Country Check
Last night I experienced something I have never encountered in my time in Sangkhlaburi thus far: a journey into Thailand.
Wait a tic, Laura, I thought you were in Thailand.
Well, yes, friend, of course I am physically in Thailand, but the truth of the matter is that in this place called a border, the lines are a fuzzfest—while they may create a clear line on land, they zigzag across the minds and souls of all those who inhabit them, and in this case, spill the energy and light of Burma onto what is officially “Thai” land.
Needless to say, my time here in a communal living setting with members of the Mon ethnic group—during which I am surrounded by Mon language, dress, dance, smells, sights, foods, stories of Burma—I feel much closer to the rogue state of Myanmar than Thailand. Indeed, when I venture to Bangkok or nearby Kanchanaburi, I feel immersed in a cultural exhange, and a tourist hat gets shoved over the short curling hairs populating my head.
A friend invited me and some other cool foreign pals along on a houseboat party, quite a novelty for me, but a common way to celebrate a joyous occasion here in Sangkhla with this gorgeous lake as a backdrop to everyday life. The houseboat party involves literally renting out a floating wooden structure which serves as both a house (with beds, bathroom, kitchen are, living room – with a sweet karaoke sound system and TV of course) and a boat (it sits atop the water and will not sink despite jumping up and down). This wooden structure is then hauled out to the middle of the lake by a true boat with a motor (no multiple personalities here), then detached from the motorboat and left to drift any which way until the time when the rental agreement is up. At this time the motorboat drivers will spot you and retrieve you, your friends, and your nasty hangovers by hauling the houseboat back to its dock again. Included in such a rental: water, power, and limitless shuttling of anyone back and forth from the boat in the middle of the lake. All in all, pretty great for the price of $27 for 24 hours.
Anyhow, the occasion for last night’s celebration: high school graduation. Before you go judging my maturity level here in Thailand, allow me to inform you that those in the graduating class ranged from 19-26, a bit unlike the crop of teenagers who are released to the freedoms and excesses of college as is the case in the states.
After convincing a friend to motorbike-shuttle me and pal Carson to the houseboat, we boarded the over-varnished houseboat only to encounter something I hadn’t experienced yet in Sangkhla: a gathering of Thai people. As opposed to the typical “Mongeera Ow” Mon greeting, a forced out a horribly accented Thai greeting, feeling a bit awkward and wondering exactly how I would communicate with these people without a few beers in me. Indeed this crew didn’t speak a lick of English, nor I a lick of Thai. I suddenly felt out of place, not only due to the language, but regarding social norms as well. Would my endlessly hilarious jokes about having tons of boyfriends go over so well in this more cosmopolitan crowd—this crowd without red-beetle-nut stained teeth, rough palms from working in the rice paddy field, or sarong clad lower halves—as they did among my Mon pals?
For the first time in a while I felt like I was in a new environment. So much was different—the concept of pop-culture bursting through the large TV screen, the smoking of cigarettes not rolled from hand, the expensive food we ate, the startlingly vast quantities of beer appearing to emerge from the lake waters, the inability of the Thai people to start a fire for their barbeque (note: I have NEVER seen a Mon person struggle to start a fire), and more and more. Sure, it was a wonderful experience—disarmingly fun, delicious, hilarious to shake it on the dance floor with my ex-pat friends and new Thai amigos (who apparently have mastered “the sprinkler”—who knew?) —yet it was also strange to realize that all this exists in this town where I have now passed four months. What a stark cultural divide.
As we ate passion fruit, which I have never seen a Mon person consume (likely due to price), I felt a stupid sense of pity for my own students and their lack of opportunity to have such a crazy evening. I know the world is the world and there are similarities and differences and they are good and bad and that my dear students are rich in many ways that those with access to money are not, but regardless of this there was this feeling of anger within me at the senselessness of this planet and the rifts that exist between neighbors.
Regardless of the nebulous conclusions and lessons floating around in my head, one thing remains clear: sometimes it takes a houseboat soiree, peppered with Beer Chang and karaoke, to make one realize that after all these months she is indeed not in Thailand—she is living in Burma.
Wait a tic, Laura, I thought you were in Thailand.
Well, yes, friend, of course I am physically in Thailand, but the truth of the matter is that in this place called a border, the lines are a fuzzfest—while they may create a clear line on land, they zigzag across the minds and souls of all those who inhabit them, and in this case, spill the energy and light of Burma onto what is officially “Thai” land.
Needless to say, my time here in a communal living setting with members of the Mon ethnic group—during which I am surrounded by Mon language, dress, dance, smells, sights, foods, stories of Burma—I feel much closer to the rogue state of Myanmar than Thailand. Indeed, when I venture to Bangkok or nearby Kanchanaburi, I feel immersed in a cultural exhange, and a tourist hat gets shoved over the short curling hairs populating my head.
A friend invited me and some other cool foreign pals along on a houseboat party, quite a novelty for me, but a common way to celebrate a joyous occasion here in Sangkhla with this gorgeous lake as a backdrop to everyday life. The houseboat party involves literally renting out a floating wooden structure which serves as both a house (with beds, bathroom, kitchen are, living room – with a sweet karaoke sound system and TV of course) and a boat (it sits atop the water and will not sink despite jumping up and down). This wooden structure is then hauled out to the middle of the lake by a true boat with a motor (no multiple personalities here), then detached from the motorboat and left to drift any which way until the time when the rental agreement is up. At this time the motorboat drivers will spot you and retrieve you, your friends, and your nasty hangovers by hauling the houseboat back to its dock again. Included in such a rental: water, power, and limitless shuttling of anyone back and forth from the boat in the middle of the lake. All in all, pretty great for the price of $27 for 24 hours.
Anyhow, the occasion for last night’s celebration: high school graduation. Before you go judging my maturity level here in Thailand, allow me to inform you that those in the graduating class ranged from 19-26, a bit unlike the crop of teenagers who are released to the freedoms and excesses of college as is the case in the states.
After convincing a friend to motorbike-shuttle me and pal Carson to the houseboat, we boarded the over-varnished houseboat only to encounter something I hadn’t experienced yet in Sangkhla: a gathering of Thai people. As opposed to the typical “Mongeera Ow” Mon greeting, a forced out a horribly accented Thai greeting, feeling a bit awkward and wondering exactly how I would communicate with these people without a few beers in me. Indeed this crew didn’t speak a lick of English, nor I a lick of Thai. I suddenly felt out of place, not only due to the language, but regarding social norms as well. Would my endlessly hilarious jokes about having tons of boyfriends go over so well in this more cosmopolitan crowd—this crowd without red-beetle-nut stained teeth, rough palms from working in the rice paddy field, or sarong clad lower halves—as they did among my Mon pals?
For the first time in a while I felt like I was in a new environment. So much was different—the concept of pop-culture bursting through the large TV screen, the smoking of cigarettes not rolled from hand, the expensive food we ate, the startlingly vast quantities of beer appearing to emerge from the lake waters, the inability of the Thai people to start a fire for their barbeque (note: I have NEVER seen a Mon person struggle to start a fire), and more and more. Sure, it was a wonderful experience—disarmingly fun, delicious, hilarious to shake it on the dance floor with my ex-pat friends and new Thai amigos (who apparently have mastered “the sprinkler”—who knew?) —yet it was also strange to realize that all this exists in this town where I have now passed four months. What a stark cultural divide.
As we ate passion fruit, which I have never seen a Mon person consume (likely due to price), I felt a stupid sense of pity for my own students and their lack of opportunity to have such a crazy evening. I know the world is the world and there are similarities and differences and they are good and bad and that my dear students are rich in many ways that those with access to money are not, but regardless of this there was this feeling of anger within me at the senselessness of this planet and the rifts that exist between neighbors.
Regardless of the nebulous conclusions and lessons floating around in my head, one thing remains clear: sometimes it takes a houseboat soiree, peppered with Beer Chang and karaoke, to make one realize that after all these months she is indeed not in Thailand—she is living in Burma.
posted by Laura @ 8:47 AM
1 Comments:
At 9:37 PM,
Hugh R. Winig, M.D. said…
Sounds like Thailand is not such a homogeneous land--nor for that matter is America. Some years ago I met an AFS student stationed in El Centro, California, on the Mexican border. I expect his experience was far different from the AFS student sent to Fargo, ND. Think about India, with its 800 different languages and dialects-- just how different a land it is depending on what section and ethnic group you are from. Countries often seem to be made up of very disperate groups--Iraq is a prime example of a country that is not really a country.
It would be interesting to know how the borders of Thailand came into being.--Uncle Hugh
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