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.
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