A Hike, Some Beer and the Stars

Great are the lessons one can learn
Through a hike, some beer and the stars.
Great teachers opening up the truths of life:
That silence has a voice;
And things happen for a reason;
That there is a world outside of ourselves;
And that, despite our differences, we are very much the same.

Making us feel so alive
By bringing us back to that which is essential:
Reminding us that work is not an end in itself
But a means to an end;

And that end is to live life.
For life, in all its beauty, fullness and mystery
is best lived through a hike, some beer and the stars.

Under the Harvest Moon

Sitting by the beach under the presence of a harvest moon,
The stars caught in a thin net of clouds.
I listen to the sweet song of the waves—a prayer, a chant.
I watch the water foam as it kisses the shore—a brilliant flash of white
And, quickly as it appears it is no more,
Replaced a split second later by a new generation of waves.
So must our lives seem to the gods: brief and easily replaceable.
But for that one brief second we explode and share in the majesty of existence
As real as the stars and the moon.

I am Still Happy

Happy camper. 22 months ago.

Where do I begin?

It’s been about 6 months since my last posting and I’ve had so many experiences that it would be impossible to catch up. I’ve been on two trips outside of Thailand, several trips within, met new people, read new books, been hospitalized with dengue, had both an mri and ct scan to look at my sinuses, had visitors from home, squashed at least 60 cockroaches that have run out of my bathroom drain and said goodbye to my dearest uncle. I even voted for a new president!

Hail to the Chief!

All these experiences (and there have been so many more) have their own stories and I hope to eventually share a couple. But for now I’ll share this:


I am still happy.


I’ve been in Thailand 22 months and while there have been times when I’ve felt that I’ve been here too long (22 months too long at times) it has been a great experience overall—one I know I will always look back on with fondness. I’ve learned so much about myself (not all good things) and I’ve stretched myself in ways I never would have thought possible. I have never regretted my decision to do what I am doing but I’ve certainly had little regrets over the course of my time here—not writing more being one of them. I do take heart however in knowing that though I did not get to write about my time here as much as I would have wanted, I did make sure to savor every experience and squeeze as much from them as I possibly could


In his beautiful essay, The Eloquent Sounds of Silence, Pico Iyer writes, “silence is only as worthy as what we can bring back from it.” What do I have to offer after 6 months of silence? Well, I am not necessarily more mature nor am I significantly wiser now than I was 6 months ago (countless hours spent on fantasy football might in fact have made the opposite true). I’ve also found that I have lost all ability of writing poetry and while I am still charming as ever, my 22 months in a Thai village have weakened my English skills to a disturbing degree (and its hard to be charming and witty when the words don’t flow quite easily). Hmmm…what do I have to offer? Not much it seems.


But I am still happy.


If, through the craziness that is known as Peace Corps life and through the pain of losing one so dear and the uncertainty of what to do after my time here, I’ve managed to remain happy—not just the “I’m okay” kind of happy but the “my cup is filled and I’m excited about life and I still laugh from my stomach” kind of happy…I must be doing something right. And this isn’t such a bad thing to offer. I know the last 4 months of my service will be filled with experiences—good and not so good; exhilarating and mundane. I will have moments that will make me want to stay longer and moments that will make me excited to pack my bags and leave. Through all these different experiences I know my faculty to appreciate and find blessings will be as strong as ever.


And I will continue to be happy.


Now if could only consistently write about it.

Still "laugh from the stomach" happy

The Hammock

Come lay dear friend by the hammock
And speak to me of olden times
The world were told
Is dark and cold
And seen its best days pass it by.

And yet dear friend
Here by a hammock
Under skies no plane has passed
We share a view—a joyous view of a world that has
lasted quite a while.

And remains quite young.

Neither dark nor cold
Nor bland and old
Our world has aged with grace

As the gentle wind blows on our hammock strings
So too, has been the passing of our days.

Those Crazy Americans

*help promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of Thais
*help promote a better understanding of Thais on the part of the Americans
--Goals 2 and 3 of Peace Corps

“It’s so refreshing” my friend Maria told me “to be around crazy Americans.” The crazy Americans she was referring to were my friends Tony, Pedro and Kathy who, at the precise moment of her comment, were walking around the local mall wearing masks (Pedro was a power ranger, Tony was Voltron, Kathy was a panda) and waving at confused Thai children. Refreshing was one word to describe their visit. Entertaining, Ridiculous, Hilarious and Crazy are others that come to mind.

The month of March, that found me hosting four friends from California, was nothing short of hilarious, entertaining, ridiculous and crazy. It was also a lot of fun. It was such a joy being able to share this part of my life with friends. Not only did I get to expose them to a life I had been living for about a year but I also got to see my own experience through new lenses. Seen through my friends’ eyes, nothing was too mundane or commonplace. Things I had come to take as routine—lizards running all over my house, the food, the chill vibe that reverberates throughout the village, my muay thai fighting villagers—were all sources of wonder for my friends. And their excitement was contagious. I’ve always been a big fan of Thai food but having my friends rave about how good it was (not to mention how cheap) reanimated my taste buds and I found myself not just eating for eating’s sake but eating the way eating should be done—with full enjoyment. I went through the gai yang, tom yum, som tum and kaoniaw with a gusto that I had not had for a while....around one week. Meals became a major part of my friends’ itinerary and we took full delight in it. My villagers of course, as is the norm in Thailand, have made sure to point out that I’ve gained some weight.
Perhaps the single best thing about their visit (other than the chocolates they brought over) was the interaction they had with my village. One of the best privileges that comes with being a Peace Corps Volunteer is the opportunity to serve as a bridge between American culture and that of the host country. My friends got to see and partake in a Thailand not seen in travel brochures and my villagers…well, they got to see some crazy Americans. I took my friends to work with me and had my kids attempt to teach them the local dialect. Let’s just say my students got a glimpse of what I go through trying to teach them English.

I must admit I felt a lot of pride watching my kids interact with my friends. When I first arrived in the village, these 5th graders were too shy to speak. Now they were asking questions to foreigners they met for the first time! I told my kids that Nikki worked in fashion and they all got the impression that she was either a designer or a model. With my limited vocabulary, I think I led them to believe she was actually both. One of the first things they asked her was to teach them how to walk like a model. My 5th grade girls absolutely loved it (so did the boys) and one afternoon, my thousand year old ruins were transformed into a catwalk with Nikki and 5 of my students as the models. What the monks must have been thinking!

How to sway hips and a horrible ear for tonal languages were not the only things my friends brought over of course. Through my friends, my villagers got to see the diversity and the energy that makes America so beautiful. That none of my friends were the blond, blue eyed Americans my villagers associated with America cemented aspects of America I've been sharing with them all along: that America is a truly diverse country; that we all don't look alike, don't sound alike, don't have the same religion and yet, we are all Americans; that beauty is not measured only through a light skin tone but by who a person is inside; that Americans are in fact interested in other cultures and peoples and are in fact willing to travel to a rural village in northeastern Thailand inorder to learn more about other cultures and spend time with other peoples. My villagers, while appreciating my work here have always wondered why I would leave America to live amongst them in rural Thailand. They've always thought I was a bit crazy for doing so. Meeting my friends and seeing their genuine appreciation for life in the village was a source of pride for my community. I'd like to think I became even less of an anomaly in my villagers' eyes after the visit.

As I continue to work on Goal 1 of Peace Corps—to help a country meet its need for trained men and women, I’m glad to know that Goals 2 and 3 are being accomplished…one crazy American at a time.

Manifold Expressions of Life part 1

“I spent more hours than I can count a quiet witness to the highly mannered, manifold expressions of life that grace our planet. It is something so bright, loud, weird, and delicate as to stupefy the senses.”
- from the Life of Pi

Ajan Mai sits on a stone block, shirtless, devotedly working on wood carvings of the Buddha as I bike past his home in the afternoon. At night I head to school to call Caitlin and he is still there—a lone fluorescent light bulb his only source of light.

Across the street my eighty four year old neighbor’s bare breasts dangle like balloons filled with water as she peels papayas.

I see a kindergartner from my school, stick in hand, walking barefoot as she leads five emaciated
cows home. She smiles and waves.

A 5th grade student of mine is picking petals off a flower. She is reciting “he loves me, he loves me not” in a language I now understand.

I watch my Thai grandmother weave silk. It is meticulous work. After a while, she notices me observing her. She smiles her beautiful toothless smile and asks if I have eaten. Three minutes later she is serving me a fried egg and some sticky rice.

Some of the village boys approach me while I am reading by the ruins. They carry a chicken. They then proceed to throw the chicken as high as they can before chasing the frightened animal all over the place. Their laughter (not to mention the chickens panicked cackling) fills the temple. I can’t decide whether I am more amused by their game or by the fact that their playground happens to be one thousand year old temple ruins.

It’s 5:30 PM. I watch the monks as they feed the fish, their saffron robes in visual harmony with the colors reflected by the lake. The sky basks in a brilliant sunset.

It’s 6:30 AM. The women of my village are beautiful in their silk dresses. There is a peaceful deliberateness in their stride as they carry food baskets to the wat.

It’s 7:00 PM. I am in my room unwinding over a book and listening to music. I hear my Thai grandfather chanting. His room is right next to mine. He is meditating. I turn down my music and continue reading, mesmerized by the ancient language reverberating through my room.

It is 9:00 PM. I step outside my house to take out the trash. The entire village is asleep. All I hear is the sound of crickets.

It is 10:03 PM I hear my Thai grandfather wake up to use the bathroom. I hear his bed creak, his door slide open. I hear him pass gas.

I am attending the funeral of Ajan Wichits brother in law. We eat tom yum, steamed fish, fried pork and sticky rice under a tarpaulin tent. Everyone I know from the village is there. Ajan Wichit sits by me, his shoulders sagging. He says, in English, “I am tired”

My 5th grade girls start telling me their crushes. They all giggle and blush.

I see my student, Gon, walking alone along the lake. I form my right hand into a fist and bounce it atop my left palm. He does the same. We start playing paper-rock-scissors from across the lake. We take turns winning but he ultimately beats me. I shake my fists at him playfully and I can see him laughing. There is more oomph in his step as he walks home.

I help my friend Ej with his life skills camp. One of the activities entails us making a grid in the ground. The grid is set up in advance. The next day we come in early only to see that the kids have made up their own game using the grid. Their laughter can be heard from the meeting hall.

I hitch a ride from the main road down to my village. Along the way, we stop to pick up some offerings for the temple in another village. I see two teenage boys passed out on a hammock, 7 bottles of beer lying on the dirt floor. It is 3 PM.

It is the beginning of the school year. I am teaching my 5th grade class when I notice an extra child in my classroom. A tiny kindergartner is sharing a seat with her older sister, coloring in her coloring book. She attends my class everyday for a week, sharing her older sister’s seat and coloring while I teach about pronouns. No one seems to mind.

I sit by the lake. I see my neighbor teaching his grandson how to use the slingshot. The child is focused, exuding only silent determination as stone after stone disappears into the lake. My neighbor, the new grandfather, is basically squealing in delight.

I am in one of Bangkok’s overcrowded outdoor markets that cater mostly to foreigners. My friend haggles down the price for some bootlegged watches. The seller, getting visibly impatient as my friend decides which exact watch he wants, snaps at us and yells for us to leave his stall. It is one of the few times I’ve ever seen a Thai get upset.

I’m at the arrival terminal of the international airport in Bangkok. A Thai lady my age is waiting for her 45 year old Canadian boyfriend. She has been waiting in the airport longer than I have and all she has is a flight number. I try to teach her how to understand the arrival information on the screens but she has difficulty following all the times and info. In the course of our conversation, I realize that she is not sure whether she can distinguish him from the other white men coming out of the arrivals gates.

Living Quotations

As a person who appreciates quotations and poetry, I’ve been fortunate to meet people, who, in their own unique ways, have embodied some of my favorite quotations and poetry, bringing them out of the page into life. My friend Kristin for example, exemplifies Thoreau’s quotes of “living deliberately” and “sucking the marrow out of life.” A buddy, Ej, with his uncanny knack of turning otherwise ordinary trips into something extraordinary, gives life to Francis Quarles’, “The world’s an inn, and I am her guest.” Whitman’s song is shared by my friend Susan who is always “afoot and lighthearted” as she takes to the “open road.” The opening lines of Robert Service’s The Tramp bring me back to my dorm-room days with my college buddies:


Can you recall, dear comrade, when we tramped God’s land together,/
And we sang the old, old earth-song for our youth was very sweet;

(Of course, when it comes to my college buddies, there has certainly been more than a few of them that have personified Henry Youngman’s quote: When I read about the evils of drinking, I gave up reading.)


Caitlin’s ability to light up a room with her laughter and bring out the best in people is an embodiment of William Saroyan’s “Seek goodness everywhere and when it is found bring it out of its hiding place” and several people I met during my work in the Catholic Institute for La Sallian Social Action (people like James, and Jaime, and Devin, and Casey) embodied Gandhi’s “Be the change you wish to see in the world.”

Recently, I’ve witnessed two people bring another favorite quote to life.

I’ve always admired these words from Martin Luther King Jr:

"If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well."


I admired the words for its poetry and romanticism but primarily for its message. It’s been a thrill to see it come to life in an extraordinarily ordinary way.


In an earlier blog, I mention my new found appreciation for running around my village lake. What I don’t mention is that on my way back to my home, I pass by a tiny house with a tiny garden. Everyday, there is this kid and his grandmother tending to the garden. I’ve certainly seen people water plants before but for some reason, I’m drawn to this kid and his grandmother and I always stop even for the briefest of moments to watch them at work. There is a consciousness to their actions, something special— not necessarily in the same way that listening to Beethoven’s 9th is special or reading one of Hamlet’s soliloquies or looking up at the paintings of the Sistine (or gazing at the David)—but special nonetheless…in its own simple way.


Perhaps its how the grandmother seems like an extension of the earth as she bends gently tending to the plants or how the kid dutifully fills his bucket with water from the lake across the street and carries it back to the plots or how the two of them, without talking, seem to communicate to the other what needs to be done or how, when juxtaposed against the sunset, their garden seems to blush in golden hues—a manifest illustration of nature’s tranquility.


Or perhaps it’s simply because in their heart of hearts, they were called to work in a garden.


And they do their work well.

When My Mind is Full

When my mind is full
I often go for a walk
And walks take me far.

Often, it’s as if I go back in time
Where all is untouched by industry
‘Tis when I see the young monks at play
Their robes—brilliant saffron; sun kissed
And their laughter in harmony with the bird’s song.

Often it’s as if I walk into a glimpse of the future
Or at least what the world would look like
Should we learn to lay down our arms and biases.
Tis when I see the elder monks at peace
Their robes—a wise hue of brown; wind blown
And their presence in harmony with the wind’s song.

Often, it’s as if I walk into a more conscious present
where life is lived with full awareness.
Tis when I see the monks close to my age,
Their robes becoming; deliberate like the night
And their laughter in harmony with my own soul’s song.

When my mind is full
I often go for a walk
And walks take me far.

Those Ancient Khmers

I am running late for my train. The driver taking me to the train station, a bald, middle aged Thai man with long strands of white hair sprouting from a mole in his cheek and a gift for conversation, is excited to learn that I am from the Northeastern region of Thailand. He speaks enough English to engage in conversation about the old Khmer ruins widespread in my neck of the woods. We compare Phi mai and Phnom Rung; talk about the lesser known ruins like Ku Phra Kona and Ku Ka Sing; and he tells me about the beauty of Khao Phra Wihan. I don’t mind him talking as long as he keeps driving.

“Do you know how the Khmers built those temples in the mountains?” he asks me.

“I have no idea”.

He looks at me and gives me one of those smiles. “Well I do”.

And thus begins a rather tense 5 minutes

He starts telling me the story, his foot easing from the pedal as his excitement builds up.

“The ancient Khmer” he declares in rapid oratory “had clean hearts!”

“Clean hearts, got it” I say, nervously glancing at my watch

“They had no technology but their hearts were clean!”

His voice starts rising, his passion more evident, his pride swelling at the opportunity to impart his wisdom upon me. His feet leave the pedal completely. We are parked on the side of the street. His hands flailing wildly in the air like a symphonic maestro, his message being delivered with a fervor becoming of a minister:

“And they had faith! And so they had power! The big stones felt like chog to them!”

“Chog?” I ask, actually a bit captivated by the story (I had given up hope of making my train)

“Yes!” he screams as he begins writing things in an imaginary blackboard “like chog!”

“Oh, like chalk”

“Yes, like chog!”

“Got it”

He goes on, his tone rising, his vocabulary taking on a biblical quality:
“And because of faith, five men were like one and twenty men were like one and one was like many…and because it was for god, they worked with one mind and one clean heart”

I’m carefully working out the previous statement (how the hell is five like one and twenty like one?) when he suddenly turns to me and eyes me rather suspiciously.

“Do you think” he asks, quite guardedly “that they used elephants?”

“Well, I imagine they would have”

“No!” he screams as if I had uttered some blasphemy “They not use elephants!”

He attempts to clear my sacrilege

“The mountain was like this” he slants his right forearm at a steep angle to his thigh and uses the fingers of his left hand to show elephants attempting to climb the steep mountain

“Elephants” he says, as his left hand slides across his belly “could not walk up”

We sit there thoughtfully for what seems like quite a while. He giving me time to let everything sink in; me trying to work out what other options I might have if I were to miss the train.

“Okay, he says finally, as if snapping out of a trance “we go now”

.............................................................................................................

Post script: The train was blowing its horn as we pulled up to the station. If not for an ancient Khmer like burst of strength that I summoned from the depths of my clean heart (and a whole lot of adrenaline) I doubt my fully filled 85 liter backpack would have felt light as “chog” as I made the dash for my journey back to the Northeast.

The Chase

So I’m packing my stuff when I hear some screaming behind me. I look back and these 5 kindergartners are running towards me, slapping my back pack, and then running away screaming and laughing. It goes on like this for about 3 minutes. They run closer trying to touch my bag then I turn around and make a scary face and they run away laughing and screaming. It was totally random but really funny as well. Of course once I took out my camera, they would stop to pose before they ran away. Anyways, after 10 minutes of this, I start heading out on my bike and what do you know, they chase me all the way home.

They then hung out outside my house for a while knocking on my door then running away screaming and giggling. I was tired and wanted some rest but I must admit, it was entertaining hearing them have fun outside. I did open the door suddenly one time with a big “boo!” and they almost knocked each other silly running away. Funny stuff. Oh, the life of volunteers.

Pictures from the chase.

Learning to Run

Everyday for the past 2 weeks, I’ve been running on a road meticulously strung about with cow dung. The road encircles a charming lake surrounded by coconut and banana trees, village houses—ranging from beautiful “western style” houses to more traditional Thai wooden ones atop stilts, and the local wat. Children, most of them students at my school, stop playing as I run by and yell “hello teacher!” or "Farang! Farang!” Every now and then one of them will run alongside me for a few meters before running back to screaming companions. Rice farmers, on their way back from the fields atop their rot kwai leks, little makeshift tractors that, when translated literally from the Thai, mean "little buffalo", wave and give me the thumbs up. The cow herders will slap their cows out of the way. Young highschool girls yell “I love you!” from the local goitiao stand while the young men of the village, chilling by their motorcycles will invite me to drink “whisky Thai” with them. Sometimes, I get to catch the monks—in their stunning saffron robes—hanging out by a rundown, wooden dock on an adjacent lake, feeding the fish.

This has been my “running environment” for two weeks now and I’ve enjoyed it tremendously. The funny thing is, I’ve never been a runner. My father’s been into running for some time now; running is a source of quality bonding time for my girlfriend and her family; one of my best friends in college was so into running that during our semester abroad in Oxford, he invested in running shoes (at the cost of sacrificing some beers at the pubs). And yet, despite this inclination towards running from those closest to me, I never quite understood how they could enjoy what I considered to be a rather boring exercise—one I considered inferior to basketball or any other sport where running was merely a part of a greater whole.

Lately however, I’ve begun to understand why they run. It’s like meditating almost. I’ve found it to be a perfect opportunity to process everything that happened during the day (and as a Peace Corps Volunteer, there is certainly a lot to process…whether the day was eventful or not). The forty or so minutes I’ve run everyday have been therapeutic in so many levels. And they’ve made me appreciate my life here in a special way. Running around the lake everyday has allowed me to really take in the essence of my village surroundings. I get to hear the sounds, see the sights, smell the scents (thankfully there is more to smell than cow dung) and yet I don’t get tied down by any one thing in particular. I get to take it all and yet I get to keep on running and processing how vibrant everything is. Simply put, I feel so alive.

The benefits have been wonderful. Not only have I felt healthier, I’ve also found that I’ve slept so much better, felt more at peace, and I’ve actually made some good gains in my language learning (I’m seriously trying to learn how to read and write Thai) I do believe that running has helped center me. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that I exercise by a beautiful, vibrant lake and by the time I end, it’s usually sunset…and sunsets by my village’s lake are simply stunning.
I wouldn’t call myself a serious runner quite yet but I’m certainly enjoying running now more than in any other time of my life. And for now, that is fine with me.

An Awesome Birthday

If anyone had told me a few years ago that my 24th birthday would be a 5 night affair, I would have laughed and said, “That would be awesome.”


If anyone had told me a few years ago that on my 24th birthday I would be surrounded by people I had just met but have become like family to me, I would have smiled and said, “That would be awesome.”


If anyone had told me a few years ago that part of my 24th birthday celebration would take place in a little village in rural Thailand and that rural village would in fact be my home, I would have thought the person telling me this crazy but I would have said “That would be awesome.”


Now, if anyone had told me a few years ago that my 24th birthday would be a 5 night celebration in a village in rural Thailand, surrounded by an amazing group of people, and would involve teaching English to 168 screaming Thai children, a whole lot of Karaoke, drinking with VIP’s of my village (and province) at 4 in the afternoon, walking around a beautiful lake, having grasshoppers while sitting around 1000 year old Khmer ruins, turning my home into the closest thing to a frat house this side of Thailand has ever seen, playing pusoy dos till the wee hours of the morning, hanging by a pool, having a generous serving of gelato for under 1 dollar, eating a sushi restaurant out of rice, getting sloshed and then dancing to music I do not understand while smoking a hookah…if anyone at all had told me a few years back that my 24th birthday would be celebrated this way…I would have shaken my head in disbelief, shrugged my shoulders as I thought this person insane, and let out a smirk…though underneath the head shaking, shoulder shrugging and the smirk would be the words “man, that sure would be awesome.”


Well, as I type this entry while dealing with a bad hangover, a dazed mind, very slow reflexes, an exhaustion I have not felt since my college days, a horrible sore throat, a room that smells worse than my horrible air freshener, and a very content smile, "alls I know" is this: my 24th birthday was AWESOME


To all of you that made my 24th birthday so special—Thank you. My house still reeks and my bathroom is horrendous but the sound of your collective laughter still echoes through the walls. And believe me when I say this: my little village will never be the same. Farang fever is running high. Already, I’ve had so many questions about the farangs that invaded Kin Kao Tung Nung Phamai and when you all will return. Their beds and pillows and blankets (as well as the beer, ice and peanuts), my neighbors have assured me, are ready for you to come back.


And to those who I was not fortunate enough to celebrate with (though I appreciate all the greetings you sent via phone, email, Friendster and Facebook)—here’s to 25!!! Cheers!

The Voice of "Real"

'What is REAL?' asked the Rabbit one day, 'Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?'

'Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you…’

'Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?'

'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become’

In the Velveteen Rabbit, the process of becoming real is a painful one: hair falls off, eyes drop out, joints are loosened and become shabby. Amidst the pain however, is something beautiful.

Two experiences this past weekend reminded me of the beauty (and the pain) associated with something “becoming real”. I attended an HIV/AIDS conference in Kamphaengphet, Thailand together with other Peace Corps Volunteers and our Thai counterparts. Dr. John Williams, the country director, opened the conference by sharing a story of a young child he had met many years earlier in Eastern Europe. The child, a 12 year old boy named Marios, was endowed with a spirit that revealed itself magnificently through twinkling eyes and an infectious smile. Marios was one of the top students in his school, was a talented artist who enjoyed water colors, and was such a joy to be around with. Marios was also HIV positive.

Despite his illness, Marios zest for life served as a constant reminder of how life should be lived and he had the gift for inspiring this very truth in the hearts of the people he met. Dr. John happened to be one of the lucky ones. Inspiration however, was not the only gift Dr. John received from Marios. At the end of their meeting, Marios gave Dr. John some of his paintings and his most prized possession—an easter egg painted for him by a friend, with his name inscribed in it. “Remember me” Marios told Dr. John.

Not too long after their meeting, Marious succumbed to the disease.

The story in itself was powerful but it was listening to Dr. John share the story and watching him read from a journal entry written after meeting Marios that struck me most. The way his hands shook while holding the paper; the love and sincerity he carried in his voice as he reread the words he wrote many years ago; the thoughtfulness with which he shared Marios story with our group made me realize that he was not just telling us a story but was, in a special way, sharing Mario’s easter egg with us. He was also fulfilling Marios’ request.

I did not get to ask him—though I suspect this to be true—that a big part of who Dr. John is today; his passion for his work; his outlook on the world—is largely due to a little child with sparkling eyes and an infectious smile and a spirit much larger than his frail body who taught Dr. John a special lesson—and a very real one at that—on the day they met.

The 2nd incident happened on the way home. It was hour 7 of my 12 hour bus ride back to site. I was jotting down thoughts on the power an experience can lend to a person’s voice when I got a call from my friend Tara. After catching up for a bit, I told her about Dr. John’s story and how it had struck me. Tara then told me her own story.

A few months earlier, a student of hers lost his mother to AIDS. The student, a 4th grade boy, was HIV positive himself. It was understood at the time of the mother’s death that the child was to live with his aunt. Somewhere along the way, responsibilities for the child were passed on to his grandmother who, at the time, was also taking care of another grandchild. Before the student could move in with his grandmother, the rest of the family entered the picture and saw to it that the student would not move in for fear that the disease would spread unto the other child and ultimately around the family. The child now lives alone in an empty house and while the grandfather comes every night to sleep in the house, he does so in another room. Given the strong communal culture of Thailand, especially in the rural villages—where families (even extended families) tend to all sleep together—the grandfather staying in a different room pretty much serves to show how ostracized this kid has become.

Tara told me how she cried as she found out more about the situation. Tara of course, like many people, was well aware of the stigma placed on people with HIV and AIDS around the world due to a lack of education about the disease on the part of communities. But, just as is the case with many people, until the issue becomes very real—until people see the ugliness of the stigma up close, affecting someone people actually know—the issue remains as just another sad issue. The very moment she learned about the situation, Tara told me, the issue suddenly became personal…and very real. “I just wanted to take the kid and make his life better” she said.
I have a strong feeling she will and I’ll explain why in a bit.

These 2 experiences stand out from a weekend that was full of inspiration and learning. I wrote these words just before Tara called me,
“we share a lot by giving facts…we perhaps share more by giving stories”
And
“It is when an issue becomes real to us that we acquire the voice to speak about it and touch more than just the mind…we also touch the heart”

This is exactly what happened this weekend. Dr. John and Tara were already involved in meaningful development work but the experiences they shared with me were the very experiences that put a human face on the issue and made it much more real to them. This is why I’m optimistic that Tara will do exactly what she said she wanted to do—make this kid’s life better. Knowing her, Tara will do great things in her village (in fact, she’s started developing a youth group in her community that will work with people affected by AIDS) but now, the importance of AIDS education is no longer just an issue for her. It is very real. The process of it becoming real was not pretty—in fact, it was a painful story—but I know the result will be an even more passionate commitment to educating people.

As for Dr. John, he keeps a picture of a little kid with huge eyes and a smile full of joy, grace and a hint of mischief on his desk—a great and very real source of inspiration for his important work.

These 2 stories remind me of why I love that particular section from the Velveteen Rabbit. They also makes me appreciate the position I am in as a volunteer where I get to experience—first hand—a way of life that not too many people from where I come from get to experience. I also appreciate being in the field with other volunteers—people I consider friends—who are also going through the same things and are able to share their stories with me. These stories are sometimes painful, often beautiful, and always real.


P.S. As I was writing this, I found myself getting super excited that Caitlin and I are doing similar work. As she lives longer in Uganda and I live longer in Thailand, I can only imagine how much we will both experience. I look forward to exchanging stories with her and listening as our voices, when speaking of issues about HIV/AIDS, poverty, gender and development become all the more powerful. I look forward to seeing how our experience in the Peace Corps helps us “become” and shapes us as individuals and as a couple.

Thoughts on Traveling

“I was born upon thy banks river
My blood flows in thy stream
And thou meanderest forever
At the bottom of my dream”
- Henry David Thoreau

I’ve always thought of rivers as an apt metaphor for my desire to travel—the river’s flow akin to the part of my soul that longs to constantly be on the move. So it comes as no surprise that in the places I’ve been fortunate to travel to, I’ve always been drawn to rivers—be it the Mekong or the Thames; the Kwai or the Seine—and I’ve spent hours sitting by their banks enjoying a book or a beer or both.

I enjoy rivers for the sense of contentment that comes with sitting by them—few things in this world are more calming than a river’s flow—and also for the sense of restlessness it stirs in me. After all, one of the most fascinating things about a river is that a river never ever really stays put; it is always headed somewhere. And it is this—the promise of seeing what is beyond the bend—that touches that part of my soul that longs to travel, inciting it to seek adventure and excitement.

And yet, as I’ve come to appreciate rivers more, I’ve noticed a change in my general attitude towards travel. The excitement has not wavered nor has the longing for adventure (these, I pray, will remain as constant as a river’s eventual journey to sea) but just as I’ve taken a river’s flow as a metaphor for my wanderlust, a river’s ability to bend and shift—I’ve seen stretches of the Mekong dry enough to traverse by foot and sections where I would not dare jump in—has come to represent my evolving understanding of what to travel truly means.

For a while, I loved travel for the sheer adventure of it. I enjoyed the adrenaline rush of hopping on a train or plane, seeing a new place, and then moving on. I loved the idea of waking up in a new city (or country) and not knowing for certain what time it was…or what day it was. This sort of travel was exciting, fueled by stories of rushing for trains and sleeping in stations, and meeting new people everyday; of seeing pictures where I stood by one famous monument in one city wearing the very same thing I wore in a monument of another since I was seeing them both in the same day. Such travel was fun and exciting.

But it was also shallow. I recall that after a backpacking trip to Europe, I came back and told people I loved Barcelona. Looking back, I ask myself: What about Barcelona did I love? Did I even get to know Barcelona? I was there for five days and I doubt I met a single person from Barcelona. I had a wonderful time certainly…but a time that could have been had in any of the other cities I visited in Europe—the only difference being the monuments that I saw…monuments that while exclusive to Barcelona, were not exclusively Barcelona. I realize, looking back, that I did not get to know Barcelona at all.

Lately however, I’ve learned to appreciate staying in a place a little longer or at least staying in a place long enough to truly be there. I admit that such sort of traveling can at times be mundane and highlights are few and far between. But the highlights do come and more often than not, they have as much to do with the simple aspects of life as they do with the grand…and they are just as memorable. I know I’ve been excited about things here in Thailand that I would otherwise have taken for granted—or wouldn’t have stopped to appreciate—when I was backpacking in Europe. Things like nuances in culture, in styles of dress, in social norms, etc—things that I’ve only been able to appreciate after being in Thailand for a while. So I daresay that there is indeed a charm about staying in a place long enough to know it—if not completely at least intimately. Like a farmer might say he knows a field for instance; or a ranger, a forest; or a citizen, a city; or a hiker, a mountain.

Or like a person might know a river. “I’ve known rivers” Langston Hughes once wrote. The intimacy he goes on to describe—being lulled to sleep by the Congo; sitting by the Nile and building pyramids by it; watching the change of hue by the Mississippi —suggest an element of waiting…and staying…and watching. At the end of the poem, he exclaims “My soul has grown deep like the river.”

My experience in Thailand, where I’ve slowly immersed myself in a way of life that I could have easily bypassed has added depth to my being and has broadened my perspective. Whenever I find myself longing for the excitement of experiencing new places at a faster pace, I pause and take into account what I am able to experience: the unfolding of the rice season, spending hours sitting by a hammock alongside cow herders and rice farmers and learning about their lives, being able to have meals with villagers, learning about their conceptions (and misconceptions) of America, and so much more. And most nights I find that my cup is filled. On the other nights where my cup might not necessarily be filled—where homesickness, or boredom, or a lack of a sense of purpose sink in, I just try to remain thankful for being given the opportunity to see the world in such a different way and pray that the river bends tomorrow.

My desire to see the world is strong—perhaps stronger than it has ever been. But now, the river that meanderest at the bottom of my dreams—the very fountainhead of my wanderlust—happens to be a wiser, deeper one.

A Beautiful Bike Ride

Some pics from a nice bike ride around the village on a beautiful day

Beautiful Roi-Et

During my site visit last February, I remember not being too impressed with my city. I loved my village but I felt my province's major city did not have much to offer.

I was wrong.

True, Roi-Et isn't as exciting as Khon Kaen or Ubon (some of the more major cities of Northeastern Thailand) but what it lacks in excitement, it more than makes up for in charm. Roi-Et is certainly a charming city. Because of it's relatively small size, there is a coziness about the place and the traffic that plagues bigger cities is none existent. The people are friendly, the food is good and the streets are pretty clean.

As I've come to spend more time in it, I've found myself thankful that instead of having huge shopping malls or a variety of bars, Roi-Et instead has a good amount of wats (Thai temples) In fact, it seems one cannot walk 5 minutes in the city without seeing one.

The wats here as really beautiful too. Being in Thailand for 9 months now, I've gotten quite used to seeing these intricate buildings and the wonder they inspire in me has lessened over time. This hasn't been the case in Roi-Et though. Despite the amount of temples in the city, none of them are what I would call "typical" wats. In fact, every wat seems to have little nuances in the architecture that make them standout. One wat for instance has "guardians" with black skin. I've seen lot's of giant guardian statues in wats but I've never seen dark ones. My friend's Ej and Liz were able to take pictures of these peculiar guardian statues and when I obtain a copy, I'll be sure to post them. There is also a beautiful Chinese style wat in Roi-Et and the tiles used in the roof and walls--an almost pastel blue like color--is very different from the traditional Thai style wat.

The most popular wat however in the city would have to be the wat with the giant Buddha structure. The wat itself is pretty much like most of the wats I've seen in Thailand but beside it is the tallest standing Buddha in Northeastern thailand (some people claim that it's the tallest in all of Thailand)

There is actually a staircase where visitors can go up to the feet of the giant Buddha and I've been told that sometimes, the monks will even allow you to climb yet another staircase that takes you up to the knees of the statue where one can get a view of the entire city! I have yet to do this though it's something I hope to accomplish before my time in Roi-Et is done. When Caitlin was here, we did get to go up to the feet and the view from there was pretty impressive--not as impressive as the statue's feet though!


Another must see in Roi Et (and if anyone just meanders around for 15 minutes, one is bound to come across it) is Bung Palanchai lake. Just as Roi-Et is located in the very heart of Isan (Northeastern Thailand) this beautiful lake is in the very heart of Roi-Et. I read a travel brochure that described Bung Palanchai as being "just as beautiful as any lake in the west" While I'm not entirely sure about that statement, I must admit that I think Bung Palanchai is absolutely gorgeous and anyone who visits--be they from the west or the east--is sure to be impressed. Life in Roi-Et pretty much revolves around this lake. It's a great place for families to spend time together and for young (and old) lovers to hang out. It's a great place for sports as well. In the centre of the lake is an impressive walking Buddha statue and I've seen alot of Thai folks having picnics by it. Here are two more pictures around the lake area.

6 months!

Recently I had a nice little surprise. I found an old CD that contained pictures of my first few months in site. Looking at the pictures, I realized just how much I have experienced in the 6 months that I have lived in my village.

I've had interesting meals

and met interesting people.

I've even met interesting people having interesting meals.

I’ve discovered new flavors of ice cream

and seen new ways of fishing

I’ve introduced kids to a sport I've always held dear

and they’ve introduced me to their favorite holiday

Learning about the culture has been fascinating!

From dancing

to parades




to dancing in parades




from honoring monks

to honoring structures

It's been fun

Maybe a little too fun....

Living in a village has its share of interesting and "crappy" moments—that’s just outside my door and that’s the culprit

But its mostly a very rewarding experience
It helps that I believe in my work

And that I enjoy the people I work with (most of the time)

And that I enjoy the people I work for (all the time)

Basically, life in the village has been pretty sweet....

...and pretty chill