Success in Life

People want to know what i'm doing next. What happens when i'm finished with this.

Even I ask myself these questions. I'm not sure what i'm doing in six months, let alone where i'll be in a year. It was during a long distance facebook chat with an old, dear friend who is also living her life in a nonconventional way that it hit me...

What am I doing that is so out of the ordinary that it can no longer be categorized as "living my life?" In essence, people want to know what i'll do once i've finished living my life. When will I stop living my life for me and start living the life they're comfortable with; the life they know and understand?

It is hard, my friend and I agreed, not to get bogged down by these questions, these societal expectations. It can be even harder to maintain your confidence in the decisions you make for yourself day in and day out. Even though you know yourself better than anyone else (ideally, at least), the consistent hum of doubt is enough to make you waiver.

So why, in this day of high debt, high divorce rates, younger people getting diagnosed with terminal illnesses, ongoing clashes around the world, and the unending list of injustices taking place, is it so difficult to understand that some people, like myself and my friend, would opt for another way of living?

From what I can tell, this life is short. So much shorter than it needs to be to truly understand love and forgiveness. Too short to see everything the world has to offer. Too short to find resolutions for war and crime and illness. Too short to be waking up every day asking yourself what's next, when will I find love, what will I do for the rest of my life?

From what I can tell, this life is the only one we have. It's time to embrace friendships, appreciate family, admire those who are different, explore the world in a way that makes sense to you, even if it doesn't make sense to anyone else. If that means getting married and having kids or traveling around the world, or working the same job for 40 years, or wandering, seemingly aimlessly, until you find what you're truly good at, it doesn't matter.

Just live your life in a way that makes you happy and, if possible, gives back to the universe somehow. I forget that sometimes. But today, for a multitude of reasons, I could climb the highest mountain and shout it for the world to hear. For now, blabbing it here to no one in particular will have to do. I haven't made it to the highest mountain yet.

Shannon's Shenanigans

I'm not sure that i've mentioned Shannon. He is a kid in my class. He comes from a multi-cultural family. He speaks three languages. He can't not be smart. And he isn't not smart.  In fact, his mind works in incredible ways... He's not a mean or manipulative kid. He has lots of questions and he wants the answers.

There is no grey area for Shannon. Everything is either black or white. I was warned, to be fair, that he was challenging. His kindergarten teacher described him as a little old man.  She hit the nail on the head. This six year old walks around looking like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. When you ask him to smile, he produces the look of someone enduring a Middle Ages torture device.

He got in trouble once at home for doing something his mother told him previously not to do. When she asked him why he would do what she told him not to, Shannon replied, "My head said no, but my heart said yes."

My first experience with this kid was our school's summer program. The little guy was wandering innocently around the first floor school when "something landed on my head."

"What was it Shannon?" I asked.

The other teachers were in stitches, they'd already heard what happened.

"Well," he paused, "I thought it was a hat.  So I put my hand on my head. But it was not a hat."

I can't even begin to guess where this is going, "Ok, so what was it?"

"It was someone's underpants. They pooped in them."

No one can contain themselves. I am bewildered. I notice Shannon's head is... moist?  No, he hadn't washed his hair.  I sent him to the bathroom immediately. One of the other teachers informed me that poopy underpants were in fact dropped on his head, from the second floor, by another student. That kid is a menace. Shannon was the innocent bystander. Of course.

---

Shannon is a 'slow and steady wins the race' kinda guy. I wish I could say it's because he's so meticulous about his work and he wants it to be perfect, but that would be furthest from the truth. It is always a mess. One day, somehow, he managed to finish before everyone else and it wasn't bad enough for him to have to start over, "neatly this time, please."

Hand raised, standing directly in front of me, so that his hand is literally in my face, "I'm finished, teacher."

"Great, Shannon. Have a seat, and wait one minute for everyone else, please."

"Teacher, one minute is 60 seconds?"

"That's correct, buddy. Good job." I say as I continue to wander around the class monitoring everyone's progress.

Out loud I hear, "One, two, three, four..."

"Shannon. Please. In your head."

So he begins, mouthing the words, "One, two, three, four..."

---

Today was enough to inspire me to write about him. I'll continue to do so as time goes on. As my housemate said, "You have a story about that kid every day."  It's true.

I explained to the class that the sentence they wrote yesterday in their 'Rough Draft' notebook needed to be copied neatly, with the corrections made, into their 'Neat' notebook. Off they go. Except Shannon. He has a question.

"I don't understand what we are supposed to do, teacher."

So I begin explaining again, but to him, one on one, reading his sentence aloud and showing him by pointing where his sentence should go in his neat notebook. He seems to understand, so I move on to assist the other 23 kids in my class. Not much time passes when I feel a presence. I am being followed.

"Teacher, i'm finished." says Shannon.

I take a look at his work. He has smooshed his entire sentence into a one inch space on about five lines:

I learned
that good
manners are
important.

As I begin erasing his work, I need to know, "Shannon, can I ask why you wrote your sentence this way? We write our sentences from left to right until there is no more space and then we move down to the next line."

"I thought it looks better."

Fair enough. How can I argue with that? The point remains that it is incorrect and I know if I let him do it this once, he'll do it like this always. So he begins again, kind of, only his sentence is full of errors. Thus another explanation is required and another.  And another. By the fifth explanation i'm tired and busy, so I try to make it quick, "So, just write your sentence, 'I learned blah blah blah blah,' here, ok?"

"But, teacher, how do I write blah blah blah?"

---

Tune in next time for Shannon's Shenanigans. I'll be sharing his swim meet and Sports Day stories.

Your Belly Button Is Special

At my school, for grades one through three, the teachers (foreign and Thai) are expected to alternate weeks swimming with the class.  Included in this package deal along with swimming and making sure none of your brats drown, you are also required to help your kids get changed into and out of their swim wear.  Being in a room with twelve six year old girls is potentially my least favorite part of the job.

Apart from the fact that they're running around with their lady bits out for the world to see and you never quite know where to look; you've got the high pitched squeals and giggles, lost underpants, and (because we're in Thailand) the occasional puff of baby powder in your face.  Last week was my worst locker room visit.

One of my girls pointed to her belly button and said, "Teacher, look."

Guys in high school used to play this game where they would make the number three sign or asshole sign by touching their index finger tip to their thumb tip and the other three fingers sticking straight out together.  They would then try to call someone's attention to their hand.  If they were successful, the sucker got punched.  Maybe in the nuts?  I might be mixing up adolescent boys games.

Anyway, I was the sucker.

I saw that she wanted me to see her outtie belly button, "Wow," I said, "you've got an outtie!  That's awesome."

"Awesome?  My mom told me not to show it to people because it's not beautiful."

Wow.  Perfect grammar, I thought.  No, no, focus.

Keeping my jaw off the floor and the rage out of my voice was next to impossible.  So I did the only thing I knew to do.  I turned to face her square on so all of the other girls in the room could hear me and I calmly and slowly said, "Not everyone gets to have an outtie.  Your belly button is special because it is different.  That makes your belly button and you beautiful."

Everyone took pause and then carried on like nothing had even happened.  Like a commercial where everyone is in a diner and the frying pans and the dinging bells and clanking coffee cups pause for a split second before they go back to serving their purpose as background noise for an Advil commercial.  Dramatic effect I believe is what I learned in college.

Six years old.  Six years old.  The woman who should be instilling strength and planting seeds of self esteem is doing the opposite by teaching her daughter to be ashamed of the very parts of her that will make her unique, that assist her in developing her view of herself; parts that will bother her through her teen years and probably well into her 20's because she knows not everyone has one.  And her mom told her to and we all know moms know everything.  One day, though, hopefully she'll overcome it.

She'll quiet the sound of her mother's voice of disapproval, having not even realized that her own voice of disapproval sounds eerily similar.  Something will shift and suddenly the perceived flaw will be seen as beautiful and special.

Hopefully, she'll be able to turn and face herself square on so all of the other girls in the room can hear her, and she'll calmly and slowly say, "Not everyone gets to have an outtie.  Your belly button is special because it is different.  That makes your belly button and YOU beautiful."
 

Wai Kru

I've been on a writing hiatus.  I promised myself I wouldn't write if there wasn't anything to write about because inner ramblings generally become stale, in my opinion.  Today, though, I experienced something worthwhile to rant about, so here it goes.  Warning: my anger reached new heights today.

Wai Kru is Teacher Appreciation Day.  My roommate and friend, Matt said it best as we messaged back and forth from across the unairconditioned gymnasium, "I'd like to be appreciated with a day off."  Genius.  Instead, I spent the first two hours of my day sweating through my uniform, trying my best to pick out the few Thai words I know and ignoring the surrounding sniggers coming from all the Thai teachers watching in delight as the farangs melted.

Let me break down rehearsal.  The first half hour of our totally unorganized sauna session included moving lines of children to the left, to the right, front, back, by eight steps, each time.  Sit down, stand up, scoot over, get in a straighter line.

They chanted.  I don't know what they say.  I believe it is Buddhist, which doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me since everyone at the school is not Buddhist.    This isn't America, though, so the majority's way is everyone's way.  If you are different, prepare for ridicule.  Guess what?  The chanting wasn't perfect the first time and that just will not do because everything is about show here.  Thus the kids chanted the same thing repeatedly until they all said it in unison.  We listened to a teacher rant about who knows what for another decade.

Then the "appreciation" part started.  This involved teachers herding the children through channels of other childrens' hats and shoes to line up in front of all of the Thai and foreign teachers (one class at a time).  Then they were told to stand in a wai position (think Christian prayer style, but the tips of your fingers are touching your nostrils), then get down on their knees, and put their foreheads to the floor.

Uncomfortable foreign teachers...

I believe this is a gesture generally reserved for sitting in front of a monk, but for tomorrow, my status moves a step up the ladder.  I'll be ladened with flowers and gifts because I. am. the. shit.

I would rather just be given the day off.. but who doesn't love flowers?

Tomb Raiding in Siem Reap, Cambodia

My housemates and I headed north for the long weekend.  Thanks, Buddhist Lent.  I didn't even know that was a thing.  We hauled ass from school to the airport to make our 6:30 pm flight to Bangkok.  One night in Bangkok was more than enough for me.

We got a real feel for local living by waiting for the bus outside of the airport that whisked us away to the MRT (train).  More than anything, it made me nostalgic for my last home, Chicago.  A moment, a smell, a song, that's all it takes sometimes.  The best part of my time in Bangkok was the ticket collector on the bus.

We rode the A1 bus to Mochit, a stop en route to who knows where, that allowed us to hop a train to our hotel.  We weren't on the bus long, but watching the firecracker conductor collecting fares was well worth the 20 THB ride.  She wore her two toned mullet with a rare sort of grace, black roots and faded, grown out bottle blonde tips brushing her shoulders.  I don't think she actually needed her Pepto Bismol pink glasses, but who cares.  She carried with her a cylindrical metal case, which looked to be suited for pencils and pens.  It was used to produce a paper ticket, catch bits of paper which signified where you got on and where you'd get off, as well as making change for each passenger.  That's right, you don't have to have exact change.  Her dexterity was something to behold, it was evident she'd been performing this routine for years.  She never asked the same person for payment twice, never missed a stop (she announced each one), and she was extremely friendly.  Basically she was far more proficient than any Metra conductor I ever encountered in the Windy City.  Although she was tiny and aged, she isn't someone I would want to cross.

After completing our public transit experience, we exited the station onto a seedy street.  I can't say with complete confidence that all the streets in Bangkok are seedy, but something tells me they are.  In search of our hotel, we passed through street vendors setting up for the evening.  Tables full of lighters, tazers, dildos, drugs, racks of inappropriate shirts (think naked men), hats, Thai pants, and so on, lined both sides of the sidewalk.  We perused later, after finding out creepy hotel, for about an hour.  At which point we decided to "turn in" and buy a few beers in the lobby and drink them in our room.  We had an early start the next day to get to Cambodia.

Siem Reap is a lovely little town.  The Cambodian people are very nice, have a great sense of humor, and speak unbelievably good English.  There is an interesting mix of expats and a fantastic variety of western foods.  Finding a good sandwich wasn't a mission like it generally is in Phuket.  The purpose of the trip was to experience the ruins.  Boy, did we.  We left our footprints on the ruins of Angkor Wat, Angkor Thom, Bayon, Banteay Srei, and Ta Prohm.  The pictures don't do it justice..

         

 

Everything was exquisite and seemingly from another world.  It was so hot.  And there were people crawling all over the place.  I was shocked by the lack of roped off areas and restrictions on where you could step.  The only areas protected were those in which the most damage could be done to humans rather than the structures.  My friends and I marveled at this, commenting that "if we were in America you would never be able to go in there/step on that/touch this," and guessing how many more years it will be as open and free as it is before they realize it will need to be protected from grubby international fingers.

Siem Reap is amazing.  There is so much history and culture.  It is easy to get to and even easier to get around.  If you're like me and you have difficulty wrapping your mind around ancient history because the amount of time that has gone by is so unfathomable, being able to be amongst something so concrete (no pun intended) is grounding and spectacular all at once.

Friendship

Meeting new people and making new friends is something most people like to do.  I enjoy it tremendously.  Although, I do believe a few very good friends is a better bargain than lots of 'sort of' friends.  Still, I have found that taking hold of the opportunity to make new friends can really deliver unexpected results.

The first year I was living in Chicago, I lived with a good friend from college.  It was a difficult transition moving to Chicago and figuring out where to meet new people was not easy.  After a couple of months, training for my new bar job started.  I found myself drawn to several people.  A vivacious, beautifully spirited, bright eyed, blonde woman from New York.  An honest, jovial Chicago woman who valued sarcasm and a good laugh as much as I do.  A couple from the suburbs, one a a lively, slightly cynical young man with an eye for inner beauty and a pension for saying it like it is.  The other a quieter, but fascinating brainiac of a guy who could find a connection with anyone, even if he didn't like them.  These four quickly became, not just my colleagues, but my friends, my drinking buddies, my confidants, my family away from family.  We developed a close knit circle that included laughs, tears, surprise birthdays, breakups, and moves.

Later that year, my friend/roommate's friend from home came to visit him in Chicago.  He would be staying with us, but my friend/roommate would be unable to take time off of work to entertain our guest, "You can do it, right, Laur?"  Sigh, "I guess."  I had some of my most fun days in Chicago with this fast friend.  The second time he came to visit, we had even more fun than the first.  Although, this time we opted out of faking our recent marriage.  We had plenty of laughs over it, and still do.  You see, he has become one of my best friends.  I was over the moon when he decided to also move to Chicago.  We considered living together a few times, but it never panned out.  In fact, he was always there to help me move.  Sometimes he was the only one who bothered to show up.  He knows more about me than i'd care to admit because this is a friendship where we've seen each other at our bests, but more importantly at our worsts.  I'm talking 3:00 in the morning, in tears, wailing at the front door of my 3rd floor walk up because it was his birthday and he drank way too much and lost his keys.  My first thought when I went down the three flights of stairs and found him in a ball on the steps was, "How the hell am I going to get him upstairs by myself?"  He is more sensible than myself and had a tendency to be a little more embarrassed than me for a little bit longer, but I assure you, he's seen me in equally poor situations, and I viewed his mishaps as equalizers, opportunities for me to pay him back.  We have different views on lots of things, but over time we have found a way to find common ground and to talk about the things where we do not share any ground.

There are friends that you think will always be around, but fade ever so slowly into darkness.  Then there are friends that you never thought you'd still have this many years later, that are burning bright as ever.

There's the friend you made playing soccer when you were 12, who though only 1 year younger than you, who has always felt like a little sister who you need to protect.  Come to find out, she has always felt the the same way, that you're the big sister, and she too needs to protect you.  This is reaffirmed every time she let some guy or some shitty friend have it, "Because he's not treating you the way you deserve to be treated, Laur."  The one who you don't even have to tell there is something wrong, because even thousands of miles away, from the other side of the world, during a FaceTime session, she can tell.  When you say, "I'm fine,"  She let's you get away with it for a little bit but because she knows better, you always tell her the things that you didn't even know for sure you thought or felt.  She's the friend who comes to visit and turns your studio apartment into a post natural disaster sight.  When you get home and tell her as much she asks why you're being such a bitch, you ask where the wine is, and she's already poured you a glass.  You're late to dinner because you sit amongst the wreckage talking about anything and everything, laughing and farting, because that's what you do with your best friend.

There is the first gal pal you made after surviving the trauma of having the worst set of girlfriends in college.  She is the one who helped you see that not all girls are bitches, that being open to female friendship is still worthwhile.  She's the friend you stand on the sidewalk with in an embrace crying, outside of a bar in Chicago, because she and her new husband have decided to move away to Florida and you just don't know what your life will be like once she's gone.  She's one of the first friends you bounced the idea off of to quit your job and go across the world.  This is the friend who couldn't have been more supportive, who gave you the courage to go forward with it, even though you were scared shitless.  When you get cards for your birthday and Christmas, the return address belongs to this friend.

There is the friend, a little older, a little wiser.  The friend who gets you a bar gig to help you make a little extra cash and meet some new folks because she just believes that you'd be a good fit.  So much so, that when you talk to the manager over the phone for the first time, he just wants to know when you can start, "But you haven't even asked me any questions yet."  When he tells you that you have the job because he just trusts your friend, you know you've found someone you want to keep around.  And that proves to be a great choice because not only is she someone you aspire to be like professionally, but she is someone who you look to for guidance in friendships, life, and love.  She is one of the wisest and funniest people you know.

Then there's the couple.  The girl you met at work who you weren't really sure about at first.  When you became friends and shared past heartaches and current challenges, you realized that even though on the outside you look like you have little in common, on the inside there is no denying that you were meant to be friends.  When you meet the man she loves, you love him too because he is funny and crude and loud, just like you.  He is "you in male form" she says and "it is awesome" in the weirdest way.  The night they asked you to be in their wedding while you sat atop a bail of hay in the middle of the north side of Chicago, you cried because you were honored and surprised and a little buzzed.  Missing their wedding because you decided to leave for Thailand was a difficult choice and so you spent their day trying to enjoy where you were because you knew that's what they wanted you to do.

Meeting friends through work was unexpected.  So when you met the other girl, the tall blonde girl who seemed quiet at first (trickery), and you discovered how much fun the two of you have together (too much), and you get to watch her dog while she goes out of town, and she gives you a tour of her new condo, showing you the room "where you will stay when you come back to visit," and she tells you how proud she is of you for getting in shape, getting out there, moving to Thailand, whatever goal you've recently set for yourself, you know you've landed another good one.  You see music together and dance with reckless abandon and you always have a lot to laugh about and discuss the following day.

The reality is that i've been so lucky to have come across so many amazing people who have inspired me, supported me, challenged me, and it wasn't until I sat here thinking about all of those people that I realized how lengthy this little rant could become.  And my original intention for writing this is now gone.  I was feeling plagued by my tendency to hold on to people for too long, to try and maintain friendships that maybe have outgrown themselves.  But I can't be upset about the loss of those faded friendships, or the fact that as someone who loves with all my heart, I hate letting go, because I don't regret any of it.  I can only be excited about the future friends and thankful for the current ones.  In the time i've been on this journey called life, i've met so many amazing people.  I don't know if they'll be part of my life forever, but I know i'm enjoying the ride and i'm grateful for all of it.

Chiang Mai - Cooking Class

Multiple people recommended taking a cooking class while in Chiang Mai.  This was definitely the most fun part of our trip.  We did not make any reservations prior to arrival, with the hope of finding a recommendation from someone local.  The woman at the hostel (Chada House) came through again.  After selecting several pamphlets about cooking classes, and letting us thumb through them, she pointed to one and said that a young woman whom she knew had started the company by herself.  A young, female entrepreneur?  Done.  Due to our schedule changes, we had hoped to be able to find an afternoon class.  We called up Ann on Sunday and got two spots for Monday afternoon, no problem.  She would be picking us up (and dropping us off).  Even better.

Monday afternoon a pickup truck with a roof and 2 benches running along the length of the truck bed gathered us from our hostel.  Ann greeted us and introduced herself.  Inside of the truck already were two Russians, a Frenchman, and a German.  This sounds like the beginning of a joke.  We exchanged the usual pleasantries, which rarely includes names, where are you from, how long have you been here, where are you going next, have you ever been to - fill in the blank?  Generally when we tell people we are from The States (no one outside of America calls it America), the follow up question is, "oh which part?"  When Carey shared that she was from Michigan (that's the nice answer, which means you stand a chance of continued conversation), the Russian woman shared that she went to high school in Michigan for a year.  Which town?  Traverse City.  Which high school?  They went to the same high school.

What?

Yes.

They did not attend the school at the same time, but I mean honestly, what are the odds?!  Two women.  Two countries.  Both traveling - one internationally, the other within the country.  I could go on, but I won't.  This was a strange but quirky start.  We pulled up next to a market where we were joined by two young women from London and two men from, sigh, America.  We rarely run into Americans, and when we do, it tends to be mortifying and excruciating.  This was no exception.  Brothers traveling from… wait for it..

Michigan.

I thought Carey was going to throw herself into traffic.  It was a strange dynamic that included one brother picking on the other for attention and listening to the two of them jump back and forth between English and Russian.  They are Russian, but they grew up in The States.  Anyway, I digress.  So we go to the market where Ann shows us around.  She introduces us to vegetables and fruits and herbs i've never seen.  Most of the traditional Thai vegetation i've eaten because I love Thai food, but they look so different cooked.  She shared a wealth of knowledge.  For example, I learned that when I want to make Som Tum, one of my favorite Thai dishes when I go home to the states, I will have to substitute cucumber for green papaya.

We were given time to mosey through the market to have a look, and then we all piled back into the truck and headed for Ann's home.  Her brother and dad helped transport all of us.

 First shot of the group; at an open air market.

Ann has a beautiful outdoor sitting area next to a lovely garden.  This is all situated right outside of a huge kitchen for groups of people and the family's home.

Apart from the one bump in the road (or two), we had a really great time.  Each person selects four dishes they want to make and a type of curry.  C and I each picked different dishes so that we could try as many things as possible.  It was more food than I could ever manage to eat.  By round three, I thought everyone at the table was going to explode.  I think one of the mouthy Americans did in the privacy of our host's toilet.  This same American requested chopsticks.  C and I tried to explain to him that the Thai people eat with a fork and spoon because the king decided silverware and tables and chairs were integral in developing Thailand.    

Som Tum or Papaya Salad (3 peppers)

Pad Thai, Fried Noodles

Nam phrik kang phanaeng, Phanaeng Curry

Tom Yum, Prawn Hot and Sour Soup 

A lot of the preparation was done individually.  Ann stood at the head of the table and showed ingredients and demonstrated the proper technique for cutting and readying our goods.  The curries were prepared in groups - curry is time consuming and involves a great deal of work.  Your meal selections determined in which group you were placed.  My group was great, the Russian woman, the German and the Frenchman - wink, wink.  Carey's group was pretty good.  She ended up with one of the English women, and was standing near the other.  These two women could have been a grown up version of Sophia Grace and Rosie, I told them as much. 

Phanaeng Curry Group

Spring Rollers frying up the goods.

Carey made the spring rolls and they were delicious.  Even she was impressed with herself.

I cannot say enough good things about this cooking class.  Anytime you can combine learning, food, and fun, its a win.  Ann's ability to balance professionalism and entertainment is unbelievable.  One of the women in our group is severely allergic to peanuts and Ann took such good care of ensuring there were no mishaps, and even had another dish the woman could fix to accommodate her food allergies.  I'm so thankful we were able to get in to one of these classes as quickly as we did, because I feel sure that soon you will have to book your spot far in advance.  There is just no way that Ann's success won't grow her business in no time.  

Check it out on Facebook: Zabb-E-Lee Thai Cooking School

Chiang Mai - Sak Yants

Sunday morning, we were up early because the lady at our hostel had arranged a ride to Doi Saket in search of a monk at a particular wat (temple) who could do sak yants (sacred designs), or traditional thai tattoos, for us.  Sak yants are a centuries old tradition in Thailand and Cambodia, influenced by a mix of spiritual traditions from Hinduism and Buddhism that offers protection and brings love and kindness, good fortune, courage, prosperity, and health to the wearer.  Following the five Buddhist precepts - refraining from killing, stealing, lying, sexual misconduct, and intoxication - keep the tattoo powerful.  I've got most of those in check.  I told my parents before I left for Thailand that I wanted a sacred tattoo and that I hoped to find a monk who would be willing to do it.  Mom wasn't happy about it, "Don't get tattoos." 

Monk's robes drying, a wat dog sunbathing, the beautiful golden spires of Thai wats.

It wasn't easy to find this temple, Wat San Makieng, where Phra Ajarn Thecharangsi lives, in the rural lands of Doi Saket.  Without the help of the woman at our hostel, and her friend Bon, who picked us up and drove tirelessly around the area, stopping to ask for directions, and continuing on, we never would have ever made it.  When we did, I was surprised by the simplicity of the temple.  It was small, beautiful, and blissfully quiet.  When I opened my car door, I wasn't sure if i'd be able to stand, I was so nervous.  We came upon a small circle of monks chatting.  Bon spoke with them and we were asked to come back Wednesday.  "We won't be here," I explained, "we go to Bangkok Wednesday."  After some more conversation with the men, Bon turned to us and said without question in his voice, "Ok, we come back tomorrow at 12:00."  That settles that. 

After Bon dropped us off, we did some more wandering and came across El Diablo Mexican Cantina and had a great lunch.  While we were there, we saw a peaceful protest by the Red Party.  Currently, political parties in Thailand are at a standstill and protests are happening, mostly in Bankok, but also in Chiang Mai and occasionally Phuket.  This is the only one i've seen.

On Monday, we made the drive again.  Bon behind the wheel, made all the turns he had the day before like he'd done it 100 times.  Before leaving the city, we had to gather our offerings: 2 bunches of bananas, 1 raw uncut coconut, 1 sack of rice, red cloth, white cloth, flowers with incense, and 370 baht (each).  Bon drove us to every stall where we could get the best price.  Without him, we never would have gotten through any of this.  

When we arrived, Carey and I entered the temple and knelt down in front of the golden Buddha with our offerings.  Although i'd originally considered valium or some other prescription medication, whilst en route, I opted out.  It didn't seem right trying to "live in the moment" under sedation.  I really wanted to take in the moment.  I sat cross legged, surrounded by all of the statues, and waited with my eyes closed, concentrating on my breathing and finding my center.  I found a strange sense of calm and knew that this was where I was supposed to be, and that doing this was right for more reasons that I had imagined.  We had the luxury of a quiet secluded temple, away from the rush and worries of the western world i've known all my life.  

So much gold to see...

Phra Ajarn's seat and our offerings amongst the Buddha statues in the temple.

Enter, a quiet monk, who has studied this art for an extremely long time, Phra Ajarn.  After he arranged our offerings in alms bowls and set up his equipment (sak yants are performed with bamboo sticks or long metal rods), he explained that it was time to make the offering by kneeling, head down, alms bowl outstretched to Buddha.  He chanted a prayer and began my sak yant.

Yes, the equipment was sterile, the ink new.  Surprisingly, to be honest, it was all very modern.  And, yes, it hurt.  This was, without a doubt the most painful thing I have ever experienced.  And also one of the best.  In all, it took about 40 minutes.  I wasn't zen, I wasn't in a trancelike state.  In fact, I did a lot of deep breathing, much how I imagine a woman in labor would breath.  Ok, maybe not quite like that, but lots of slow, deep breaths.  Some humming and singing (Adele - who else?).  Some stretching of the legs as I sat hunched over, my friend spreading the skin over my right shoulder blade.

Prayers and blessings were said by Phra Ajarn while he created my 'five lines.'  I found myself thinking (between 'fucks, shits, damns') that, "This is so surreal.  I've set out on this journey, i've created a new path for myself, and i'm living it."  That's what it means to me.  Its not just a tattoo I hastily selected and   had slapped on my body.  Not only was it something i'd been researching and wanting since i'd decided to move to Thailand, but it is now a symbol.  It symbolizes my strength, my courage, my independence, my experience.  Sometimes, we have a tendency to forget or overlook the parts of us that we have had to earn over time.  I embody strength, courage, independence, and more, and that's what this tattoo means to me.    

Just three days later on Koh Samui.

Being able to watch the sak yant appearing on Carey's back as she sat through her's was incredible.  They are all done free hand, each design as unique as its wearer, 2-3 pricks per second.  I was surprised by the level of pain afterwards.  It was sore for a day, and required regular applications of scent free lotion for a couple of weeks.  There was no bleeding or scabbing.  

Although I don't feel it physically anymore, I know it is there.  Whether or not it will protect me or bring me all the good things it is supposed to, I don't know.  But I do know I wouldn't trade it for anything - not the experience or the sacred design.  As far as my parents go, they don't love it.  And even though neither of them have ever loved tattoos, it's like dad said, "It's a different stage of life."  He couldn't be more right.

Chiang Mai - Night Market

The delay in this post is due to a couple things.  One, it was super involved putting all of the pieces of this puzzle together.  Two, I wanted to tell my parents about my new art before just throwing it out into the world wide web.  Apologies...

Before landing in Chiang Mai (we flew directly from Phuket), we had a few ideas of what we wanted to do: a cooking class, the night market, something with elephants at a rescue, and sak yants.  We hadn't made any set plans or reservations other than our hostel, just ideas of what we wanted to do.  It wasn't until after we arrived in Chiang Mai that we discovered that this is the norm and if you want to enjoy your vacation fully, just go with it, whatever it may be.

We arrived midday on a Saturday, hopped a cheap tuk tuk at the airport and made our way to our hostel, Chada House.

The hostel was run by a fascinating woman.  She is Thai, born and raised in Chiang Mai.  She seems not to be concerned with 'saving face' like most Thais, thus she speaks frankly.  She is kind, honest, helpful, and real.  She was a breath of fresh air.  I shared some pretzels with her one afternoon.  She was less than impressed, she told me as much.  The place itself was basic, the shower sucked, it was in a great location (though everywhere within the Chiang Mai square is within walking distance), and for the less than $20 we spent on our stay there, we really couldn't complain.  We decided, if we had known better, we wouldn't have paid the extra bucks for an AC room because it was unnecessary this time of year.  During our stay though, all of the staff was lovely and helpful.  Northern Thailand truly is the Land of Smiles.  

After dropping our things and putting on an extra layer (it was chilly), we just took a stroll to get the lay of the land.  We found a spot for lunch, The Corner, with a quaint outdoor dining area, perfect for people watching at the corner of a busy, but surprisingly quiet intersection.

The Corner, Chiang Mai

 The food (Thai noodles and a mixed vegetable dish) wasn't great, but the service was, and the location was just right because it was only a short walk from our hostel and gave us access to infinite modes of transportation.  We got in a tuk tuk to head to the train station so we could book our tickets south for the second half of our trip.  You cannot purchase tickets in advance unless you are at a train station.  There is no train station in Phuket, so after all the reading we had done, we thought for sure there would be plenty of time to get sleepers on the overnight train of our choosing.  Wrong.  Turns out, we had to cut our trip a day short and we spent all of Christmas day traveling instead of the 26th.  More on that nightmare later.

The gal at the hostel told us that the Saturday Market starts getting set up and going about 4:00-5:00 in the afternoon and goes well into the night.  The best advice I can give you is to go early.  If you want to go to the market and actually see what's being sold, you better not wait much past 6:00.  The later it gets, the busier it gets and the more aggressive the crowds become.  We wandered over, just outside of the city walls, about 4:30, and yes, many vendors were still setting up, but we missed nothing.

One of the city gates.

In fact, we saw far more than we would have had we not gotten there as early as we did.  I cannot begin to describe all of the things you can buy at the market.  I bought a pair of awesome genie pants (my second pair), a bell (found hanging at wats, generally purchased to honor and bless someone you love), a small figurine for one of the best women I know who collects elephants, a small original painting by a local artist, and a couple postcards.  I had to fight the urge to buy one of the blankets made by the Hmong hill tribes.  Next time..

Credit to http://lannacharmwholesalehomedecor.ecrater.com

Anything you want, you can find, though I never found a wallet I wanted.  Commercialized goods all the way to handmade crafts and traditional Thai trinkets.  Get ready to bargain and don't be afraid to walk away if you're not satisfied with the price.  You'll see whatever it is again in the next 20 feet.  My favorite part of the market was the sidewalk massages.  Shops set up mats with pillows and blankets right out on the streets and go to it.  This was the first massage of several Carey and I indulged in on our trip.  It was also the most unique.  We were positioned on our stomachs next to one another, parallel to the street, as the two Thai women who worked on our backs chattered happily away and crowds passed by curiously.  You can hear the sounds of the market and the people all around you and you're just there, in it, in the elements.  It was strange and unexpectedly soothing.  It cost $1.80 for 30 minutes.  

Food, food, and more food.  Fruit, vegetables, fish, noodles, rice, huge blocks of jiggly black stuff, spring rolls, gyoza, corn, corn, and more corn.  I watched a lady make some kind of meatballs by squeezing a mass of meat mixture through her fist and pinching the blobs off into some kind of hot liquid like she'd been doing it her whole life.  And, perhaps she had.  Some of it looked amazing, the enormous mounds of rice and noodles, the sweets.  Some of it was less than appetizing.  I considered eating a bug just to say I had, but really, why would anyone want to do that?  They had them.. crickets, scorpions, things I can't name.  

The streets in Chiang Mai are all narrow, and where the market is set up, is no exception.  From a stall on the left side, to a stall on the right side, may have been 12 of my little steps across.  Imagine my surprise (and heartbreak) when we began to come across people seated in the street.  This was the worst part for me.  Here, in the tiny streets of Chiang Mai's bustling night market, you find the poor, the blind, the disfigured, the mentally ill, children dressed up and singing with no joy in their voice or happiness in their eyes, a row of four or five men with varying handicaps playing handmade instruments to passersby.  Was it hard to see?  Of course it was.  But the truly hard part for me, is not in their state of being or their physical appearance, but in the lack of resources that I know exist in Thailand to help these people.  I couldn't help but wonder, where do you go at the end of the night?  How do you eat?  Who takes care of you?  How did you get here?  How do you stay warm?  I can still see them when I close my eyes.  I don't think i'll ever be able to forget them.  A crusade more than worth fighting but one that could not be won.  In my heart i'd like to fight it, but cannot foresee winning.  Not in Thailand.  Not yet.