Dear Family and Friends,

Beyond the 1920s open-style second floor with cotton-cushioned hard teak chairs and smooth tables, the soft, starry night with crickets chirping awaits. I’m rather comfortably fitted into an ergonomic chair; my computer desk is lit by a long florescent light fixed on the wall about 6 inches from the ceiling – and swarming with 11 geckoes (at last count). I have been over the border of Cambodia for less than two days and I’m practically having the shakes due to computer deprivation. I have a veritable flood of words and descriptions and questions and observations that I’d like to write for myself and share with you all – and my journal + hand are just not enough. It is driving me crazy. But I’d rather be a laptop-deprived crazy “madame” in Cambodia than well, many other places.

On Saturday morning, I pulled my rather heavy large suitcases to my friend/traveling companion’s bedroom down the hall at the Wendy House and then popped downstairs for a final breakfast. After my making some phone calls and rushing around, us two travelers and the friend that we were leaving behind sat down for a large omelet, some bacon, some coffee and some fruit. Eventually, a crowd began to gather as our third traveler and a few other classmates wandered into the W House cafe. I do so hate good-byes... especially when I do not know what the future holds and whether I will ever see this person that I’ve so liked again. After winning an argument with a taxi cab driver about using the meter to take us to the bus station (the winning phrase from my frustrated friend was: “but your sign says ‘taxi-meter’- shouldn’t you use the meter?”), we shook hands/hugged our friends, climbed into the cab and had a smooth ride to the station. We were supposed to meet our forth companion at KFC in the bus station upon our arrival. I settled with our suitcases while our traveling coordinating friend researched our fourth companion and inquired into buses. He quickly realized that the bus that we had to take was in 25 minutes and we all were dubious that our forth could make it. I’ll skip the ensuing drama except to note that it was almost worthy of any film comedy and that my friend should’ve won a metal of honor for his efforts. As the bus took off and the porter came around with turquoise cardboard rectangular boxes imprinted with Thai famous sites and filled with hand little items such as a straw with a pointed end, biscuits (aka odd smelling cookies), instant coffee + powered milk + sugar, our Siem Reap traveling group was reduced from four to three.

It took forever to leave Bangkok on the bus... we drove and we drove a lot more before finally the buildings began to stand further apart and the amount of greenery began to increase. The bus seats were already filled upon our Bangkok departure but we stopped along the way for more passengers... and the late-comers had to stand in the aisles and cling to available surfaces for stability. The bus had air con and was quite comfortable – although the “toilet” was unspeakable. I imagine that the bus ride was comparable or even nicer than a Greyhound bus. And at ~$6 to the border, you cannot beat the price. Anyway, at first I was fascinated by the scenery out the window and entertained by the conversation behind me – between my friend and a nice American man with beaming blue eyes. That conversation came to a rather abrupt finish after my friend mentioned that he isn’t terribly fond of missionaries coming to Cambodia and offering food in exchange for religious conversion only to find out that the American was a Jehovah’s witness. Yeah. Oh. My friend next to me began to nod off and I did the same for a bit but I don’t think that I dozed long. I awoke and returned my attention to the Thai countryside that was whizzing by. I kept trying to stuff my head with every detail: the pre-manufactured spirit houses for sale, the lime green grass fields, the ramshackle houseboats clinging to the sides of dirty canals, the occasional town with bumpy side-roads that our bus would stop off at. The point at which my memory began to protest was when we passed park in the center of a town that had a bright red temple on top of an easy green hill and surrounded by an uncountable number of roosters. There were so many roosters that I wanted to laugh aloud and crack a less-than-kosher jokes... so I pulled out my journal and began to make notes.

As we rode along I found the countryside a puzzling combination of recognizable and utterly foreign. I had had my usual allotment of coffee so I didn’t truly believe that I was dreaming and I knew that it should be ok to find the view foreign because well, I had never been beyond Bangkok. It took me a while of furrowing my brow to realize that bits and pieces were familiar – just not assembled as I had ever seen: the people, the vehicles & the shapes of the Wats are readily found in Bangkok, the roads resemble my memory of England, and I had seen the country-side itself in coffee table or tourist picture books. At one point, I noticed a yard of pre-manufactured Wat yard decorations (someday I’ll figure out the terminology for these) and this inspired me to puzzle about the meaning of the different shapes, the usage of different materials, and realize that I have no clue how to place Thai/Asian architecture on to a time/history continuum. Further, I began to wonder where I could begin answering these sorts of questions: I don’t really have a clue but I do so adore design and foresee a great deal of asking dumb questions and reading on this subject.

During our final week, our CELTA class enjoyed a brainstorming exercise where we needed to come up with subjects to discuss while at a party. Everyone else was caught up with celebrity gossip, family matters, how one’s job is going when I earnestly piped up that I usually discuss the weather. This caused a few chuckles and comments about how exciting a conversationalist/partygoer I must be... which prompted me to defiantly insist that my party topic be given equal weight to “favorite music” and be written on the board. I’m a Seattleite and Seattleites love to discuss the weather: whether it is too hot, too cold, too rainy, too sunny, too boring... Anyway, as I sat on the Thai bus, fields whizzing by, I noticed a huge cumulous cloud building high into the sky and I thought: oh, joy, I can see the weather! And I could. I could see dark clouds in the distance on the right-side, mist on the left and the sunny strip on the road practically guiding our bus... I could see miles into the distance and I could imagine the clouds sweeping across our road to spatter rain across the windshield. I pictured Bangkok, a place where my only awareness that I’m living on the planet earth versus any other big rock floating in the sky is the occasional rain squall that necessitates pulling out one’s umbrella. I mentally compared Bangkok, a city covered in concrete and grime with tenacious plants sprouting from unlikely locations while I drank in the Thai countryside’s clouds and fields. I hope I don’t seem overly clichéd when I say that I was rather exultant to return to earth (literal earth & clouds)...

We reached the bus station at the border town of Att-something just past 1:30 pm. We spent a few minutes mailing a cell phone sim card, raiding 7-11 for some lunch (bun-covered sausages) and water, and utilizing the facilities – which involved more squatting and splashing than I’m sure that you’d prefer to read about. My friend in charge negotiated a tuk-tuk for 80 Baht to the border and we piled 2 suitcases and 3 bums into the back and tore off to the border. It took us about 10 minutes of wending past markets and shops, being passed by motorbikes and passing bikes or lorries to reach the border. The driver dropped us off and we grabbed our luggage and headed to the Thai border where we stood a long line of backpacked travelers to have our passports stamped and for my friend to pay the fine that he had assiduously worked to avoid (apparently a 30 day Visa is actually only effective for 29 days and then you have to pay a fine of 500B – this defies quite a bit of reason but is stamped on your passport rendering the fine unarguable). After departing from Thailand, we crossed a bridge spanning an area filled with garbage, walked through a bunch of dust, skirted various people and at some point arrived in Cambodia.

We walked under the sign that said “Welcome to the Kingdom of Cambodia” and then placed ourselves in another line: again populated with a plethora of identical non-conformist backpackers and staffed by two slow bureaucrats processing Visas for admittance to Cambodia. Already my savvy-friend had begun negotiating with a taxi driver for our journey to Siem Reap and every once in a while the man would pop his head in to lower the price or tell us about his air con. After my Visa was stamped a good 6 times, we were herded on to an open-air bus with metal mesh seats and told that we could find a taxi at the end of that ride. We were now in the border town of Poi Pet, Cambodia and the roads were unpaved, muddy and we bumped against the metal seats. My tail bone was not pleased. We arrived at a bus station to find ourselves in the midst of a turf war re: organized/non-organized taxi drivers but eventually found ourselves in a mud-splattered, air conditioned cab with leather seats and a competent driver.

And the next few hours were really adventurous... but frankly, I’ve been typing on an unfriendly keyboard for a while now and I need to go to bed as tomorrow (Monday) is our first day at the Wats. As you see, I have computer access, so there will be more later.

While you are waiting for my next installment, feel free to concentrate on remembering and then forgetting everything you know about Cambodia. It is a beautiful, horrible puzzlement.

Love,

Laura

Dear Family and Friends,

Friday has nearly ended, as has my CELTA acquisition time here in Bangkok. Well, technically the course ended earlier today… but for me it’ll truly be over just after I try not to let the tears spring to my eyes, hug my closest friend here, and climb into a taxi on my way to the bus station. Tomorrow I’m off to fulfill one of my strongest long-term, traveling desires: I’m to visit Cambodia’s Angor Wat. I’d like to be excited but as today draws to a close, I’m a shade melancholy and very much “knackered.”

I have so that I could say – ok, that’s so not a surprise! - but for its safety and my convenience, my “baby” will be locked especially safe at Wendy House while the majority of my possessions will take up residence in a friend’s room. I plan to climb into the taxi with a few of my newest “mates” – one of which happily resides in Siem Reap – the town nearest to Angor Wat – and cannot wait to show us how beautiful Cambodia and its people are. I love picturing Cambodia through his eyes and look forward to making my own observations and eliciting stories from others. I strongly suspect that there shan’t be any postings to this blog until my return to Bangkok on August 5th. But I will keep safe and write you well upon my return.

Be well.

Laura

PS: I’m not sure how my classmates would feel about me posting this picture but luckily for me and any of you that are curious regarding the company that I’ve been keeping, we are all very busy dispersing. We are off to Korea, Siem Reap (not coincidentally), Pakistan, Siem Reap (the inspiration), Japan, Siem Reap (again?!), the Thai country-side, her home in Bangkok, India, Siem Reap (that sleepy person is me), back to work in Bangkok and (not pictured) to frolic in Bangladesh. I do not find this picture flattering nor an accurate reflection of group dynamics but it does prove that I remain alive and that I’m in a place that uses white board labels to congratulate.

Dear Friends and Family,

After a draining day at school/work, a few girls walked through Siam Square, up sky bridge stairs, through one humongous mall and down into Gourmet Market. This girl was eager to show her friends my version of heaven � and all were ready to indulge in some retail therapy. We walked in and immediately ran into the elegant sloped tables filled with an array of dried fruit. These tables are always intriguingly stocked by several Muslim ladies dressed in black with their heads covered completely in yellow and the veils secured beneath their chins. The dried fruit at Gourmet Market is amazing and there are little, white, tulip-shaped bowls filled with samples to further lure the customer. There are the recognizable dried strawberries, dried mango, dried cherries (pricey) as well as a myriad of unrecognizable dried fruit: the salty Chinese plums (stone intact), the flower-like rozelles, dried cantaloupe and my new favorite of dried tamarind encrusted with sugar. The tables, piled high, spill with color while the customers linger in front � our hands darting in and out to sample the wares while other customers strategically sweep in to grab already-weighed bag of goodies.

After a hard day it is hard to restrain oneself from grabbing every bag in sight � only the number of Baht in my wallet and the memory of the tiny ants that sometimes share my W House compartment keep me restrained. Late into the evening, tapping away at my keyboard, I often boil water in my hotpot for tea and pull a small handful of salty plums or rozelles out of the un-ant-inhabited fridge to fortify my efforts. Oddly, I am not eating a lot of chocolate these days.

What are rozelles, you may ask? We girls have run across dried rozelles and rozelle juice (which is actually too sweet unless diluted with 7-Up) and have asked this question many times. We always ask this question when Google is too far away to answer. In fact, now that Google is around� a few minutes of research did not yield any results. Must investigate further� another day.

Yet what is even more amazing than the dried fruit at Gourmet Market is the fresh fruit � well, fresh fruit at Gourmet Market is sublime but everywhere there is wonderful-looking fruit. From my first breakfast at W House, I�ve been intrigued by a white-fleshed, black-seeded fruit that tastes vaguely like kiwi while the skin is one step beyond vivid pink. After class, the boys go bursting from the classroom, down the stairs to the fruit stand just outside the lobby and bring back clear plastic domed cups with colored straws and filled with bright pink smoothies. This makes me feel a bit like their kid sister (�how come they get something so nummy and I don�t???) so on last week I went to down to get my own. Due to poor communication, I ended up with a pineapple smoothie � and no, there was not even a tiny speck of pink in my drink. I had to ask the boys their secret for ordering and yesterday I succeeded in getting my very own bright pink smoothie � which I tried, liked and then handed off to one of the other boys (He and I have it worked out: I sample and then he finished the bulk of it. I even get him his own straw). Anyway, the white breakfast fruit and the secret ingredient in the pink smoothies is the same fruit: dragon fruit. Dragon fruit always has a gorgeous pink exterior but comes in either the white or bright pink meat variety. Pop dragon fruit in to a Google Image search� aren�t they gorgeous?

I�m still struggling a bit in the search for good food. Why? Two reasons: (1) Time. I�m a full-time resident � devoid of the time to try a different restaurant every night as was my original intention. (2) Location. I�m living in the midst of the Thai version of a large stipmall. Although last Friday, the girls and I went to a wonderful restaurant called �Krok� where I promptly fell in love with the décor which is dark paneling off-set by colored paint, dark wood tables & benches, and decorated with the wonderful clay pots filled with delicious herbs. The food was good too. The place also has the good-sized clay pot mortar and large pestle sets that are used to make the Thai green papaya salad. My friend and I both badly covet one our own set and we�ve concocted a plan to steal a few of these from Krok � my job will be distraction while she is going to slip the large bowls under her shirt or in her bag and run. Hmmm� well, this plan is admittedly a bit rough. Stay tuned for the particulars!

I wish I could send each of you a Thai papaya salad in the clay mortar and pestle set� in the meantime, a pic of Gourmet Market must suffice.

I�m returning to my previously scheduled intensive lesson planning. Many happy meals to you all. --Laura

Dear Friends and Family,

A friend had the rather brilliant notion of going to a Bangkok Hip Hop club on Saturday and issued an open invitation to the rest of us to join him in order to enjoy the people watching and the partying. At the time that this notion was mentioned, most of us responded with unenthusiastic grunts due, I think, to the previous week’s exertions. And really, you’ve never seen such a bunch of party poopers as we all were on Friday night: one friend ate dinner at 11 after sleeping through the evening and I myself could barely keep my eyes open during class let alone dinner… although I perked up once I pulled up my desk chair to convert my week’s thoughts into blog entries. I don’t sleep a lot here in Bangkok. Anyway, this clubbing idea began to appeal more on Saturday… especially after a successful morning of finishing one paper and a panicky afternoon of searching for one of my papers with irreplaceable teacher comments on it. (And, no, I still haven’t resolved this issue…) I asked to be counted in on the clubbing excursion… and as the planner friend is on a rather strict budget, it was decided to start with a drink at W House in order to save money on marked-up club alcohol. The arrangement seemed off to a promising start once I had decided on a brief black top and jeans (I do always feel better once I’ve decided on appropriate attire) and my friend decided to wear her new skirt & tee combo purchased for the bargain 200 B (~$5.50) at the MBK shopping center. We set off downstairs, cute shoes clicking heavily against the stairs, only to find an empty lobby and the boys running late. Why were the boys running late? Because a mini-crisis was just becoming apparent.

There were teeny warning signs of the impending “crisis” if you were savvy enough to notice them; however, assessing city happenings and mood was not high on any of our lists. Me, myself and I had spent most of the day in my favorite W House spot: in the lobby, parallel to the front window, earphones in, salad pending, writing assignment four due next week. During my admirable efforts, I could take mini-breaks to scratch accumulating mosquito bites, giggle when one of my classmates stopped by to make a sweet face at me through the window, and smile at the fat pug and his owner out for a walk. During this time I also experienced a brief moment of puzzlement as two trucks came parading down the alley, their beds filled with slightly fatigued people that smiled and waved rather placating while the truck speakers blared with music and Thai rhetoric. I didn’t pick-up on any urgency to this campaigning (?) and soon forgot the trucks in favor of marveling at two antique ladies that a cab had just dropped off. Oh, truly, I actually did get quite a bit of homework done.

Anyway, the boys were late because they had taken the trouble to obtain some whiskey from 7-11 in place of their usual beer – and 7-11 had stopped selling alcohol at 6 pm. As we sat at our table with a few beers from W House, a leftover “girly” Bacardi drink for me, and a newspaper with unintelligible headlines, it became apparent that no alcohol was being sold due to an election that was to occur on Sunday. We were a bit peeved: after all, we aren’t allowed to vote so why can’t we drink on a Saturday night? Apparently the Bangkok government had thought of this and excluded guesthouses from the rule but… Anyway, as we sat and drank and talked, almost everyone from our class popped by to join us for a beer and some chat. Finally, we agreed upon a modified plan in which we’d first go to a Jazz Club called Brown Sugar and then we’d head off to the Hip Hop club. We meandered into two cabs, issued directions, and set off. Having not been in a cab since journeying to Wendy House, I had to spend a few minutes taking deep breaths to come to grips with Bangkok cab-driver behavior. Still no seatbelts! It soon became apparent that while we knew the name of the club and the street, the cabbie did not know either – and his knowledge was not supplemented by even a basic understanding of English. Cell phone conversations ensued between the two cabs as one guy or the other would ring to report that we were “down a road with greenery” or “ok, we just passed McDonalds” (this is no more helpful in Bangkok than it would be in the States) and finally with a bit of desperation, one guy called his Thai girlfriend (in Cambodia) who both knew where the bar was and could give the cabbie directions. The streets of Bangkok flashed by: buildings lit by florescent lights, the gold-meshed W hotel with its classic point, a brightly lit Ferris wheel at the night bazaar, tons of commercial signs for 7-11 or “Paradis” spas. It all seems a bit of a blur now as despite my fledgling efforts, I truly do not have my bearings in this city during the day and I feel even more lost at night. Finally, we were dropped in front of a dark embassy not far from our intended destination but by this point it had become apparent from the observation of a few astute guys that clubbing was out: no alcohol was being served, the clubs were closed.

This was indeed a disappointment and we milled about negotiating what to do. Go back to W House? The more enthusiastic of us didn’t find this a palatable notion and so at the suggestion of our cabby (don’t ask how we understood this), four of us ended up at the night bazaar. We had passed the brightly lit bazaar on the way to our darkened embassy and my attention had been caught by an enormous Ferris wheel and a tall brightly lit tower/sign that says “Suan Luam Night Bazaar” down its front while spouting a shower of lights at its top. As I’ve recently caught a bit of a fancy to see the London Eye and the “Roue de Paris” Ferris wheel with its brightly patterned lights and its potential for an excellent city view posed a strong appeal for me. As we passed through the beer garden with “beer adverts” everywhere but no beer anywhere, I decided that I must ride the Ferris Wheel. I may be terrified of heights but defeating silly fears is on my general list of things to do. The boys remained behind to watch and wave while my friend and I climbed into a swinging, plastic enclosed cab and spent the first revolution being too terrified to comfortably peer at the city. Once we recovered from our fright (partially assisted by the realization that the family next door was enjoying the view of us being terrified more than the view of the city), I began to notice saffron lights parading across a road bridge, a darkened clock tower of some beauty in the park next door, the Skytrain snaking between buildings, the softly glowing rainbow rows of the bazaar itself with a fairyland section of greenery interspersed with white lights. The city view was marvelous and we were just getting the hang of the Ferris wheel when it came to a stop and we disembarked on slightly shaking legs. With the boys, we wandered the bazaar. As the boys had done their duty in waiting for us I didn’t feel that we could torture them too badly by shopping and we did manage to (yes!) find some beer for sale, hidden in a refreshment stand amongst the booths of elephant purses, cheap Thai silks, toys, clothing, and other tourist knick knacks. Honestly, I probably could’ve shopped a lot as the place is definitely more tourist-oriented (i.e. perhaps clothing of my size was to be had) and I seriously considered buying a backpack for my impending travels – I had the lady worked down from 800 B to 550 B but in the end I didn’t want to buy an important item such as a traveler’s backpack on impulse.

While the boys drank their beers, I bought a water and mocked the dancers on the large stage in front of the beer garden. Eventually midnight began to encroach and as we needed to catch the Skytrain, we left the bazaar. In order to be fast and logical, we took the MRT subway one stop (another first for all of us) and then the Skytrain to our usual National Stadium stop. We rushed to do this – one guy and I in the lead while my friend and the other guy followed – apparently sometimes at a run to keep up with our hurried strides. At home, I’ve been called “the death marcher” but here in Bangkok, I rarely get the chance to stretch my legs. It was wonderful and I can tell you now that when I do settle, I’ll be running or yogaing or ti chiing or something that involves… moving. We all made our trains and ended up back at the W House to join the other boys who had made serious inroads into the beer in the fridge - not by themselves, of course. We talked until 2 am when the W House receptionist got sick of our presence and turned the lights out on us. I was too keyed to sleep so I spent some quality time with George Clooney before finally shutting my eyes.

Despite my yellow-striped curtains, the sun awoke me at the late hour of – groan – 7:45 am. I don’t think that I’ve slept more than 6 hours since moving into the W House. Anyway, you cannot judge time by the sun here… or, let me re-phrase: I cannot tell time based on the sun here. I’ve now enjoyed a cuppa tea and must make my way to the shower as I cannot appear downstairs with my hair in disarray – I don’t want anyone to loose his or her breakfast. Especially if the he(s) are feeling sensitive after too much beer from the night previous.

I can still feel my hand gripping the wrought iron Ferris wheel door as I savor the fairy lights amongst the greenery and night darkness. Sometimes the best adventures cannot be planned….

Love,

Laura

PS: Today's pic: Thai silk from a shopping excursion. Gorgeous!

Dear Family and Friends,

There are two CELTA acronyms that I use all the time: TTT (Teacher Talk Time – never a complement) and PPP (Present, Practice, Production – steps in teaching a grammar lesson). I’m actually not fond of either acronym in context – but I’m very fond of keeping well hydrated (I live in fear of heat rash & nausea from dehydration) so I often use PPP in an… unorthodox manner. And between TTT, PP and TP, my language is getting chock full of… unorthodox acronyms.

One quality that I hope to shake or at least diminish is my habit and need to Go Go Go and Do Do Do. My former self was always on the go, always had a dozen things to do and letting go or relaxing was nearly impossible. Going and doing unto themselves aren’t bad but it is the constant tension and the cost to my interior and exterior that this mentality causes that I find regrettable. I suppose that a reasonable explanation for this Go Go GO mentality it is my appetite for life: adoring lots of people and wanting to have a wide range of knowledge of the world that drives me. But it is my body that stops me - I’m just not capabale of going going going as I’d prefer.

Anyway, this Go Go Go attitude (different than go-go and the dancing thereof) is especially hard for me to shake on Sundays here – as Sundays have been the day that I allocate for doing something broadening and touristy – a day when I want to See See See. I have a ready companion for touristy forays into Bangkok who is, luckily, a bit more realistic. For example, when we were planning our first expedition to Chatuchak market, I suggested that we breakfast at 6:30 and then depart. “6:30???” was her response. So we compromised and left somewhere around 8:15. That morning, we boarded the Skytrain and after repairing my navigational boo-boo of forgetting to switch tracks, we got off at a northern Bangkok stop and stood on the platform trying to locate this famous crowded market. Silly us – as we had read that somewhere in the order of 200,000 people attend the market each day and we had thought that we could just follow the crowds. Uh. Yeah. NO. So we walked around this park, past vendors selling meat crackling hot over charcoal grills, past plastic tables laden with piles of Thai basil and bean sprouts, past vendors hawking belts or watches or shoes laid out on blankets. Finally, one of us spotted a sign for the market, so we skirted the traffic and entered yet another Bangkok shopping haven.

The Chatuchak market is by reputation huge, bustling, and phenomenally crowded. I can certainly attest to the first two – we spent more time being lost than being oriented but the crowds were comparable to our Siam Square base (where school is located). Perhaps the crowds were diminished because of the major Buddhist holiday coming up that next Tuesday… we could only speculate and decided not to look a gift horse in its mouth. Anyway, the market itself is formed by open-air shelters where 1000s of stalls are located, supplemented by umbrellas and marquees, and packed to the brim with stuff! So much stuff! Part of the market is akin to a Thai mall filled with pop music, skimpy t-shirts, chic handbags, too cheap watches, and designer knockoffs. The clothing sizes are unvaryingly tiny – perhaps that is why the prices are cheap? Less fabric? Anyway, part of the market is a farmers market: stalls practically spill with color and shiny fruit and plants are abundant. Our favorite part of the vegetation part of the market was watching the old-style food vendors with two enormous straw baskets filled with yummy-looking food suspended on a yoke. My friend’s favorite part of the market was and is always the textiles: she loves silks and I admit that it is fun to admire the picture that they make from afar and to stroke the silks up close. Beautiful. My least favorite section of the market is the animal portion of the market – we spent about 30 seconds there and I wanted all 5 of the puppies that we saw and I can still hear their plaintive whines. While I loved the deep wood in the antique section of the market, my favorite section was the arts and crafts - some kitschy, some not – where I was able to begin fantasizing about collecting art to take home. A friend in Seattle intelligently collected art on her travels and her walls are gorgeous – I should very much like to imitate her. Judiciously. Currently, I’m very attracted to Thai Buddhas – these are not the fat, sassy, belly-bulging, happy Buddhas often found in the States. Instead they are serene, slant-eyed figures, often carved of wood – and truly beautiful. Anyway, I haven’t made up my mind to buy anything – so I only bought one item and it is intended to be a gift. I was very proud of myself because I bargained for it inspired by the terminology that my friend discovered the day before at the state-run jewelry house the day before: “oh, if I buy this, my husband will kill me!” :-)

My friend and I spent an entire morning walking up and down rows of stalls, sometimes laughing, sometimes marveling, and often times saying to vendors “no” or “no thank you.” Eventually our sweat began turning to grime so we succumbed to the allure of fresh young coconut ice cream and then spent a good deal of time trying to figure out how to leave the market for the Skytrain. The shower upon our return to W House was heavenly.

Speaking of holidays, we cannot figure out the holidays around here. We’ve just figured out that Thai people wear yellow shirts with the royal crest embroidered over their hearts on Mondays to honor their king – who was born on a Monday. And Friday is another day where yellow shirts can be spotted everywhere: apparently these shirts also pass as “casual” in place of actually observing a casual working day here. And we were aware the July 11th was a special Buddhist holiday – because while we CELTA trainees taught, the other classrooms were dark and the cafeteria was closed. The holiday was the first day of Buddhist Lent - Khao Punsa. A day on which monks take a vow to stay only at one place during 3 lunar months to shelter from rain and sun. A good article regarding this holiday can be found at: http://sunsite.au.ac.th/thailand/special_event/khaopunsa/.


Every day that we don’t almost get run over on the way to school is a holiday because the only way to almost not get run over is by the traffic being lighter. The tuk-tuk driver of last Sunday told us that there was a holiday this last week but I didn’t believe him because I figured that this was part of the elaboration on the big temples are closed for holiday theme – but last week the student showing was lower and the traffic hasn’t seemed nearly as bad. Or maybe our standards are changing….or maybe we are acclimating.

Speaking of acclimating, one friend told me that there is a sickness of the lungs that one can get from breathing too much air conditioning. Often times my throat hurts and sometimes my lungs bother me – but this could be air conditioning (inside) or pollution (outside). Or more likely, both. Anyway, having decided that having healthy lungs is also a priority, I’ve cut back on air conditioning and I can now spend hours in my room without it. Ok, I admit that this isn’t acclimation per se – just a good sign, I think.

So I must warn you now that I shan’t be a tourist this weekend. I have two final lessons, one paper to re-submit (most of the class has to re-submit this one) and another paper to complete. Not to mention a future plan for the weeks following the CELTA… I’m fairly certain that you all will be reading about my adventures in Cambodia in a few weeks and I hope to have a better idea of what is next after this weekend. I still want to travel in this part of the world – for sure around Thailand and definitely Cambodia… maybe Vietnam. And of course, I need to job hunt. I’m sticking by my stated motto: “the Will to do, the Soul to dare.”

I have a few other topics re: Bangkok that I may post this week – if the God of the W House Wireless is kind. Inconsistent wireless is a W House frustration – I’m considering starting my own spirit house especially for the wireless – which is inconsistent at best.

My thoughts and heart are never too far from you all…

Laura

Dear Family and Friends,

Ok, let’s take an informal survey: how many of you use the word “row”? No, in this case I do not mean “row” as in “row, row, row your boat…,” I mean “row” pronounced akin to “cow” or “wow.” After 3 weeks of CELTA training, I could also spell this out for you in phonemes - but I don’t think this would help you all in the same way that this helps our students. Anyway, yesterday, in order to fulfill the required amount of teaching observation we watched a ghastly video of a female expert ESL teacher instructing an intermediate class. The adjective ghastly was earned in several ways: the teacher’s earrings were the size of dinner plates, she often seemed more intent on sweeping the hair out of her face than teaching the students, she spent a lot of time kneeling around the classroom, the sound quality/white noise was horrid, and on top of these issues, I found the vocabulary that she was teaching regarding relationships odd. I mean, really, who uses “row” to discuss two people fighting in a relationship??? Hmm… well, come to find out, all 10 other people sitting in the classroom observing the video with me. Hmmm… and while we are on the subject, could you really use the word “fancy” to indicate that you had a crush on someone? Ok, let me re-phrase: could you use the word “fancy” to indicate that you had a crush on someone in the US without getting beat up??? Consider this a few real-life examples of differences between British-style and American-style English.

Yesterday in the ECC CELTA class was… notable. First of all, the tension was really high: we had a written assignment due while many of us (including me) were teaching too. The class mood was very much like pre-finals at the U: lots of rushing around and barely tamped down hysteria. Add to that an episode of diarrhea for one friend and grumpy auras radiating from others and believe you me, the joy intensifies. For my part, after struggling for a few days with a bout of very unpleasant nausea (cause unknown), I was a bit behind yet still managed to turn my assignment in at 9 am (due: 6 pm) and then concentrate on our lessons + my teaching. Any grumpiness on my part was due to the day previous when I had had a horrible teaching outing - mostly because I’m inexperienced and teaching elementary students is harder. I was highly anxious not to have another bad outing. Speaking of which, during my post-teaching analysis, I used the word “outing” – which prompted another discussion of American and British-style English that immediately lead to a discussion of cricket and baseball. I’m not sure that my opinion that baseball is “magic in person” held sway but there are doubters in every crowd, yes? Oh, and if you yourself require a definition of “outing,” please e-mail my father for an explanation.

Anyway, another reason that yesterday was notable: in our trainee class, we did a few unintentionally thought-provoking exercises – one in which we had to write a list of pros and cons regarding being an ESL teacher. My list was short as 3 weeks of unpaid, academic teaching doesn’t really count… but as a class, we worked up a list on the board which I found rather intriguing. I regret not writing it down but here is my recollection:

Pros Cons
• Allows for interaction with a wide variety of people with a wide variety of experiences
• Cultural immersion
• Allows for travel
• It is a win-win: when students benefit, teachers benefit
• Respectful position in society
• Allows one to work for a living • Hard work
• Salaries tend to be low
• Being away from loved ones

(and my personal favorite)
• There are a lot of muppets in the field, which often keeps the good teachers from getting the recognition (respect, money?) they deserve

Muppets????

Naturally, I had to request a definition of muppets in this context – which was explained to me as misfit ex-pats that cannot make it in their real world so they move to Asia and poorly teach English for crust. Apparently the TESL profession is rife with muppets and this poses a real problem for good teachers. Although present company was eventually excluded from this definition, it still made me think: am I a misfit?

Within the space of a few days, I’ve received two wonderful pieces of news from the home front: one friend and her husband closed on their first home while another couple welcomed a healthy baby girl. Detached as I am from you all, I could still imagine the first glimpse of my friend’s little girl or that first step into my friend’s new home. These momentous events did not happen in my life to me and I’m away to practice having my own momentous events – yet I sorrowed for not being able to celebrate with my dear friends. Although I did celebrate in my own way: both pieces of news came via e-mail – and both made me clench my fists, slightly spring from my chair and exclaim “yes!” out loud. And for the record, yes, my classmates love it when I do that.

Anyway, I’ve been told hundreds of thousands of times that thirty is not old and if I want to marry, buy a home, have a baby, have a dog, that there is still plenty of time. But it is hard to escape that while my peers are carrying through fairly normal lives (marrying, home buying, procreating), I quit my job and move to Asia for an undefined period of time. Does this make me a misfit? Well, yes, I know that I can function in our society; in fact, I can succeed in our society but is my functioning in society like placing a square peg in a round hole? If so, why don’t I fit right? These are questions that only I can answer for myself – although I was reassured to find out that Mr. Anti-Muppet doesn’t think I’m in danger of being a muppet myself. This was a relief. Phew.

I’ve examined my class closely for muppets – and found none (although I’m biased) – but I do wonder whether we are a group of misfits. I must leave this an open question in particular to the individuals in my class – but the ex-pats that I observe around Bangkok are fair game, no?

As you all may be aware, Bangkok has a certain unsavory reputation. A song that typifies this is “One Night in Bangkok” – the words to this song still occasionally indelibly run through my brain - if you have not heard this song, here is a link: http://www.bangkoktonight.com/one_night_in_bangkok.shtml. Anyway, One Night in Bangkok typifies that idea that the sex trade and other vices (as my woman studies class was fond of describing it) are alive and flourishing in Bangkok. And so they may be although I see few signs of this besides assorted bustiers in the shops and an odd plethora of Playboy emblems. I would definitely urge you to forget whatever you’ve heard about Bangkok and judge the city for itself.

Yet the aspect of the sex trade that I immediately noticed and took an instinctive dislike to is the common sighting of a western man of a certain age, usually with reddened skin, often wrinkled, wearing thick gold chains and a beer belly parading around, holding hands with an always much younger, much smaller Asian woman. The Western man and the Asian girl usually are holding hands and looking straight ahead or even away from each other – I rarely see such a couple conversing or smiling. I know that you are all going to laugh and accuse me of stereotyping (and I am, a bit) but this sight has become common in my experience and it bothers me. Since my first spotting of this brand of couple, I’ve taken the time to think about this and mentally flip the Asian face to a Caucasian face and guess what? I have same reaction whether the woman is Asian or Caucasian, Black or blonde. I suppose this means that I don’t like the idea of women of being with a man solely for his money/power and a man hunting for a trophy companion. Anna Nicole Smith? Yuck. I vastly prefer that men and women marry for mutual companionship and consolation.

Returning to the stereotypical Western man + his Asian woman, I admit that now visceral repugnance has switched to logical ambiguity. For whatever reason, the men are misfits within their own societies and end up taking themselves to a place like Bangkok to change this. Naturally, the men would like companionship – a lovely woman or Thai boy – and they utilize what they have to acquire it. Like any other society. This has been happening for many years in many different societies and in many ways it works. The woman gets to utilize his wealth to assist herself and her family to greater advantage while the man gets to be the hero that enables this. What is wrong with that?

Perhaps this entire line of thought are simply my Woman Studies scars revealing themselves… but in the end, I must conclude that this sort of arrangement, traditional or not, whether everyone is happy with it or not, reeks of exploitation. And exploitation is legitimately objectionable. I feel that the Western men have the ability to exploit disadvantaged attractive women and ask them to perform to a certain role, be a certain image in order for the western man to get what he wants or what he thinks he wants. This, I believe, is what bothers me.

To be fair, I’ve done some self-examination. One thing that I’ve realized is that I’ve had two past crushes on men that solely date Asian women. Perhaps this is the source of my irritation? Could be. Or maybe this whole irritation is jealousy? Maybe I’m jealous of the exploited Asian women because they are universally slim, beautiful, and able to project themselves as desirable and nice… and they succeed to catch themselves a man (we are not examining quality here). Sadly, I am rarely, if ever slim, beautiful, desirable or nice. Oh, yes, I have virtues that make me a worthwhile catch but no one has ever accused me of being desirable and nice at the same time. Or here’s a more intriguing thought: maybe the real source of my irritation is that with my own Rubenesque proportions, sun-reddened skin and decent amount of earning power, the system doesn’t work in such a way that I can acquire myself a Chow Yun-Fat or Asian Brad Pitt who’ll willingly be paraded around by me, support me, and tell me who wonderful I am. Now if that isn’t a reason to be jealous, I don’t know what is.

One more layer to my ambiguity: I’ve been assessing “the boys” in my class. I'm on universally good terms with the British boys in my class – they amuse me, I amuse them, we get a long. This is nice. But don’t get your match-making minds into gear as they all have Asian girlfriends. Although I may be biased, not a one strikes me as being here in Asia because he cannot make a life elsewhere (although arguably they do better here) and not a one strikes me as a heartless exploiter of women. Yet despite the Asian girlfriends, none of them strike me as ever having the ability to be slightly interested in me. Because they are devoted to their girlfriends? Or because I’m not Asian? Or because it would be a bad match? Dunno. And it doesn’t much matter.

For the record, you wonderful matchmakers, I’m not on this big jaunt through Asia looking for a man. That said, I’m keeping my eyes wide open as I’d greatly love to have some fun (in whatever form it might take) and of course, my heart longs for the day when I find a man to build a life with. I’d be lying to say anything else… and who knows what the future holds…

Anyway, this idea of being a misfit is a delicate subject and still after all of that, I do not have any answers. Lots to think on… makes me wonder what I’ll be thinking about this blog entry in a month and six months…

Fondest regards,

Laura

PS: Last week one boys used the word "shite" and then moved his attention to something else, while another told me that "shite" is past-tense of "shit" (who knew it was a verb?) and then a third, rather authoritative one rescinded the past-tense of the verb and told me that it is pronunciation derived from the Liverpool/Irish? Who knew that British boys could be so amusing? Well, and to be fair, every once in a while, I inspire a chuckle in them too. Apparently our class laughs more than the average class (according to our tutor). Last Friday, we were doing a lesson in Spanish in which we needed to act out roles and I was translating for my partner. We had the Spanish phrase "!Que calor!" and in to my role, I announced "I'm hot!" (as in warm hot, not good-looking). He blinked, reluctantly chuckled, which made me blink, realize the double-meaning and then blush a bit and laugh. He was quite good with that phrase after that - probably in kindness to keep me from saying something more embarrassing!

PS II: Another good boy story: on day I was seated in class with a bad taste in my mouth from lunch. So I pulled out some of my precious Extra, sugarless Winterfresh gum. You know, with the dark blue colored package? It was my Friday off and I was feeling good will towards men and women alike so I offered my fellow teachers a piece of gum. This was during a lesson so we couldn’t actually talk, but one guy put it in his mouth and immediately started gesturing in a way I just couldn’t understand – except that I did understand that he wasn’t truly pleased by the taste. Another told me during the break that it tastes the liniment that they put on to athletes knees – to which I replied that I thought that the gum tasted better than the average athlete’s knee liniment – definitely better than actually tasting athletes knees to find out. However, the females did not comment so perhaps they like liniment flavored gum. I, of course, love it and will be careful not to chew it all too quickly.

PSIII: Today's pic is of Paragon market in the middle of a refreshing rain.

Cheers!

Consider this posting (the photo) proof that I'm alive and in Bangkok... or at least some place that grows pretty plants. --L

Dear Family and Friends,

Ok, part II (see below for part I). So, after we were “watted out,” we re-crossed the river all set to see the Grand Palace complex. As we began exploring to locate our next destination, we met a few really nice men who kept telling us that the temple complexes were closed ‘til 1:00 and suggesting an alternate temples. Before embarking on today’s tourist activities, we both would’ve benefited from re-reading the Lonely Planet’s warning:

Many tourist[s] are caught by scams in Thailand. Near popular temples, you could be approached by a well-dressed Thai person who speaks your native tongue masterfully. The person seems nice and trustworthy and advises you that a temple is closed today. This could be the beginning of a slow and costly con game. Your new friend might tell you about some other temples to visit or about a one-day-only gem fair, all things you’ve wanted to check out but weren’t sure where to start. Sadly, if you agree to accompany them, you might get hustled into buying fake gems, overpriced suits, or a variety of other expensive mistakes. While the Thai people are very nice and hospitable, most honest individuals are not likely to be hanging around touristed sights. Keep on your guard.

Now, family and friends alike, please do not groan or mentally berate me despite the fact that you know and I know that I’m about to tell you that my friend and I took a sight-seeing detour on one of these scams. The placement of nice, well-spoken individuals should’ve been a tip-off – in fact, in the beginning it was. But several used the same story… and my friend and I have been accustomed to hanging around non-touristed areas and talking to nice, genuine Thais and we were definitely up for some adventure. So with the help of our friendly man, we negotiated succumbed to the allure of a 50 B tuk-tuk (that allure ends fast when breathing fumes from a bus) and were taken to the apparently sacred “Black Buddha” Wat. This time it is easy to spare you the details as this wonderful Black Buddha was housed in a teeny temple with a wood Buddha encrusted with gold plate and a genuine-enough sounding man to escort us around while the driver waited. This didn’t take long and then the driver was quite pleased to take us to an “Exposition” where everything was a good deal because government has suspended taxes to assist Thai economy that is in a slump. In actuality, the Exposition was a dump that had a ground floor of jewels, a mid-floor of tourist items and a top floor of silk. From previous shopping forays, we immediately recognized that the prices were high and the quality was poor – and so we spent little time there, strongly resisted being sold anything and gently but firmly refused to be taken any place else. We were eventually delivered by a peevish tuk-tuk driver to the Grand Palace – but as far away from the entrance as possible.

At this point, we were hot & tired & rather dispirited so we ended up forcing our way through the crowds to hunt down a lunch of friend chicken + rice + coffee before returning to the Ground Palace + Wat Phra Kaew entrance. Finding the entrance was no mean feat – and figuring out what “appropriate dress” meant was scarcely easier. I passed muster by tossing a shrug over my sleeveless top while my friend was forced to rent a rather horrid polyester mans shirt to properly cover her shoulders. But we were both pleased to find that we could wear our own sandals. We paid the 250 B entrance fee and found ourselves in the most amazing of temple complexes.

Again, I will insist that any description I produce, any photograph that I took is inadequate to describe the ornate details found at such a complex. Lonely Planet says that “Wat Phra Kaew (Temple of the Emerald Buddha) is an architectural wonder of gleaming, gilded chedi seeming buoyed above the ground, polished orange and green roof tiles piercing the humid sky, mosaic encrusted pillars and rich marble pediments.” See???? Even professional, matter-of-fact travel writers could not capture the myriad of gleaming color glasses and ceramics, ornate paining, gorgeous statues of Buddha and other mythical creatures, and the amazing structures. Gentle readers, please consider this a case of you get what you pay for re: temple descriptions - and I shall move on. Remind me to show you the pictures or tell you in person… or save us both and go visit yourself. Just make sure that your shoulders & knees are properly covered – and that you have on gobs of sunscreen.

After about forty-five minutes, we picked our jaws off the ground, had the presence of mind to pay our respects to the most famous Emerald Buddha and then we walked through the ornate palace grounds (no longer used for the King for anything but ceremony). We snapped a few more pictures and declared ourselves done. We made our way back to the river, managed to miss one boat in our confusion but eventually made it on to another boat, past the hotels, past barges, past children swimming on the banks of the river (ohhhh!), and to the Skytrain where the air conditioning was welcome and the subsequent walk down our soi was very welcome. Just as we were approximately a block from our W House, it began to rain. “Perfect timing” we marveled.

Naturally, I was rather drained after the day’s activities, so I practically ran up the stairs to shower, smooth some aloe on my sunburns (Yes! I had put on sunscreen but had made mistake of not freshening it), and napped until I was awoken by pounding rain – which drove me downstairs although Bushy-bearded man and his wife are watching the television at full volume so I’m about to take refuge back upstairs so that I do not get arrested in Bangkok for a murder charge – even if there a myriad of people that would thank me for it. Although for the record, I have been advised that Thai jails are an excellent way to experience culture + loose a great deal of weight – it worked for Bridget – but I think I’ll return my nose to the grindstone.

As Mr. Keillor says and my darling father has adopted, “be well, do good work and keep in touch.”

Love,

Laura

Dear Friends and Family,

Yesterday my nose shrank a full quarter of an inch – as I faithfully kept it to the grindstone. I spent the majority of the day at one of the larger café tables, my rear attached to the hard wood chair, surrounded by notes and reference books, working on the written assignment – which I pretty much finished. Yesterday evening, I drafted 3 lesson plans for next week – this is first step in actual planning (which can take me forever); however, with such admirable work out of the way, I felt well able to slip from student to tourist today. And today was… memorable.

Rather exhausted of the frenetic busyness and business of Bangkok, my friend and I had resolved no more shopping and that it was past time for us to visit the Wats alongside the river. So, after a hearty “western” breakfast of eggs, bacon and coffee (where was the fruit?), my friend and I set out for the Skytrain and to familiar ground: the stop where I had first visited a Wat and where I found “my ruin.” We got off, headed to the river, learned about the “Tourist” river boat (100 B – for the entire day + map + 1 water), and while waiting for the boat, we visited the well-marked toilet. This particular visit was a squatting exercise for my friend and a commercial exercise for me as the bathroom was (comparatively) nicely decorated in silk flowers with little luxuries such as soap and towels (well, dirty ones) at the sink – yet per the usual, there was no tp in the stalls. Not so coincidentally, there was a lady comfortably seated outside the restroom in a padded chair with a table who apparently makes her living by selling tp to poor souls such as ourselves – so I bought a double helping of tp. Weeks into living in Bangkok and it is still hard to remember to bring your tp with you. Anyway, necessities through, we then briefly visited my first Wat and returned to the river in order to board our 9:30 boat.

I’ve previously described the Chao Phraya river as a wide, muddy brown expanse, with a noticeably strong current and populated with rusty commuter ferries. This description continues to be accurate except that climbing aboard the sensible Chao Phraya Tourist boat makes one realize that we aren’t dealing with just a strong current here: this river is strong and it has waves to prove it. Stepping on and standing in the no frills boat was not easy. Then the boat gunned its serious engines and started up river past the famous Oriental Hotel, past a hotel that strongly resembles my ruin (ok, now I’m even more curious), past deteriorating residences clapped in rusting sides but ever-decorated in plants, past men standing in doorways, past Thai Naval headquarters but stopping now and then to let people off at various stops. At one stop, I was rather horrified to watch another ferry belch a large cloud of black smoke and spill an even larger amount of black-oil infused ballast into the water. Happily, this is a working river with a wide variety of buildings and residences on it – sadly, this is not a river to go swimming or eat fish from.

We knew that we were getting close to our stop when the solemn spires of Wat Arun appeared in the distance. At this point, it might help you to know that the definition of a “wat,” curtsey of The Lonely Planet City Guide to Bangkok by Joe Cummings & China Williams, a wat “is a temple monastery.” And from a distance, Wat Arun appears to be a flat color and could be judged uninteresting if excluding its shapely spires. Known as the Temple of the Dawn, this Wat is very famous and pictures of it were some of the first pics that I found when researching Bangkok. Actually, I wasn’t fascinated then and as we approached, I wasn’t really that much more interested. Luckily, I’m always willing to admit when I am wrong and I was so very wrong about Wat Arun. It is amazing. Upon disembarking from the tourist ferry on the wrong side of the river, we quickly paid 3B to board a smaller ferry to take us to the other side of the river. We disembarked and were immediately amused by the wooden cut-outs of Thai dancers (available for bad tourist photos – and scam of 40 B) and immediately impressed by the huge Thai Warriors covered in ceramic tiles guarding a temple entrance. We walked past a row of merchants hocking Buddha amulets encased in plastic and while my friend investigated and found the amulets expensive, I stepped to one side to watch a monk bless a group of women. The monk, wrapped in saffron robes, was seated cross-legged on a slight platform right next to the merchants… with a wooden box to his side and a worn rug square in front of him. Four women took off their shoes, knelt down in front of him (feet pointed away dutifully), heads bowed, palms flat against each other in a respectful “wai” while the monk muttered something and shook sprays of water all over them using a bamboo swatch. My friend and me became a bit wistful that we couldn’t be blessed but we were soon distracted by a tree filled with bananas silhouetted against an amazingly multi-colored roof and beautifully fragrant flowers (as I was informed). We then walked into a courtyard with a small, tremendously ornate temple in the center but surrounded by colonnaded buildings that housed rows of golden Buddhas. The Buddhas were seated slightly above eye level, sheltered by a gorgeous red and gold painted ceiling and held away from nasty waters by tiles that appeared to carved memorial tiles for individuals. I felt rude counting the Buddhas – but I suspect that there were 109 – a sacred number in Buddhism. After we marveled and ran down our store of “wow”s and “oh, look”s… plus enjoyed a discreet chuckle about the monk that we discovered surfing the web on a full-sized computer with a flat screen monitor (he appeared to be looking a scenic landscapes – our amusement would’ve been complete if he had been looking at something naughtier), we picked our way through pathways to impressive part of the Wat.

Paraphrasing from Lonely Planet, “Wat Arun is a missile-shaped temple that was named after the Indian God of the Dawn, Aruna. It was at this spot where an important King stumped upon a small shrine used by the local people and interpreted the discovery as an auspicious sign for building a new Thai capital after their old one was badly sacked by the Burmese. The 82 meter prang (the missile part) was constructed during the first half of the 19th century – its brick core has a plaster covering embedded with a mosaic of broken, multihued Chinese porcelain, a common temple ornamentation from when Chinese ships called at Bangkok and used tones of old porcelain as ballast.” And the mosaic work is beyond amazing – the arrangement of plates, cups, bowls, shells, colored glass and so much more into detailed temple ornamentation is incredible. Beautiful. For me, it defies both photographing and description. Really, I do insist, if in Bangkok, you must visit Wat Arun.

Ok, I’m going to end this here – more to follow.

Much Love, Laura

Dear Family and Friends,

This just in! Last night was a bit of an adventure. Yes, I do keep insisting that I’m busy with this whole CELTA thing but it was Friday night and I deserved a bit of a break, no? Anyway, for the last two weeks, 5 of us have been teaching an intermediate group of students and we are quite fond of the class. As we are about to switch to the elementary level students, the boys came up with the nice notion of inviting them all for a casual, “going dutch” dinner and perhaps a drink (or alarmingly, karaoke!). For me, this was an opportunity to shed my usual over casual expat attire that always includes a sleeveless top and flip flops (I wear flip flops all the time – mostly because my leather shoes hate sudden monsoons). I even dug out my cute green purse, donned my cutest black top, wished for a bit of my going out jewelry, and happily fitted my legs into jeans. And I must say: putting on jeans after 3 weeks (?) felt fantastic and made me wiggle a bit as I walked down the street in my cutest pair of black sandals… On the way to meet the boys and our students, I even did my usual pre-going out trick of heading to Starbucks. I felt like the me who loves to play in Belltown… and it was refreshing.

We met at ECC at 6 pm: 4 teachers, 3 students. Through a complicated series of events, we ended up in a SUV driven by one of our students on the way to the Bangkok China Town. The streets flashed by but I was busy interviewing the girl I was sitting next to – although I’d occasionally interrupt to say “Lek, what is that gate?” or be interrupted with items of interest such as the temple with the famous reclining Buddha.” The China Town in Bangkok has different architecture, the people look slightly different (i.e. Chinese) – and the differences are almost as discernable as they are in Seattle, Vancouver, or San Francisco. Red is everywhere: in lanterns, on signs, on buildings while the building shapes (especially the roofs) are distinctly Chinese. We parked in a lot surrounded by buildings – we disembarked from the car and as the boys chatted and our student made arrangements to get the car parked, I stood in the dusk, circling to drink in the sight. The buildings that surrounded us were of poor quality, rundown, and pretty soot covered but were brightened by plants hanging from crevices and top floors. There was not a spirit house in sight.

We walked a few blocks, barely avoided being run over by a car and two motorbikes at one intersection and found ourselves in a plain Chinese restaurant called the Canton House (I think). The restaurant was filled with Formica tables, colored menus, and with a few more of our students, plus eight fourteen – fifteen year olds that are the students of one of our students. We all sat a long table – teachers interspersed with students - and the student that drove us here really played host to me and kept asking “Laura, you want noodles?” “Laura, you like dim sum?” “Laura, you want some sweet tea?” – he was very, very careful to ensure that I got everything I wanted to eat. But honestly, the quality of the food uninspiring (although there were a few dim sum bits that were delicious) and I was much more interested in getting the students to talk. This takes a considerable amount of effort on my part: I must ask questions (ESL term: elicit), simplify my words (ESL term: grade), and slow them down (ESL term: SLOW DOWN!!!!), plus be animated, use good quality gestures, and be friendly. This is hard work!

The student that I spent the most time with is Thai and departs in mid-August for Chicago where she as a scholarship to the University of Chicago to get a PHD. Impressive – and a bit intimidating to realize that I’m teaching a pre-PHD student! The other student that I hung out with is Japanese – her husband is a chef and she isn’t required to work. She and I may go to a swanky hotel for a Cosmo (she loves “Sex in the City” as I do) – she’s been living in Bangkok for four years and hasn’t been up that high. Another student is studying to go to Cambridge but her pronunciation is difficult for me to understand. Luckily, I’m sure her incentive to hear and fix her pronunciation will fast increase. At one point during the dinner, I got up to visit the end of the table and shake hands with each of the teens – they could all tell me their names and say “nice to meet you.” One cute little boy with puffy cheeks and a boy scout uniform and I took to each other – so he came down to my end of the table for a v. long question and answer session.

Finally, the bill came – which was a very chaotic mess to clear away – I just plopped in more money than necessary ($10) and chose not to worry about it.

One of the realizations that I have come to is that in Thai terms, I’m rich. Well, not the careless sort of rich where I can stay in 5 star hotels, buy Hermes, and eat thousands of Baht at every meal but compared to the majority of the people that surround me and even looking at my CELTA class: I’m doing really well. For most meals, I pay 50 B ($1.30) for a plate of noodles or a sandwich. Last week, I surrendered to the ugliness of chipped toe nails + not being able to locate nail polish remover and paid 150 B for a pedicure. Sometimes I idly compare the money that I have in my wallet and the value of the contents of my backpack (especially if I have “my baby”) – and realize that this is more than most of the people around me will make in years of work. This is a very sobering thought… I’m comfortable, have everything I need and most of what I want, and there are so many who cannot ever say the same thing. I knew that this trip would involve reconciling material values and I suspect that I’ve already begun. That said, I adore my laptop – and I cannot regret having it.

By the way, “the baby” nickname for my laptop was gently and humorously bestowed by a W House front desk lady as I cannot leave valuables in my room and so the laptop spends a lot of time with her. The nickname has caught on faster than wildfire and I get a fair amount of flack for my attachment to the thing. Yesterday morning, one of the guys tested my backpack and asked me if I were preparing for an expedition (my reply was that my backup plan for this teaching gig is to become a Sherpa) – although yesterday the teasing halted when I pulled out my laptop to copy our group lesson plan from the board into a Word document that we can all refer to.

Ok, back to my adventure: anyway, we returned to the parking lot through the darkened streets lit by a myriad of brightly colored signs, past the vendors hocking hum bow, straw sandals and ugly Buddhas to the parking lot and were driven back to our school. With only one student remaining, we popped onto the Skytrain to an already discovered bar and had a few beers. Beer was another wonderful taste – as the days have been a bit cooler, a good deal more tolerable, and a beer just hit the spot. Anyway, at first it was 3 boys, me, Japanese student, but later we added two more teachers and one girlfriend. The remainder of the evening passed with conversation, sometimes good, sometimes about toilets… but the most interesting tidbit was that the location of our dinner had been engineered by our student in hopes that we would pay for the dinner for his students. This greatly annoyed the nicest of our guys (never a good sign) and I must say that I was glad that I didn’t learn this ‘til later (as it would’ve no doubt annoyed me as well). Anyway, finally my Starbucks wore off and the 6:00 am arising without a nap caught up with me so I accepted the invitation to walk home with 2 of the guys and the girlfriend. I was home at half past midnight… really, I must work on my stamina.

Just now, I’ve completed my “Thai” breakfast of a bowl of noodles on the patio of the W House (complete with splatters and a lovely sheen of sweat that was borderline drippy) and I now need to start on my homework. If I get enough done today, I get to play on the river tomorrow. Wish me luck as the assignment involves my worst weakness: grammatical language analysis. Yuck.

I hope that all is well with you all.

Laura

PS: Today's picture is from last week's market expedition. Please note the lovely Thai yellow coupled with Mickey Mouse (?)!

Dear Friends and Family,

If I were writing a book set in Bangkok, I would title it Everywhere, Little Altars – a neat way of distinguishing my words from those of Rebecca Well’s Little Altars Everywhere and a nice tie to my gradual rising awareness regarding proper grammar. Anyway, in Bangkok, there are altars simply everywhere. However, these are not truly Buddha altars as I originally thought; instead they are “spirit houses” that are unexpectedly set in bank plazas or in building corners or in alley ways. The altars are exquisitely covered with offerings such as flowers or food and since my arrival, I have found them intriguing to the point that I have started a mini-photo collection of them. The first altar that I examined was nicely framed by the railing in my Davis room suite – but I have since noticed a myriad of others set in gardens, on rooftops, in building lobbies, and in shopping centers. Every day the largish altar near my ECC School in Siam Square has several devotees at a time as well as swarms of bees enjoying the offerings. Naturally, I’m very curious about these altars… and my current favorite book which I would call “Thailand for rich westerners” written by Chami Jotisalikorn & Annette Tan and actually titled Thailand Chic explains:

A feature unique to Thai culture is the ‘spirit house,’ surrounded by offerings of flowers, incense and food, and visible in many homes and office buildings. Spirit houses are usually elaborate little structures resembling miniature wooden houses or, in the case of office buildings, cement structures imitating Khmer temples.

The Thai people believe that the land is protected by guardian spirits, so when a new house or building is erected, the human occupants must provide a spirit house for the spirits to live in. Daily offerings must be made to keep them happy. In return, the spirits will protect the occupants and bring them peace and security. In the case of office buildings, it is hoped that the spirits will bring financial success.

Spirit Houses should not be neglected, or otherwise disgruntled and hungry spirits may decide to stir up mischief or bring bad luck to the premises!

As I walk through the streets of Bangkok, my eyes shift from side to side in search of these spirit houses and I must admit that the Thai concept of spirits is an interesting one. It was during my tour of the Jim Thompson House that I learned that Thai spirits also have a tendency to slide along the floor akin to the movements of a snake – which is why traditional Thai homes have doorways that closely resemble windows in that one must step over an eight inch ledge to walk through a doorway. Apparently these high doorways have a practical purpose too as they keep people, including crawling babies, from falling off the side of a house traditionally built on high poles (to avoid river flooding). Every doorway at the Jim Thompson house was high and although I remained skeptical about the spirits and their snakelike paths, I could picture myself carrying a tray of food from the kitchen to the dining room and tripping over a high doorway ledge. This image leads me to suspect that the spirits, if they indeed exist, have a way to get their point across. It is probably good that Thais respect them – and perhaps I should learn to make offerings and maybe that would cure my ever-constant clumsiness. (Well… ok, probably not). This tradition in the midst of busy, crowded Bangkok is lovely – a gentle visual and ritualistic reminder regarding importance of faith.

It has been a busy week… this CELTA course makes me feel as if I’m a participant in Survivor or as a classmate suggested tonight: a reality show called Big Brother. I’ve never heard of the show but the guy is bright and I’m certain that the comparison is apt. Anyway, we are 12 people now past the honeymoon stage of the course and at the point where habits of certain people are getting on our nerves not to mention the annoying amount of grade grubbing that seems to be occurring (especially odd for a class that really isn’t about grade). All this means that today, Friday, feels very sweet. I had an assessment today in which my tutor was quite pleased with my progress and assessed me at “standard” – which is a relief, if not a particular surprise. This is a much needed spirit/confidence boost as next week is shall be intense with 3 detailed lesson plans, 1 written paper not to mention two classes to actually teach by next Thursday. The only good thing that I can say about that is next Friday will be even sweeter than this Friday.

You know, I’m pretty darn good at being strong and independent and alone but even I get a bit worn down – and at this moment, I’m there. But I’m about to repair my spirits with a nap, a shower, a cute outfit and going out tonight (I foresee a beer in my immediate future). Tomorrow I plan to seriously set to work on Written Assignment Number 2– with any luck I’ll finish that and most of the 2 lesson plans tomorrow so I can play at a still undetermined place (well, we know that shopping is not on the agenda) on Sunday.

Cheers!

Laura

PS: Cheers is apparently British Boy speak for “thank you” – but from observation, I’ve decided that it is multi-functional. Busy or not, I’ve been amusing myself by mimicking the British boys – which they tolerate and tease me about - and oddly, I’ve acquired a “eh” at the end of my sentences. I really cannot figure out where that came from – or when it will go away. It’ll be interesting to see what happens to my speech after a year of a variety of accents.

Dear Family and Friends,

Please accept my apologies as it has been days since I’ve posted to this blog. I’m finding that learning + teaching greatly interferes with my ability to write what I’d prefer, although the thoughts running through my brain are pretty much constant. It seems to take me time and energy to coalesce my wayward thoughts into a mildly entertaining blog entry - and I’m now low on both qualities.

During this week, I have reverted to my college student mien: I live in a place that resembles a dormitory, I walk to classes carrying a backpack with notes and text books, I’m always planning in terms of studying + assignments, and I’m stuffing my brain with academic theory and practice. When in the role of student, I’ve re-found myself to be one of the first to finish in-class independent assignments, although by no means would I consider myself top of the class capability or intelligence-wise. Happily, a late addition to my student mien has been increased comfort with my oft-times jolly personality and the resulting entertaining moments. A lovely example of the entertainment value that I can provide for my classmates comes from the journey to school on Friday morning when I was conversing with one classmate and not devoting enough attention to the sidewalk of mixed dry & wet concrete, particle board and holes. With my attention elsewhere, I accidentally dipped one of my sandals into wet concrete that a woman was smoothing into a big hole. Slightly dismayed, I asked another worker to wipe my sandal off with a brush and water. Later, as I later sat at a desk flexing my feet and swinging my legs (which I do because my feet do not comfortably reach the floor), the concrete dried and formed a significant dust pile under my chair – not to mention the little dust piles from me walking around the classroom. The piles were bad enough that I had to sweep up after myself! That afternoon, the classmate who had originally distracted me (can I blame him, please???) told me that I provided him with quite a bit of entertainment during his teaching practice observation as he was able to watch the dust get dispersed throughout the classroom by various students activities. Nice, eh?

The arrival of the weekend was sweet for us CELTA trainees. For my part, I had taught Monday through Thursday and was pretty worn down by my easy day on Friday when I only needed to take attendance while another teacher was setting up and interview a student for a written assignment due Monday. Keep in mind that before last Monday, my only experience in classroom-like situation was speaking to a room full of volunteer attorneys and although those seminars were nerve-wracking, they never put me off meals or made me wonder how I would ever do it. Throughout my entire life, I have been told that teaching is hard work. I understood this. I believed this. However, after subjecting my poor students to my rookie efforts for four days in a row, I truly needed a day off from wracking my brain for a lesson plan, really any plan, and the accompanying flurry of printing, the printers not working, running out of time before lecture starts, copying, the copier jamming, lunch-time running short, and nervously counting the minutes until I need to smile, engage, elicit from and teach our students. For me teaching is akin to stage performance: there are carefully thought out lines to say, props really help, and audience interest is key. Although the feature that makes teaching exceed the fun of high school drama is that I get to play myself in front of a class. Good stuff.

The CELTA course is teaching me just enough to realize how much I’ll need to learn (or that I’ll never learn) about being a good teacher. A funny thing about this week of learning about teaching is that it has inspired momentary school flashbacks as mentally, I’ve re-visited Woodinville High in my first days of learning Spanish vocab, I remembered my beloved 2nd and 3rd grade teacher, I recalled how much I learned from a strict English teacher in Junior High and felt that I had become my UW Italian teacher when I found myself standing in front of the classroom using large Italian-style gestures. I also keep stumbling across my UW Woman Studies sensitivities, most of which are currently related Peggy Orienstien’s theories about how men are conditioned to be loud and girls are conditioned to be quiet. This makes me keep reminding myself and my fellow teachers to not just call on the men (who mostly comprise our confident and seemingly capable students). Even engaging students in casual conversation reminds me of the many teachers who were forced to dig deep into their understanding of the world and the English language in order to explain a concept to me. All this to say that this teaching thing isn’t as easy as the good ones make it look – and that I hope one day to be a good teacher myself.

Anyway, the weekend is here and for the first time since my arrival in Bangkok, the weather has been picture-perfect clear & sunny but my written assignment, coming to grips with terminology, and a lesson plan for Monday are most pressing. Well, not pressing enough that I haven’t taken the time for two inevitable naps. And I did decide that seeing a city site was a must in order to “relax and prepare for next week” so early this morning a friend and I journeyed to the Chatuchak Weekend Market. In her Bangkok Travelgirl article, Janice McDonald says that “[t]his market is not for the faint of heart. Located near the Northern Bus Terminal, this maze of more than 9,000 individual booths offers everything imaginable. While it is popular with the tourists, it is very much a local market. Goods are divided into sections by type with furniture here, pets there, along with clothing, jewelry, hardware and food.” A friend and I spent three hours there and I shall offer a more detailed description… later.

But what I will reiterate to you now is that the shopping in Bangkok is truly amazing – I’d bet that it rivals Hong Kong or New York or Singapore – and that shopping seems to practically be the national competitive sport. In fact, I live down the street from the National Sports Stadium complex which is a good deal smaller and shabbier than the seven-story mall that is right next door to it. When we trainees were debriefing and discussing lesson plans for next week, one of my peers announced “oh, what hard luck. I’ve got to teach about skiing to a bunch of South East Asians. The proposed conversational student engagement session about how many of our students have gone skiing will go very fast.” We, his audience laughed, and suggested that he change the lesson to another competitive sport… and because we are here in Bangkok, shopping was the most obvious answer.

Gentle readers, please bear with me if these weeks of school turn out similar to this past week in that I cannot get to coalescing my thoughts. You may plan on me posting something during the weekends and I’m beginning to form ideas about what I’ll do next: I could visit a friend’s family in India, visit Angor Wat with another friend, or do the Thailand thing independently. We’ll see. And after talking to random people in the “W” Café as well as my peers, I suspect that I’ll be looking for jobs in Korea, Singapore, Japan, and Taiwan but now I’ve also briefly contemplated Eastern Europe or Turkey. The world is a stage and I’m merely a player upon it, yes?

I am doing well but please don’t let this deceive you all into thinking that I do not miss you. With much love,

Laura

Dear Friends and Family,

I’m in my usual spot at the “W” café, seated at square table near darkened full-length windows and I’m in desperate need for a break. I’ve had a headache all day… no doubt a combination of not enough sleep, stuffing my brain with information, a fair bit of stress, and today’s air quality inside ECC was terrible (one of the classroom air conditioners apparently smells to the point that my tutor announced that she felt like she had been “gassed”). Re: my health, I’m not sleeping as much as I should but I have been religious about the water to the point of needing to visit the ladies room too often; today I was so desperate for a salad comprised of raw vegetables that I skipped meticulous pre-lesson planning to walk in satisfying, practically ground-eating steps to Gourmet Market for a salad. However, in a concession to my responsibilities, I took my salad to go. When I opened my prize at school in front of the boys, they uniformly gave me a look as if I had gone crazy… “What? A salad? Without sauce?” (I assume that “sauce” is British-boy speak for salad dressing). The mere act of eating a raw salad and an apple for lunch was immensely satisfying.

Yes, really, this compulsion to write should now be subsumed by the need to study; however, even as my head ached and my body craved uncooked vegetables, I was mentally soothing myself with the list below and I must catch it before it vanishes. And, true to form, I can rationalize this time by telling myself that I’m doing some therapeutic stress relief by venting. And yes, I am about to vent. But please don’t take the following as me hating Bangkok or finding my former life superior… but there are a few details of my life in Thailand that I have yet to adjust to.

• I hate Thai toilet paper. There is the necessity of helping yourself to a bundle of TP on the way into a stall in a normal Thai ladies room and I’ll admit to not being fond of this practice. But what I hate, hate about Thai TP is that it adorns most restaurant or cafeteria table in place of paper napkin, often in sly containers or in cute little baskets covered in ruffles (which makes me hate it that much more). The problem? No, not snobbishness, as much as it is very hard to clean one’s hands after a meal with toilet paper. In fact, if you are jealous of my adventures, yearning for a genuine Thai cultural experience, substitute toilet paper for napkins at your next meal. You’ll see what I mean.

• I do not like the humidity. Granted, I’m fully aware that I’ve traveled to the tropics during the monsoon season (“the cool season” as my student Sommai assured me) and that in doing so, I’ve asked for the humidity. But I cannot be fond of walking outdoors and immediately being covered in a sticky, unflattering sheen of sweat. Despite air conditioning, we teachers even sweat in our strangely formal teaching clothing. After returning home in the evening, I often rinse my clothing and even myself in the shower. Not fun. But again, my hair loves it.

And to all of you reporting beautiful, hot weather in Seattle, I’m genuinely happy for you all. As for me, I haven’t a clue of the day to day temperature around here and I’m actually happy to keep it that way… ignorance makes it easier to cope with, I think.

• I hate the Canadian man with a bushy white beard who resides in Wendy House. Bushy-bearded man appears to be a stereotypical “open-minded” traveler who loves to preach on the topic of his own budget adventures to whoever will listen. But why I cannot stand the sight of this man is that about 20 seconds after he walks through the “W” House entrance, he turns the lobby television on. Loud. So loud that the noise echoes from the TV location at the back of the lobby, down a bit of a hallway and echoes all the way to the front of the café. There is no escape. In about 5 seconds, I’m forced to turn my iPod up to drown out the noise but this doesn’t work so I usually take myself upstairs to escape. I’m almost certain that he watches TV down here because he was too cheap to pay for his own TV – and I have unkindly concluded that he must be totally obnoxious… because he doesn’t otherwise behave like he is deaf.

• I hate chili peppers. I’ve often thought that I’m reasonably tolerant of spicy foods, for an American, but I can barely choke down what Thais consider “tourist hot.” Last night I had a delicious meal at a restaurant crowded with Thais. In fact, I had that green papaya salad with seafood. The waitress asked me “not hot?” with a bit of a smirk and I sheepishly conceded that I’m a wimp. And their version of not hot? I loved it… but I absolutely needed the side dish of sticky rice that I had ordered. My friend ordered hers normal Thai hot and lived to regret it the next day. So tonight? My friend and I ate Phat Thai at an open air restaurant in the alley near our “W” House… no chili peppers for either of us. At this point, I’m not eating any menu item that uses the word “spicy” and I hate being limited this way.

To be fair to Bangkok and you, my fair readers, there is a lot that I love:

• I love not having a sense of smell in Bangkok. Don’t get me wrong, a good 20 years after loosing my sense of smell, I still succumb to the occasional impulse to sniff a foreign fruit and I do get momentarily sad that nothing happens. But from the slight yet evident low clouding and the stinging on the inside of my nose, I can attest that not being able to smell the Bangkok pollution works to my advantage.

• I love the Thai people. They all likely think that I’m impossibly gauche and they almost always laugh at my “kar poon kaaa” (thank you). Yet while I feel quite foreign, I don’t feel the least unwelcome. And I’ve already come to adore the “W” House front desk people including “Bo” (the evening clerk who always has a few minutes to tutor me on the Thai language – we are on “hello”) and “Noi” who helped me nickname my rather heavy laptop as “my baby” (as it is never far away from me or it spends its time safely tucked behind the front desk). And Wendy herself is tiny, exquisitely dressed, Internet savvy and very much a hardworking inn owner that just happens to vacation in places like Kashmir. Wow.

• I love that there are lots of stairs to climb. My room is up 3 really, really steep flights of stairs. Crossing the majority of streets requires climbing stairs to a sky bridge, crossing over, and then going to down another set of stairs. I’m going to have lovely leg muscles by the end of a month.

• I love breakfast. I know that this sounds crazy statement coming from me; however, 5 of the 12 of us ECC CELTA people are staying here at Wendy House and I like them all. The last two mornings, 4 of us have had breakfast and then journeyed down the alley, up the sky bridge stairs, down the sky bridge stairs, past an old beggar woman, past the barely open street vendors, over the sidewalks precariously strewn with particleboard-covered holes, to work/school. We are companionable… in 2s, 4, or 1 and I love this.

• I love not knowing how many calories are in food. I hadn’t realized how often I worry about this but now I cannot derive a thing from food packaging so I must give this worry up. What freedom! And I’m not the only female that has noticed this; three women were discussing this happy problem after breakfast this morning, much to the puzzlement of our male companion. It was sadly obvious that caloric content weighs on Indian, Canadian & American women alike… while men say “Caloric content? Yeah, whatever!”

• I love our students. Well, if not love, I admire that they patiently smile at our half-baked efforts and our bungling. Ok, I should speak for myself here as I feel that all the other trainees are doing quite well. Only two days into this, I feel that our students are getting something out of our teaching and we are definitely getting a lot out of being student teachers. Today I spent a few minutes after class with some gregarious students. One gentleman told me about the Thai political situation (there is a very rich man who is currently “Caretaker” Prime Minister of Thailand and he is desperately trying to hold on to power despite legal rulings not in his party’s favor… and falling out of disfavor with the Thai people. Another told me about 2 meter-wide growths or flowers(?) in the ocean while a third told me about Thai soap operas. The students are happy to be in class (it is almost free for them), eager to share, and patient with us. How can one not love this?

Now was that venting so bad? I hope that this gives you a better taste of a Western woman’s life in Bangkok. And if this wasn’t sufficient, turn your shower on really hot to create lots of steam, get a family member to stand just outside to smile and “wai” at you, and use toilet paper at dinner. You’ll have the whole empathy trick down soon.

Many happy regards,

Laura

Dear Family and Friends,

A favorite Drumm saying is that “I’d rather be lucky than good” and so far, I’ve been lucky enough to possess the energy, the impulse, the inspiration, and the time to write to you all. And I’ve loved it! But by 6 pm, Sunday, July 2nd, reliance on luck had already drained away and the work to be “good” has just begun. By 8 pm on Sunday evening, Liz had gone upstairs and I was seated by the darkened windows at the Wendy House café, writing my first words to the Intermediate students that my group of trainees will be teaching to for the next two weeks.

At this point, I should assure you all that ECC School and the CELTA are just what my research indicated: well-planned, efficient, professional, and rigorous. Briefly, as I have a second lesson plan to complete, I will tell you that we are a group of 10 CELTA students and 2 tutors. I cannot tell you how badly I want to describe my peers to you but I’ve thought a bit about this and I don’t think it fair to write about them as individuals, well, at least not at this point. But what I will tell you is that 7 of 10 are male, the vast majority are British (yes, there was more than some disappointment re: England’s World Cup elimination), I am the only American and intimidatingly, and I’m also the only person without any teaching experience. We are divided into two “TP” (teaching practice) groups and we did teach today. (To get the obvious remark out of the way, I did cause some consternation when I complained to a friend about the lack of TP but of course, my issue was regarding toilet paper.)

Yes, this means I taught my first class today. I had 15 minutes in which to instruct my 13 students of varying ages and South East Asian origins to discuss their childhoods. I did ok… today’s issues were that I talked too much (but not too fast!) and that I did not manage to convey the concept of childhood upfront nor well enough. When my 15 minutes were up, I was shaking and wondering what ever made me think that I’d be good at this teaching stuff. One of my fellow teachers kindly assured me that I did fine and that even though you never get over the nervousness, it gives you an edge. I cannot say that I found this completely reassuring but my shaking stopped soon after that.

Tomorrow’s lesson is 20 minutes long and requires discussion relating to the comparison of two similar but different pictures. The aim is to master effective instructive giving and frankly, I think my lesson is going to be challenging. But I’m game to have another go…

Watch those hands and eyebrows near the bbq and have a great 4th of July, one and all.

Cheerio!

Laura