Today, for the next 4 minutes anyway, is celebrated as the King of Thailand's birthday. He was born in 1927 in Massachusetts of all places, and is revered as more than royalty. He's reached god-like status.
So I celebrated in true fashion: by doing more Christmas shopping (which was a brilliant success!). While at the night bazaar, I listened to fireworks over my head, but couldn't see them. We were at a stall that had a TV in it, and stopped to watch the live festivities going on at the Grand Palace where thousands of devote Thais gathered to celebrate and honor the birthday boy's 83rd birthday.
Happy birthday king of Thailand, father of the Siamese, Bhumibol Adulyadej. You have my utmost respect.
I went Christmas shopping last night in the Central department store, which is like the Macy's of the mall in America. With that in mind, think about shopping there for seasonal things as opposed to, say, the Dollar Tree. You catch my drift? When a decent tree and ornaments cost well over a hundred dollars, my wallet threatens to leave me.
But that's not what is so sad. Shopping for Christmas decorations for my apartment is just a reminder -- a BIG reminder -- that I'll be alone for Christmas. That I won't be home with family for Christmas. That I won't be surrounded by friends that I grew up with. That the lack of cold weather, freezing hands, and icy roads completely voids any semblance for Christmas no matter how many wreaths and bells I scatter around my apartment.
These were my thoughts as I spent over 2,000 baht on decorations that I didn't even have the heart to buy with joyful anticipation. That is why they are still sitting in two huge bags in my living room. That is why I need to wait until I have energy to put them up without feeling completely sorry for myself.
I never thought I would be sad -- actually sad about spending Christmas away from family; away from the familiar. I guess the gypsy life does have its drawbacks.
This last week I began an honest search for a second-hand bookstore here in Bangkok that sold books in English. My search brought me to Dasa (with an accent over the first 'a'). While I didn't spend a lot of time here, I'm sure I'll be back very soon. They have a vast array of books in English -- they're not just the random books no one ever hears of -- and three floors of them. :)
Love #1: books
My hunt for books came when I realized that a family in our church needs some good reading material to keep them busy on slow days. I was starting to think I would have to order these books online, but low and behold here they were on the second floor in the children's section: The complete Chronicles of Narnia in one book. I casually browsed for several other authors and found several Christian ones I like. Since I didn't want to take back so many books (they are quite heavy), I just bought three.
The first one: Chronicles of Narnia. Mission accomplished. The second one: ....something about beauty and truth? Okay, so I don't remember the title, but that's only because the cover looked interesting and was a complete impulse buy. Impulse buys on books never turn out satisfying, so I'm crossing my fingers. The third one: The Highlord. Definitely a surprise. You see, I started this trilogy at my aunt and uncle's place this summer, but since the books are all over 500 pages each, I only made it through the first two and left before getting into the third book. Would you believe it, Dasa only had the third book in stock! God's pretty amazing to give me a treat like that (even though it's not a Christian book and is all about magicians.....hmm, does that mean it's not from God?). In any case, I'm pretty excited to start it even though it'll have to wait until I have free time, and not at midnight like it is now.
Love #2: coffee
That's right folks, this bookstore has a coffee shop. There is a very limited set of drinks, but it is good to go. No chai, however, which would make this the perfect place to be if it had that autumn-spicy goodness.
Love #3: home
So strange, but for the twenty minutes I was in there, I didn't feel like I was in Bangkok surrounded by strangers. I felt like I was home in a local bookstore in Salem, Oregon. Downtown Salem is quite quaint, and there's this little coffee shop called Governor's Cup that serves excellent chai. I felt like I was there -- only surrounded by books. There was just this eclectic vibration throughout the entire place that told me to pull up a chair, order an espresso, and open up a good book. And it felt like Oregon.
Today I had my first Thailand dental experience. It was torture. Not like torture. It was torture.
When I sat down in the reclining chair and waited as they slowly tipped it back, I wondered why we were in a closed room with no windows. I wondered why there were three masked and gloved women in the cramped space with me. I wondered why they were putting a dark cloth over my face. But I sat there like a fool waiting for my death.
And then it happened.
All the drill sounds you hear in horror flicks when a person is gagged and about to have something vital cut off start whirling right above of my gaping mouth. And then the torture began.
With my face completely covered, save my mouth (you thought I was exaggerating, didn't you?), I heard a number of whirling gadgets -- none of which contained the appropriate toothpastey stuff normally found on whirling gadgets. She poked and prodded in my mouth, showered my teeth with liters of water (trying on the metric system for size, how am I doing?), and didn't even bother sucking it out with that other tube that was hanging out at the back of my throat with my uvula. I swear, she nearly attached that thing to my soft pallet and forgot about the water and saliva pooling at the base of my tongue. I ended up swallowing it until she was done with the dry tooth-cleaning. The scraping of metal against my teeth was worse than nails on a chalkboard -- not only did I hear the atrocious sound, I also had to endure the feel of it against my teeth. Now I'm wondering if the two other girls in attendance could tell how much I was cringing under the face cloth by the clutching of my hands in my lap.
Just as I was ready to rip the cloth off of my face, all the while surprised my arms weren't tied down, I felt it lifted off of me, and the bright light from the dentist lamp shone down on me. I was advised to spit and rinse my mouth. No thanks, I've already swallowed it already.
But wait, there's more.
The 'regular' teeth-cleaning portion began, complete with face cloth, water, and the reuniting of my soft pallet and the sucky tube. The distinct feeling of actual paste against my teeth was a blessed relief. At least this was something I was familiar with. I waited in darkness for it to all be over; feeling exposed, vulnerable, and not the least comfortable. Finally, the cloth was removed for the last time and a mirror was shoved in my hand. I was instructed to open my mouth again so the dentist could point out the cleanliness of my teeth, but I was distracted by all the greyish spots around my mouth, arms, and even a little on my clothes. The crusty paste had seeped into my deepest pores. I ground my teeth and immediately felt it everywhere. No amount of rinsing could cleanse me of the horrific memory of such a deed.
I left directly after I paid. Why I paid for such torture, I will never know. And what do you suppose I did when I left that unassuming horror show? Stuff my face with dinner. And dessert.
Much has happened and much is unaccountable about Thailand life (I have you know I've started several blogs but haven't quite gotten around to posting them; this means that one of these days there will be 5 posts and all of them old news).
Here is one small snippet though: shopping is so cheap here in SE Asia (including in the Philippines), that I may never buy clothes in the States again. I just went on a weekend shopping spree and came back from the market with two dresses, a pair of sandals, and a gold necklace/bracelet/ring -- all for less than 1000 baht (for those unfamiliar with the baht/dollar exchange rate, it's about $30). A deal? I think so.
And this is just a normal weekend. I can easily buy a dress a week and be happy. In fact, I'm pretty sure I do. So far I have two 'Ali Bubba' pants, a half dozen dresses, two more 'fun pants,' two pairs of sandals, a honkin gold necklace/choker, and two gold-leaf wrist bands. There's probably more in my closet, but it's midnight and I'm too lazy to actually open my wardrobe to see all my goodies.
You see, I shop for any reason possible. I shop after I just get paid, I shop when I'm happy, I shop when I'm stressed, I shop when I'm depressed, I shop for clothes when I go to get groceries. Is it a disease? Perhaps. But whatever it is, I want to catch it and never let go. My mom warned me about spending too much, but truthfully, (and more so here in Thailand), I don't spend more than $8 on anything. Anything. My dresses have all been $7, my sandals have been $3.50, and my jewelry has been $6. I am a well-kept woman with an eye for sales. And the best part of all: every item has been bought from a market. I love market shopping because you can haggle prices. It is the best place to shop for clothes. It is the best place to shop for anything.
So who needs American prices or American brands? Give me a nameless dress any day for 200B and I'll be happy.
PS- I was at an early Halloween/costume party earlier tonight and realized that everything I was wearing was all bought here in Bangkok within the past month. That is awesome.
Last Friday was the night I fulfilled my goal of using all of Bangkok's modes of transportation.
So far the main mode of transportation I've utilized has been by far and away the taxi. Not as 'glamorous' as back in the States, when being able to even afford such a ride made me feel richer than a poor college student; however, here taxi rides (when shared with others) cost about the equivalent of about a dollar. But after about a hundred taxi rides to and from EVERYWHERE, they lose their appeal and become more cumbersome than exciting.
So besides the taxi there's also the sky-train and the subway (which I coincidentally took today too) -- the BTS and MRT, respectively. They are very clean and efficient, albeit a bit more expensive per person, but they definitely get you where you need to go in a fraction of the time. If I lived downtown (or close to it), I probably would use the BTS almost exclusively. It's the best way to avoid traffic, which I hate.
And of course there's the river taxis......it's just like it sounds -- a boat that provides transportation up and down the river. However, I must say that this is more like a river bus instead of a taxi. These boats can fit about a hundred people and it costs about 16 baht-ish. I took these when I went to the Grand Palace. It required going from taxi to BTS to river taxi, but eventually, I made it to the Palace (with much walking too!). I've only taken these to and from the the Palace (which I seriously doubt I'll be going back to anytime soon), so I think that'll be the last time on the river for a while.
Regular buses have become a frequent way of travel for me out in Bang Na. I usually take it a couple times a week at least. Mondays are Thai lesson days, so we usually hop on the 48 or 46 and ride down the dusty road to the YWAM about 15 minutes away, depending on traffic. And now that I know how 'quick' and cheap it is to take the bus, I take it to the mall. A lot. 8 baht goes a long way here.
But finally, against everything expats have been saying, I took a motorcycle taxi. The motorcycle taxi that people filled my mind for two weeks with morbid accidents and bodies being dragged down the highway or hands being clipped off by a passing semi. Yes, I took one of these. After a horrendous regular taxi ride that should have only cost me 45 baht since it was five minutes down the road, ended up costing me 120 baht and the guy didn't even drop me off at my destination because he had no idea where I wanted to go. Yup, he stopped and asked for directions twice -- by the second time, I got out and sat at the bus stop helplessly. Thank goodness for the moto-taxi driver chillin out there, otherwise I would have been screwed. I asked him if he knew where Bang Na Villa was, hopped on the back of his bike and we were off. Against 6 lanes of traffic. On the highway. He was surprisingly a very careful and gentle driver though, and took it easy on the rough parts. It totally wasn't as bad as everyone made it out to be, and I was thrilled to have gotten over my fear. I look forward to my next encounter. :)
Now that I've taken every mode of transportation available in Bangkok, I feel like a real Thai. I made sure to look like a pro on the back of the bike -- cool shades, Thai purse, and Thai sandals -- yup, I had it all figured out.
I'd like to say right now that I absolutely love my students. They are the bomb. Asian kids kick American kids butt. No lie.
Every day is a new experience, a new memory, a new cultural moment. I wish I remembered all of them, because, let's face it -- every single day I have a story to tell the girls after classes and soccer -- so there's no way to record all of them. Here's just a snapshot of a typical class period (I say 'typical' simply because something odd always comes up).
But I have a confession to make: I have a boyfriend.
I didn't know I had a boyfriend before that class came in for 5th period last week, but now apparently I am in a long-distance relationship with a buff, rich guy back in the States. They haven't figured out how we met yet, but we've been dating for two years and he's rich enough to buy me expensive jewelry (I just so happen to be wearing bling on my left ring finger).
They've established that he's buff because they think he might come over to visit me and beat them up if I tell him that the class has been giving me a hard time. Since last Friday, they've been asking me about him daily and want to see a picture of him. Since he doesn't exist, I really have nothing to show for our long, passionate relationship. Maybe he's not that photogenic...?
I'm trying to avoid the subject completely. It hasn't worked out so well for me. But let me start at the beginning.....
We were talking about journalism, and how as reporters we should use 'question words' as a way to organize our information before we write the article (if you don't know what they are, they're the 5 Ws and the H). One boy makes some smart alec remark, so I asked him if that's what he said to get a girl to go out with him. I was just giving him a hard time because they're 8th graders, and they shouldn't have girlfriend at this point. He ducked his head and mumbled that he didn't have a girlfriend (as I suspected). Well the class totally turned it on me, and asked if I have a boyfriend. Instead of immediately answering 'no' and moving on, I paused, and for some reason blushed. I don't have a boyfriend. Not here, not in the States, not anywhere around the world (ahem: now accepting applications for the position) JOKES. So there was absolutely no reason for me to blush.....and yet I couldn't stop smiling and stumbling over my words.
Of course this only fueled the kids more into believing that I really did have a beau back home and didn't want to talk about it. This started the barrage of questions in which the class innocently stated that they were just using the tools I taught them -- employing the 5 Ws and the H -- in order to get the big picture behind my supposed love life. I side-stepped most questions, preferring to let them reach their own conclusions by my silence or refusal to deny their assumptions. Still, my blushing continued. (Maybe because I secretly wanted to believe I had someone back home who cared for me in the romantic sense, and if these kids believed it, maybe I could as well).
Through the questions being thrown at me from all over the class room, and with my very vague and weak replies, they came to the conclusion that I do indeed have a boyfriend, we've been dating for 2 years, I met him in the States, and he is wealthy enough to buy me an expensive silver and diamond ring (since I was wearing one at the time on my left ring finger) that did NOT come with a marriage proposal.
Since I mentioned earlier that day that day that I am a good teacher and don't beat my students, they're afraid now that when my 'boyfriend' comes to visit, he'll do the beating for me. Now if my students were horrible little brats, that wouldn't be such a bad idea, but these kids are a dream compared to some of the students I dealt with back home. Rest assured, the beating of children will not take place on my watch. But I guess my boyfriend is the strong, muscular type. :) I am totally okay with that.
"So why did he pick you?" One boy piped up in the midst of the questions. Ouch. Don't rain on my parade so soon. This man is barely in existence, don't take him away from me already. "What do you mean, why did he pick me?" "No, no, I didn't mean it like that!" He apologized after the class swelled with side comments. "I mean, why did he choose to date you out of all the women." "You're not making it sound any better, Bob. You're making it sound like there is no reason why a man would want to date me." "Ugh, I don't mean it like that either." He hid his face in his backpack on the desk. I knew what he meant and laughed, as poorly-worded as it was. "I don't know. I never asked him. Maybe you can ask him that question sometime." "Is he coming here?" Another boy asked. "I don't know." How should I know?? I don't even know who this guy is. "Maybe you should ask him to come. If you've been dating for two years, why won't he visit you?"
Yes, they really asked these questions.
But now my lovely little reporters are demanding pictures and a name. My other class also thought I had a boyfriend and that his name was "Ben" -- don't ask me where they came up with this. However, this class was not as interested in delving into my personal make-believe life. However, I am perfectly fine with having a boyfriend named Ben since I don't know any Ben's that would taint the name for me. Unfortunately, I have no pictures of this dream-boat.
*Note: names have been changed to protect the identity of my students and to ensure I won't get sued by the school or their parents.
I never would have been the one to champion American way of life as better than another. But living here in Thailand for a month now (and the Philippines for a month before that), I've come to miss how we do things in America.
1. When it comes to service in restaurants, I haven't found better service than in the States. Even when it's Denny's or Sheri's -- they are always coming by to check on you or refill your glasses. Here (even in nice restaurants) they give you the menu and stand there waiting until you are ready to order (which makes you nervous so you speed up and pick a picture that looks good); then they bring your meal and your drinks out at the same time. Never again will you see them until you ask for the check. That's right, they won't bring it by a half hour later for your convenience. When bringing out the food, they set it on the table in front of the person closest to them and expect us to pass it down to the right person -- they don't memorize who ordered what like in the States.
2. When it comes to service in stores/department stores there is probably one worker per customer there (even though we both know that they are standing around doing absolutely nothing on their cell phones), and with them hovering over you in an effort to get the commission of your sale, you get too frazzled and can't actually concentrate on what style of clothing you like. Either you refuse to touch something because you know they'll try to get you to try it on, or you pick up the closest item on a hanger just to look like you are interested; never mind the fact that it's about two generations too old for you and a size 2. As a customer, you don't want to look disinterested, so you become fascinated in everything. I hate being that person. I hate even more the incessant hovering. All I need is a "Hello, welcome to _____" at the door, then leave me alone until I need you.
3. Ever heard of a return policy?? Yeah, they don't care so much for that here. I bought a curtain to use as a room divider on a Sunday, realized it was the wrong size, so I tried returning it the next day and they would not refund me my money. I know I can't expect the whole 90-day return policy most of America is used to, but it was the next day, and they still refused to give me my money back. I offered them my next option I was willing to accept (yeah....I totally was not in a position to demand anything at this point): in-store credit. I tried exchanging the purchase, but they were actually out of the size I wanted, so I told them I didn't mind doing in-store credit so I could come back and get the proper size once they restocked. No can-do. They only thing they offered me was to find something of the same monetary value to exchange. That way, money wouldn't be swapped either way. At this point, I wasn't even interested in anything in the store. I would have been if they were more cooperative, but no, I wanted nothing to do with them. So I wandered around the store for 20 minutes trying to cool off and decide what I actually needed so I could spend that money wisely. Long story short, the whole exchange took at least 40 minutes and 3 workers before I could leave with the purchase I wasn't even happy with. It was quite evident that their store policy was not customer-oriented.
America, land that I love, thank you for caring about me. Thank you for allowing me to criticize you openly in an effort to improve life.
I miss your healthy habits in which valuing the customer is a priority.
First off, let me apologize for the tremendous lack of posts in the last couple weeks -- I keep sitting down to write one, then get distracted. You know how it is living and working on the other side of the world.....sometimes you gotta live it rather than write about it.
I honestly haven't written in so long, I don't know where to start. How bout I start with these last couple days of teaching and work my way back to Thai culture in general (and how it pertains to me specifically).
Today we had a test -- no, more like a quiz -- in the vocabulary we've been studying these last couple weeks. I teach 8th graders, and in many ways these kids are much like typical 8th graders in the states. In fact, in my first class of the day, a couple boys showed their true age when in the middle of the 5-minute journal writing time, I look up and see a boy with grey underwear on his head. And I'm not talking laying neatly on the top of his head -- it is pulled down like a bonnet. I laughed and asked him why his underwear is on his head instead of in his pants. All the boys are laughing at this point too, and the boy says that they aren't his. When I ask why he has someone else's underpants are on his head he points to the boy behind him and says that he got it from him. So I question the 2nd boy why he's giving his underwear away and if they're clean. He could barely breathe, he's laughing so hard, but he says that he took them from another boy's locker so he wouldn't have clean underwear to put on after gym class.
Mature? I think not.
Hilarious? Most definitely.
About 20 minutes later, the same two boys are arguing over who is more Asian.
THEY ARE BOTH FULL-BLOODED ASIAN.
Underwear-boy says he looks more Asian because he's more tan and his eyes squint more since he's Korean. Underwear-stealer said that he is more Asian because he's more culturally aquainted with Asian culture being Chinese by birth, but Thai by culture.
To break the tie, and based solely on appearances, I had to bestow the honor of "looking more Asian" to Underwear-boy. (Fun fact: 'bestow' was one of our vocab words on the quiz today.)
I thoroughly stumped the class though when I said, "I bet you didn't know I was Asian too."
The class had the automatic response of, "Whaa.....??"
"What did you think I was?" I said.
Underwear-boy says, "I thought you were Mexican."
Underwear-stealer pipes in with, "Yeah, or at least Latin-blooded." (Latin-blooded?)
Good grief. I'm not even recognized by my own kind. And worse, not accepted as such. Even the other halfsie (half-and-half) in the class who doesn't have the Thai features but the Thai skin tone is seen as more Thai than anything else.
***
How can I universally be seen as Mexican?? We don't even have Mexicans here to compare me with.
But anyway.....These 8th graders who can be so childish and act their age one minute can turn around and act like the academically-crazed Asians that we all know and love. With even the mention of the test, they ask a million questions about how many questions their are, is it multiple choice, will we need to spell out the word, if we get just part of the question wrong is it only half a point, do we need to know the parts of speech....and on and on and on.
I hadn't even handed out the quiz at that point.
These kids worry too much. Just do your best. Don't be stupid. Sound out the words. Remember what we've been doing for two weeks. You look like you're about to have a panic attack, and we haven't even started yet. Do you need to lie down for a minute? Smelling salts? (yes, they carry these with them).
Somehow it took over ten minutes to explain the very simple instructions. How can this be difficult?
1. Write the word down as I say it it.
2. Write the POS (part of speech) that it is.
3. Define the word, making sure it still coincides with the POS.
4. Fill in the blank with the correct vocab word.
5. Extra credit available if you want.
Seriously, they needed to know every possible hypothetical situation imaginable. It's students on academic steriods.
They didn't do as bad as they thought. Then again, I haven't exactly graded the quizzes yet. But after they were done, they said it was easy. That better mean they got 100%.
I know what you're thinking -- it's the middle of August, it's not Mother's Day -- but here in Thailand, it is Mother's Day. And the queen's birthday. Coincidence? I think not.
Thursday, August 12 is the queen's birthday, and to celebrate we took both Thursday and Friday off of school. Considering we've only had 5 days of school so far, it was a pleasant surprise to have such a long break so early in the school year. But I couldn't take a break; not yet. I went in to school to work on my classroom on Thursday, and even though it didn't feel like I accomplished a lot, in the four hours I was there I managed to complete two weeks-worth of lesson plans. I am still no closer to figuring out the curriculum map, but at least I know what I'll be doing for two weeks. After doing some classroom decorating, I decided to call it quits and grab some dinner. Upstairs. Literally, the restaurant is called "Upstairs". And just before I got there, I realized I had locked my school keys in my classroom. It's a good thing I got so much done. So now God was forcing me to take a break and have fun. Okay Lord, I get the picture. :) I will try to have fun.Dinner, however, was amazing -- I paid the equivalent of $9 for a steak dinner. And I had an excellent view of the gym and those frequenting the gym. :)
Friday was fun-day, and it was a day of exploring part of the downtown area. I wanted to go to the ritzier part of town, so dressing up was in order. Of course, by the time I got dressed up (complete with make-up) and looking amazing, we walked out of our apartments and into the rain. It would rain on my parade. Not one to let weather control my mood, I was still quite happy, and ready to explore. We made it to the Siam mall (can't remember what it's called) and walked around. I picked out several choice rings my future fiance could possibly propose with, and found the perfect silk shop to buy Christmas gifts in (if I were rich). The girls and I decided to make the trip worth it, and go to Ocean World in the basement of the mall. Sketch, one would think, but it was totally worth the 525 baht I paid. There were over 3,000 varieties of fish including sharks, eels, and sting rays. A shark and I bonded through the glass, I made kissy faces to about 4 different fish, and got sprayed in the face at a 4-D movie. Afterwards, we searched for the Pratunum Market several blocks down the road and quite literally stumbled upon it. I thought we had a few more blocks to go, and then all of a sudden the sidewalk turned into a sea of sellers and their wares. Open markets are pretty much the same throughout Bangkok, (this coming from someone who's only been to a couple legit markets), but once you've seen one, you've seen them all. They have the same layout, the same items for sale, but it is still fascinating walking through them! The one thing that was odd was that there was an abundance of hair for sale. I have no idea if it was real or not (it sure looked real), but there was ponytail after ponytail, stall after stall of hair for sale. And the costumes -- wow. I think if I ever decided to join a cabaret, I could stock my entire wardrobe from this market alone. There were feather head pieces, masks, and shimmering tube-tops galore. Although I didn't make my purchases from these stalls, I did buy a few gifts and whatnot before it was time to head out to meet up with another friend for dinner. We ended the night with a quick stop at the Thai version of Wal Mart for some random household goods.
Saturday was an adventure of transit. It's 11:56pm so the day is almost gone. However, we started a late morning with a hop from taxi to skytrain. So far so good. But when we changed lines, we got on the train going the wrong direction and ended up one stop farther in the other direction. After getting kicked off the train, we had to sheepishly pull out our maps and look like the typical lost tourist. Finally I gave up and asked a worker which train we were supposed to get on in order to get to Hua Lamphong. Wouldn't you know it, we were going to have to get on another skytrain then switch to the subway to make it to Chinatown. Subway, here I come! After taking the longest escalator in the world down several stories and taking a bumpy ride through the tunnels, we finally emerged into smoggy air at Hua Lamphong. Since we had no idea which way the entrance to the subway was facing, and since our map was less than helpful, we spent another five minutes trying to figure out which way to go from the station. We finally gave up and followed a Thai sign that looked like it was pointing to Chinatown and their temples. It wasn't until several blocks down the road that we realized there was no hope of us finding the alley-market on our own, so we buckled down and got a tuk-tuk. Something I disdained simply because it was so touristy. I live here. I'm not a tourist, despite what the map, sparkly purse, and aviator sunglasses say. So I grudgingly paid the 40 baht and climbed in, ready to be a spectacle for Thais crowding the streets. The ride took longer than I thought, further reassuring me that it was, in fact, a good idea to get help finding the market after all. When we finally found it, wandering the market quickly told us that this market is much like the others, only with some small twists. Most things were sold in bulk, and some sellers were unwilling to sell things individually. I attempted to buy a pair of sandals, but the man said I'd have to buy the whole pack of six. Why would I need six pairs of the same flip flops?? And the jewelry -- I have never seen such a density of cheap costume jewelry and hair accessories in all my life. Would I buy these plastic knock-offs? No, but it was overwhelming to experience. The food carts along the road were quite fantastic, however, and I succeeded in finding coke-in-a-bag, spring rolls, and fried dumplings. It was wondrous. The night ended with Mexican dinner with a co-worker and his family and a discussion about soccer, students, and Phuket. I fell in love with their baby boy and contemplated kidnapping him.
No worries though, I haven't stolen any children...
Thailand, I have found, is a lefty-friendly country. Of course, I've only been here a week so they could very easily be just as righty-friendly as well.
So far I've witnessed and experienced driving on the left side of the road (which, if you're sitting in the 'passenger' side like I did yesterday you'd experience a mini panic for not having a steering wheel in front of you). It is a very awkward thing to be in the front seat with the driver to the right of you.
Along with driving on the left side, you also pass on the left side -- this makes the awkward passing dance infinitely more interesting when you take a step to the right, fake to the left, pirouette with a cart to the right again, then give up and climb the walls just to get around them. All the while, these Thai people stare at you like you're slow.
Another thing that is generally kept on the left side is the toilet paper. This may not be a big deal to you, but it was a pleasant surprise to have the roll on the left side of the toilet.
However, the one thing that ISN'T lefty-friendly is oddly enough their vegetable peeler. I bought a fancier one than I usually use simply because it had a blade on one side and it looked cool. Wouldn't you know it, it can only be used by right-handed individuals. What is with the discrimination??
So while I figure out how to use the peeler like most average people do, I'm going to concentrate on more important things -- like how to decorate an apartment when the walls are two-toned.
It's true. Today's the big day. The day that will most likely change my life.
Well......it's the start of a long line of life-changing experiences. I've had a few of those already; like the time I randomly chose to attend Western Oregon University; or the time I called up my mom and told - not asked- her that I was going abroad to do Camp Adventure (when they say adventure, they mean adventure!); or that time I professed to my entire neighborhood (which is no small feat) that I had a crush on Michael King.
Okay, so the last one wasn't quite a life-changing experience, but it was the first time I ever had a crush on someone and I was six. I think that's impressive.
But today.....oh today. It is going to be grand. I am still suffering from jet lag from my last adventure across the Pacific, I haven't slept in 24 hours, and packing anxiety has sent me hurling over the edge of reason, BUT I am ready to fly out of here at 11:30am for the orient. More specifically, Bangkok.
I AM MOVING TO BANGKOK TODAY!!
I will be going to the airport in an hour and a half, and taking a jet plane bound for the land of giant Buddhas, the king of Siam, and spicy phad thai.
*blogs will be few and far between for the next several weeks (as they have been for these past several weeks, of which I apologize profusely), but I will do my best. What irony -- the time when my life changes so dramatically is when I won't have the time to keep you updated on said changes....I'm sure it won't be anything like The King and I or Bridget Jones: Edge of Reason, but I shall keep my eye out for any opportunity I'll have to sing and dance with the king or get mistakenly thrown into an all-female prison.
It comes as no surprise that the Philippines is hot, humid, and otherwise wet. It also comes as no surprise that the city smells as a result of the heat, humidity, and....wetness (which more often than not really just plain sweat).
What is a surprise, however, is just how bad the stench is. As we all know, smell has a direct line to memories and can bring up things from the past -- both good and bad. The smell of metro Manila is very distinct, and even though it's been over 16 years since I've been here, the moment those airport doors swung open and that refreshing gust of memories assailed my senses, I knew I was in the right place. This city's odor is wondrous mixture of gasoline, body odor, and sewage/urine. Quite unique, it is a smell I've never forgotten. Add that to skin that is constantly damp, and you have yourself an instant body spray that'll never leave you (so to speak).
It doesn't seem like anyone notices the smell. Really, the only way I do is when I consciously think about it. Oddly enough, it doesn't bother me in the slightest....it's kinda reassuring actually. It's a good reminder of where I am. The gasoline comes from the abundance of vehicles on the road -- everything from buses, cars, jeepneys, tricycles, taxis, etc -- is in excess. If they cut out even a third of service vehicles from use, not only would people be able to get around quicker on the unclogged roads, but they wouldn't have extra cars lying around for no reason wasting resources.
Body odor -- I think that one is self explanatory. I've found Filipinos are very hard workers even without the incentive of money (which is so ironic in a country that has an overwhelming amount of people living well below the poverty line). Not wanting to waste money on such things as deodorant or body spray, their body odor can become quite....distinct.
Sewage/urine seems to run in the streets these days. Not joking. Sewage is everywhere. Due to the fact that it rains nearly everyday, things tend to flood into the streets on a regular basis. And due to this fact, it makes everything smell like sewage. Also, I've stopped keeping track of how many little boys and men I've seen peeing on the side of a building or bush. Apparently toilets are more of an accessory rather than necessity. In fact, I've also seen several signs meant to stop people from peeing in public places such as this one:
I know it's in Tagolog, but trust me, it means: "Please do not urinate here"
And this is the smell I am surrounded by day in and day out. It's quite homey.
I don't think Filipinos understand the concept of blended drinks. Here I am in an artsy little shop ordering a blended latte and all the barista behind the counter does is put my iced latte that she already made into a blender and hands it to me. I would have faired just as well if she forgot about the blender and gave me the iced coffee. Strangely enough, she acted like she didn't understand what I was asking -- which I find incredibly hard to believe considering everyone speaks English and she's catering to a crowd that adores blended drinks. Oh well, I'll just have to think of it as an iced latte.
But, on the positive side, I did just have my first ever cupcake. We're not talking any old made-from-a-box-mix or buy-from-Safeway kind of cupcake -- we're talking about a CUPCAKE.
From the world famous been-featured-in-several-magazines shoppe Cupcakes. It's a typical little specialty shop, specializing in what else? cupcakes. But this little bistro is decorated oddly enough as a throw back to the 1950s USA. Not something you find everyday in Manila, Philippines. But again, from where I sit in a plush outdoor shopping plaza, they are catering to the rich American tourist.
I obviously don't belong here, but don't tell. There's a security guard standing twenty feet away from me.
We're not talking annoyed, maybe a little upset, or even frustrated. We're talking I'm-so-mad-I-can't-remember-what-it's-like-to-even-fake-smile kind of mad.
And the easiest way to see this flip side of me is to treat me like a child and take away my right to make decisions on my own. We're talking deciding anything. Because apparently I am not old enough to make basic decisions on my own, such as when to eat, what time to go to bed, or where to stand on a sidewalk. Last time I checked, I'm 25 -- I can rent a car, buy my own house, and, oh yeah, move to another country on my own.
Let me detail this out, just in case you're tempted to treat me this way or are frightfully concerned that you might have already done it: 1. "Come eat Lissa, you haven't had lunch yet." You're right, I haven't. But that's because I had breakfast an hour ago. 2. "What? You're going to the market on your own? You don't know how to get there." Of course I do, I'm not an idiot; we were there last week. 3. "How are you going to get there?" By taxi. I'm no country bumpkin -- I can flag a taxi, tell him where I want to go, and pay -- all on my own. 4. "What do you want to order [food]? I'll get it for you." Thanks for the offer, but they speak English. I speak English. I think we'll get along just fine. 5. "You want to rest? Go downstairs and nap." I just woke up three hours ago. I'm not sleepy, and I didn't come here to sleep. 6. "How are you going to shop/pay for that?" (at an open market) Does it look like I'm five? I have money, and money talks. Besides, I haggle better in English. If they want to make a sale, they'll lower their price. 7. "Here, stand here." What difference does it make if I stand here or two feet away? I won't get lost. 8. "You'll want to use this straw -- it's still wrapped in plastic." I think I'll take my chances with this straw that's only wrapped in paper. 9. "Don't talk when we get in the taxi; they'll charge us more." It's a metered taxi, there's no way to charge us more just because we're speaking English. Have more faith in your countrymen. Besides, it's not like I can hide my American side. 10. "Why are you walking so far ahead?" Because you're walking too slow. We want to get there today right? 11. "What? You think you can go there on your own?" Contrary to this time-warped belief, I actually do things without someone walking me through it. Let me reiterate: We all speak the same language. 12. "Does [the rash] flare up on her hands a lot?" (doctor says to my mother who insisted on following me into the doctor's office) Hello? I'm sitting a foot away from you, I'm the patient, and I also communicate in English. Would you mind directing all your questions to me? 13. "You want to go to the beach -- here, tell your mother you want to go. Umm...why do I need to run this by her again? I'm pretty sure I can make up my own mind on this one, and if I want to go, I don't need her permission. Thanks for the suggestion though. 14. "Kick the door open, you don't want to use your hand." Yes I do want to use my hand. If I need to, I have hand sanitizer in my purse. 15. "Lissa, hurry get under the umbrella, it's raining." I know it's raining, that's why I'm out here. I like tropical rain.
So please, for the sake of both of us, don't push me down this road. I'd like to not kill you. The moment you start making decisions for me without my input is the moment I cannot guarantee your safety.
It's amazing how many security guards they employ in the Philippines. You wouldn't think security would be needed for McDonald's or the local bakery, but Filipinos do. Walk into any mall (which by the way is distinct according to social class) and there will be at least one guard at the entrance to check shoppers' bags/purses/backpacks for....I don't know, a bomb maybe? But even within the mall at almost every store inside you are almost sure to spot a man or woman in white uniform complete with handcuffs, walkie-talkie, club, and the too-frequent gun.
More often than not the security guard acts as a macho janitor -- opening doors for customers, cleaning away trays left on the tables, and giving general directions to passersby.
For a country that is so poor with an economy worse than the States, it's a wonder they can afford a million guards who stand around all day and do absolutely nothing.
My mom bought me three hankies today. You might not think it's a big deal; you might even think that that's only something that old-fashioned people use.
You. Are. Wrong.
I've been in the Philippines for two and a half weeks now. During that time I am quite certain that I've produced fully one gallon of sweat. There is absolutely no way to stop it. Truthfully I'm not even exerting energy because it's so hot out, but the sweat still comes.
There are only three ways I've found to keep cool: 1. Driving around in air-conditioned cars which include: taxis, personal cars, and driving services. Considering how much time we actually spend driving it really amounts to considerable non-sweat moments. Traffic is horrendous at all hours of the day and night, so it takes forever to get anywhere. But that's a story for another time.
2. Going to malls. Which, considering they're as common as churches in America, it's quite easy to immerse myself in one mall or another. I'm quite certain that 90% of the Filipinos frequenting the shopping centers are really only there for the air-conditioning. I mean let's face it -- they don't have the money to spend on shopping frivolously every single day. A good number of these people are jobless. It's amazing how nice and cool these malls are -- even when they're packed with Filipinos in every corner.
3. Lay naked in front of a fan. Now I haven't tried this yet, but I've thought about it every single day. But I'd look like a beached whale sprawled out on the bed. It's not even my bed, it's my kid cousin's. And he has a tendency to burst into the room at any given moment.
So for now, I'll make good use of my hankies to wipe my brow, my neck, my back, etc. Besides, it's become something of a fashion statement here in the Philippines. And I like to stay current with the times and people I'm surrounded by. Aside from that, I am making good use of a good ole fashion hand-fan. You know the kind: they use them in all those southern movies all the time. I feel like I've stepped back in time with my farming hankies and belle fans.
I don't understand how I can stick out so much here in the Philippines -- as if my very attire screams "I'm an American!" It's not that I mind being American, in fact I love it, but I'm also half Filipino, and I wish I could show it more while I'm in the midst of fellow Filipinos. I should fit in somewhere, right?
But I don't.
Women here tend to wear the more fitted tops that almost always have sleeves. Tank-tops or spaghetti strapped dresses aren't as popular as it is in the States. This is quite ironic considering the climate year-round is perfect for loose, airy clothing. Shorts or short skirts also aren't as prevalent as I thought they'd be. Everyone wears long jeans -- even when it's a sweltering 90* with 80% humidity.
Because people have the good sense to stay in air conditioned areas as much as possible, it's quite common to see people wearing long sleeves or jackets. I will never adopt this habit while I'm living in the tropics. And I trust you to hold me to this.
Back to women's clothing....it's so incredibly average -- nothing you wouldn't see in any US city. So this still makes me ponder all the more why I look so different. Is it my colorful dresses? The fact that I'm baring my shoulders? Or the excessive amount of underarm fat that refuses to hide within my tops? Believe me, I'm a clumsy looking walrus compared to these spiffy-dressed mini penguins. They're tiny and look sharp. I'm blubbery and look....messy.
I don't get it.
I find myself quite fashionable -- at least I did back in the States. Now I see myself as a sloppy dresser, preferring looser tops and dresses to the form-fitting style that's so in style here in the Philippines.
Where women show off their curves, men tend to hind in their overly-baggy clothes. The tops for commoners tend to be two to three sizes too big, and even pants are worn overly loose. For the trendier male, v-necks are highly fashionable, as well as tighter jeans. I guess some things don't change from country to country.
If cleanliness is next to godliness then Filipinos are damned. So to speak.
I have found it nearly impossible to remain clean during my month-long expedition in the city of Manila. Of course, I'm applying my high-and-mighty American standard of cleanliness mixed in with my mild case of OCD standard of cleanliness. Let's just say it doesn't paint as luxurious a picture of the tropics as one would hope. Don't get me wrong, I am enjoying my stay here tremendously, but every time I look around the city I am appalled with how much disease and filth the average Joe is carrying on their person. I manage to hide this judgment by feigning disinterest or by hastily putting my sunglasses on so people can't see my expression.
Am I a spoiled American? Yes, I most certainly am.
Does this distress me? More than I can say. In fact, I am very disappointed with my inner reaction.
Well, I saw white people. Yesterday in fact. I've been here almost a week now, and this was the first time I saw people who weren't brown (excluding my cousin-in-law who is a Brit). I also saw a black guy and quite a few Chinese people. Where can you find so much ethnic diversity in the Philippines, you ask? Well in the enormous ritzy shopping mall located in the ritzy business/commercial district, of course.
Metro-Manila area comprises almost a dozen cities where it is common to live on one side of the city and work on the opposite side. My uncle is a prime example of this. He lives in a gated, rather posh, community that is located near the middle- and lower-class, but works an hour away (depending on traffic) smack dab in the middle of the commercial district. His neighborhood is evidence of just who is above who (in terms of class); almost designed to show the literal structure of the stringent class system set up in the Philippines.
The commercial district is really all foreigners see of the Philippines. That, of course, and Boracay Island which was voted among the world's top ten beaches. It is clean, somewhat ordered, and most importantly, air conditioned. All the fanciest hotels and shopping centers are found in this district. All the rich condo owners, famous restaurant franchises, and movie directors are found here. My uncle is found here. As are white people. This was the first time he took me to visit his office, and set me loose in the shopping centers. Needless to say it was quite impressive.
We walked into Greenbelt 5 (the Greenbelt shopping center is comprised of 5 malls all joined together with a central open park/seating area in the middle) and the first thing I saw was a blue-eyed, blonde-haired, over-weight family of four. Ah the typical American. We went into the first store to our right -- a drug store/convenience store and saw more white men -- only with their Filipino girlfriends/wives. That's usually how it goes; you won't see a white woman with a Flip boyfriend, it just doesn't work that way. Sad to say, a lot of Filipino women would do anything to get out of the country -- including becoming the equivalent of a mail-order bride. Men have more pride than that, thank goodness.
I found it quite ironic that these 'rich' white people (who I think were mostly European) would congregate in the glamorous part of Manila where the streets were clean and the mall sported such American stores as Levi and Adidas.
Word to the traveler: if you want to actually see the country you're visiting, you've got to get out of the Hiltons and the Mall of Asias where taxis cart you everywhere, and see the open markets and province from the seat of a jeepney.
Yes, you read right, I'd like to tell you in detail about my first shower experience in the Philippines. I had never been more eager and excited to take a cold shower in all my life. I'm not talking room-temperature cold, or washing-your-hands-before-eating cold, I'm talking about from-a-mountain-stream cold. It was exhilarating. It was so cold that it made me catch my breath for a moment when it hit my skin, yet I was too entranced to move away. It was the kind of shower I could stay in forever.
If you are unaware, the Philippines is an extremely hot and humid place. Hopping into the shower only meant a slight reprieve from the heat, but sadly not the humidity. Being as hot as it was, my skin had absorbed the heat until it was just as hot as the air around it. My skin was so warm in fact, that by the time the cool water rolled down my head and arms, and pooled in my hands, it had already become noticeably warm. I turned my attention to the water reaching my feet. Same experience. I had no idea my skin could change the temperature of water.
I finished my shower quite content to stand under the gushing stream indefinitely, and prepared to towel off. It was then I noticed a small gecko crawling near the open window in the shower stall. Ah, the inhabitants of humid climates. I missed seeing lizards all over the house. Instead of picking it up like I wanted to, I decided to urge it back out the window. No sense keeping a Peeping Tom around. I toweled dried as best I could and failed miserably to put clothes on. You see, it is absolutely impossible to tell whether your skin is wet with water or already wet with sweat after that bout of showering. I dried myself multiple times, but no matter how much I dried off, two seconds later beads of moisture popped up all over my body. Trying to be dry in a country that practically breathes moisture is a futile attempt, I decided. I eventually got a dress to slide on. Took me five minutes, but eventually I was decent enough to leave the bathroom.
So here I go, leaving you, my devoted readers, in the dry heat of Oregon, as I try to wade through the water that flows around me everywhere I go.
