how we can be more effective. We mentally bash our heads against a wall at work, on the weekends, and sometimes in our sleep. The volunteer's situation is complex, and for all the well wishers back home who have said how proud they are that we are out here helping people in need, you are not looking at the same picture we are. We are not out here helping people who need our help. We are not out here helping people who cannot help themselves. We are out here learning about life, humanity, and elusive concepts like "better" and "developed". We are learning about causes of happiness, and the framework of beliefs. We are out here trying to communicate what skills and knowledge we bring as Americans in a way that might improve the lives of Thai people, but at the same time we are being confronted with great cultural strengths of Thailand that our own way of life decidedly lacks.

Can a job be hard without having an abundance of work to do? Yes.
Does it still drive an American a little crazy? For most of us, the answer there is yes too.

The noodle stand where I ate on Saturday

What did you do this weekend? Peace Corps Week parade

Last week was Peace Corps week - a week in which PC was concentrating on it's "Third Goal," which is where we PCVs, and Returned PCVs are supposed to be sharing other cultures with Americans. And obviously, that's what we try to do here, every time we write. But, sometimes it's hard to know what to write here, because, for the most part, the stories we tell can be summed up like this:

And we rode our bikes to the school, and everyone was late, and the materials weren't available, so then we went to the health center and they made us eat a lot of fruit even though we said we weren't hungry, and then just as we were going home, someone yelled at us and we ended up going over to someone's house and refusing several offers of whiskey. Then we went home, where we watered our plants and tried unsuccessfully to convince the neighbors that they don't need to sweep our porch. After that, we went inside and poured buckets of cold water on our heads since the water stopped running, and then we sat in front of the fan and complained about the heat. And then we went to bed.

There's no story line. There's no arc. There's no transformational moments. There's just a whole lot of stuff that seems to happen, one thing right after the other. And it usually involves food.

And, see, this is pretty normal to us now. It's so normal that sometimes I kid myself into thinking that all you delightful readers back home probably  have similar days and that this kind of bouncing from here to there without much control doesn't sound stressful or even particularly strange.

But then sometimes, we have weekends like this one, in which our Amphur (county, roughly), is in the midst of celebrating it's "Kong Dii" or "Good things" and people from all of the Tambons (subdistricts within the county, small farming communities, roughly) come together to share their OTOP products and compete in various contests. (OTOP stands for one tambon one product, which is English, and I don't know why it's English, but it is. To be actual OTOPs, products have to meet certain standards and they somehow get certified. Anyway, a lot of Tambons have groups that create crafts, food products, clothing, or other wares, and then sell them to the larger community. We don't have an OTOP product here, but we soon might if the school that Josh helped briefly with a dental project is able to turn their natural-herbal based mouthwash into an actual OTOP venture.)

For over a week, we'd been hearing about this weekend, and people had been asking us if we were going to walk in the parade. We said, at first, "probably" and then increasingly, as we didn't hear anything explicit from anyone who actual has the power to coerce us into walking in a parade, "we don't know." And then finally, "no one tells us anything."

Sometime on Friday morning, approximately 8 hours before the event was going to start, Josh got a call from the Balat (government official appointed by the central government to work in our Tambon) instructing him (and me, by proxy) to arrive at the SAO to dteeng dtua (get dressed up) by 3 p.m. Unfortunately, 3 p.m. is right in the middle of the 2:30-3:30 p.m. time slot in which Josh and I were to be teaching about handwashing and soapmaking to my sixth grade students. So of course, I got mad at Josh for agreeing to a time-conflicting issue, and then we met for lunch. As would happen in Thailand, the two teachers with whom we are working on the soap/handwashing project also came to eat lunch at the restaurant we'd picked. So we had lunch with them, explained that we had to walk in a parade, and they agreed (or rather, suggested and then insisted), that we change the timing of our project to 12:30 so we had time to go back to the SAO to get dressed.

So then, we did this.

Students present what they remember about germs and handwashing from first lesson.

Students present.

Choosing the best poster.

Starting the soapmaking process with ash and water.

Washing hands, the right way!

And then we hurried on our way to the SAO, where when we arrived, I had a momentary freakout because the place was packed with people and it was clear that something terrible was about to happen to my face. That is, I was about to be dressed for a parade. So, they gave Josh this:

And they promptly took away the rice, the rice harvesting tool, the hat, and the woman.

And then they delivered me into the capable hands of a gatuey (man dressed as a woman with varying levels of body-modification to complete the sometimes disconcerting transformation) in order to transform my face into something nice enough to sit atop a "chuut Thai" - Thai wedding dress, like the ones I'd worn in the last two parades.

Getting made up at the SAO. All make up artists were gatueys, far more comfortable with blush, eyeliner and power than I am!

Then a lot of the SAO workers, all young, pretty women like you see above, made a lot of phone calls attempting to track down such a "chuut."
Unfortunately, they failed, because the one chuut they produced was about 12 sizes too small. Which is how I ended up wearing this:

Just like your average Thai farmer. 

 By 8:30 pm, we were wiped out, and caught a ride home.

But then, on Saturday, we rode our bikes to the second day of the celebration of Good Things (back for more!) and spent close to 5 hours watching a singing contest. I'll let you judge for yourself, but I don't think there's a county fair in America that could outdo this production quality. The sequins! The lights! The seriously smokey smoke machines. (Oh... they're supposed to be fog machines, you say?)

 

And, just in case you were wondering what other PC volunteers are up to, you can read Acting Director  of Peace Corps, Carrie Hessler-Radelet's piece on the Huffington Post about Peace Corps week.

The month of my birth

(the following I started last Saturday and finished on Tuesday in case of any time discrepancies)

I am not sure just how many buses I have boarded since we got back from our trip at the beginning of January, but in the last ten days, I have logged over thirty-two hours. 2013 has started off very busy due to a broken tooth, a training session with this year’s new batch of volunteers, a life skills camp across the country where I taught and supervised seventy-one 6th-9th grade girls in condom application, and some other outings that I already can’t remember. Today I am on route to Bangkok again to visit the dentist on Monday when she will complete the placement of my first dental crown. Long story shortened: there was a rock in my rice. Now its a big joke at the SAO "when you come to Thailand, be careful, there's rocks in the rice".

I started the day at about seven AM when I woke up in a house that is seldom cool, all by myself, nuzzled in our “summer” blankets because of the low temperature of 26 C. Erin had left to the big city on Thursday evening for a volunteer advisory council meeting yesterday. By eight I was able to convince myself to leave the warm comfort of our queen mattress under the mosquito netting to attack a short stack of dishes and contemplate the laundry situation before departure. Thailand sells very low end models of washing machine which require movement of clothing between a wash/rinse tub and a spinning device on the right. There is no computer in the machine, so water filling and cycle initiation are still tasks of human responsibility. The machines actually work really well, the spinner leaving a pair of undershorts almost dry to the touch when finished, much dryer than my $1000 washer back in the states. Naturally though, when your washing machine has a retail value of about $185 dollars, there are some plastic parts that may not hold up. At just about 6 months in, our drain valve has decided it does not hold water any longer. So the first hour of my day today, was of course taking the back of the washer off so I could manually adjust the drain valve and get one load of laundry done before heading back to the city. Part of the reason for this is saving Erin’s sanity for her return Sunday, two days before me, and the other part is that I have pretty much exhausted my stretched out boxer short supply.

Feeling fairly triumphant at getting the stuff washed and hung in less than two hours, along with the dishes washed, French press filled, and some bread toasted (in our circular, counter top, plug in, power eating convection oven) for a much anticipated peanut butter sandwich, I proceeded to have my breakfast and get my weekender bag together.

Right around Erin’s birthday I discovered a life changing slip of paper that appeared to have all departing buses from our local bus station on the same schedule, and in English! This paper, I included as part of Erin’s birthday present, although she did not find it as sweet as I had imagined. I knew from the schedule that buses originating in Sukhothai would be coming in around 11:00 and 11:30, so I shouldn’t have any problem getting myself on one. My neighbor Aek strolled by right around this moment and after a brief conversation about where he was going and what I was eating, he offered to take me to the bus stop. When we departed, in the car with Aek were his wife and his daughter, both of which he was taking to work. As far as I can tell they both work 7 days a week, most weeks. Aek is off weekends, which is when him and I often run errands together.

On arrival at the bus stop, the question of seat availability was treated with the same formality that people in Thailand treat almost any question pertaining to business of any level of minutia, and a serious conversation began to take place between my neighbors and the person at the ticket office. Although they all know, that my Thai is certainly passible for getting a ride to one of the most obvious places I might be going, they all three got out of the car to assist. Not far into the conversation, the ticket lady made a phone call to confirm a seat was available and I heard her repeating back to the person on the other end the Thai equivalent of “oh, there are a whole bunch of seats available”.  She got off the phone and continued the conversation with the neighbors without making it apparent that I could get on the bus. She was telling the neighbors something about the situation of me boarding at this station and her not having any tickets to give and most of this I did not understand. Finally I interrupted to confirm with her in Thai that there was a 10:30 bus and an 11:00 bus, and that the 10:30 had already come, but the 11:00 had not, and that both of these buses were bah 1 or first class, and that the latter still had seats. The neighbors and the ticket lady all smiled bigly and commented that I knew everything already. Then the ticket lady proceeded to tell me directly that I could board the 11:00 when it came no problem, but I would not have ticket to eat lunch with when we stopped halfway through, as is customary on a Thai, first class bus. She said the ticket would be 300 baht and I told her no problem, I was already full of bananas so the meal was not a big deal, and really just wanted to avoid any possible delays in getting on a bus. At first the ticket lady told me to pay the bus driver when I boarded, but just as my neighbors were getting ready to leave she decided that I should pay her instead. I asked why she had changed her mind and she told me because the bus driver would not understand me. To that I replied that I have taken this trip many times before and beyond that, been all over this country by myself. She asked for 350 baht and I was not going to argue further, because really, I just wanted to get on the bus.

About an hour into the ride I get off the phone with my buddy Dan and I start to get a little annoyed that the snack and water bottle already provided to every other passenger on the bus had still not found its way to me. We took on several new passengers at stops after mine and they were immediately provided refreshments. The service person on the bus seemed to disappear right after the last round of refreshment delivery and ticket taking, so I began to wait for his head to pop back up. About this time I also start to wonder why I paid the full price for a first class ticket, evidently was not being given refreshments on purpose, and should not be expecting lunch. I decided at the lunch stop I would ask someone for a lunch ticket just to see what is was that they might say, and maybe get the meal that I had actually paid for already.
 

When we stopped after about 3 and a half hours, at the halfway point to Bangkok, I got off the bus and went to the bus service person. I proceeded to give him my story about boarding and not receiving a ticket. I asked him if there was a way that he might provide me with one and he, looking a little alarmed, directed me to the driver of the bus. When I stepped up to the driver, the typical surprise a Thai has to hear a farang speaking Thai passed very quickly as his interest grew in my story. I asked him who I should talk to in Bangkok about this because I was not happy. He asked me where I got on the bus and where I paid for my ticket, and he also seemed perplexed by the fact that I had not received an actual paper ticket. The driver immediately started discussing the story with another officer of the bus company who asked me the same questions he already had and then confirmed again that I was actually on the bus I had just stepped off of. She then said something about a 2^nd class ticket being 279 baht, and I once again told her that no, I had not paid 279 baht, knew this was a first class bus and had paid 350 to the woman at the bus station, “muan durm” (same as always). By now both her and the bus driver had evidence of dissatisfaction on their faces; not at me, but at my story. The bus driver next tells me to hurry along and eat or that I might not have time. I entered the outdoor rest stop restaurant full of people, and ordered a plate of pad Thai. Seconds later the bus driver comes up behind me, pulls a Thai bill from his own pocket, and tells me to get something to eat while putting the money in my hand. I graciously thank him and he asks if I have ordered yet. I respond that yes I ordered pad Thai. A big smile crosses his face as he laughingly asks farang can eat pad Thai? Immediately on boarding the bus again, the crew member I had spoken with initially delivered my refreshments with a very big smile on his face.

I never approached anyone when I arrived to Bangkok and I never really found out what happened with that ticket. I was inspired to write this blog because it illustrates how the simplest things can become consuming mysteries in a land that is not your own and the similarities of people in general. Even though it seemed to me that this woman at the bus station pocketed sixty baht and informed the driver that she sold me a second class ticket based on the assumption that he would not understand me, when I explained to the driver what happened, he could not help himself but to make it right, and did so, evidently, out of his own pocket. Just people, I guess.

Time flies. (fly flew flown)

I have a feeling I'll be saying this more and more often as we creep further along in our service, but: I can't believe it's been almost two months since either Josh or I has found the time to write! And now, of course, when I am trying to take a few free moments in which I have both time and an internet connection, I find myself surrounded by my students, who are all commenting on how fast I type.

It seems this minor interruption (all of which has now gone off to class) is pretty much par for the course in Thailand. Just when I think that I will have time to relax, exercise, write, clean, call a friend, Skype, read, sit in a hammock, or otherwise chill out, something else comes up. 

Since December 3, when we last posted, a lot has happened. For the sake of updating everyone (and excusing myself for not writing), I'll just run you down a brief list of what's been going on:

First, sports days. For about 2.5 weeks in December, school was cancelled so that the students could play sports. There are no school sports in the same way they exist in the US, as far as I can tell. Students don't play a sport for a season, practicing only after school and playing games only on weekends or when school is not in session. Instead, students all practice all sports during PE times, and/or after school with a coach. Then, every December, practice ramps up. School is cancelled in the afternoon so students can increase their practice time. English teachers, Science teachers, Math teachers - everyone becomes a coach after 1:30 in the afternoon. (My co-teacher and I coached volleyball at one school.) Then, the games begin. The schools in our Amphur (district) met in a series of tournament-style days over a course of about 3 weeks. Students played volleyball, soccer, footsal (like soccer but on a concrete court, instead), petang (um... wikipedia?), and dta-graw (like volleyball and soccer combined. sort of. look that one up, too). There were also ping-pong tournaments, I think, but I didn't actually witness any of those. 

That takes us up through December 19, when my program director came for a site visit. That day was the "opening day" for the sports day in the Amphur, and so she and I sat through a parade and opening ceremonies, and then retreated to an open meeting room (within full hearing range of the incredibly loud commentary going on about boys' soccer) to discuss what's going on at my schools. Everything seems okay, so far. 

Then vacation. Thanks to Josh's incredible planning, we found ourselves on Goh Lipe, Goh Tarutao, and Goh Lanta, three islands in the south (Josh posted pictures, I believe). I felt at one time that I had so much to write about the experience, but as with all things, it seems to have been somewhat lost in the waves of other experiences washing over me. The islands were beautiful. For me, the guilt about being away from site was palpable, but so was the relief at finally being able to relax. On Christmas, we called our families, and then on New Year's, exchanged Secret Santa gifts with a few other friends. None of it quite felt like the holidays. 

We ended up staying an extra few days in Bangkok on the way back to meet Josh's aunt and uncle and their good friend, an experience that made me realize just how crazy this place is that we actually live - things I'm so used to already, I was able to see others experiencing for the first time. Fresh eyes really do see things differently. 

Finally, we got back home long enough to do laundry and get whisked into the ONET fever - the ONET is the national test that about 1/3 of my students (6th grade, 9th grade) will take on February 2nd, and everyone is crazy about it. Long enough to find ourselves at a New Year's party given by the public health staff in the Amphur, where Josh and I were presented with silk scarves as a thank you for the English class he taught to the hospital staff some months ago, and where in answer to the question "Josh, who do you love the most?" Josh answered, "I can't say." Long enough for Josh's program manager to come and visit our community, and both of my schools, hopefully clearing a way for Josh and I to begin working on life skills classes once a week. Long enough to create two lessons - Healthy Relationships and Contraceptives - to include in the sex education camp we'd been planning with our fellow married volunteers in Khon Kaen.

And then, away again, back to Bangkok to meet my cousin and his boyfriend (a couple whom my fellow volunteer friend described as "perfect for each other") and take them around Bangkok. Fortunately they were game for the snake museum (king cobra, anyone?) and for walking around a few corners of BKK that we hadn't seen before. Another weekend of surreal displacement from site, not only because it was Bangkok, but also because I was seeing my cousin Nick for the first time in 9 years! This fact alone was probably what made most of our community okay with us traveling again - "you have to go" they said in the week leading up to our departure to go meet them, when I would tell them how long it had been since I saw Nick!

Then back again to site. Long enough to do laundry, dip toes back in the ONET fever, and then out again to the sex education camp. One day of planning and rehashing our sessions, translating materials, creating name-tags, discussing group activities and games, and smacking our foreheads over the things we forgot. Then two days of small-group sessions with middle and high school girls, teaching about contraception, pregnancy, HIV/AIDS, STDs, and healthy relationships. One hour of answering the girls' most intimate questions, submitted anonymously at a no-boys-allowed session. Ten minutes of watching one of the most graphic "cabaret" shows I can imagine as we all sat around a campfire in a circumference far wider than was appropriate to actually warming ourselves on the fire. About 48 straight hours of head scratching at just how many things Thais and Americans do differently. And finally, one compliment from the Thai teacher who had envisioned the camp in the first place: He was glad the volunteers had come and had planned the activities, because in our culture we  focus on discussion, and Thais are often uncomfortable with open discussion. However, he thought the students got more out of our sessions than they would have if they had been planned by our Thai counterparts -- even though in the end, it was the Thais running the sessions after all. (This is how we define success in the Peace Corps, by the way.)

After the camp, a night of serendipity and perfect Thai-ness, when the Nayoke (mayor) insists we all stay in the National Park another night, then makes the arrangements for another volunteer, traveling with two people - a Thai and an American, and both perfect strangers to all of us who had done the camp together - to stay with us in the National Park as well. Barbecued pork. Barbecued sticky rice dipped in egg. Brownies. Warm beds. Cool night. Hot shower in the am. And then....

Back home. Long enough to do laundry and break the washer. Attend an ONET English camp. Teach a few classes. Maybe plant vegetables before we....

go to Suphanburi to meet the new crop of volunteers, and tell them what it's like to be in Thailand. We leave on Sunday. Wish us luck.