Hi.
How are you?
I feel like I haven't really been keeping you all updated at all. I mean, what on earth have I been up to? How am I? Where am I? What am I doing?
Currently, I'm sitting in Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia. In yet another internet cafe, around me are a bunch of little Cambodans that sound exactly like my little brother as tey all play video games. It's pretty blazing hot hanging out 100 degrees fareneiht pretty much all day, only barely cooling off when it gets dark. I've got a lovely layer of sweat covering me pretty much all the time.
When I look back on the last month and a half, I find myself wondering what exactly it is that I've been up to. And considering I've been in this part of the world for a good six weeks, I feel like I should have done more up until now. A two week homestay, three days of trekking, four days of volunteering at an orphanage, one week at a Dharma Center, one week travel to Siem Reap, going through Sukothai and Korat, visiting Ankor Wat two days in a row, touring an non profit in Siem Reap and then making my way to Phnom Penh, visiting S21 and the Killing Fields.
But that laundry list of moments leaves out a lot. And I need to keep reminding myself that sometimes the best moments come from dancing late at night in a courtyard with Cambodian kids my age working to make their life look up, or playing spoons with a bunch of laughter loving novice monks, or looking at haunting pictures of the dead, or getting a glimpse of the joys of having a sister. The good times and good memories, the thins that feel so immediate and important, so often go hand in hand with the people that I've spent time with, so often are held in a single moment, held up in the air, reverberating. Those moments, I suspect, can never be held on to.
There so much to talk about. So much to reflect on. So much I want dearly to hold on to.
A few days ago, one of my fellow travelors said to me, "I feel like I haven't heard anything about your travels, do you mind telling me about them on the busride tomorrow?
"Sure...but," I replied, trying to think of what to tell her, "it's hard to talk about. Hard to explain."
How can I begin to put words to Angkor Wat? Or my time at the Dharma center? Or what I've learned in the last 48 hours about the heatbreaking history of Cambodia? These are things I have begun to write about, only to feel inadequate, staring at an open journal.
It is easy to talk about the things I wished had been different, the things I never saw or never did, the people wished I had talked more with. It's easy to give you a play by play of where I've been, to review things, tell you about border crossings, and funny tuk tuk drivers, to talk as if I know these countries, to give advice.
But it's harder to talk about the good things, the memories that create a sort of golden-glow feeling in my chest. The important moments and lessons I will fall back on in rough times. For now, it is almost enough for me to know that they are there. I only worry that in the months that come, back home with people I've always known, back at school, where things might feel like "normal life," I will forget the powerful imediacy of those moments, forget the way my heart has felt like it's been wrapped up tight and squeezed, forget the laughter and tears, and new ideas, forget the new dreams and new plans.
That has always been my fear. Even before all this would start, that in coming back I'd lose everything I've gained elsewhere. And that's why I've been journaling and blogging and talking to people.
But right now, I lean back in my little plastic chair, note the stickiness of the sweat on my skin and remind myself that perhaps the most important part of this entire year is what I've done: Taken a year to myself, crazy and imperfect and frustrating as it has been at times, I wouldn't give it up.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Places of Poetry: Angkor Wat
How do I write about Angkor Wat?
Sitting on the wobbling seat of a tuk tuk, I first saw Angkor Wat from a distance. Across the water, the building looked like all stone walls, but distinct in design. We got closer and my eyes didn't move from it.
Standing on the other side of a great moat, Angkor is tremendous. It's solid. It's undeniable. It knows its splendor, It knows its history. It knows why I have come.
The approach to Angkor is slow. Crossing a bridge, your feet take you close, on step at a time. Angkor looms ever larger, growing in glory every inch of the way as more and more of the building is revealed.
Towering steps, defiant towers, ornate and blackened walls, Angkor invites you to walk through the mysterious past, to get lost, and to leave your mind behind in beauty created in ages lost.
I waked up to the first building--something of a long wall that some right up the side of the water. Through it, the area opens up to a long raised walkway, a road, an avenue of old. From there, you can see the next building, greater and grander than the last. It's a long way, maybe an entire kilometer. It's a long walk.
On either side is grass, the trees banished to the edges of the square of the old temple grounds. Here and there are other old building, just as black and ornate, only smaller in scale.
I, along with many others, walked the long walk up to this temple. I stood and stared outside of it how can something be so big? How can it be so old and still stand? How can it be so old and not have already crumbled?
Following the stream of people, I climbed the steps and entered.
The temple is many layered, going up and up and up. I walked through three or so of the sections, through halls lined with pillars, across open courtyards. In the dark, in the light.
As the sun set, its golden rose light came through the windows. Somewhere inside that grand area is an open space, filled with grass, in the middle of it another small building stands.
I climbed up the steep steps to find a temple raised high above the ground, old stones, cracked, lay upon the floor. And the setting sun filed it with rose light. A more beautiful spot I may never see again.
Sitting on the wobbling seat of a tuk tuk, I first saw Angkor Wat from a distance. Across the water, the building looked like all stone walls, but distinct in design. We got closer and my eyes didn't move from it.
Standing on the other side of a great moat, Angkor is tremendous. It's solid. It's undeniable. It knows its splendor, It knows its history. It knows why I have come.
The approach to Angkor is slow. Crossing a bridge, your feet take you close, on step at a time. Angkor looms ever larger, growing in glory every inch of the way as more and more of the building is revealed.
Towering steps, defiant towers, ornate and blackened walls, Angkor invites you to walk through the mysterious past, to get lost, and to leave your mind behind in beauty created in ages lost.
I waked up to the first building--something of a long wall that some right up the side of the water. Through it, the area opens up to a long raised walkway, a road, an avenue of old. From there, you can see the next building, greater and grander than the last. It's a long way, maybe an entire kilometer. It's a long walk.
On either side is grass, the trees banished to the edges of the square of the old temple grounds. Here and there are other old building, just as black and ornate, only smaller in scale.
I, along with many others, walked the long walk up to this temple. I stood and stared outside of it how can something be so big? How can it be so old and still stand? How can it be so old and not have already crumbled?
Following the stream of people, I climbed the steps and entered.
The temple is many layered, going up and up and up. I walked through three or so of the sections, through halls lined with pillars, across open courtyards. In the dark, in the light.
As the sun set, its golden rose light came through the windows. Somewhere inside that grand area is an open space, filled with grass, in the middle of it another small building stands.
I climbed up the steep steps to find a temple raised high above the ground, old stones, cracked, lay upon the floor. And the setting sun filed it with rose light. A more beautiful spot I may never see again.
Thailand: as described by a young farong only there for a little while
I've been wanting to paint a picture of my time in Thailand for a while. It's hard to describe a country, especially when you still feel like you don't know it very well. But there are some things that I can describe.
Things sometimes feel grimier here, but that may be because it's a different country or because it is a city. And the traffic moves faster and jerkier and there are many more motorcycles/mopeds here than at home.
In the city food is everywhere, street stands, noodle shops, restaurants, corner stores. Some is fresh, some is not.
- - -
Look to the mountains. In certain parts of the city, you can see them. In the country side they can't be missed. The mountains here aren't like those at home, not really. Some stretches are used for farming or turned into rice paddies, but other stretches still have forest. The forest feels much the same at at home, but here and there things feel distinctly different: the texture, the color, the shape.The plants com together, the same puzzle pieces, but the picture is just a little new.
- - -
Sometimes, in photos, you see beautiful mountains or valleys, cloaked in fog as the sun set lights up the sky.
But I've learned that this god isn't necessarily fog. It's just as easily smoke. Rice paddies are burned towards the end of the dry season to make good conditions for mushrooms. But mile after mile of small fires lit in the fields send clouds of smoke into the air, fogging up the distant hills and leaving your throat dry.
It's a country of smilers and laughers. I've yet to meet a single unpleasant person. They work hard, but know how to joke and relax at the end of the day. They dress conservatively, but brightly. Helpful, polite, but unafraid to laugh at an with your mistakes.
Markets light up the streets, crowd them with people. Sweetest people you ever did meet. Greatest lessons about humanity you've ever been taught.
- - -
Goodbye, Thailand. You're beautiful and filled to the brim with treasures. Goodbye!
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Mountain Trek
About three weeks ago, if you had tried to locate me on Google maps, I would have been a minuscule dot somewhere in the mountains just north of Chiang Mai.
Zoom in a little further and you could have seen me walking a long a hiking trail, pack only a third full, passing through a stunningly beautiful corner of Thailand.
The three day trek I took through mountains, across rivers, and round hill tribe villages was really amazing.
Covering 16 kilometers on the first afternoon, I walked through beautiful bamboo jungles, crossed parched rice paddies, greeted grazing water buffaloes and cows, and briefly peeking into three different hill tribe villages.
Sweaty and tired, that first night I was filled with a sort of crackling energy, thrilled with all the wonderful things that had filed the day. I helped our guide Mr. S and a local man named Sari cook our dinner, and I was given a lesson in how to properly roll spring rolls. Another group member joined me in cooking, and we enjoyed our time in the kitchen, laughing and joking with Mr. S and Sari even though we didn't speak very much of each others languages. That night, around a warm fire, our guide told us about the Karen Hill tribe. he told us about their history, their movement east and south out of Burma over the years, about their clothes, about their customs and how things have changed for them over the last few decades.
We slept in a large wooden hut. Out beds were simple mats on the floorboards with a blanked and a small pillow. It was lovely. And truth be told, I swear I'm not kidding, I could see myself living in one. They're so simple. Kitchen and bedroom raised up off the ground, the space under the hut devoted to daily life.
It gets cold at night in the mountains at this time of year. So one blanket wasn't quite enough. I woke up at 3:30 am, very, very cold. But made it through the night with a sense of humor and a smile.
Early the next morning, I woke up and breakfasted in the chill mountain air, though I didn't know it, this day would prove to be even better than the previous one.
It started off with an easy forty five minute trek into a nature reserve. There, we met two kind elephants, healthy and happy. I got the privilege to ride on along a river that wound through a tight valley. One of the most beautiful places I've every been. Riding elephants is a tricky, bumpy business sometimes. And my friend E and I thought we might fall off a few times as we went down steep hills!
A quick stop at the village school before lunch and swim in the nearby river after, we set off for our second day of trekking later in the afternoon. This trek might have been even better than the first. Just as beautiful, and we waded through a gorgeous stretch of river, before spending a few minutes on a sandbank learning a bit about walking meditation.
Beautiful. Beautiful. I kept repeating that through the day. It was peaceful. Tranquil. And to just move! It's been a long time since I've worked so hard, walked for so long. I missed it.
Another night was spent by the side of a laughing river, found us in the firelight again, laughing, singing along to guitar.
In case I ever doubted it, I learned that night that music is a powerful connecting force. Never will I forget singing in the middle of northern Thailand, with our wonderful guide.
The next morning, bamboo rafts carried us down the river and over some rapids. Two hours later, we pulled up to the banks of the river, the trek coming to the end.
If I ever thought that I did not hiking. If I ever though that I did not like nature, or the outdoors, those three short days would have changed my mind forever. There isn't anything more rewarding than looking up from the dusty path to see the sides of mountains rising up and away from you, the delicate greens and purples of the forest layering themselves over the parched ground. Working up a sweat feels great, but so does washing it off at the end of the day in a cold shower, or better yet, cold river. The world is a beautiful place. Despite all the horrible things we hear about that are happening everyday, there are still beautiful spaces and wonderful people. There's no better way to remember that than to go out into the world.
Zoom in a little further and you could have seen me walking a long a hiking trail, pack only a third full, passing through a stunningly beautiful corner of Thailand.
The three day trek I took through mountains, across rivers, and round hill tribe villages was really amazing.
Covering 16 kilometers on the first afternoon, I walked through beautiful bamboo jungles, crossed parched rice paddies, greeted grazing water buffaloes and cows, and briefly peeking into three different hill tribe villages.
Sweaty and tired, that first night I was filled with a sort of crackling energy, thrilled with all the wonderful things that had filed the day. I helped our guide Mr. S and a local man named Sari cook our dinner, and I was given a lesson in how to properly roll spring rolls. Another group member joined me in cooking, and we enjoyed our time in the kitchen, laughing and joking with Mr. S and Sari even though we didn't speak very much of each others languages. That night, around a warm fire, our guide told us about the Karen Hill tribe. he told us about their history, their movement east and south out of Burma over the years, about their clothes, about their customs and how things have changed for them over the last few decades.
We slept in a large wooden hut. Out beds were simple mats on the floorboards with a blanked and a small pillow. It was lovely. And truth be told, I swear I'm not kidding, I could see myself living in one. They're so simple. Kitchen and bedroom raised up off the ground, the space under the hut devoted to daily life.
It gets cold at night in the mountains at this time of year. So one blanket wasn't quite enough. I woke up at 3:30 am, very, very cold. But made it through the night with a sense of humor and a smile.
Early the next morning, I woke up and breakfasted in the chill mountain air, though I didn't know it, this day would prove to be even better than the previous one.
It started off with an easy forty five minute trek into a nature reserve. There, we met two kind elephants, healthy and happy. I got the privilege to ride on along a river that wound through a tight valley. One of the most beautiful places I've every been. Riding elephants is a tricky, bumpy business sometimes. And my friend E and I thought we might fall off a few times as we went down steep hills!
A quick stop at the village school before lunch and swim in the nearby river after, we set off for our second day of trekking later in the afternoon. This trek might have been even better than the first. Just as beautiful, and we waded through a gorgeous stretch of river, before spending a few minutes on a sandbank learning a bit about walking meditation.
Beautiful. Beautiful. I kept repeating that through the day. It was peaceful. Tranquil. And to just move! It's been a long time since I've worked so hard, walked for so long. I missed it.
Another night was spent by the side of a laughing river, found us in the firelight again, laughing, singing along to guitar.
In case I ever doubted it, I learned that night that music is a powerful connecting force. Never will I forget singing in the middle of northern Thailand, with our wonderful guide.
The next morning, bamboo rafts carried us down the river and over some rapids. Two hours later, we pulled up to the banks of the river, the trek coming to the end.
If I ever thought that I did not hiking. If I ever though that I did not like nature, or the outdoors, those three short days would have changed my mind forever. There isn't anything more rewarding than looking up from the dusty path to see the sides of mountains rising up and away from you, the delicate greens and purples of the forest layering themselves over the parched ground. Working up a sweat feels great, but so does washing it off at the end of the day in a cold shower, or better yet, cold river. The world is a beautiful place. Despite all the horrible things we hear about that are happening everyday, there are still beautiful spaces and wonderful people. There's no better way to remember that than to go out into the world.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
The Orphanage, part 2: A shift in focus
Only a few minutes after arrival, we were given a tour by the husband in the dynamic duo that led the foundation, as they called the orphanage. (We learned that first day that the orphanage is less of a traditional orphanage, and more of a foster-type home for kids from nearby Karen tribe villages whose parents, for whatever reason, are out of the picture.). A tour of the area informed us a bit of the workings of the foundation and also informed us of the nature of the service we'd be doing.
All we'd been told before arriving was that we'd be "volunteering at an orphanage" and that "the ages of the kids ranged." Bu we all assumed that our volunteering would pretty much consist of playing with or hanging out with the kids. That's what you do at orphanages, right? So I'd prepared myself for a few days of exercising my camp counselor skills, my extroverted let's have fun self that's got to be hidden really, really, really deep inside of me.
Turns out, we'd be making bricks.
Actually, I had no problem with that. As fun as hanging out with a group of kids would have been, this way I'd actually be contributing something. Doing something that fills a need. Most of the service I've done in the past has been based on person to person interactions--going to day cares and playing with kids for an hour, usually. But I've always loved it when that personal interaction meets perfectly with filling a need, like my experience at BMHC.
Here, I'd be helping make bricks that would eventually go towards the construction of a new building. But as the kids would also be helping, I'd have plenty of chances to get to interact with them, and not just by trying to entertain them, but by working side by side with them towards something, an activity I find to be much more fulfilling.
One of my leaders informed me that service placement at an orphanage is really uncommon. It brings up a lot of problems. The kids, who often have a lot of attachment issues, don't need a whole bunch of new people coming in, trying to make their lives better, and the leaving again. Repeat, repeat, repeat. (Not to mention the culture difference. Not o mention the socio-economic difference between the way I grew up and they way they've grown up.)
But at least we didn't step in, acting like we were the gift of god, come there to entertain them for a bit and then sweep back out of their lives. We walked in, picked up the bags of dirt, picked up the shovels and sifts and got out feet dirty. We sweated and laughed beside them.
But we did have to leave eventually, and it was hard. We were only there for four or so days but already some of the kids were pretty attached to us and sad to see us go.
The idea of service took me a long time to buy into. My school always pushed it, so I always knew that it was a good thing to do if people wanted to be good people. That was certainly not enough motivation for me.That is, until sometime, as a junior or senior in high school, some little shift happened and I became very invested in the service that I was doing at BMHC, but that was still not enough for me to really get it. I was intensely invested in my service site, but that spirit of service I found there did not spread out into other places,
But this last month in Thailand has changed that. One of my leaders has been invested in service and service learned for a looong time and her stories of her service based study abroad experience have been more than a little enlightening. My time at the orphanage and seeing all that they are trying to do, alerted me to the needs of people and organizations all around the world. Throughout my stay here, I've heard of of the work of many NGOs around Thailand ans suddenly the possibility of working for one of them seems...very real.
In the last month, I'm not sure how or why, but my understanding of the role I can play in this world has drastically changed. In New Zealand I was reminded of why I love the things I already loved. In Thailand, I've come to love another possibility, another pursuit well within my power. I can't articulate the hows and why's well enough without throwing out terms like service and service learning in the way that has always seemed very pretentious and rather meaningless to me.
All that I can say is that it is wonderfully empowering to realize that it is possible to do so much more than gripe about the situation of the world. It is wonderful to finally realize that helping is well withing you power.
All we'd been told before arriving was that we'd be "volunteering at an orphanage" and that "the ages of the kids ranged." Bu we all assumed that our volunteering would pretty much consist of playing with or hanging out with the kids. That's what you do at orphanages, right? So I'd prepared myself for a few days of exercising my camp counselor skills, my extroverted let's have fun self that's got to be hidden really, really, really deep inside of me.
Turns out, we'd be making bricks.
Actually, I had no problem with that. As fun as hanging out with a group of kids would have been, this way I'd actually be contributing something. Doing something that fills a need. Most of the service I've done in the past has been based on person to person interactions--going to day cares and playing with kids for an hour, usually. But I've always loved it when that personal interaction meets perfectly with filling a need, like my experience at BMHC.
Here, I'd be helping make bricks that would eventually go towards the construction of a new building. But as the kids would also be helping, I'd have plenty of chances to get to interact with them, and not just by trying to entertain them, but by working side by side with them towards something, an activity I find to be much more fulfilling.
One of my leaders informed me that service placement at an orphanage is really uncommon. It brings up a lot of problems. The kids, who often have a lot of attachment issues, don't need a whole bunch of new people coming in, trying to make their lives better, and the leaving again. Repeat, repeat, repeat. (Not to mention the culture difference. Not o mention the socio-economic difference between the way I grew up and they way they've grown up.)
But at least we didn't step in, acting like we were the gift of god, come there to entertain them for a bit and then sweep back out of their lives. We walked in, picked up the bags of dirt, picked up the shovels and sifts and got out feet dirty. We sweated and laughed beside them.
But we did have to leave eventually, and it was hard. We were only there for four or so days but already some of the kids were pretty attached to us and sad to see us go.
The idea of service took me a long time to buy into. My school always pushed it, so I always knew that it was a good thing to do if people wanted to be good people. That was certainly not enough motivation for me.That is, until sometime, as a junior or senior in high school, some little shift happened and I became very invested in the service that I was doing at BMHC, but that was still not enough for me to really get it. I was intensely invested in my service site, but that spirit of service I found there did not spread out into other places,
But this last month in Thailand has changed that. One of my leaders has been invested in service and service learned for a looong time and her stories of her service based study abroad experience have been more than a little enlightening. My time at the orphanage and seeing all that they are trying to do, alerted me to the needs of people and organizations all around the world. Throughout my stay here, I've heard of of the work of many NGOs around Thailand ans suddenly the possibility of working for one of them seems...very real.
In the last month, I'm not sure how or why, but my understanding of the role I can play in this world has drastically changed. In New Zealand I was reminded of why I love the things I already loved. In Thailand, I've come to love another possibility, another pursuit well within my power. I can't articulate the hows and why's well enough without throwing out terms like service and service learning in the way that has always seemed very pretentious and rather meaningless to me.
All that I can say is that it is wonderfully empowering to realize that it is possible to do so much more than gripe about the situation of the world. It is wonderful to finally realize that helping is well withing you power.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
The Orphanage, part 1
Handing two final plastic shopping bags filled with fruit out of the back of the Sung Tao, I crouched, preparing to step down onto the ground. My legs unbent stiffly. My head was woozy. I'd gone into full survival mode for the last hour of the two hour care ride. Eyes closed, tightly griping the bar running along the rood of the cap, like I might in a metro car, I had done my best to convince myself that I as anywhere in the world but sitting in the back of a sung tao speedily lurching and jerking its way through high mountain roads.
But we'd arrived in one piece. Blinking, I pulled my pack onto my back, already feeling the oncoming heat of the day. I shyly looked around. Shyly because I was tired and disengaged from the world after the long trip. Shyly because I always feel like an intruder in a new place. Shyly because I didn't know what to expect here. Shyly because I could see some of what i guessed would be the orphans around. Do I smile? Wai? how do I greet them? Me, a westerner come to volunteer at this orphanage for a few days. What do they expect? I can't speak Thai. Do they have much English?
I settled on smiling, my hands were full with bags, so I couldn't do much of a wai. And they didn't wai either, so I guess it was okay.
One of us girls at the orphanage led us girls to where we would be sleeping in the girls dormitory. Shyly, I thanked her for bringing us there and set my stuff down. Like usual, I didn't know what to do in the new space. I felt adrift. I felt like an intruder.
But why?
Why, whenever I've gotten to a new place here have I felt so very out of place, so very uncomfortable? Why is it so scary for me to look my new hosts in the eye and greet them with a big smile and a "Thank you for welcoming us!"
Is it because of the cultural differences? Can I excuse myself because I still am not confident in knowing how to introduce myself, greet someone? Is it because I am constantly reminded of my own otherness? Here I am not just a privileged minority, here I am a privileged foreigner, ignorant of local customs and history, forgetful of faces and names. I am always conscious that I might be being unintentionally rude.
It's all of that that makes me shy.
Yet, I don't need to be shy around people. If there is one thing I've figured out this year is that regardless of the language you grew up speaking, or the location on the globe you call home, we're all human, we all respond to a smile, so friendly open attitudes.
But I'm still working on accepting the discomfort, the lack of knowing. I'm working on not letting that keep me from learning about the people I meet and the places I go. i'm moving towards letting people and experience in with open arm and earnestness.
But we'd arrived in one piece. Blinking, I pulled my pack onto my back, already feeling the oncoming heat of the day. I shyly looked around. Shyly because I was tired and disengaged from the world after the long trip. Shyly because I always feel like an intruder in a new place. Shyly because I didn't know what to expect here. Shyly because I could see some of what i guessed would be the orphans around. Do I smile? Wai? how do I greet them? Me, a westerner come to volunteer at this orphanage for a few days. What do they expect? I can't speak Thai. Do they have much English?
I settled on smiling, my hands were full with bags, so I couldn't do much of a wai. And they didn't wai either, so I guess it was okay.
One of us girls at the orphanage led us girls to where we would be sleeping in the girls dormitory. Shyly, I thanked her for bringing us there and set my stuff down. Like usual, I didn't know what to do in the new space. I felt adrift. I felt like an intruder.
But why?
Why, whenever I've gotten to a new place here have I felt so very out of place, so very uncomfortable? Why is it so scary for me to look my new hosts in the eye and greet them with a big smile and a "Thank you for welcoming us!"
Is it because of the cultural differences? Can I excuse myself because I still am not confident in knowing how to introduce myself, greet someone? Is it because I am constantly reminded of my own otherness? Here I am not just a privileged minority, here I am a privileged foreigner, ignorant of local customs and history, forgetful of faces and names. I am always conscious that I might be being unintentionally rude.
It's all of that that makes me shy.
Yet, I don't need to be shy around people. If there is one thing I've figured out this year is that regardless of the language you grew up speaking, or the location on the globe you call home, we're all human, we all respond to a smile, so friendly open attitudes.
But I'm still working on accepting the discomfort, the lack of knowing. I'm working on not letting that keep me from learning about the people I meet and the places I go. i'm moving towards letting people and experience in with open arm and earnestness.
Fruit, Waterfalls, and Elephants
Between trying to learn Thai and trying to speak Thai at my home stay, between biking to school and having my hair braided, I had a fair amount of free time during my two week home stay at Mae Rim.
Some of that time was spent doing yoga and reading and catching up on journaling, but much of it was spent off adventuring.
Two full weekends without classes were filled to the brim with all sorts of fun stuff.
Bright one Saturday morning, I biked with the group to the market in Mar Rim. The big one goes from 6 am to 8 am everyday and this is when local farmers sell their produce. Unlike the markets I'd seen in Chiang Mai, this one wasn't touristy at all. The little crafts and clothes stands selling the sort of Asian looking good that us westerners love were nowhere in sight. Instead, it was food and more food things ranging from fresh fruit and veggies to chickens and catfish.
i got to try a number of new \yummy things that day--freshly made waffles and freshly squeezed coconut juice. Coconut sticky rice, Thai rice krispies and all sorts of new yummy fruit.
We sample a lot on that morning, but mostly bought food for that afternoon--this was when I went to the forest wat and meditated surrounded by red and gold Buddhist decorations.
The next day my have been my favorite of all the days spent in Mae Rim. We spent it at a waterfall. Mae Sa Waterfall--Thailand's most accessible large waterfall It was a day of swimming and sunning on the rocks by the river, stuffing ourselves with fruit. WE listed to music and ate ice cream, next to the roaring water falls.
Finally, a day was spent at an Orchid Farm and an elephant camp. This is a funny story.
We got into the orchid farm for free because our Thai Language teachers are really well known in the area and really well loved by the people in the community. We spent an hour or so looking at the beautiful orchids, but it was a pretty small set up and wouldn't have been worth the visit if we'd paid the entrance fee.
And then, this is hard to right, it makes me cringe to think about it, we biked to the elephant camp. Or at least we tried to. What we didn't know what that the road to the camp at ALL uphill. And most of that was a windy mountain road that is as close to a high way as you get in rural Thailand. And we were making out epic ascent during the hottest part of the day.
WE didn't make it on our bikes to the camp. Instead, halfway up the mountain, three painful, sweaty and grueling kilometers from our destination, we chained our bikes to the barrier on the side of the road and caught a Sung Tao the rest of the way.
The first on that stopped for us was already half full with ordinary Thais that just wanted to go about thie daily business, who, I am sure, weren't all that thrilled to have ten apparently crazy Americans pile into the back. We were sitting on each others labs and on the floor, two of us hung on to the back of the Sung Tao, standing n the little platform and threading their arms through the ladders on the sides of the rear door.
But we made it to the elephant camp. There I loaded up on fresh pineapple and coconut ice cream for lunch.
The camp itself was an interesting experience. It's a huge tourist dray in the area--it's easy to see why people like it. Elephants are unbelievable creatures and the chance to ride them or feed them bananas or have of of their trunks gibe you a big hug is worth the trip for many people. Not to mention the chance to see them perform with their mahouts--toss soccer balls, paint pictures, lift their mahouts up and down.
And here, during the elephant show is when my disquiet began to make itself known. I can see the merit in training animals--house pets or work animals. Elephants, inquiringly enough, have been used for hundreds of years in this part of the world for building things and moving things. So, although it's hard for me to think of them as anything buys a wild animal, here, they've been sort of domesticated, in the sense that they've been working with humans, for a while. And I'm okay with that, I guess.
But There at the elephant camp, I saw the mahouts and their little training sticks with a real sharp hook. And I was reminded of Like Water for Elephants, where the elephant is abused. And watching the show, yeah, I guess it was fun, but it also felt a little sad/ Whether these animals are treated well wasn't clear, but watching their antics, I'm pretty sure no elephants would choose to bend their legs or rear up in those ways. The elephant camp was interesting, and if not a one hundred percent pleasant experience, it was informative.
Some of that time was spent doing yoga and reading and catching up on journaling, but much of it was spent off adventuring.
Two full weekends without classes were filled to the brim with all sorts of fun stuff.
Bright one Saturday morning, I biked with the group to the market in Mar Rim. The big one goes from 6 am to 8 am everyday and this is when local farmers sell their produce. Unlike the markets I'd seen in Chiang Mai, this one wasn't touristy at all. The little crafts and clothes stands selling the sort of Asian looking good that us westerners love were nowhere in sight. Instead, it was food and more food things ranging from fresh fruit and veggies to chickens and catfish.
i got to try a number of new \yummy things that day--freshly made waffles and freshly squeezed coconut juice. Coconut sticky rice, Thai rice krispies and all sorts of new yummy fruit.
We sample a lot on that morning, but mostly bought food for that afternoon--this was when I went to the forest wat and meditated surrounded by red and gold Buddhist decorations.
The next day my have been my favorite of all the days spent in Mae Rim. We spent it at a waterfall. Mae Sa Waterfall--Thailand's most accessible large waterfall It was a day of swimming and sunning on the rocks by the river, stuffing ourselves with fruit. WE listed to music and ate ice cream, next to the roaring water falls.
Finally, a day was spent at an Orchid Farm and an elephant camp. This is a funny story.
We got into the orchid farm for free because our Thai Language teachers are really well known in the area and really well loved by the people in the community. We spent an hour or so looking at the beautiful orchids, but it was a pretty small set up and wouldn't have been worth the visit if we'd paid the entrance fee.
And then, this is hard to right, it makes me cringe to think about it, we biked to the elephant camp. Or at least we tried to. What we didn't know what that the road to the camp at ALL uphill. And most of that was a windy mountain road that is as close to a high way as you get in rural Thailand. And we were making out epic ascent during the hottest part of the day.
WE didn't make it on our bikes to the camp. Instead, halfway up the mountain, three painful, sweaty and grueling kilometers from our destination, we chained our bikes to the barrier on the side of the road and caught a Sung Tao the rest of the way.
The first on that stopped for us was already half full with ordinary Thais that just wanted to go about thie daily business, who, I am sure, weren't all that thrilled to have ten apparently crazy Americans pile into the back. We were sitting on each others labs and on the floor, two of us hung on to the back of the Sung Tao, standing n the little platform and threading their arms through the ladders on the sides of the rear door.
But we made it to the elephant camp. There I loaded up on fresh pineapple and coconut ice cream for lunch.
The camp itself was an interesting experience. It's a huge tourist dray in the area--it's easy to see why people like it. Elephants are unbelievable creatures and the chance to ride them or feed them bananas or have of of their trunks gibe you a big hug is worth the trip for many people. Not to mention the chance to see them perform with their mahouts--toss soccer balls, paint pictures, lift their mahouts up and down.
And here, during the elephant show is when my disquiet began to make itself known. I can see the merit in training animals--house pets or work animals. Elephants, inquiringly enough, have been used for hundreds of years in this part of the world for building things and moving things. So, although it's hard for me to think of them as anything buys a wild animal, here, they've been sort of domesticated, in the sense that they've been working with humans, for a while. And I'm okay with that, I guess.
But There at the elephant camp, I saw the mahouts and their little training sticks with a real sharp hook. And I was reminded of Like Water for Elephants, where the elephant is abused. And watching the show, yeah, I guess it was fun, but it also felt a little sad/ Whether these animals are treated well wasn't clear, but watching their antics, I'm pretty sure no elephants would choose to bend their legs or rear up in those ways. The elephant camp was interesting, and if not a one hundred percent pleasant experience, it was informative.
Monday, March 10, 2014
Dear Feburary,
You've been over and done with for a while now. And I"m already starting to miss you.
February, you were plenty confusing. I'm not certain if you did it on purpose, but it is so hard for me to imagine you in a time of heat and dryness, in a time of thawing or a time when water is scarce.
Dear February, you show a different face on the other side of the world. It is strange to think that some people know you as hot and harsh, as a time when the world is green.
February, I've always known you as a transitional time, caught between January and March, between winter and spring. You are cold and I await my next break from my studies. But if one thing about you is consistent it is that you move too fast.
You saw me through the end of my time in NZ and the start of my journey through Thailand. I would cling to you, February. If only to get the change to extend these endings and beginnings--they are so often the most bittersweet, the most memorial of times. And every day, February, you brought something new. I"m not used to you being so challenging, you were always a time when I waited for the weekend and each day felt like the one before. But this year you brought something new to the table. You took me to the air and into the water. Thank you for teaching me about plants and animals and the environment. Thank you for teaching me about how things can go wrong and how things can go right. You taught me to relax.
thank you, February, for coming roaring in with new places and friends and new memories.
Sincerely,
P
February, you were plenty confusing. I'm not certain if you did it on purpose, but it is so hard for me to imagine you in a time of heat and dryness, in a time of thawing or a time when water is scarce.
Dear February, you show a different face on the other side of the world. It is strange to think that some people know you as hot and harsh, as a time when the world is green.
February, I've always known you as a transitional time, caught between January and March, between winter and spring. You are cold and I await my next break from my studies. But if one thing about you is consistent it is that you move too fast.
You saw me through the end of my time in NZ and the start of my journey through Thailand. I would cling to you, February. If only to get the change to extend these endings and beginnings--they are so often the most bittersweet, the most memorial of times. And every day, February, you brought something new. I"m not used to you being so challenging, you were always a time when I waited for the weekend and each day felt like the one before. But this year you brought something new to the table. You took me to the air and into the water. Thank you for teaching me about plants and animals and the environment. Thank you for teaching me about how things can go wrong and how things can go right. You taught me to relax.
thank you, February, for coming roaring in with new places and friends and new memories.
Sincerely,
P
Journey to the Wats: A Comparison
One of the biggest reasons I wanted to come to Thailand was that I wanted to learn about Buddhism. Thai Buddhism is alive and well, and I've seen my fair share of it in only a few weeks--I've seen many golden wats, monks walking the street, and little signs and references to Buddhism that pepper daily life here.
Though I haven't been very actively trying to study Thai Buddhism, I have gotten to visit two very different Wats (temples).
Doi Suthep is perched atop a mountain near Chiang Mai. It was built because a relic of the Buddha, a hair from his head, was left there. My group piled into a Sung Tao (the big red pickup truck like cars that act as a sort of taxi/bus hybrid) to the Wat.
Like most wats I've seen, this one had a long staircase flanked by serpents, decorated lavishely lat lead to the temple itself. Doi Suthep is a sacred space. It's big and golden and has all sorts of nooks and crannies where Buddhists can leave incense or flowers and there are many donation boxes.
But Dio Suthep, though undisputedly holy, lacks the calm, peaceful, and intentional atmosphere that one would expect of a temple. Because of its fame, people flock to it. SO day by day, this wat is filled to the brim. IT feels a little crowded. On the edges, battered stores sell expensive drinks and trinkets. And it's hard to clean up after 100s of people.
Inside the wat is wild with the crowd. Some people seem to be actual Buddhists, who know what they are doing, kneeling and leaving incense and flowers in certain spots. Others are just as clueless as I am, wandering the circle around the Chedi, getting blessed by monks without knowing why or what they are saying, looking at the murals, not certain of what magnificent stories they depict. Pictures are taken, prayers dais, maybe heartfelt and maybe not.
Doi Suthep, beautiful and important as it is, left me exhausted. The strange mix of tourism and devotion left me confused. I've been strongly reminded of how little I know about Buddhism and the actual practice of the religion.
Leaving Doi Suthep, I was eager to learn more, to try to understand so that next time I would not feel so lost and confused, caught up in swift moving humanity.
While I popped my head in to a few more temples while in Chiang Mai, the second place I visited that packed a punch was Wat Sangoo--a forest wat in Mae Rim, just a little bike ride from my homestay.
It, too, had a staircase that lead to the actual temple. Rather than the more sophisticated gold and silver and colorful tiles that seem to usually make up the mosaic-ed decorations, these stairs were decorated with raised clay. They didn't look artisan or professional, instead, they were simple, depicting scenes from every day modern life. Cars and people going to markets, schools and rice fields. they looked like they could have been made in a school class room of by the members of the community.
I walked up the steps slowly looking intently at the decorations. There was an archway, too--this one decorated in brightly colored glass mosaics. And then I was in the Wat. T His one was much simpler--one big, golden Buddha statue and some simpler statues outside and hen there was the temple itself.
i spent sometime wandering. The ten of us were the only ones there. WE ate a ton of fruit in a little picnic spot, surrounded by trees. Here and there, monks, young and old, swept leaves up into piles and burned them later on.
After lunch, we stepped quietly into the actual temple. It was a real simple building. One room, plain walls. It could have been any building--a school room, a gym, a bingo room in a rec center. But here, it was a sacred space. Red mats set on the floor and a series of beautiful statues and flowers. One of our leaders led us in meditation and then we read stories about the Buddha's past lives. WE were alone in this temples, allowed to share with the monks, the stillness and holiness of this place.
Leaving Wat Sangoo in a peaceful state of mind, I knew I'd learned something important about creating sacredness out of the ordinary.
Though I haven't been very actively trying to study Thai Buddhism, I have gotten to visit two very different Wats (temples).
Doi Suthep is perched atop a mountain near Chiang Mai. It was built because a relic of the Buddha, a hair from his head, was left there. My group piled into a Sung Tao (the big red pickup truck like cars that act as a sort of taxi/bus hybrid) to the Wat.
Like most wats I've seen, this one had a long staircase flanked by serpents, decorated lavishely lat lead to the temple itself. Doi Suthep is a sacred space. It's big and golden and has all sorts of nooks and crannies where Buddhists can leave incense or flowers and there are many donation boxes.
But Dio Suthep, though undisputedly holy, lacks the calm, peaceful, and intentional atmosphere that one would expect of a temple. Because of its fame, people flock to it. SO day by day, this wat is filled to the brim. IT feels a little crowded. On the edges, battered stores sell expensive drinks and trinkets. And it's hard to clean up after 100s of people.
Inside the wat is wild with the crowd. Some people seem to be actual Buddhists, who know what they are doing, kneeling and leaving incense and flowers in certain spots. Others are just as clueless as I am, wandering the circle around the Chedi, getting blessed by monks without knowing why or what they are saying, looking at the murals, not certain of what magnificent stories they depict. Pictures are taken, prayers dais, maybe heartfelt and maybe not.
Doi Suthep, beautiful and important as it is, left me exhausted. The strange mix of tourism and devotion left me confused. I've been strongly reminded of how little I know about Buddhism and the actual practice of the religion.
Leaving Doi Suthep, I was eager to learn more, to try to understand so that next time I would not feel so lost and confused, caught up in swift moving humanity.
While I popped my head in to a few more temples while in Chiang Mai, the second place I visited that packed a punch was Wat Sangoo--a forest wat in Mae Rim, just a little bike ride from my homestay.
It, too, had a staircase that lead to the actual temple. Rather than the more sophisticated gold and silver and colorful tiles that seem to usually make up the mosaic-ed decorations, these stairs were decorated with raised clay. They didn't look artisan or professional, instead, they were simple, depicting scenes from every day modern life. Cars and people going to markets, schools and rice fields. they looked like they could have been made in a school class room of by the members of the community.
I walked up the steps slowly looking intently at the decorations. There was an archway, too--this one decorated in brightly colored glass mosaics. And then I was in the Wat. T His one was much simpler--one big, golden Buddha statue and some simpler statues outside and hen there was the temple itself.
i spent sometime wandering. The ten of us were the only ones there. WE ate a ton of fruit in a little picnic spot, surrounded by trees. Here and there, monks, young and old, swept leaves up into piles and burned them later on.
After lunch, we stepped quietly into the actual temple. It was a real simple building. One room, plain walls. It could have been any building--a school room, a gym, a bingo room in a rec center. But here, it was a sacred space. Red mats set on the floor and a series of beautiful statues and flowers. One of our leaders led us in meditation and then we read stories about the Buddha's past lives. WE were alone in this temples, allowed to share with the monks, the stillness and holiness of this place.
Leaving Wat Sangoo in a peaceful state of mind, I knew I'd learned something important about creating sacredness out of the ordinary.
So you want to take a Gap Year
It's hard to explain how this whole gap year thing happened. There are things I did well and some things that could have used some more planning. But regardless of the number of times that things didn't turn out how I expected them to or wanted to, I wouldn't give up this year for the world. I've learned so much, and know that phrase is said by everyone whose ever had a good experience, but I mean it. I've learned about myself, about what I want to study, about how I want to study, about what I want to do, about what I hope to do.
So. Not that I can sway you. But if you have ever thought that a gap year might be a fun thing to do. If you've ever been interested in the idea.
Do it.
You don't have to have just finished high school--you can take a year off of school or travel just after college.
But if you're just thinking about it or have already decided you're going to do it and just wondering how to start planning, I know how hard that is.
In fact, I've probably spent some part of everyday wondering if I should have planned things differently. Then again, I spend some part of everyday thanking the powers that be that I am actually doing this weird crazy thing that doesn't fit into any of the boxes that used to make up my life.
If you want to take a gap year, do it.
This is how I pulled together this craziness.
Step one: Dream
Write down all the things you've ever wanted to do, you've ever wanted to learn. Write down all the places you've ever wanted to see. Don't say no to any idea. Just start brainstorming.
I thought about studying Spanish and WWOOFing, but I also though about doing a NOLS course, or learning how to white water kayak. I though about working on cruise ships around the world or working at a ski resort in some exotic locale (the Alps for instance). I thought about going to Argentina and studying birds, I thought about watching and researching birds in California or Minnesota. I dreamed about studying pottery at a distant relation's studio or learning to sail in Australia.
Step two: Talk to people
Tell everyone and anyone about your gap year. You'd be surprised how many people will give you ideas. This is where i got the birding idea in Argentina, or the ski resort one. One of my dad's friends backpacked through Europe with his banjo, playing music for money. Another gal I met lived and studied in a Easter European country for a year.
Talk to people, get ideas, start networking.
Step three: Find purpose
This might be optional for some people, but I really wanted to get something out of this year. My good friend suggested dividing things into categories--like spiritual, educational, volunteering, etc. I decided that I wanted to learn something everywhere I went. Spanish was the obvious thing i'd learn in Spain. Organic farming practices from WWOOFing. These were the obvious ones and the ones I loved the idea of from the start. Most everything else I dreamed up was skills oriented (sailing, pottery, birding) and I used that to guide my planing. Other people might want to focus on volunteering, or doing really intensive cultural or religion immersions. That would be awesome. I still wish I'd done something like that.
Step four: Figure out how to make it work
This includes how you're actually going to do what you want to do. Research. Find programs, organizations, ways to make it work. Start to make decisions. This might be the hardest part. I am still thinking of things I want to do.
Step five: Be thoughtful
Ask yourself: how will I pay for this? Do you know people who can help you out? Connect you with organizations or just give you advice? Do you need a job? What about a place to stay? Look into visas and vaccination.
As for schools, I'd suggest applying and then deffering. It takes a lot of the stress load off. But then again, this is your year.
Step six: be creative, remember that there are NO RULES to this
This is your year. Do what you want. This has been the hardest thing for me. I've wasted so many hours worrying that I'm not doing it right--that I should have done different programs, gone to different places, decided to do something completely different. That's ridiculous. There is no right or wrong way to take a gap year. It's a time for you to explore yourself and the world around you. It's a time for you to do what you've always wanted.
Be creative. Dream. Decide to do things that scare you.
And take advantage of being in a new place. You'll be surrounded by people from different countries who have all sorts of different experiences. Talk to them. Ask questions.
Step six: Do it.
Maybe the scariest part of all, but of course, the best part.
So. Not that I can sway you. But if you have ever thought that a gap year might be a fun thing to do. If you've ever been interested in the idea.
Do it.
You don't have to have just finished high school--you can take a year off of school or travel just after college.
But if you're just thinking about it or have already decided you're going to do it and just wondering how to start planning, I know how hard that is.
In fact, I've probably spent some part of everyday wondering if I should have planned things differently. Then again, I spend some part of everyday thanking the powers that be that I am actually doing this weird crazy thing that doesn't fit into any of the boxes that used to make up my life.
If you want to take a gap year, do it.
This is how I pulled together this craziness.
Step one: Dream
Write down all the things you've ever wanted to do, you've ever wanted to learn. Write down all the places you've ever wanted to see. Don't say no to any idea. Just start brainstorming.
I thought about studying Spanish and WWOOFing, but I also though about doing a NOLS course, or learning how to white water kayak. I though about working on cruise ships around the world or working at a ski resort in some exotic locale (the Alps for instance). I thought about going to Argentina and studying birds, I thought about watching and researching birds in California or Minnesota. I dreamed about studying pottery at a distant relation's studio or learning to sail in Australia.
Step two: Talk to people
Tell everyone and anyone about your gap year. You'd be surprised how many people will give you ideas. This is where i got the birding idea in Argentina, or the ski resort one. One of my dad's friends backpacked through Europe with his banjo, playing music for money. Another gal I met lived and studied in a Easter European country for a year.
Talk to people, get ideas, start networking.
Step three: Find purpose
This might be optional for some people, but I really wanted to get something out of this year. My good friend suggested dividing things into categories--like spiritual, educational, volunteering, etc. I decided that I wanted to learn something everywhere I went. Spanish was the obvious thing i'd learn in Spain. Organic farming practices from WWOOFing. These were the obvious ones and the ones I loved the idea of from the start. Most everything else I dreamed up was skills oriented (sailing, pottery, birding) and I used that to guide my planing. Other people might want to focus on volunteering, or doing really intensive cultural or religion immersions. That would be awesome. I still wish I'd done something like that.
Step four: Figure out how to make it work
This includes how you're actually going to do what you want to do. Research. Find programs, organizations, ways to make it work. Start to make decisions. This might be the hardest part. I am still thinking of things I want to do.
Step five: Be thoughtful
Ask yourself: how will I pay for this? Do you know people who can help you out? Connect you with organizations or just give you advice? Do you need a job? What about a place to stay? Look into visas and vaccination.
As for schools, I'd suggest applying and then deffering. It takes a lot of the stress load off. But then again, this is your year.
Step six: be creative, remember that there are NO RULES to this
This is your year. Do what you want. This has been the hardest thing for me. I've wasted so many hours worrying that I'm not doing it right--that I should have done different programs, gone to different places, decided to do something completely different. That's ridiculous. There is no right or wrong way to take a gap year. It's a time for you to explore yourself and the world around you. It's a time for you to do what you've always wanted.
Be creative. Dream. Decide to do things that scare you.
And take advantage of being in a new place. You'll be surrounded by people from different countries who have all sorts of different experiences. Talk to them. Ask questions.
Step six: Do it.
Maybe the scariest part of all, but of course, the best part.
Introduction to Thai Language and Food...Sort of
Written 3/03
One very interesting part of my time in Thailand so far has been the study of the Thai language. In the first few days in Chiang Mai, I'd stare at the phonetic pronunciations of various phrases, trying in vain to memorize how to say "Hello" and "Thank you!" These phrases, so essential, slipped out of my mind as easily as i read them aloud.
At breakfast at the first hostel I stayed at, I'd try to order in Thai. But I'd nervously hand back, reluctant to seem foolish until Komodo, the guy in the group, had looked at me with enough exasperation to prod me to the counter and trippingly ask how to say pineapple or some other food in Thai and then order it in the way Komodo had learned to (later, I learned that he'd been told to use "pom" in the phrase which is how men say "I," I, as a woman should have used "dichan." But I didn't know that at the time so I used "pom" in those first few days.)
But even Just after a week of lessons, I'd learned enough to piece together really, really, really simple sentences. But even then, under any pressure to understand or speak Thai, I forget everything. I knew going into this that it would be hard. I got pretty spoiled by being able to speak kinda good Spanish going into Spain, but now I'm back to square one with a language, and it's just as frustrating and discouraging as I remember.
As much as learning Thai has been a fun challenge, experimenting with the Thai food has only been delicious. As I write this, I still haven't gotten sick from the interesting street food they've got here. Knock on wood that trend continues, though I'm certain I won't stay at 100% health this entire time.
I've downed plenty of Pad Thai and rice and veggies.. One thing that I didn't expect on this trip was the abundance of food. I'd expected to spend most of my time in impoverished areas, sharing the limited food supply. How wrong I was. Traditionally, even the poorest of the poor families n tiny villages forage for food, bringing home all sorts of little creatures and plants to fry up and eat with rice. They always had enough food.
These days, things may have changed and there is almost surely more hunger, but in exactly what ways, I don't yet know. And I haven't seen many signs of hunger in my time in Chiang Mai.
The food, as expected of Thai cuisine, is fantastic. The tropical fruit is beyond compare--mangoes soft as butter, pinneaple so juicy it runs down my fingers when I eat it, mango steen, tamarind, papaya, watermelon, the list goes on.
The mangoes here will spoil me for mangoes back home. In the states, It's tough and often stringy, here it is smooth as butter and really melts in your mouth. But its the pineapple i'm in love with. Alone or blended up in a smoothie (which are widely available, and the freshest smoothies I've ever had) I can't quite get enough of it.
Mot people told me I'd love the food over here. They were correct. But they may have known a lot about Thai food, I certainly didn't. I've learned quite a bit in the last weeks and eaten some really yummy stuff.
One food I' still dream of was a grilled catfish sold by a street food stand. I shared it with some group members, pulling the succulent meat off the bones with my fingers. Besides eating some real good Pad Thai, I've eaten a bunch of good noodle diches--Pad-see-ew, and glass noodle soup and normal noodle soup. Throw in some chicken or pork and the occasional shrimp and it's really good. WHile I'm sure that the different names and kinds of soup very greatly, I'm still only learning about this part of Thai food.
I've had plenty of curries, plenty of rice. But in almost all dishes can be found some kind of egg (my new Food Theory is that eggs are universally essential in the food of pretty much every country). Meat's incorporated to anything easily and all food is made with super fresh ingredients. The food, delicious, is so simple, and I've got some recipes written down to bring back home.
In Chiang Mai, I eat almost exclusively from street food and local restaurants. I try to avoid the touristy places when I can. So far I've tried a lot of things. A firey papaya salad that nearly set my mouth on fire, I had to buy some nearby fruit to cool things down. Some strange little marangue type things, still warm and plopped on what could be a tiny pancake or cracker sprinckled with coconut. Spring rolls with a green dipping sauce. Some mysterious meat sticks. And lots of curries.
Once last thing about the food here: rice is the staple. Thailand has been an agricultural society for hundreds upon hundreds of years. They've always grown rice. It's served at every meal. You'll get a bowl full and rice and a family will share several plates of the rest of the food--veggies, meats, soups. And you take little pieces from these shared plates and mix it up with your rice. The rice is beautiful and delicious. Here in the north of Thailand, they do something different--eat sticky rice. They ball it up and scoop up their food with this different strain of rice. It, like everything else here, is delicious.
One very interesting part of my time in Thailand so far has been the study of the Thai language. In the first few days in Chiang Mai, I'd stare at the phonetic pronunciations of various phrases, trying in vain to memorize how to say "Hello" and "Thank you!" These phrases, so essential, slipped out of my mind as easily as i read them aloud.
At breakfast at the first hostel I stayed at, I'd try to order in Thai. But I'd nervously hand back, reluctant to seem foolish until Komodo, the guy in the group, had looked at me with enough exasperation to prod me to the counter and trippingly ask how to say pineapple or some other food in Thai and then order it in the way Komodo had learned to (later, I learned that he'd been told to use "pom" in the phrase which is how men say "I," I, as a woman should have used "dichan." But I didn't know that at the time so I used "pom" in those first few days.)
But even Just after a week of lessons, I'd learned enough to piece together really, really, really simple sentences. But even then, under any pressure to understand or speak Thai, I forget everything. I knew going into this that it would be hard. I got pretty spoiled by being able to speak kinda good Spanish going into Spain, but now I'm back to square one with a language, and it's just as frustrating and discouraging as I remember.
As much as learning Thai has been a fun challenge, experimenting with the Thai food has only been delicious. As I write this, I still haven't gotten sick from the interesting street food they've got here. Knock on wood that trend continues, though I'm certain I won't stay at 100% health this entire time.
I've downed plenty of Pad Thai and rice and veggies.. One thing that I didn't expect on this trip was the abundance of food. I'd expected to spend most of my time in impoverished areas, sharing the limited food supply. How wrong I was. Traditionally, even the poorest of the poor families n tiny villages forage for food, bringing home all sorts of little creatures and plants to fry up and eat with rice. They always had enough food.
These days, things may have changed and there is almost surely more hunger, but in exactly what ways, I don't yet know. And I haven't seen many signs of hunger in my time in Chiang Mai.
The food, as expected of Thai cuisine, is fantastic. The tropical fruit is beyond compare--mangoes soft as butter, pinneaple so juicy it runs down my fingers when I eat it, mango steen, tamarind, papaya, watermelon, the list goes on.
The mangoes here will spoil me for mangoes back home. In the states, It's tough and often stringy, here it is smooth as butter and really melts in your mouth. But its the pineapple i'm in love with. Alone or blended up in a smoothie (which are widely available, and the freshest smoothies I've ever had) I can't quite get enough of it.
Mot people told me I'd love the food over here. They were correct. But they may have known a lot about Thai food, I certainly didn't. I've learned quite a bit in the last weeks and eaten some really yummy stuff.
One food I' still dream of was a grilled catfish sold by a street food stand. I shared it with some group members, pulling the succulent meat off the bones with my fingers. Besides eating some real good Pad Thai, I've eaten a bunch of good noodle diches--Pad-see-ew, and glass noodle soup and normal noodle soup. Throw in some chicken or pork and the occasional shrimp and it's really good. WHile I'm sure that the different names and kinds of soup very greatly, I'm still only learning about this part of Thai food.
I've had plenty of curries, plenty of rice. But in almost all dishes can be found some kind of egg (my new Food Theory is that eggs are universally essential in the food of pretty much every country). Meat's incorporated to anything easily and all food is made with super fresh ingredients. The food, delicious, is so simple, and I've got some recipes written down to bring back home.
In Chiang Mai, I eat almost exclusively from street food and local restaurants. I try to avoid the touristy places when I can. So far I've tried a lot of things. A firey papaya salad that nearly set my mouth on fire, I had to buy some nearby fruit to cool things down. Some strange little marangue type things, still warm and plopped on what could be a tiny pancake or cracker sprinckled with coconut. Spring rolls with a green dipping sauce. Some mysterious meat sticks. And lots of curries.
Once last thing about the food here: rice is the staple. Thailand has been an agricultural society for hundreds upon hundreds of years. They've always grown rice. It's served at every meal. You'll get a bowl full and rice and a family will share several plates of the rest of the food--veggies, meats, soups. And you take little pieces from these shared plates and mix it up with your rice. The rice is beautiful and delicious. Here in the north of Thailand, they do something different--eat sticky rice. They ball it up and scoop up their food with this different strain of rice. It, like everything else here, is delicious.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Stories from the Homestay
Written 2/23/14
It was 8:30 in the morning. i'd been up since about 6:30, having stepped out of my bedroom and into the kitchen, determined to join in with my host family in the morning. The day before, when I'd woken up at seven, my host mom had seemed surprised--i assumed she was laughing about how late I'd slept when she saw me at seven. She was about the leave to bring M to school and then go to the market, so she told me to go back to bed and she'd be back with my breakfast at 8:30.
So today, wanting to get up earlier, i made my appearance at 6:30/ My host mom was astonished and quickly explain in here little English that I'd totally misread what she told me the day before. According to her, it was totally okay for me to sleep until 8:30 until she got back from the market and so once again i went back to my room, talking advantage of the down time to read and journal.
Now i was sitting at the table and my host mom had just handed me my breakfast.
two small plastic tins of brightly colored sticky rice. one had what i'd eventually learn is a sort of custard and the other one something that tasted distinctly like fish. I poked away at the custard, eating it in a few quick bites, but decided to pass on the fishy one.
today, my host mom gave me another packed lunch. Yesterday, i'd been given a juice box, a packaged tuna sandwich that was light as air, and a banana. today was a soy milk juice box, some strange hot dog like packaged morsels and an apple.
It was Thursday, my second whole day in the homestay and my host mom's reluctance to give me normal Thai food and instead giving me stuff that seems vaguely American--plastic packaging to boot--was beginning to concern me. I'd heard what the others in my group were eating for breakfast. definitely Thai food. Actually they tended to have left overs from dinner for breakfast.
while it wasn't like i wasn't being fed, i definitely didn't feel like i was being given the same breakfast as the rest of the family. wanting to actually experience the way my Thai host family ate, i brought up the minor problem to my leaders and my teacher who runs the home stays. The confusion clarified, my breakfast now are much more Thai: rice with something, maybe barbecued pork, chicken, or hard poled eggs. Soup even. And it's all delicious.
the house of my home stay family is simple but clean. And the kitchen is located outside. because its outside my host mom doesn't want me in the kitchen when its dark out "Because the mosquitoes will bite you." I appreciate the sentiment, but since she cooks at the same time that it is getting dark it means that I haven't learned very much about the secrets of Thai cooking.
i have offered several times to help. But the only job I've been given is chopping vegetables. But one day as my host mom informed me of what we were going to have for dinner, I, like I've done before, piped up and said in my very simple Thai, "I'd like to help cook that!"
What I should have said was "dichan chop chuay tam aahaan!" but what I actually said what "dichan chop tam aahaan!" I like to cook that. suggesting that I'd actually made it before. My host mom seemed surprised (at this time I hadn't realized my mistake) and she kept repeating "you can make it?" But since my Thai wasn't quite good enough to now exactly what she was saying, I inferred that she was just double checking that I actually wanted to help, so i nodded my head enthusiastically.
it was only as she brought me to the kitchen, and still surprised that i supposedly already knew this dish, gestured at the stove and the post that I realized i'd forgotten to add "chuay" the Thai word for help. After quickly clarifying what i meant, i was delegated again to chopping veggies.
Lest you think my home stay has been all awkward and miscommunication, it hasn't. My host sister, M, is wonderful. she's delightful. Warm and funny, smart and playful, she's the person I've spent most of my evenings with. At first she felt the need to teach me all of the Thai words she could think of, parading them endlessly past my while i dutifully wrote down the phonetic pronunciation. but then, once my stranger status went away, we started jumping rope, Thai style. braiding each others hair (she's a master at it, about a million times better than me and i feel so bad that i can't put her hair in anything more interesting than simple french braid.), playing cats cradle, watching tv, or even learning a few phrases in french (of all the things i'd imagined i'd do here, learning french phrases from a little Thai girl was not one of them). it'll be very sad to say goodbye to this girl, who is such a joy to be around.
It was 8:30 in the morning. i'd been up since about 6:30, having stepped out of my bedroom and into the kitchen, determined to join in with my host family in the morning. The day before, when I'd woken up at seven, my host mom had seemed surprised--i assumed she was laughing about how late I'd slept when she saw me at seven. She was about the leave to bring M to school and then go to the market, so she told me to go back to bed and she'd be back with my breakfast at 8:30.
So today, wanting to get up earlier, i made my appearance at 6:30/ My host mom was astonished and quickly explain in here little English that I'd totally misread what she told me the day before. According to her, it was totally okay for me to sleep until 8:30 until she got back from the market and so once again i went back to my room, talking advantage of the down time to read and journal.
Now i was sitting at the table and my host mom had just handed me my breakfast.
two small plastic tins of brightly colored sticky rice. one had what i'd eventually learn is a sort of custard and the other one something that tasted distinctly like fish. I poked away at the custard, eating it in a few quick bites, but decided to pass on the fishy one.
today, my host mom gave me another packed lunch. Yesterday, i'd been given a juice box, a packaged tuna sandwich that was light as air, and a banana. today was a soy milk juice box, some strange hot dog like packaged morsels and an apple.
It was Thursday, my second whole day in the homestay and my host mom's reluctance to give me normal Thai food and instead giving me stuff that seems vaguely American--plastic packaging to boot--was beginning to concern me. I'd heard what the others in my group were eating for breakfast. definitely Thai food. Actually they tended to have left overs from dinner for breakfast.
while it wasn't like i wasn't being fed, i definitely didn't feel like i was being given the same breakfast as the rest of the family. wanting to actually experience the way my Thai host family ate, i brought up the minor problem to my leaders and my teacher who runs the home stays. The confusion clarified, my breakfast now are much more Thai: rice with something, maybe barbecued pork, chicken, or hard poled eggs. Soup even. And it's all delicious.
the house of my home stay family is simple but clean. And the kitchen is located outside. because its outside my host mom doesn't want me in the kitchen when its dark out "Because the mosquitoes will bite you." I appreciate the sentiment, but since she cooks at the same time that it is getting dark it means that I haven't learned very much about the secrets of Thai cooking.
i have offered several times to help. But the only job I've been given is chopping vegetables. But one day as my host mom informed me of what we were going to have for dinner, I, like I've done before, piped up and said in my very simple Thai, "I'd like to help cook that!"
What I should have said was "dichan chop chuay tam aahaan!" but what I actually said what "dichan chop tam aahaan!" I like to cook that. suggesting that I'd actually made it before. My host mom seemed surprised (at this time I hadn't realized my mistake) and she kept repeating "you can make it?" But since my Thai wasn't quite good enough to now exactly what she was saying, I inferred that she was just double checking that I actually wanted to help, so i nodded my head enthusiastically.
it was only as she brought me to the kitchen, and still surprised that i supposedly already knew this dish, gestured at the stove and the post that I realized i'd forgotten to add "chuay" the Thai word for help. After quickly clarifying what i meant, i was delegated again to chopping veggies.
Lest you think my home stay has been all awkward and miscommunication, it hasn't. My host sister, M, is wonderful. she's delightful. Warm and funny, smart and playful, she's the person I've spent most of my evenings with. At first she felt the need to teach me all of the Thai words she could think of, parading them endlessly past my while i dutifully wrote down the phonetic pronunciation. but then, once my stranger status went away, we started jumping rope, Thai style. braiding each others hair (she's a master at it, about a million times better than me and i feel so bad that i can't put her hair in anything more interesting than simple french braid.), playing cats cradle, watching tv, or even learning a few phrases in french (of all the things i'd imagined i'd do here, learning french phrases from a little Thai girl was not one of them). it'll be very sad to say goodbye to this girl, who is such a joy to be around.
Saturday, March 1, 2014
Home stay update
Written 2/22/14
Sorry about the loong silence. I"ve been without internet really since I got to Thailand, and it looks like my access will be between once every week or two. What that means for the blog is that I'll write/prepare blogs in my journal and just type them up when I get my hands on a computer. So I'll probably put up two or three posts at a time. So yeah, I guess there will be periods of silence and then of barrages of posts. Fun!
(Also, don't forget that the group I'm traveling with has a group blog that you can read as well--this blog is written by different members of the group each week and should be updated at least once a week, so keep an eye out for that--there will also be pictures almost certainly).
What have I been up to that has kept me away so long? Well, my dears, let me tell you.
My first few days here, I was in Chaing Mai, getting to know the group of people I will travel with over the next 3 months and wandering the city. The nature of this trip is rather different than what I've one so far this year. I'll spend the next 12 weeks traveling in Thailand, Cambodia, and Vietnam with an awesome group of people my age. So not only am I traveling in a new part of the world whose culture and language and geography is so very different than anywhere I've ever been, I'll bee doing what with constant companionship.
Group travel, isn't necessarily a bad thing--traveling alone can get kinda lonely. and Being in a group such as this means that I get to do a lot more than I'd be able to if I came here without a group: home stays, Thai language lessons, volunteering for some amazing organizations.
After Chiang Mai and after our first two Thai language lessons, we piled into a van and drove 30 minutes out of Chiang Mai to a little town called, Mae Rim, where we'd do a 2 week home stay with Thai families.
So far, I'm about a week into that time and it's sure been a challenging but wonderful time.
The language barrier has been plenty frustrating. While I can function pretty well in class, it's mostly because we're only asked to talked about things we've learned about, whereas at my home stay, their vocab isn't quite as limited as mine, so when talking with me they use all sorts of words I know know and don't know how to answer.
It's frustrating being reduced to simple sentences. I can only say I'm hungry or I'm not hungry, no "
I'm sort of hungry, but it' really not that big of a deal, so I can definitely wait until we can all eat dinner together." I can hardly tell my host mom what I learned in school that day, only recite m ynew words, but I can't explain that we only practiced or reviewed the words we'd learned in the last few days.
But there have been good moments, many of them, scattered between my hapless communication and I'm-so-sorry-I-don't-understand looks. My host sister, Melody, a nine year old girl whose spirit is as beautiful as she is (and she is really gorgeous). it's been so fun getting to know her--despite my paltry attempt at Thai and her little English. Cheesy as it sounds, I suspect I've gotten a look at what it would be like to have a little sister--although I suspect that real sisters might not braid each other's hair each night. Also, usually I'd think the younger sister looks to the older sister for help, but I definitely rely on Melody to help me out when it comes to things like proper ways to eat a dish that I've never laid eyes on before.
That's a taste of what it's been like over here, the next posts, when I get them up, will give you even more details--about my home stay, the food, and the places I've visited so far.
Sorry about the loong silence. I"ve been without internet really since I got to Thailand, and it looks like my access will be between once every week or two. What that means for the blog is that I'll write/prepare blogs in my journal and just type them up when I get my hands on a computer. So I'll probably put up two or three posts at a time. So yeah, I guess there will be periods of silence and then of barrages of posts. Fun!
(Also, don't forget that the group I'm traveling with has a group blog that you can read as well--this blog is written by different members of the group each week and should be updated at least once a week, so keep an eye out for that--there will also be pictures almost certainly).
What have I been up to that has kept me away so long? Well, my dears, let me tell you.
My first few days here, I was in Chaing Mai, getting to know the group of people I will travel with over the next 3 months and wandering the city. The nature of this trip is rather different than what I've one so far this year. I'll spend the next 12 weeks traveling in Thailand, Cambodia, and Vietnam with an awesome group of people my age. So not only am I traveling in a new part of the world whose culture and language and geography is so very different than anywhere I've ever been, I'll bee doing what with constant companionship.
Group travel, isn't necessarily a bad thing--traveling alone can get kinda lonely. and Being in a group such as this means that I get to do a lot more than I'd be able to if I came here without a group: home stays, Thai language lessons, volunteering for some amazing organizations.
After Chiang Mai and after our first two Thai language lessons, we piled into a van and drove 30 minutes out of Chiang Mai to a little town called, Mae Rim, where we'd do a 2 week home stay with Thai families.
So far, I'm about a week into that time and it's sure been a challenging but wonderful time.
The language barrier has been plenty frustrating. While I can function pretty well in class, it's mostly because we're only asked to talked about things we've learned about, whereas at my home stay, their vocab isn't quite as limited as mine, so when talking with me they use all sorts of words I know know and don't know how to answer.
It's frustrating being reduced to simple sentences. I can only say I'm hungry or I'm not hungry, no "
I'm sort of hungry, but it' really not that big of a deal, so I can definitely wait until we can all eat dinner together." I can hardly tell my host mom what I learned in school that day, only recite m ynew words, but I can't explain that we only practiced or reviewed the words we'd learned in the last few days.
But there have been good moments, many of them, scattered between my hapless communication and I'm-so-sorry-I-don't-understand looks. My host sister, Melody, a nine year old girl whose spirit is as beautiful as she is (and she is really gorgeous). it's been so fun getting to know her--despite my paltry attempt at Thai and her little English. Cheesy as it sounds, I suspect I've gotten a look at what it would be like to have a little sister--although I suspect that real sisters might not braid each other's hair each night. Also, usually I'd think the younger sister looks to the older sister for help, but I definitely rely on Melody to help me out when it comes to things like proper ways to eat a dish that I've never laid eyes on before.
That's a taste of what it's been like over here, the next posts, when I get them up, will give you even more details--about my home stay, the food, and the places I've visited so far.
Right now
Written 2/17/14
These last few days have seen a dramatic change in my travels. I've stepped into another country, another continent, this one far more different from home than the others. I've stepped from solo traveling to group travel. It's been a big change of pace.
I left New Zealand on Feb 13 and 20 hrs of travel later, landed in the Chiang Mai airport. But, I was alone. Before leaving Auckland, I'd received the message that due to unfortunately timed delays, the group of people I was to meet in the airport weren't going to arrive until 8 hours after their original arrival time.
Two months ago, the prospect of arriving in Thailand on my own would have made me real nervous. 6 months ago, the prospect of arriving in Thailand alone would have terrified me. But a few days ago, I stepped off the plane all by my lonesome, passed through customs, picked up my bag and stepped out of the airport zone. Alone. I caught a taxi to the hostel where I would be joined by the rest of my group eventually. I had 6 hours or so to kill and (this is how you can tell that I don't quite wear the title of "seasoned traveler" yet.) spent the time settling into the hostel, blasting through my book, catching up on writing, and resisting (unsuccessfully) the advances of jetlag.
At 8 pm, I was woken up from a jet lad induced nap by the swing of the dorm door. I heard Annie, the owner of the hostel say, "Yes, here she is," and suddenly, the room filled up with people and faces. Conversation filled the room in a jumble of excitement and exhaustion.
Since those first few moments, I've had a few days to start to get to know my group. There are 10 of us. 2 leaders, 8 students. 8 girls, 2 guys. We all come from different places, different backgrounds.
4 days into the trip, my transition from solo traveler to group member has been...not as easy as I anticipated. Perhaps, it's the rule book coming back to haunt me, perhaps it's just that it seems to take me 2 weeks to really get comfortable with new surroundings. I'd gotten used to people traveling alone, or in pairs. Four people together at most. Group travel seems big and clumsy and loud coming from what I saw in NZ. Not to mention in takes me a loooong time to get comefortable with new people.
But there is something wonderful about not traveling alone anymore. There is something wonderful about being surrounded by thoughtful and inspiring people (see my LOTR post for exactly why I love it) So now I think I'm used enough to it.
So. What have I been up to? these first 3 days have been devoted to a sort of orientations. Us getting to know each other, getting to know the city, getting to know a bit more about the country and its culture. We've talked over health and safety stuff, and laid down some ground rules. I've also gotten the chance to seriously explore Chiang Mai, eat some real cool stuff like cat fish, curries galore, fried bananas, and so much wonderful fruit, you won't believe it. and has some wonderful conversations with the Thai people.
It's pretty much been go go go from sun up to sun down, so I've been falling into bed, exhausted and asleep in an instant. That means my journal isn't being kept up with as much as I'd like, but oh well. Sometimes the present is too wonderfully important to want to take time out of it to record the past for the future. Right now, my focus is not on the future remembrance, but on what is here, right now.
These last few days have seen a dramatic change in my travels. I've stepped into another country, another continent, this one far more different from home than the others. I've stepped from solo traveling to group travel. It's been a big change of pace.
I left New Zealand on Feb 13 and 20 hrs of travel later, landed in the Chiang Mai airport. But, I was alone. Before leaving Auckland, I'd received the message that due to unfortunately timed delays, the group of people I was to meet in the airport weren't going to arrive until 8 hours after their original arrival time.
Two months ago, the prospect of arriving in Thailand on my own would have made me real nervous. 6 months ago, the prospect of arriving in Thailand alone would have terrified me. But a few days ago, I stepped off the plane all by my lonesome, passed through customs, picked up my bag and stepped out of the airport zone. Alone. I caught a taxi to the hostel where I would be joined by the rest of my group eventually. I had 6 hours or so to kill and (this is how you can tell that I don't quite wear the title of "seasoned traveler" yet.) spent the time settling into the hostel, blasting through my book, catching up on writing, and resisting (unsuccessfully) the advances of jetlag.
At 8 pm, I was woken up from a jet lad induced nap by the swing of the dorm door. I heard Annie, the owner of the hostel say, "Yes, here she is," and suddenly, the room filled up with people and faces. Conversation filled the room in a jumble of excitement and exhaustion.
Since those first few moments, I've had a few days to start to get to know my group. There are 10 of us. 2 leaders, 8 students. 8 girls, 2 guys. We all come from different places, different backgrounds.
4 days into the trip, my transition from solo traveler to group member has been...not as easy as I anticipated. Perhaps, it's the rule book coming back to haunt me, perhaps it's just that it seems to take me 2 weeks to really get comfortable with new surroundings. I'd gotten used to people traveling alone, or in pairs. Four people together at most. Group travel seems big and clumsy and loud coming from what I saw in NZ. Not to mention in takes me a loooong time to get comefortable with new people.
But there is something wonderful about not traveling alone anymore. There is something wonderful about being surrounded by thoughtful and inspiring people (see my LOTR post for exactly why I love it) So now I think I'm used enough to it.
So. What have I been up to? these first 3 days have been devoted to a sort of orientations. Us getting to know each other, getting to know the city, getting to know a bit more about the country and its culture. We've talked over health and safety stuff, and laid down some ground rules. I've also gotten the chance to seriously explore Chiang Mai, eat some real cool stuff like cat fish, curries galore, fried bananas, and so much wonderful fruit, you won't believe it. and has some wonderful conversations with the Thai people.
It's pretty much been go go go from sun up to sun down, so I've been falling into bed, exhausted and asleep in an instant. That means my journal isn't being kept up with as much as I'd like, but oh well. Sometimes the present is too wonderfully important to want to take time out of it to record the past for the future. Right now, my focus is not on the future remembrance, but on what is here, right now.
Lake Tekapo and Goodbyes
Written 2/14/14
As I write this, I have been out of NZ for more than 24 hrs. While waiting for my flight out of Auckland, I called my parents, one last time before turning of my phone for the next part of my gap year.
We talked about my flight itinerary, landing in Chiang Mai, what was going on at home. And then my mom asked me the question whose answer I'm sure she dearly wanted to know: "How do you feel about leaving New Zealand?"
I paused, turning over the question in my mind. "To be honest, I'm so focused on the travel and these flights that I haven't been super focused on leaving. Well, I do think I've had closure"
And I explained that in Wanaka, when asked where I was going next, I'd started to reply with, "To Christchurch to fly out to Auckland and from Auckland leave NZ." I'd make a sad face, as if to say, isn't is sad that my time here is almost done. And some people would nod, saying, "oh, so you're at the end of your trip." While they'd have only just started or be solidly in the middle. One young women who I talked to over breakfast said, when I commented about how short 6 weeks seemed to the people in NZ for months and months, she said, "At least 6 weeks is better than no weeks."
I haven't heard anything truer.
But these conversations were very good for me, because they acted to start the process of closure, they got me ready to say goodbye.
On the 11th of February, I caught a bus from Wanaka to Christchurch. That's a grueling 7 hour bus ride through flat lands used mostly for farming. The best part is stoping for 30 minutes at Lake Tekapo. I've already written about this late, but is deserves more words. It deserves poetry--love sonnets, and long never ending free verse masterpieces. It deserves its picture painted with words and color and song.
Eating my lunch at that lake, as close to the crystal water as I could get without swimming into the middle, I tried to take it all in. The vastness, the hugeness, the beauty of this country and its people. There wasn't enough time though. We only had 30 minutes for lunch and I wanted to find the toilet before getting on the bus again. But I felt like standing up and collecting my stuff and walking away would be like declaring the end of my New Zealand trip. Reluctant to go, I lingered. Eventually I picked up a stone. Bringing it to my lips, I kissed it and then tossed it far into the lake. Whispering my thanks to this place.
The next day in Christchurch was filled with final plans and preparations. Printing important information, shipping home things I would need in Asia, and buying things I would. I did get to wander in the city for a bit, peeking very briefely into this place too recently shattered, still being put back together. And during this time, I was quietly saying goodbue to NZ and turning my eyes to my next destination.
While I ca't explain it in full detail yet--and maybe I won't ever be able to--but I owe NZ a lot. A lot.
When my mom asked how do I feel about leaving NZ, I know she was still worried that I wouldn't want to leave. That I'd want to stay there forever. And I have to admit, it's tempting. It's strange how a country that people see as so small can actually be so big. I know I barely brushed the surface. But I felt that way with Spain an everywhere else I've been. I guess that only means that I'll have to come back.
So, goodbye for now New Zealand. Thanks for giving me all you have.
As I write this, I have been out of NZ for more than 24 hrs. While waiting for my flight out of Auckland, I called my parents, one last time before turning of my phone for the next part of my gap year.
We talked about my flight itinerary, landing in Chiang Mai, what was going on at home. And then my mom asked me the question whose answer I'm sure she dearly wanted to know: "How do you feel about leaving New Zealand?"
I paused, turning over the question in my mind. "To be honest, I'm so focused on the travel and these flights that I haven't been super focused on leaving. Well, I do think I've had closure"
And I explained that in Wanaka, when asked where I was going next, I'd started to reply with, "To Christchurch to fly out to Auckland and from Auckland leave NZ." I'd make a sad face, as if to say, isn't is sad that my time here is almost done. And some people would nod, saying, "oh, so you're at the end of your trip." While they'd have only just started or be solidly in the middle. One young women who I talked to over breakfast said, when I commented about how short 6 weeks seemed to the people in NZ for months and months, she said, "At least 6 weeks is better than no weeks."
I haven't heard anything truer.
But these conversations were very good for me, because they acted to start the process of closure, they got me ready to say goodbye.
On the 11th of February, I caught a bus from Wanaka to Christchurch. That's a grueling 7 hour bus ride through flat lands used mostly for farming. The best part is stoping for 30 minutes at Lake Tekapo. I've already written about this late, but is deserves more words. It deserves poetry--love sonnets, and long never ending free verse masterpieces. It deserves its picture painted with words and color and song.
Eating my lunch at that lake, as close to the crystal water as I could get without swimming into the middle, I tried to take it all in. The vastness, the hugeness, the beauty of this country and its people. There wasn't enough time though. We only had 30 minutes for lunch and I wanted to find the toilet before getting on the bus again. But I felt like standing up and collecting my stuff and walking away would be like declaring the end of my New Zealand trip. Reluctant to go, I lingered. Eventually I picked up a stone. Bringing it to my lips, I kissed it and then tossed it far into the lake. Whispering my thanks to this place.
The next day in Christchurch was filled with final plans and preparations. Printing important information, shipping home things I would need in Asia, and buying things I would. I did get to wander in the city for a bit, peeking very briefely into this place too recently shattered, still being put back together. And during this time, I was quietly saying goodbue to NZ and turning my eyes to my next destination.
While I ca't explain it in full detail yet--and maybe I won't ever be able to--but I owe NZ a lot. A lot.
When my mom asked how do I feel about leaving NZ, I know she was still worried that I wouldn't want to leave. That I'd want to stay there forever. And I have to admit, it's tempting. It's strange how a country that people see as so small can actually be so big. I know I barely brushed the surface. But I felt that way with Spain an everywhere else I've been. I guess that only means that I'll have to come back.
So, goodbye for now New Zealand. Thanks for giving me all you have.
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