Adventures in LauraLand

A Final Word: Be That Person

2007-08-09T13:54:00.000-07:00

Coiled garden hoses posing as snakes:

I write to you from the place it all started from-- my very own home computer room in Waban, MA. Just as I started off this blog some 15 months ago, I will now draw it to its close. Indeed, here you have my final entry of what has been a meaningful and necessary outlet for me over this incredible journey.

I've returned. Yes I'm back home in Boston-- back to a place where I feel comfortable, not foreign, back to a place where I can unpack my belongings (albeit temporarily) and get some of that much desired R&R. The last 2.5 months since touch-down in the U.S. have been an amazing whirlwind of weddings, street-strutting in NYC and San Francisco, camping out under gorgeous redwoods in Northern California, carting a group of American teenagers around Ecuador, hanging-ten in Darwin's famed Galapagos, and finally returning back here, to my original home!

I'll be in Boston and its environs for a month, more or less-- with fun friend-visiting trips in between it all in an effort to catch up on so much that's occurred in a year of Laura-absence-- and then it's westward ho! to the land of hippies still attempting to legalize pot, vegan restaurants, Ghiradelli chocolate, and sea lions: San Francisco.

Below you will find 3 items of note: 1) Musings on reverse culture shock, 2) Lessons learned by Lady Laura, and 3) A final note to daydreamers everywhere. Enjoy any or all...

#1: Musings on Reverse Culture Shock (or RCS)

As I sink my feet slowly back into Americana, I come to many realizations, which can only, logically, be conveyed through every one's brave and concise pal: the bullet point. So here you go, the shocking, the confusing, the wonderful:

Dogs. They don't attack me here-- fabulous! They don't stop, drop, and hump... and then get stuck together in their humping-- stupendous!
Chairs. They're here, they're there, they're everywhere. You just can't get around them. I must say, I find myself desperately wanting to a) sit on the ground when inappropriate, or b) remove my shoes in public places so that I can curl up my legs cross-legged style in most improperly.
Diversity: America is made of so many different people, languages, customs. It's gorgeous.
No props where the props are due. Where's our respect for the elderly? What's going on with this fear of them and old age? We think they're bad drivers, that they're crazy, that they smell. Botox is all the rage. What about the beauty and wisdom in accruing those years? America has some things to learn from Asia in this respect.
Children first. We stand up for children, their rights and their importance in society. We hear their voices and take them into account. Awesome.
MSG alert: I need not request my food sans MSG directly after ordering. Very nice.
Flat electronics: What's going on with you people?! I thought BIGGER was better! Not flatter! It seems the evil razor bunny just spawned more and more flat, shiny babies until they populated every one's pocket, purse, and fanny pack-- including my own (purse that is. I may consider myself an adult, but I'm nowhere near mature enough to dawn the f-p).
Nostril pleasures: The streets of America smell good (except for those few crusty corners of NYC, and the "urine block" just off of Van Ness in SF)
Plastic coated foodstuffs. How can we disguise the four-legged, mooing, uddered cow so that even a fool won't know the difference? Place it on a styrofoam tray and wrap it in plastic, baby. It's amazing how we know so little about what we put in our mouths.
Cleanliness. Americans ever-so-incessant put-trash-in-its-place PSA has paid off, and this country is pristine like no other.

#2: Cultural learnings from Thailand/ Burma to make benefit glorious nation of Lauraland

Here's what I have learned:

Respect your elders. There is so much wisdom and beauty accrued through their years.
Ride a bike. It's fun, cheap, and good exercise. And you see more things.
Use natural light. It feels better, is cheaper, benefits the environment.
Everyone's needs are valid. Even if you grow up in a place of moderate comfort, this does not disqualify your needs. Sure, you could save those $100 bucks on a new pair of sneakers to give to a foundation. But if you need the sneakers, buy the damn sneakers! Don't go crazy with the excess, and don't forget about the rest of the world and generosity, of course, but keep in mind that it's okay to make yourself happy.
Find out what you want to do, and go do that. So what if you want to be a human rights activist, a financial consultant, a real estate broker, or a pest-controller? Doing one of these things over another will not make you a holier or less scrupulous individual. Time and time again my students told me to go off and do whatever the hell I wanted in my life-- they would do the same if they had their freedom.

#3: A final word.

Lastly I want to say this: many people over this past year wrote emails, declared to me over the phone, or said to me upon returning that they wished they could do what I did this last year. And now I'm going to tell you a secret: you absolutely can do this, and indeed your energy, expertise, and general experience is still needed on the Thai-Burma border and countless other places just like it.

There is an immeasurable benefit to the culture and knowledge exchange that happens when one person moves outside their culture and devotes themselves to another, sharing of themselves and absorbing just as much.

Be that person.

So. There you have just a taste of the rumblings and ramblings in LK's brain. Overall, being back on American soil has been incredible, welcoming, beautiful and comfortable. I feel, for the first time in a long while, that I am not a foreigner. This is truly divine.

The next months will bring a move out to the charismatic San Francisco, a soul-crushing job search (see also: Laura's soul-- stomp stomp stomp), and an adventure-filled apartment search.

Wish me luck in my next endeavor. I wish you luck to you in yours...

Stripes, bright stars, and Barry Bonds-

Laura!

Words of Wisdom

2007-08-09T09:21:00.000-07:00

Just a few quotes accumulated from the many, many hilarious writings of my students over this past year:

He is a dork among us.

When it's cold outside, I like to wear tampons around my neck.

She did not want to go the the hospital, so I did her.

Pickles (our cat) can kick Scrappy's (our other cat) ass as Scrappy is afraid of Pickles.

I am sure that I'm a virgin.

Can you give me a broom because I want to brush my hair.

Some Englishs have rash in their skin.

I want to kick H.M.'s ass when I get angry with him. (written by H.M.'s girlfriend)

Mi Kun was resentful when someone cut the cat's moustache.

Our teacher is a good teacher and also a good refrigerator.

They Can't Take That Away from Me

2007-05-15T22:43:00.000-07:00

Juice-in-a-bags:

Hello and welcome to my last entry from Thailand, at least for now.

I sit here, in my regular internet cafe in bkk, awash in emotions of excitement and fear at what is to come in the next few weeks. Most of my goodbyes are said and done, the hugs hugged and the awkward pats-on-the-shoulders exchanged. The tears were all spent three months ago when I left Sangkhla it seems, but I have a suspicion they will flow as I depart from one of my best friends here tonight, as I check bags at the airport, at inopportune moments on the plane-- over a piece of gooey, perfectly cut plane-cake, or maybe when I see that the majority of the people on my British Airways flight are white and realize I can understand eveything they are saying.

Wow. I can't believe it's actually happening.

I'm ready and not-- ready to bid the teens yelling "falang! bai nai?!" (foreigner! where are you going?) adieu, ready to say bye to the mangy street dogs threatening to bite, ready to stop seeing women in bkk wearing numbers outside a "bar." But there are some things I will just never be ready to part with: my students from sangkhla who continue to feel much like relatives more than students, papaya salad and sticky rice, the Burmese/ Thai culture of sharing, the eloquence of someone who has been through the political and human rights crisis that is Burma and shares their experiences, the foot-high stools in Burmese tea shops, the excitement when I bust out in burmese at the market, and so much more...

As we travel this earth, be it 2 miles from home or thousands, there are some things that just seem so good and so right that we will never be without missing and longing, will we? It's like the song They Can't Take That Away from Me: "We may never ever meet again, on the bumpy road to love, still i'll always always keep the memory of..."

So lucky me, lucky you, lucky world. Adieu to this adventure, hello to the next, whatever curves and bumps may appear.

Love!

Laura

T minus 9

2007-05-15T22:40:00.000-07:00

Hello there gremlins, rainbow-brights, and sparkling tortoise shells:

RAIN!

Indeed the unthinkable has occurred. After recent weeks of unending heat and a ruthless sun beating down on the earth and thus bleaching everything to a uniform tan, in just the past few days the unthinkable has occurred. It has rained.

The skies have opened up, seemingly releasing their pent-up moisture-anger of the last 6 months. And damn, that's a lot of moisture. I had almost forgotten the smell, the sound, the constant wetness of rainy season in the last months of incessantly dry skies, but indeed, it's back. Oh flip-flop slides and moldy garments! Oh joy!

And just as the weather seems to slip into its natural transition from one thing to the next, so do I. In 9 days, I will be on a plane headed home.

I'm filled with excitement as I think of friends and family. Smiles plaster over my face when I think of music clubs, theater, restaurants, JP Licks soft serve… It all has been a long-lost thought for so long. For so long, it's been Burma, papaya salad, rice paddy, human rights…

And just as these shudders of excitement run through me, shudders of confusion do as well. I can't quite imagine being distanced from my friends, students, adoptive families here. I can't imagine thinking about this situation from such a distance and not knowing how things actually are, here on the street-level.

I also wonder about those other things, those details about life in the US like: Am I ready to drive a car again? Can I stomach the American meal of large portions and pre-processed items? Will I be able to make it through a reality TV show without seizing on the floor in a fit of anger?

While all these emotions can be lumped into the simplistic-sounding "culture shock," I think they are worth more than what this trite phrase offers. It seems to me that upon returning home, those who live abroad for some time not only struggle with the difference between cultures, but the mental battle of having opened the door to the world, and the at times inspiring and other times paralyzing possibilities which that act engages.

Indeed I'll go home not thinking just of the change in weather, but very much pondering future actions, development, the world, inequalities, and my most effective place within all of it. My mind will be wading through the question of returning to this border and the people who have been my family for this past year or embarking on another adventure in my own culture, somewhere all mixed up in the sandwich shops and jazz venues of any cool US city.

In spite of it all, I'm immensely excited to arrive back in the US on May 17^th, hug my parents at the airport, and drop my heavy and dirt-dirt-dirty bags on the floor of the home where I grew up.

I'm also excited to see you, to talk to you, to hear about all that I have missed in exactly 12 months away from your life.

Much love, excitement, and cashews,

Laura!

View from the Camp

2007-04-14T03:10:00.000-07:00

Below you will find some images from camp. I hope this helps you get a better sense of it all.

:) Laura

Free Bike Showers for Those Who Wait

2007-04-10T04:41:00.000-07:00

Hey there supersoakers, buckets of oddly colored water, and thin layers of wax expertly patterned over all car exteriors:

Welcome to Songkhran

Yes, hallelujah lord, the famous Songkhran, or water festival, is upon us. Indeed every Thai summer, in the throes of heat, exhaustion, and smoky air due to slash and burn agriculture (see also: I love me some slash and burn), there comes a time when everyone just drops it all, cuts loose, picks up a beer and a supersoaker, and pours water over everybody and everything. Some call it crazy, others call it brilliant (at least until they're sick of drenched clothes and their cell phone dies from a sad purse-drowning).

Every year, to bring in the new and splash out the old, people around these parts celebrate by dousing each other (strangers, grandmas, neighbors cats, etc.) in water for about 5 days in most towns (Friday is a holiday, as are Monday and Tuesday-- if you force your employees to work you can go to prison...), or 10 if you live in the motherland of Chiang Mai. On my windy and nauseating drive back from camp today I was greeted with the early Songkhraners-- the eager teens on summer break who have nothing to do but splash water on suspecting passers-by. The greatest joy seems to come when throwing water at the people who will truly get wet-- there's no wasting this stuff on cars-- bicyclists and motorbikers are preferred. If you can get a white lady on her bicycle-- even better.

Excitement level= higher than that of the national security of the US.

When the Durians Come Out, The Sarongs Come Down

Okay. I'll be the first to admit it. In fact I'm quite proud about it. I like durians.

What are durians, you ask? Ah, friends! Durians are those things you've always wondered about! They are those green, spikey, smelly objects you see in Chinatowns across the globe.

Known to the ex-pat population as anything from "gross" to "smelling like my old gym socks," the durian is a fruit that ripens to a lovely flavor around this time of year. The sidewalk is lined with farmer's trucks, the back opened for the view of passers-by as durians teem from them, oozing like slime on the show "You Can't Do That on Television." While I had eaten two durians in the past-- one in Sangkhla and one in Chiang Mai-- and appreciated them, I had never come to a true love of the durian until I happened upon an amazing one in Bangkok. My friend and I guiltily carried the thing home with us, shoving chunks of the oddly-textured gooeyness into our mouths, attempting to down it all so as to hide its infamous smell. In fact, durians are banned from most hotels for that very reason...

Anyhow, the taste was utterly delectable-- a thing I'd liken to a fine, stinky cheese. This is a note to you, oh Westerners, to open your mind and hearts to the dear durian if you stop off in Asia...

In another note, it's also known as a mild aphrodisiac, hence the above subtitle.

We Don't Want No Debbie Downers

Right. So I'll be the first to admit that while this work is incredibly fulfilling, it is sometimes a mental handful. I mean, going to work and speaking of village burnings, forced labor and rapes is not for the weak at heart. It seems the consensus in dealing with the craziness that often ensues here on the border is to never mention it when you don't need to. It is for that reason that those who do speak openly about the conflicts that abound in a social setting are utterly unwelcome. At least by one Laura K that is.

I've found that anyone who crosses into the talk about the negative over three times in any one conversation is placed on my do-not-voluntarily-hang-out-with list. I'm sure they are lovely, well-meaning people, but it seems to cope in this setting, I'm just gonna have to avoid them like the plague.

Hello, Goodbye
As I come up on the final month of my year-long stint on the Thai-Burma border, I can't help but ponder if another year is in the cards for me. While I'm making no commitments at this point (see also: a no commitment motto= dastardly awesome), one factor that comes into play is what my social life would be like here if I stayed on for another year.

What's fascinating and possibly obvious is the fact that any community of ex-pats is quite transient. It was salient in Sangkhla, and it is salient yet again here. So often my conversations with foreigners here begin with "so how long will you be here?" No one's intending to be nosey, but we are, in fact, feeling out the amount of time we ought to devote to this friendship, or possibly even this conversation. If the answer borders on the "two-week" side, it's likely to be a no-investment situation. If they instead spout out "six months," we would definitely be more into it.

This interest level is not out of rudeness, as I felt upon arriving both in Sangkhla and now in Mae Sot, but rather out of a genuine effort to protect oneself, and I now understand why. It's utterly heartbreaking to make friends with wonderful, interesting, globally-aware people, and then to say goodbye so frequently. The international social scene is different in so many ways. And this is one of the most fundamental.

Life Ain't No Pie If You're Stateless
Over the weekend I was feeling an overall melancholy, as we sometimes do as living breathing things, and I've tried to place the source. While I can't quite come to a conclusion on it, it seems to have started just around the night I sat down with a friend in Bangkok (I was there for yet another visa trip-- this time involving acquisition of a work visa-- hooray for well-oiled international NGO machines!) and we blabbed away as she updated me on her life.

As I knew before, she is illegally working in Thailand and living under the radar along with so many others who have left Burma for various reasons (economics, human rights, etc.). While she had high hopes for her work in Bangkok upon first arriving one month ago, she has since come face to ugly face with the reality of being an illegal immigrant, nonetheless one from Burma, who lives in Bangkok.

Together we ate fried veggies and rice as hot tears poured out of her huge eyes. It was 9 PM and she had just gotten back from work and was exhausted, full of the heat and the sadness of the city. We talked of long hours, little pay, the constant fear of arrest, and the racism against Burmese and Muslims and people with dark skin. We talked of her family of 7 relying on her and her father's and little sister's heart problems, and her desire to call some place home but knowing that in that place, Burma, she and her family are persecuted for involvement with the National League for Democracy (Nobel Peace Prize Winner Aung San Suu Kyi's party). We talked about waiting to move to the refugee camp when there is space so that she and her family can then begin the wait in the camp to then go to a third country. We talked about the world and how this is not an isolated experience. And then we cried and held each others hands like little monkeys afraid of a hunter.

For the world's stateless, there is no safe place. For my friend, for now, there is no freedom. Can you imagine a life where your short-term hope is to get off a waiting list to go and live in a refugee camp? What a world.

In sum
Many thanks for a-readin. I'm off to the bicycle, which leads to the street, which is increasingly becoming lined with children plus super-soakers... I have a feeling the waters of Songkhran will wash away the madness and bring a fruitful, wonderful, water-drenched year.

here's to a bike shower!

:) Laura

ps. Thanks to Carson, who thanks her friend Hayden, for the use of these spiffy subtitles and overall tidbit format.

Contradictions Abound

2007-03-31T06:14:00.000-07:00

Oh where oh where to begin.

Good friends, I write as I drip with sweat from every part of me. This week, as we creep creep creep into the Thai summer, has largely constituted of sticking to things. Sticking to chairs, sticking to clothes, sticking to your bike seat, sticking to other people, just sticking. It’s amazing how much sweat can come out of one’s body.

Despite the plentiful mangos and dreamily inviting nature of water festival being upon us, the oppression of the heat is undeniable. Today was clearly over 100 degrees; somewhere in that zone that becomes no longer distinguishable it’s so damn hot. On days like today the dogs are clonked out in a lazy heap in the shade, the flies grow heavy and clumsy, and even the mosquitoes seem to be relaxing.

Weather aside, all is a can of peaches here in Mae Sot. It’s amazing how, when you live in a place so distinct from your reality for so long (see also: sleeping on the floor for 9 months in Sangkhla) and then return to an environment similar to that from which you came (the hustle and bustle of Mae Sot), how parts of you suddenly bloom and reawaken, energized, as though their hibernation time didn’t drown them out, but rather refreshed them.

This seems to be what’s happening to me. I slowly find myself remembering the social norms of the West and coming back to the sarcasm and witty banter I like to throw about in a social setting. I find myself remembering how very fun it is to dawn clothing that shows off my white white shoulders, to think about the style of my outfit before exiting the house, to put on (gasp!) eye liner after 10 months of restraint. It is these small creature comforts that awaken me and remind me of home and all that which I was missing these past nine months.

At the same time this happens, these new parts of me that developed during my time in Sangkhla now dig their own small burrows in my heart, preparing for the wintry period that is ahead. My newfound abilities to hand wash and iron EVERYTHING slowly yawn and doze off, my foraging for bamboo shoots and vegetables in the backyard retires to the sofa, and my sarong-wearing waist readjusts to the world of zippers and flies.

It’s both funny and amazing how we as humans can jump from one world to another so easily. Of course there is that confusing time when everything is in question, when you ball your eyes out in goodbyes and stumble over your words with hellos and first impressions, but really, in just weeks, we can go from a town with no aircon and a number of trucks you can count on one hand to the world of wifi, traffic, and Tesco Lotus. What adaptable beings…

Before I head off to dinner and a night at one of the many bars in Mae Sot, I will leave you with some much anticipated words. I will tell you about the camp.

Umpiem Mai is a refugee camp of 20,000 people located south of Mae Sot in Thailand. Most of the residents there are of the Karen ethnic group of eastern Burma, but there is a good number of Burmese Muslims who come from Karen state, and a smattering of smaller numbers of people of the many ethnic groups in Burma. Most of the residents are there due to displacement from Burma’s military regime, the State Peace and Development Council (SPDC) and the Democratic Karen Buddhist Army (DKBA), who have destroyed over 3,000 villages in eastern Burma. This involves a lot of fighting, raping, burning and running. The SPDC works together with the DKBA (a Karen force who came to an agreement with the SPDC a while ago) to quell the Karen insurgency for autonomy that has lasted since independence from Britain in 1948.

Others live in the camp not because their homes were destroyed, but rather because they are on the SPDC’s blacklist for one or more of a variety of reasons. Maybe they openly expressed disapproval of the SPDC, maybe they worked with the National League for Democracy (NLD—Aung San Suu Kyi’s party), or maybe they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. These people are in the camps because they will be harassed, imprisoned, or killed if they return to Burma.

Regardless of how one ends up in the camp, the conditions inside are less than favorable. I’m struck by this image when I first arrived and climbed one of the many windy and treacherous mud paths towards the school where I would be working. As I sweated and huffed and puffed with exhaustion of climbing, I saw a woman squatting, sarong-clad, wiry and dark, beating a club against what appeared to be a pig hoof. It was a dinner preparation of some sort. She squatted in the red dirt, children milling about beside her, a bamboo and thatch one-room house at her side. To think that her dinner would consist of this in some boiled water with chili was disturbing, and somehow the savagery of the club and the rawness of the hoof can’t seem to quit my mind…

The camp is a hilly place, cool and beautiful, really. It’s much like an impoverished village with dusty shops here and there, one or two noodle shops and a handful of tea shops so characteristic of Burma. There are schools, building which are allowed a tin roof and a concrete floor, a hospital and a cluster of other more permanent buildings that house NGOs, a church, a monastery, and a mosque. Houses are to be made of bamboo and thatch only, so that they are temporary dwellings, despite years and years of residence by one family.

In the present dry season the air smells and tastes of dirt. A dust coating covers everything from houses to clothes to skin to food. The air smells of smoke captured between the mountains from the farms nearby who are burning their field in preparation for the planting that comes before the rainy season. The noise is one of playground chatter. There are little kids constantly yelling, crying, laughing, singing. There are husbands and wives conversing, sneezing, arguing angrily. There are cows mooing and pigs snorting. There are a few chickens, although most were killed due to a scare of that unmentionable disease that’s got the world on edge. There are goats baaing and rats scampering.

The camp tastes like oil and preserved food. Rations consist of rice, yellow beans, chili, oil, and fish paste. For all other things, you must find the money to buy them.

Power comes from generators you must buy, and if you don’t have this money then you live without power. There is a lights-out policy at 9 due to security of the camp. While Umpiem is not located very close to Burma, there is a small worry that the SPDC or DKBA will find and infiltrate the camp, setting it ablaze as it did about a decade ago to Umpiem’s two predecessor camps. The SPDC and DKBA struck one of these old camps at night, causing many deaths to those who couldn’t get out in time. The other camp was more fortunate and attacked during the day. The inhabitants were relocated here in the hills.

Dirty water pours from spigots in each section of camp, and little kids crowd around them with slime-coated old petrol plastics to fill up and carry home. There is no alcohol allowed in camp, yet alcoholism is rampant…

Camp is governed by a committee consisting of the Camp Commander (Thai authority I believe), many other parties, and section leaders. Camp is divided into a variety of sections. The school where I’m working is between sections 5 and 7, in a Muslim area, and not a day goes by without hearing a call to prayer emanating slowly from a loudspeaker.

People are milling about, sitting around at home, carrying things on their heads, chatting, staring, listening to music. People are generally waiting—waiting for the bamboo shipment to come in, waiting for a customer, waiting for news of friends, waiting to go back home, waiting to be resettled to a third country, etc.

The camp is a fascinating mix of brilliant activists tossed out of their countries due to their political activities and poor, uneducated individuals from farms just wanting to go back home. It is a place where you will find a state of the art school where the students are getting an education comparable to that of a private US high school and an orphan child entertaining himself with a dead rat at the same time. It’s the type of place where you will hear the Karen version of Tom Petty’s “Don’t Have to Live Like a Refugee.” Camp is an unsafe place of refuge.

Camp is wow, camp is crazy, camp is exactly what you think it would be and what you least expected all rolled into one.

With this I leave you, friends. To dinner and beyond…

Love,

Laura

Lauraland: Mae Sot

2007-03-08T18:09:00.000-08:00

Kings and Queens of the Bongo:

Hello and welcome to Lauraland: Mae Sot. I arrived one week ago after a long and twisting bus ride that effectively left my rear end numb until yesterday. Already in this past week I have wined and dined like the best of them, passed time at a house party, and hit up the local bar/lounge, Italian restaurant, and even the bagel place. Bagel! This word was nearly a vocabulary pariah prior to last week. But just say it with me, it feels so good… Bagel! Place! A place where they sell bagels!

Indeed the days of lusting for such western delicacies as bagels, peanut butter and pasta are over. Why? I can buy them at one of the few ex-pat catered restaurants, one of the four (four!) 7-11s, or, just like a gem from the gods, take a blithe jaunt over to the Tesco Lotus Express (aka COSTCO lite, Asian style). Mae Sot is, in a nut shell, heaven.

But even in heaven we have our ups and downs. I have outlined these strategically below in one of three categories: the good, the bad, and the fugly (fat + ugly):

Good:

Superb food both Western and Thai. In the latter category we have the mango/ sticky rice/ coconut milk combo, with gorgeous yellow mangoes peeking out from every corner in Mae Sot as it is the hot/ mango season.
Incredibly diverse office staff. We’re talking majority of people are quadralingual (a word?), consisting of Thai, Karen, American, Canadian, Singaporean, Irish, etc.
Walkable streets: There is some semblance of a sidewalk here, much welcoming the stroll from place to place. What’s more is that the street dogs are nice and those that are not are tied up! Brilliance!
There are gazillions of acronyms uttered from the lips of all those who live here. Acronyms on the Thai-Burma border= NGOs. Lots of acronyms= lots of NGOs. Indeed, Mae Sot is rife with NGOs doing fascinating, life-saving work.
Such fascinating NGOs are staffed with equally fascinating people. Here’s Jim. He spent years in Bhutan expanding health for disadvantaged youth and now trains a team of backpacking medics. Here is Beth. She worked as a chef for 15 years until she decided to up and go abroad. Now she is a human rights trainer. Like that.
My new office not only has air-con, but is also abuzz with (mostly) functioning wireless internet.
I have a sweet house and roommate. Her name is Shona.
Flat city= breezy bike-cruisin’.

Bad:

Flat city= drainage issues. Drainage issues= smell eminating from sewage system that is both repulsive yet disturbingly intoxicating at the same time.
No breathtaking lake to the tune of Sangkhlaburi.
MSG is rife in the food here and local NGO-staffers have resigned themselves to it. I guess they’ve chosen to fight other battles.

Fugly:

Dogs at the end of the street humping when I left for my run. Upon returning 30 minutes later, humping proceeded assumedly uninterrupted. Now for the kicker: these dogs were (one) fat AND (two) ugly.

The flip-o side-o

Why do all these crazy cool NGOs work in Mae Sot? Well friends, Mae Sot is located smack-dab in between many refugee camps that dot the Thai-Burma border. These places, referred to with the more cheery label of “camps,” define a lot of activity and life that takes place in Mae Sot. If something weird happens up in camp, its effects ripple on down to Mae Sot on many levels.

In fact, I am here because of the camps. I am working in one camp just north of here, teaching an intensive course on management (your assistance in instructing the fascinating topic of needs assessments is welcome…) and I will begin work up there next week. I did, however, pop on by last Friday to say hello to the future students (a rockin’ crew) and get a wee sense of just what the camp and school were all about there.

I was immensely excited Friday morning, as visiting a camp is something I have wanted to do forever. In a massive, plush and air-conned organization truck, the school program administrator (also a former camp resident), driver and I wound along a lunch-spewing road, curve upon curve, car making those squeaky rubber-on-concrete noises that I thought only existed as movie car-racing sound effects. When we arrived I gasped not at the poverty, but rather at the sheer beauty of this place: a cluster of houses situated atop hills, a place exposed to clean air and a fabulous breeze. The houses were small bamboo huts with thatch roofs, crowded together, row upon row, and the whole place took on this tan, sun-stained color, the houses and dirt blending together from a distance. Externally, the camp was breathtaking.

Upon entering camp, however, this false sense of beauty was replaced with a slap of reality. Inside it was clear that life in a refugee camp is hard living: there is a lack of things to do, places to go, jobs to be had, food to eat, water to drink, and freedom all around.

These are my thoughts from just a few hours in the camp, and I’m sure many will come in the days and weeks to follow.

To turning in early and fugly dogs-

:) Laura

Goodbye

2007-02-28T11:56:00.000-08:00

Bangkok Roaches:

I write from the comfort of a wood-laden, vegetarian-grooving guesthouse in the midnight breezes of Bangkok. I’m still very much in Thailand- my stomach grapples the evil MSG in an effort to digest it, the mosquitoes whirr and latch on to me, evoking swear words as they do, motorbikes perform daring and unimaginable stunts, and there are few moments when you can go outside without breaking into a sweat. Still Thailand, different Laura.

I’m different because I have said goodbye to Sangkhlaburi, my town, my home for the past nine months.

Just as nine months is enough to grow a whole baby and ready them to fight the evils of the world and enjoy in all the light-beams, nine months was a time for me to develop an entirely new and amazing life, complete with deep relationships, moments of happiness, pain, fear, and ridiculousness. In these last nine months, the people I have met and the people who met me, mainly my lovely and amazing students, have readied each other for a new world with an increased awareness of the globe and our place in it.

I left Sangkhlaburi on Sunday morning, February 25^th, to a scene of tear-stained student faces, all of which looked rather bullied and extremely pained. I viewed it all from my own tear-blurred eyes. I thought about the bus that carried me into this small, dusty town in a time that seemed to be ages ago and all that transpired in between.

Here are some things I have learned:

· MSG is the spice of the devil

· Roosters cock-a-doodle-doo at all times of nights, in the country and in the city, and no matter where you go, THEY WILL FIND YOU

· People want happiness and safety

· I’m afraid of street dogs

· The love from a mother to a child is unchanging, regardless of continent, how many children you have, and how many of these children die

· One really can get used to a breakfast of yesterdays rice and greasylicious eggs

· Some people find a fight to fight. Some people are born into one they have no choice but to fight.

· As open-minded as you are, it’s okay to never warm up to eating fish eyes and chicken’s feet. That’s just a part of you.

· Education is empowering. Giving it is empowering, receiving it is empowering.

· Reusing old materials feels good.

· If you smile when you feel sad, or if instead you cry, it is still the same feeling of sadness.

· People who live in high office towers in NYC and people who work on the rubber plantations of Burma all like to get new shirts.

· Some of the wisest people lack formal education, power and running water.

· When you cook food for one hour it tastes better than when you open a box with a mix inside, even if that mix is KRAFT Mac and Cheese (forgive my slander oh mother of kraft-cheesyness).

· Being used to pain doesn’t mean that pain is okay for you.

· Physical touch speaks volumes

· Being a mother to others feels amazing. Having others mother you is equally amazing.

· Will Farrel skits don’t translate easily to Mon culture

· Life is hard for some people and life is easier for others. Regardless, this has nothing to do with what you have done. This just happened.

· We are all one people who want the same thing. We are all one race.

Tomorrow morning I will hop on a bus to Mae Sot, a far larger border town that lies up north. There I will begin a new adventure with a new role teaching and assisting in education efforts on the border with an international education NGO for 2.5 months. I will skip back to the US at the end of May. This will conclude round one of the fight for freedom in Burma, with an unknown number of future efforts to follow, in forms unknown at this point. The future beyond this is wide open, the wind and your words of advice my guidance.

Three days ago I pulled away from Sangkhla, saying a goodbye unlike any other. Due to Burma’s dodgy phone lines, censored mail system, and infrequent email which is only accessible in larger cities, it’s possible I will never see or even contact some of my students again. Regardless of this knowledge, the impact these past 9 months have had on my life is immense. As I waved goodbye, I beamed with happiness through my tears. Half of my heart dropped fearing the gaping hole that would be left without the row of amazing people I watched outside the bus window, and the other half exploded with a love that coated all organs in my body. Despite the growing distance between us, my heart has permanently been stamped by my students—by their love for me, and mine for them.

Student Infusions: Wishes, Inspirations, and Democracy

2007-02-26T02:12:00.000-08:00

Mona Lisas:

Please find the newest recruits from students' writings below. Read a few or all, and get a sense of their lives and my luck to have come across them.

Tiddlywinks-
:) L

My Greatest Wish

My greatest wish is to be wealthy and famous in the future. For example, I would have a good job and have a lot of income. I don’t want to worry about anything. I said that I wanted to be famous and I mean not literally famous like singer or actress but to be a good person to everybody. For example if I am a teacher, I want to be a good teacher to my students, a good daughter of my parents, a good wife to my husband and a good mother to my children.

My typical day

I have two typical days in my life. My typical day is not the same as everybody who lives here. I think some people have a simple day in summer. They can take a rest for the whole summer.
I don't have a simple typical day in the summer. When i was in my early teens until now i have had no holiday in summer. I have to work on our rubber plantation. I wake up at 1 at night and cut rubber until the morning and then I sleep. It is very hard work. I have no time to stay at home. I can't do whatever i want.
When I am attending school, i think my typical day is the same as everybody. At that time, I just study. There is no need to do house work when I am at my dormitory, but I do have to cook, wash and clean.

Wonderful Days

It was in December when students from Mon National High School celebrated sports with students from other schools. The sun was so hot for students to play games at midday that they were resting in their hostels.

I walked along the road to the office looking at some students chatting with their parents who were visiting them beneath the trees. Fortunately, i saw my parents, my two sisters and my nephew walking to me and i felt very happy and surprised as i had not seen them for so long.

I left them for four years. I longed for my parents very much whenever i saw some student's parents visiting our school. They gave me several clothes and food. They stay with me for two days.

I could introduce my parents to other students. We talked about many things for a long time. They also watched students compete with each other in sports. After two days, they went back home. I had never felt happy as much as when i saw my parents unexpectedly at school. I'll never forget my feeling during those days.

My Greatest Wish

My greatest wish is to changing Burma to democracy. People who are living in Burma have no rights and no chance as others do. Burma's situation is so bad. Two –thirds of the population of Burma don't have jobs. The government can't give a job to them. The people who are rich are so rich and people who are poor are so poor. The government can't solve that problem.

The civilians are facing many troubles. Some people are facing in health problems and some people are facing economic problems. The young people are problems in educations. There is not enough electricity is not enough in Burma. We can't use computers and the internet everywhere. Even though we have chance to go to foreign countries passport and visa are so high living standards can go. There are a lot crisis in Burma. The fomer political prisoners haven't had peace until now. I want to change Burma political system is my greatest wish.

What Inspires Me

I feel excited when we talk about the environment. There are many things that I want to change in the world and in my own life. For example, I don’t like having a lot of industries in the world. Using a lot of plastic carelessly can destroy the earth. Most people know that we will have air pollution from burning plastic, so I want to reduce using it.

I also don’t like cutting a lot of trees without using common sense. I don’t mean we can’t use natural resources. We can use them but not too much of them. In addition to these cases, we also have to care about animals. Killing animals for food is a bad concept in the world. About all, I want to change Burma from a military regime to a democracy. One thing I don’t like about Burma is that people who work on plantation and on farms never have a lot of money even though they have to work harder than all other people. There are many things left that I want to change in the world and in my own life.

My Saddest Memory

Now my father is over 50 years old. My mother is about 50 years old. Although they are old they have to do hard work. When i took the exam in tenth grade, they had to sell something and they gave some money to me. If we look at my family, everything is different to others. Other people also do not care about us, because we are poor and we are not educated well. If i dream about this, i feel so sad.

The Hardest Time

There are seven people in our family. My father worked hard for his income. It became difficult for my father to find a job after Burmese currency became useless over twenty years ago. He lost his job and some property and had to leave my village. My brother and sister had to stop their studies and work with my father

I continued my studies with less money. I couldn't afford to attend school in the city. I studied at a Mon National High School in a small village. It didn't cost much to study there. I needed to walk for many hours to get to school. I had to stay at a hostel. All students needed to do self-study a lot as there were insufficient teachers. I also had to find vegetables and food in the rain and sun. I faced many hardships during my time at school. I didn't feel sad. I intended to pass tenth grade.

Finally i finished my high school and received a certificate. I'll never forget those hardships throughout my life.

Difficulties of My Life

Before the ceasefire between the New Mon State Party (NMSP) and the State Peace and Development Council (SPDC), SPDC soldiers came to my village and abused my village. Many students in my village didn't attend school. We also had to run from their abuse. They used men and as porters and raped women. We had to run far away from the village and we had to live in a jungle for a long time. At that time the school closed. After the ceasefire between the NMSP and SPDC , my family moved to Yee Township in a small village in NMSP area until now. It is my luck to get the opportunity to learn English.

Sorrow Came up to Me

I had arrived home for only three days from Weng Sapaw village when my grandfather felt seriously ill. I stayed with him and was responsible for what he asked for because he could not move well after he felt ill.

My grandfather loved me so much. He brought me up for several years while I was far away from my parents. I stayed with my grandparents during my time in school. My grandpa wanted me to be a medic. He encouraged me to attend the medical treatment training. He was a reliable person for me at that time. I asked him for advice for whatever I did.

After he felt ill, he could not remember things easily. I found that he acted and spoke like a child while i took care of him. I didn't know there might be sorrow coming to me. A few days later, my grandpa died from his illness. I felt sad as i was not an adult yet.

The thought that i had lost him for the rest of my life threatened me for many days. Later I came to understand that it is natural for people to die after they have lived their lives.

Cats Gone A-Missin'

2007-02-21T23:58:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the animal world is a mirror onto humans. Take my kitties and the neighboring dog for example. The powerful, entitled black pitbull comes rambling down the street and the kittens slink backwards, hair raised, to hide in the shadows of our house. While they may be smarter, cuter, fluffier than the dog, they are less powerful, and this is what causes their retreat. Their hair stands on end until the dog is well away in the distance, terrorizing some other poor neighborhood pet.

* * *

It feels like life here is a roller coaster that tops off in the heavens and reaches its lows in the sweaty craters of hell. The ride is short, too, often reaching its highs and lows in the span of just a few hours. At times I am so alive, smiling broadly as I lip-synch to 10-year-old Spice Girl tunes, teach, or do my part in a struggle for human rights in this little part of the earth. And other times I just feel pain- a deep, slow twisting thing in my heart- a pain endured by my friends and students here daily.

I should start off by saying that my impending departure from Sangkhla and my students has not only turned my emotions to something I wear on my sleeve, but has also thrown the reality of the situation in Burma smack-dab in front of my eyes; I am no longer allowed to imagine away their stories of forced labor, money shortages, and abuses by the notorious military regime. They’re going back and the circumstances under which they live remain the same as when they left.

The precariousness of life on the border has also been underscored by a series of disheartening events which have recently occurred, including the murder of a monk, a visit to our office of a man spouting off racist remarks and threatening the security of my students, and a bomb explosion during Mon National Day festivities.

Despite being a western girl who grew up with plenty of human rights and security to which I can return at the drop of a hat, these events don’t roll off me as easily as I wish. Indeed, I now notice myself speaking in small voices when talking about human rights, wondering why my neighbor tore down his fence by only my window (just here, why nowhere else?!), and looking suspiciously at those who are sitting in the tea shop next to me before sharing my daily news with a friend. There’s an undertone of anxiety, a slow drip-drop of fear propagated by those in positions of power (established through law or violence). For people running from oppression, this is a daily reality.

* * *

Last week, our kittens upped and went missing. We searched for the duo, pitching our voices high to create the Burmese “here kitty kitty kitty” equivalent (“mee mee mee mee”). We questioned the neighbors, developed theories of the man next door poisoning them due to their threat to his chickens, and contemplated the likely possibility that some nomadic folk stole the pair and cooked them up for dinner.

It turned out the answer was literally in our own backyard, discovered by a student who ventured down our hill to retrieve some vegetables for dinner. Hand in hand with another student I climbed through the pineapple bushes to see for myself what I had feared after those first catless nights. There it was: a dead cat corpse, ants crawling and flies swarming. On its body were marks of a dog attack, presumably that of the goliath next door. While that toxic smell and the initial heart sinking hurt, I realized later that this was not what frightened me so about this image. No, these memories would dissolve as the days passed. What would not dissolve, however, was the reminder of the lot of the powerful versus the powerless, the tyrant in his show of strength against those he can oppress. My expression soured as I turned to walk up the hill and the image of my cat-- helpless, dead, weak-- imprinted itself on my mind. One last view of him revealed small paws covering light green eyes a vain attempt to obscure the pain and to alleviate the fear. I hope it worked.

She risked her life among the enemy, and other words

2007-02-16T21:42:00.000-08:00

Fishpaste eaters:
Please find the newest in a slew of journal entry installments from the students. Sensitive names have been changed for security purposes.

Some important background:

"Mi" means "Ms."
In 1988, there was a national uprising led by students in opposition to the military regime in power. These peaceful uprisings were violently suppressed, and therefore brought the government under international scrutiny, forcing them to hold democratic elections in 1990, which they inevitably lost. The triumphant party was the National League for Democracy (NLD), led by Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. The power was never exchanged from the military regime to the NLD, and Daw Aung San Suu Kyi was subsequently placed under house arrest intermittently for 11 of the past 17 years. She is the recipient of the 1991 Nobel Peace Prize.

Enjoy and dream of sticky rice, which I will force feed you the next time I see you...

:) Laura

My role model

Mi Twin who is my mom’s friend, is my role model. She is 49 years old. She is a trainer of human rights and women rights. She lives in Mawlamyine. Her husband is a top member of the New Mon State Party (NMSP). I met her when I was in seventh grade. She told me her story about how she arrived at the NMSP.

She was a university student in Yangon. She was interested in politics. She organized many students to become involved in the national uprising. Before the national uprising in 1988, the SPDC’s police suspected her and looked for her. On the last day of her exams the police attempted to arrest her. Fortunately, she escaped from the spies and arrived at the NMSP through out many dangerous things. She became a NMSP member as a female soldier.

I’m really proud of her because she is a thin and gentle woman but she risked of her life among the enemy. Therefore she is my special role model.

What is your greatest wish?

My greatest wish is to be a teacher. I love to teach students. Teaching is a noble profession for my livelihood. Not only students, but also parents and all people respect teachers. Qualities of a teacher are: goodwill, kindness, patience. Teachers have many obligations and initiatives to teach them. Teachers are very principal as a role model because students of today are leaders of tomorrow. Teachers have to motivate the students to be active. Teachers take part in every activity everywhere. Being a teacher is a good job and can create a good life.

Ancestral Art

2007-01-20T04:22:00.000-08:00

$3 dollar Coke cans:

I address you, yes, from the vigor and splendor of the Siem Reap Raffles Grand Hotel, the creme-de-la-creme, the added MSG just when you thought it couldn’t taste any better. That’s right. As the editors of Teen Vogue would say, “I’m on vacay with the rentals.”

Months ago, upon learning of the booking of this glorious and heavenly hotel I couldn’t help but think I would want to vomit upon walking inside and viewing the waste—the frivolity—the consumerism present both in the hotel itself and that which drives the clientele in its walls. While indeed the constant waiting on, offering of moist towelettes (moist!) and over-saccharine smiles make my stomach turn, the influx of AC whenever and wherever, wireless internet, warm showers and TWO movie tv stations have never found such a welcoming arms as my own. Indeed as the day of sightseeing draws to a close I find the normally adventurous me opting to stay in to give myself adequate ooing and awing about how every time I remove the “emery board” provided me in the bathroom, it reappears, equally as emerylicious and boardiful as before. A wonder! And all this not to even mention the symmetrical design of the minibar schnapps! Oh great g-d of things symmetrical!

Now on to the real juice.

The city of Siem Reap doesn’t just offer luxury hotels, despite the growing numbers. Behind the booming tourist industry is the driver of it all: Angkor Wat.

Angkor Wat is, well, the most amazing ruin I have ever seen. Architecturally it’s awe-inspiring and renews the spirit with the idea that humans are capable of remarkable things, provided the cooperation and motivation are in order. We are all amazing. Did you know that?

Anyhow, AW is not really just AW. In fact it is a whole maze of old temples, created about a thousand years ago, a fusion of Hinduism, Buddhism, Animism, artistry, architecture, and sweat. You can begin your day at the spires of the temple called Angkor Wat, climbing and getting vertigo, fighting off tourists and learning of remarkable and ancient fables, and end in a hidden temple, deep in the forest, swatting mosquitos as your friendly guide overturns a moss-covered stone to reveal the face of a Buddha only he knows about—a stone that he will return to its former position, keeping it as a personal gift passed down to him from his ancestors so long ago.

To the smiling faces etched in stone, to the permanent citizens of Siem Reap, to art, to inspiration, religion, confluence, existence, immortality and the rest-

Laura!

Hoe-Uh Oh-Uh

2006-12-28T06:48:00.000-08:00

Fine Feathered Felines:

It’s been a while since I’ve poured my feelings to you from my wobbly desk, mosquitos whirring by my head and pomelo digesting in my stomach. Hello again friend.

My introspective writing has been put on hold for many a reason. First of all, I have, of late, taken on responsibilities above and beyond what my fellowship description outlines. These include: thinking about and doing things for my future (such as procuring employment beyond my AJWS fellowship and securing sub-continent flights), Burmese lessons, exploring ideas to fundraise for a variety of worthwhile causes here, playing Thailand travel agent for an upcoming visit from the brother, mommer and popper (shweet), waking at 6 am once a week to partake in “cooking duty” with my students (see also: Laura acts inept with firewoodà Laura creates a dehydrating heap of salty fried eggsà Laura nags students not to add MSG to everythingà Laura is relegated to the mortar and pestle and forms a nice right bicep), relearning all the math I forgot during a six year hibernation period so that I can teach it to my students, relating soccer balls and their patchwork to Earth and it’s tectonic plates, developing fleeting thoughts about bringing art to borders here, there and everywhere, and shaking the roseapple tree in front of the office to harvest it’s luscious fruit. Utter deliciousness.

Secondly, after seven months here in Thailand, Burma, the border, or whatever one could call this complex town, my life here no longer comprises of a “stint.” Those goats making noises like old dying men no longer shock me. They are the Starbucks around the corner. The gorgeous and wrinkled woman smoking her morning cigar at the market is to me that stoplight you pause at before turning right in your daily commute to work. The barefooted monks and their 6:30 am chant is now just a backdrop; dissolved into the ether of sensations, smells, charms and vices of the East.

These formerly exotic items have become my life. And inspiration to write about the normal is, at times, quite difficult to come by.

And this, I then realized, was enough in and of itself to write about. After a seven month adventure on a peaceful, painful, and utterly stupefying border, I have arrived at the fact that I am no longer an outsider looking in. I am a local, a resident, that white girl who runs to the pagoda in the morning.

It’s funny how these things happen. It’s not clear if it’s the visa-run leaving and coming back, the impending family visit, the Laura-izing of my house (Mr T sticker above the bathroom light-switch), or the fact that the water bill man knows my name, but suddenly, two days ago, for the first time ever, I told my friend not that I was going to “my house,” but rather that I was going “home.” It was this same day that I combined a few words from my limited Mon vocabulary into this same phrase to answer my students when they asked me, perched in the office doorway and scrambling for my sandals, where I was going.

“Howa owa,” I replied.

:) Laura

ps. Those near future plans mentioned above are the following: Directly after my teaching is complete here in sleepy Sangkhla I will head up north to spend half my week in a refugee camp teaching and the other half in a bustling border town called Mae Sot, a home of delicious coconut-milk noodle shops and NGOers doing brilliant and unconventional work to counter the abuses so easily dolled out by the Burmese military regime. I will be working with a large NGO focusing on education and my scant pocket money will be supplied by both your and my tax money, dear U.S. citizens (thanks to funding from an org known as USAID). This stint will be short, with the possibility of extension in the future if all goes well, and I then have a plane ticket booked home on May 17^th, exactly one long, sweaty, bug-bite laden and eye-opening year after I arrived here.

These vagabond shoes...

2006-12-23T21:49:00.000-08:00

Sticky rice balls:

Please find my student's words below. These are excerpts of their journal entries after a human rights/ women's rights training a few weeks ago.

Happy holidays to all and here's to enjoying your snow/cold/wind/sun/heat/rain/waves wherever you vagabond shoes take you...

:) Laura

From HJ:

Some interesting thing I learned in the third day is the 30 point of human rights. I do not know before every human has 30 point of human rights, because we do not live in a democratic country. I want to feel all of rights just like different countries in my life. I felt sad during training because although we are human we have no rights as other people.

This part is very important for me because we should know our rights. If we know about human rights more and more we can defeat the military government.

From KS:

I learned about the women's rights. Because human beings include just men and women, the people who against women must be men. Therefore men should understand women.Most men ask why we need to establish special rights for women. Actually, they ignore discrimination between men and women. Women should have the same rights as men, such as the rights to vote in an election and to be assigned to a committee of lawmakers, the power to dissolve the governing responsibilities, full independence in deciding all court cases, and no discrimination on account of sex. Women also have equal rights to work and receive the same salary.Women should have a chance to find education and economic benefits.
I felt interested and excited to learn all these things.
This is very important not only for me but also for women all over the world. All women should know women's rights and so should men. Then all women must try hard to gain our rights and what we really need.

Hear their voices

2006-12-16T00:10:00.000-08:00

Chinese dumplings:

I'll have you know that this week consisted of tons of the following things: mosquito bites, sticky rice consumption, watching shooting stars from my friend's houseboat (neither a house nor a boat... discuss), and scratching the aforementioned mosquito bites. All's well here.

More words from my students re women's and human rights.

From G:

On the fourth day we learned about women rights. There are sixteen women's rights. The most interesting things are women's rights and the history of women's rights . I think we should know the sixteen women rights. Thus, we know our rights and we can protect ourselves from the bad guys and the bad governments. Burma signed the "Convention on the Elimination of All forms of Discrimination Against Women on July 22, 1997. I didn't know before that Burma signed it.

During the training I felt bad for life of women. I felt sad and also I know they had led rough and poor lives to get women's rights. After I knew about women's rights and the history of women's rights I have very surprised. They were trying many kinds of ways to get it; they are trying to eliminate violence against women. Also we knew about the strength of CEDAW, the weakness of CEDAW and present improving to me and I am interested so much.

On fifth day we learned about the situation of women in the world. Just a few women hold high positions in the world. I am very interested about this because I thought we should know about it, and if we know that issue we can try to get a high position later.

During the training I felt very surprised because they don't give a chance woman to be in high level positions. Burma has already signed CEDAW and the government doesn't respect that contract. Now we know and in my mind we should act against our government. I really want to work against our government and I want to try to get freedom. I want to share what I know about women's rights with other people. So this training is important to me and I am very interested.

From H:
I learned about women rights today. Some things i have learned from this day are" the situation of women in the world ", and the role play about War War. I felt so sorry for women and I felt so happy of the game during the training.
This training was very important for me. After I learn about women, I wanted to share it to all men. I gained knowledge about women during this training so much.

From LH:
There are two important things, They are Communsim, Socialsim, Democracy and the thirty Points of Human Rights. The system of Communism is one party, everybody should feel the same, the party can decide all, nobody needs to worry about their education and health. The system of Socialism is that the government has to take care of citizens who have to pay taxes to the government and nationalize businesses . There are two systems of Democracy; Direct and indirect democracy. During the training , i felt interested. It is really important to know about this because we want to get Democracy in Burma,so we should know what Democracy is. We just know the word Democracy, but not the meaning. Most people in Burma say Democracy, but only a few people know the meaning. Now we can tell others as much as we can.

This is my opinion

2006-12-10T00:23:00.000-08:00

Hello wise owls:

While I was wandering off the last few weeks perusing T-shirts in street markets, downing turkey on thanksgiving, and extending my visa in the north of Thailand, my students were opening their eyes in ways they had never done before.

They received a human rights and women's rights training from one of the MWO staffers, and indeed came away reeling with incredible thoughts and what bill nye the science guy refers to as "ah-hah" moments. I asked them to keep a journal. For security purposes, their names have been replaced with letters or pseudonyms. The next few postings will be excerpts from the writing of ten students...

From student Eye Chan:

I have learned about the basics of human rights. There are many things which are interesting to me. Human rights and dignity are critical and connected with each other. All people already have dignity and human rights equally from the beginning of their lives. We can’t buy, sell or change human rights. Human rights are universal. Everybody owns their rights. As we learn about our rights, we should not ignore other people’s rights. We also should have a law for human rights in every country. If we lose one of our rights, other rights will be lost as well.

During this training, I really loathed the military junta because they break many people’s rights in Burma. I also feel bad for the people who live in Burma and also me. Most people don’t know what human rights are. This training is important to me because I should know about human rights, and share it with people who don’t know it yet, especially people who live in Burma. I didn’t even know about human rights before I came here.

From Cho Win:

I was interested in learning about the situation of women in the world. There are about 876 million people who can’t read and write. Among them 2\3 are women who can’t read and write. I felt bad for women who can’t read and write during the training. Women were in a much worse situation then men for everything. It is important to know the current situation of women in the world like how many women are illiterate.

I felt that this training was very important for me. Although I have heard of CEDAW, women’s rights and human rights, I didn’t exactly know the meaning of these words. Now I am aware of them.

From A:

I am impressed by the amazing women who tried to make (CEDAW). One thing that I learned from the training was that even though there are human rights for the entire society, women have to make a law for women's rights. Since long long ago, people have always undervalued women. They didn't want accept women as the same as men in anyway.
I was interested in the position of women internationally. There are a lot of women who lack education, lack property, died from complications of abortion. Most women are in low positions in many different situations. Even though men and women have different genders they can do anything they want. On the other hand, women also have to give birth. This is a big adventure. Unfortunately, they can die easily from giving birth. For a family, women have to manage the whole family. For example women have to manage their children's education, their housework, their husband, etc.
Therefore, we should have the same rights as men. This is my opinion.

From S:
I am interested in the game we played because it has a deep meaning. This game involves crossing under the electric wire. If we touch that wire, we have to do it again and we are all together. It's like in Burma, the citizens have to live under the military junta. We can't move to do something and have no chance for movement and activities.
It is important for us because if we try together, we can reach our goal. We all have a chance to be the same and have equality. We also have to understand and bear each other.
I felt happy, worry, and excited when we played this game. If I think deeply , I feel sad because of how we are oppressed by the military government.

Umm... delicious, no? Just hold onto your subway seat for the stuff to come.

:) Laura

Brain to the Drain

2006-11-30T06:28:00.000-08:00

Omega 3 fatty acids:

Please enjoy this blurb from another blog to which I belong (aka: I'm a blog player)...

Hello and greetings from the land of chili and fried rice for breakfast, a place of red, cracked earth, showing the wear and tear an unforgiving sun can wreak if given blind authority, a land of refugees, lack of human rights, and rice paddy.

Welcome to the Thai-Burma border.

Are these things familiar to you all, too? Indeed life here in my remote town of Sangkhlaburi, Thailand is a far cry from the suburbs of Boston, Massachusetts. Probably like most of you, I squat to pee, hop on a motorbike or bicycle if I need to get somewhere quickly, and sweat a ton more than I thought was possible.

My name is Laura and I have been living here through the gracious assistance of AJWS for the past six months. I am working with an organization focusing on women’s rights inside of Burma, a highly political cause to commit ones life to under such a repressive military regime as that which sits atop a high thrown in Burma. I teach English, social studies, geography, computers, current events and other topics (sex ed… awesome!) to a group of 13 students from Burma in an office that doubles as our one-room schoolhouse.

It has been a fascinating, rewarding and overwhelming experience to find myself leading a group of inquisitive and intelligent minds as they study for the first time with access to information that is not censored by their government. When I face questions like, “do people live on other planets,” I dually want to yelp out with laughter and burrow into a corner to cry for days. What a world, eh?

And so, to quit my meandering babble and address the question of this blog, I would like to call your attention to a catchy little phrase I had prior given little thought to: the brain drain.

I work with an ethnic group called the Mon, who were granted refugee status in Thailand a while back. Despite having reached a shaky 1995 ceasefire agreement with the State Peace and Development Council (the name of the regime in charge of Burma—sounds friendly, no?) the refugees keep streaming in day in and day out, running from a fear of political imprisonment, death, forced labor, rape, a painfully archaic health care system, etc. It’s not every day that you ask your friend how she is doing and she replies, “oh, okay. I took in a child soldier last week who was wandering around the market,” or that instead of asking how the dental appointment was you instead question, “how did your UN interview go? Will they grant you refugee status?”

For many in these parts, the prospect of going back to Burma in the near future is dim. Yet the alternative—life on the border for a person lacking papers—is equally bleak. One could hope for a magical Thai card that may lead to citizenship after many years (one friend just became a citizen after 17 years), but what is more likely is that you will spend your days experiencing an undercurrent of fear, worried that each time you head to the market you may be arrested, or fearing going out of the house for something as simple as exercise. To exit one cage is only to enter a different one.

The majority of the immigrants who do choose life on the border instead of “inside” (inside Burma) are educated people. They have learned about human rights and were part of the fight against the regime and this is why they fled Burma. They know, in theory, what rights they should have. To know this and to suffer inside Burma or as an illegal person on the border is often unbearable. Typically, the best solution is to interview with the UN and get placed in a refugee camp, where they will spend around two years living on rations and lacking many of the few pleasures they enjoy even as an illegal immigrant in my small town. After their due time has passed and they have met the strict criteria to be admitted into another country, they will pack their bags, board a plane for the first time in their lives, and cross their fingers that they will indeed find the freedom they have dreamed of.

And this is not the end of my sob story, for what I really want to tell you about is the holes that these people leave behind. Aside from families and friends being torn apart, as stated above, those leaving for third countries are often the people with the most education and training. Educated people are crucial to the NGO community working both inside (clandestinely) and outside (also mostly clandestinely) Burma.

Aside from the issues you can imagine that riddle the Burmese NGO community, each organization I meet with and talk to cite loss of staff as a serious set-back to their work. Just as staff member A became an expert in women’s rights trainings she was whisked off to the camp. Just as staff member B learned to protect the office computers from viruses he packed his things to go.

And thus the meat and potatoes of my words: the brain drain is a stifling, painful reality.

How interesting to read so much about a subject from my distant suburb on my cozy little couch in Boston to be flung into it head on, cursing the worm that no one can eliminate from my computer because all the experts have moved off to the camp or distant locations such as Norway, Sweden, Canada, Australia, or the U.S.

And who can blame them? This choice is not about the color of the wallpaper or the menu for tonight’s dinner. It’s about deciding between a life of peace and freedom haunted by the guilt of the community you left behind, or remaining under oppression and to struggle each day, clinging to that thin wire of hope that you will one day see true change.

Laura

A little footage for ya

2006-11-26T07:56:00.000-08:00

Please check out this video about Burma from The Washington Post, brought to my attention by the U.S. Campaign for Burma. It's awesome for a visual and brief description about what's going on. And it's about 7 minutes long.

For those of you wanting to know what my life here looks like, this provides a great visual regarding the people, the clothes, the thanaka-caked faces, the jungle, the houses, the dirt roads...

click away my dear ones!

http://www.democracyinaction.org/dia/track.jsp?key=230193308&url_num=3&url=
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/video/2006/11/10/VI2006111000901.
html?referrer=emaillink

ps. having some issues with posting this giNORMOUS link, so please copy and paste line by line (yes, a pain) as necessary into your local grocer's web-browser

On the border line

2006-11-22T01:17:00.000-08:00

A-wandering we go...

And so I'm back, surrounded with the delicious aromas of pad thai, the welcoming massage signs, the gruesomely honest men who wander Thailand for sex with no qualms about who they are and what they do. Yes this pale child is home in Thailand and back from Burma with a pocket-full of stories to tell.

Unfortunately compadres, these tales must wait for a less expensive internet cafe and a time when my bladder isn't near to burst from excessive ice-tea consumption.

To tempt you of what's to come, however, below you will see two images, both taken from the same spot on a bridge connecting the town of Mae Sot, Thailand, to Myawadi, Burma. On the left you see Thailand and on the right is Burma. Note the difference? Ah hah! This will be the subject of a bloggo coming to your cyber-doorstep in a just a few days now...

Merrily I roll along to find my place in squat-toilet paradise...

LA!

Hello Burma

2006-11-15T18:16:00.000-08:00

Dear day-dreamers, horseback-riders, leprechaun-hunters, and turtle doves:

ALLO.

Long time no write write. I will make this a quickie as I am running off to meet a woman working with a women's organization in the border town of Mae Sot, where I arrived just hours ago (see also: VIP night buses= a slice of Thai heaven).

A few headlines from my life:

OVERPROTECTIVE TEACHER-MOTHER IS ECSTATIC WHEN 2 STUDENTS RETURN TO HER LIMBS
Indeed, an elation has filled my heart the last few days as two of my students who buggered off to a few months of their "distant education program" at the University of Mawlamyine have returned, their skin marked by blazes of sunlight, their lips pouring with tales of hostel stays, spending money, drinking beer and serenading students of the opposite gender. I couldn't be happier to see my babies (who are also the same age as me) back for good, eating fish paste like pros.

SUMPTUOUS WESTERN LEG PROVIDES DISTRACTION/ NOURISHMENT TO LOCAL POOCH
That's right. It's my sumptuous western leg we're talking about. Apparently my technique of "making guttural noises" was very successful at keeping away the highly-diseased and mouth-frothing local street dogs, however, I made the naive mistake of letting down my dog guard when entering my friends premises, only to be greeted by a wee nip from a pooch named Frybean. It was really a puppy nip, yes, and therefore was more a bruise than anything else, but a small break in the skin did send me to the hospital for a series of rabies shots, pumping my body full of the luxurious anti-mouth-froth-viruses. Ah Lassie!

PARIS HILTON DECLARED "POOR" BY LOCAL BURMESE MIGRANTS
Well, Paris, it seems your reputation is not limited by the walls of the western world. Instead your blond locks and come-hither stare have reached even the censored fortress that is Burma. Instead of being recognized as the second-rate actress/model and first rate millionaire heiress as in most places, in Burma, Paris is seen as quite the opposite, as brought to my attention by a student who held up her picture from the Bangkok Post and announced her sincere pity for this woman who lacks the money to properly dress herself. We are looking into creating a "clothe Paris fund" for the portion of class where we learn about international aid.

DREAMS OF BURMA BECOME A REALITY IN T-MINUS TWO...
My life for the past month, in actions, thoughts, languages, foods, dreams, tears and laughter has revolved around Burma. It's what I think about when I wake up and fall asleep. It's what I talk about with my students and friends. It's what I read about, research, advocate for. It's been everything. And yet, despite how close Burma is, so close that I can smell it, I have never been there, never treaded my feet on true Burmese soil.

Today I will break this trend, coaxed to give money to a brutal military regime for the purposes of extending my visa here in Thailand. Despite the necessity of this trip in order to legally remain in Thailand, I really am quiet anxious and excited to take this step into the unchartered territory of Burma in just a few hours. I will cross the border and have the ability to stay in one area (so enforced by the military regime) up until 4:30 pm, at which point I must return to Thailand. It seems a bit of a dream, and the desire to stall this actual encounter with Burma is great. What if I cross that literal and figurative bridge and feel so overcome with emotion that I am paralyzed? What if I see something that will make me intense pain, intense sadness? What if I find that the conditions there are far better than I expect? Or, worst of all, what if I cross that bridge and feel nothing...

Finally, I will leave you with the first installment of a new series entitled, "you know you've been in a developing country for a long time when..."

Your tuk-tuk (motorbike with cart attached to the back) loses a wheel in transit, jerks you and the driver uncomfortably to one side thus inducing whip-lash, and you step out of the tuk-tuk to merely shrug off the driver's profuse apologies, shocked to find yourself reacting not with surprise, fear or anger, but merely continuing to munch on your cookies left over from your slice-of-heaven VIP overnight bus.
You don't notice the following noises until someone less accustomed to them points them out to you: roosters crowing at ALL TIMES OF THE DAY, people clearing the phlegm from their throats anywhere and everywhere, the howling of dogs every midnight during mating season, the general quiet due to lack of planes and cars.
The first thing you say after placing an order at a restaurant is "please withhold the MSG."
You have created your own lyrics to all the local Thai/ Mon/ Burmese songs, that sound similar to the words in these songs, but, when placed together, create a nonsensical blabber (i.e. my fave song, which I have fondly titled "My Cow Joy")
You do not notice the ants. Everywhere. In your room, wandering the curves of your laptop, in your tea, peppering your fried eggs.
You crave rice. Even in the morning.

And with that I leave you.

I'm off to meet change-makers, eat tea-leaf salad, and see that which has occupied the crevices of my mind for the past six months. To the land of the silent and the oppressed I trek. Burma, Burma, here I come.

Lady Lora

Cribs: Sangkhla

2006-10-28T22:55:00.000-07:00

Check out this video posting of my sweet pad... not sure if the sound works well enough, but if not, please insert witty comments as you watch and feel free to attribute them to me.

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=3327793314750644821

Follow the yellow brick link...

L!

Blue boots and water infusions

2006-10-27T06:02:00.000-07:00

Check it out- Compare this photo on the left of Sangkhla's lake now after the rainy season as opposed to the first pic of this same scene taken in May.

The boots on the right are what I see in the yard across the street from my house.

Busting at the seams

2006-10-23T02:30:00.000-07:00

Well my friends, it seems this sleepy little town of Sangkhla has transformed overnight. The quiet streets and mid-afternoon slow-down siesta that come during each daily heatwave are no longer as this town edges closer and closer to it's carrying capacity.

Restaurants are busting with people, the normally empty guesthouses are yelping for more fans and mattresses, the food vendors are buying double and triple their normal daily stock, and after leaving the office to purchase ice cream I was slapped by the surprise of five nuns sitting on mats on the office floor, sipping coke and shmoozing with my lovely students. Indeed they will be staying with us at the office for the next few days. And all this for one man: Uttama.

It's fascinating to see the response to the influx of visitors to Sangkhlaburi. The resourceful and flexible nature of those living here is reiterated to me as they clambor to open the impromptu business to satisfy the masses and endure the influx of news teams and television reporters with unending patience.

We even had a place on the Prime Minister's agenda yesterday.

To fame in a time of grief-

Laura

A little bit Shweaty

2006-10-19T03:17:00.000-07:00

Narcoleptics:

Please find the following tidbits for your reading pleasure...

1. Mosquito nets: in this land of 10 inch millipedes with vicious venom, tarantulas in the backyard, and the cat dragging in snakes in the middle of class, I view my mosquito net as the be-all-end-all protector. When I fall asleep, it is as though an angel descends upon me with a shield to ward off evil spirits and venomous bugs. Well, this is what I must convince myself of anyway if I hope to get a wink of sleep each night. Regardless of the almighty powers of the blue, holey net surrounding my sleeping mat, the following creatures have still succeeded in penetrating the walls of the fortress. This month alone has seen a frog, kitten, and scorpion emerge from the limited hiding places of a floor mat and pillow as if to yell "surprise!" excitedly during a birthday party. What sweeties.

2. Facebook. Despite my remote location and lack of access to things such as peanut butter, cheese, human rights and internet, I have still managed to become unhealthily addicted to Facebook-- the social networking sensation! While I spend my limited internet time primarily devoted to keeping in touch with friends and researching for class, I've found a deep and guilty pleasure in breaking up the time with diversions into the website profiling nearly every member of my peer group along with their favorite music, movies, and relationship status. If someone can tell me why such voyeuristic pursuits are so fulfilling I will give you a nickel.

3. Tangents. I recently shared the word "tangent" with my class and have found that it has never been so appropriate. Today I found myself lecturing on a bearded woman as I attempted to describe the word "freak" and figured "freak show" would somehow resonate with these guys. Um... who made me a teacher again? The true point of our lesson was future tenses. I don't understand my brain.

4. "Shweaty." My love of accents will never escape me. Inadvertently, every time beads of sweat well up on my forehead (see also: every day in Sangkhla) I like to say "shweaty," in a Sean Connery-esque tone. Little did I realize until the other day, that my students now also enjoy the Connery accent, and unbeknownst to them, each time they discuss their own bodily secretions (isn't secretions such a fabulous word?!) a little bit of Connery exists in all of them.

Alas. I'm off to shower my shweaty self.

Love on Aphrodites!

:) L

Uttama

2006-10-18T07:56:00.000-07:00

At 4:30 AM this morning, Reverend Uttama, the abbott at the Mon monastery here in Sangkhlaburi, died. This incredibly respected man had spent the last two years in Bangkok being treated for various ailments and finally passing away at 97.

Within moments, cell phones began to ring and stirred hearts and minds to an unusual awakening here in Sangkhla and in the Mon community in general. The moment I entered the office my students informed me of this news. Mon websites, lacking the technical abilities available in more developed areas, were flooded with news flashes. Proceeding with class felt unnatural really, and an impromptu lesson based on one of the many news flashes about Uttama dictated our day. The usual cheer and vigor of my office was replaced with a general awkwardness, and a welling-up of tears in the backs of my students eyes, causing two students to break down and let drops cover their faces in the middle of a vocab review.

Prior to resuming class after the 12-1 lunch hour, one office staffer called the students together with a voice of urgency. She spoke rapidly in Mon and the students began clapping and yipping excitedly in their adorable method of expressing joy. "The monk's corpse is coming here!!" one student beamed much in the way one replies when granted a pony, or being called down to the contestant area on The Price is Right, the earlier odd expression wiped from her face (note: we had just learned corpse earlier in the day and the proper use of the word is still a bit abstract).

What followed was excited blabber about viewing a monk's "corpse" and a general giddiness that caused no one to fall asleep despite the 100 degree weather and grammar review which followed.

We then loaded into a car, crowding into the flatbed of a huge silver vehicle and travelling Mon-style (crouching with our flip-flops under us so as not to dirty the rears of our sarongs) and hauling over to the Mon side of town. We unloaded and entered a scene I've grown steadily more accustomed to here in borderville: endless waiting in the heat with absolutely no diversion or productive activity to occupy our time. We heard Uttama's "convoy" would be approaching in an hour so we twiddled thumbs, bullshitted about the innumerable boyfriends we all have waiting to share their undying love with us, and threw rocks at the stray dogs looking for scrap food, only to then be scolded by me, the sole animal rights advocate in all of Sangkhla.

After much crouching and reminding myself not to smell the candles or incense occupying my hand (so as not to steal a wiff before offering these things to Uttama's body-- a true sin), the funeral procession passed on by. It was similar to what are used to in America: a long line of cars, lights on, speeding down the street. The main difference were the endless people lining the street, clad in their white shirts and red sarongs (the true Mon "suit"), kneeling and holding their hands in prayer-position before them.

The strange sense of what it must feel like to lose a role model or parent accompanied us still as we then climbed the sweaty hill on our way up to the Mon monastery, Uttama's creation and place of residence for years. He had come to Thailand in 1956, you see, during the civil war when there was much strife between the ethnic minorities and the Burmese (which has persisted to this day). Through his amazing kindness, wisdom and powers, Uttama gained the trust, friendship and loyalty of numerous folk, among them the Thai King. Through a remarkable agreement the King/ Thai authorities/ the grace of g-d created a legal means for Uttama to establish a place of refuge for the Mon refugees, persecuted and oppressed by Burma's military regime until the present day. What started as a community of hundreds blossomed to thousands and now has created the beautiful, vibrant cultural center that is Sangkhlaburi, a slice of a (mostly) peaceful Burma here in Thailand. Uttama even secured land rights for his people after his death, and access to identity cards for those who fled persecution in Burma through initial illegal means.

The masses of people we trekked with to the temple were greater than any I had seen before. Suddenly this town where I seem to recognize every face became strange and new. It dawned on me that most of these new souls kept generally to their own homes for fear of Thai police and military, most likely due to their illegal status. It was remarkable to see the true population of Sangkhla come out in droves, all slapped with a face of confusion, excitement, deep mourning, and celebration rolled into one.

We dropped our shoes at the pagoda doors and proceeded into a sweaty, crowded monastery interior. Police officers attempted to bring order to the masses through a high-tech hand-holding formation (note: sarcasm), but we slipped through their grasps to come face to body with Uttama, pouring scented water before him and donating the candles and incense which we earlier turned over and over in our palms and had since absorbed sweat, dirt and emotions.

Uttama's body was the second dead person I had ever seen in real life, the first being my own grandmother. Like her, he lay in a strange and peaceful stillness, belly protruding, lips the very same color as the rest of his skin. My moment in front of this man I had heard so much about (really, SO much) was brief, and I wished I could have had a true interaction with him. His kindness and peacebuilding savvy seemed above this world, and many believe it was...

As I walked away from Uttama's body and thus the crowd that accompanied it, I felt a deep debt to this man. Unreligious in many ways, for the first time, I turned, kneeled, and sincerely prayed to this man in the true Buddhist style. It felt right and real to BOW to this person, to put my hands before me in prayer, to touch the ground with my forehead. I closed my eyes and I thought-- rushing thoughts darting through my brain like small bugs in front of a street lamp on a summer night-- how lucky I am right now to be exposed to the people I am, how lucky I am to be fulfilling such an incredible chapter in my life, how lucky my students are to have a place to come to safely outside of the cage that is Burma, how lucky my one student who has a Thai ID card is to have the opportunity a flimsy, 2 by 4 inch piece of paper can yield-- and how this all was possible because of this one body before me.

And tomorrow brings another day, another heat spell, another grammar lesson, another plateful of fried rice for breakfast. It will all almost be the same. Somewhere, though, there will be a sneaking sense of discomfort and confusion, of sadness and loss, of happiness and thankfulness for his existence in the first place.

Thank you Uttama.

Country Check

2006-10-08T08:47:00.000-07:00

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.

Paper trafficking

2006-10-05T07:51:00.000-07:00

Golden Goalposts:

Today I received my first smuggled good.

It came in the form of one of my students holding something mysterious in her armpit and making me swear I would “feed her cake” tomorrow in order to see what it was. When I finally agreed, put off by her initial sketchiness, she indeed produced something quite exciting where I half expected her to pull out a squashed millipede.

Here is what I saw: a small note, folded over and over until it resembled a type of middle school correspondence, where the secrecy of such a thing seems guaranteed the greater the number of creases you are able to put in the abused parchment. The note was stapled shut twice, sort of a professional seal in these parts. It was warm and a bit sweaty from such a long debate with my student during which it enjoyed the friendly environment of her armpit. On the cover it read: “Teacher Laura.”

I opened the note with a combination of excitement and anxiety-- excitement for the mere abnormality of the situation and anxiety for fear this may be a letter from some admirer I hadn’t realized I had—this is how many relationships start here in Monland—lots of subversive correspondence through mysterious notes without a word being stated in person, nor a glance of acknowledgement granted. I exhaled a breath of relief as my eyes darted to the last line and revealed the name of one of my beloved students, now in Burma for distant university.

Here is what it said:

“28.9.06

To

Dear Teacher,

How are you getting by there? Are you ok everything? I hope this letter make you happy and excited and good health. I miss you nearly die you know I look your photo every time as I had got. I’m not fail to give promise the one I gave you. I read [English] every-day at least five mins but sometimes more than half hour.
I’m attending tuition actually not finished yet. I have to go very far from the office and teacher’s houses. I also have to stay here may be a month more. In Oct of 30 start to take examination will finish in Nov 6.
I’m tried to contact you but electricity here is very crazy always doesn’t work.
I never live without you.

With blessing, your loving daughter,
S.K.”

Okay so the content of the thing is not really so scandalous. But it was snuck across the border for yours truly, evading the eyes of the paranoid military regime, the myriad of checkpoints to get from Burma’s exit gate to Thailand’s entrance.

I would also like to draw your attention to such phrases as “I miss you nearly die,” and “I never live without you.” Such utterings of serious affection are common in these parts, and in many ways I see this as positive, despite the clear exaggerations. How often do you get to tell your friends indeed how amazing or beautiful they are without coming across at best as drunk and at worst infatuated? Not too frequently.

Please see also some other highlights of this week:

Spotting a tarantula in the backyard
Clear signs of gecko indigestion left around my room, am thinking of sneaking it some immodium
A student practicing using phrases today and creating a sentence reading, “G.C. [another student], a woman with mold on her head, eats four meals a day.” Please note that there was some confusion between using a “d” and an “e”
Creating brisket, matzoh ball soup, hummus, and potato pancakes with an electric fry pan and rice cooker on Monday
Increased open farting around the office. At first I wasn’t sure if this was some cultural divide I hadn’t realized before, where a boisterous gaseous release is a sign of goodwill in Mon culture. After further investigation, however, I realized the farting norms are indeed the same as in the U.S. Apparently it takes a good four months for people to start openly, and rather loudly, admitting they pass gas.
Discovery of homemade coconut ice cream, the equivalent of three pints equal to $2. Delish.

Alas, it is a Thursday night and thus I am off to make a quiz for tomorrow. Video posting to come in the near future, powerful anecdotes waiting to be shared as well when the time is ripe.

To smurfs, vegetarian hotdogs, and soaking chickpeas for 24-hours before use-

Laura

My face is smiling and my heart is crying

2006-09-25T08:13:00.000-07:00

After posting that last entry just a few minutes ago, I had a conversation regarding the very rights I discussed in that posting during which my friend said the above quote.

Regardless of the pain here there is so much beauty. Here is a glimpse of an awesome ceremony of sending balloons into the sky on the full moon day last month. We were welcoming Buddha... note, all the lights you see in the sky are balloons, none are stars.

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-1485682184987415684

Welcome.

Coups are you?

2006-09-25T08:02:00.001-07:00

What to do on a typical morning when you roll from your sleeping mat and lift yourself free of your mosquito net to be greeted with news of a coup d’etat in place of the normal rooster crowing?

At first, it was very little. A week ago on Wednesday (the coup occurred Tuesday night here) my class and I continued on with things as normal, pounding in vocab and when to use spatial prepositions. The only true way the coup affected our lives that day was the closure of the post office and an excessive amount of rugrats wandering the street and popping their head into our classroom as their own school was closed.

Since then, life has gone on mostly normally. There is a myriad of subtle differences in my daily life—many of which I am sure I don’t even notice—such as more policemen out, more arrests of illegal immigrants (possibly the majority of the inhabitants of my town), no one selling lotto tickets, and a quieter scene around town (again, due to the illegal immigrants feeling unsettled and passing the time karaoke VCD by karaoke VCD at home). Apart from these subtle differences, there is one change that is neither subtle nor drastic: the lockdown of my acquaintances.

Ahem. What? Lockdown?

Yes, lockdown. It so happens that, like many people in this town, many of my good friends’ fate in working and living here rests on the whims of some authorities who have an agreement with some other authorities and those authorities are talking to some other authorities, somewhere, in some authoritative heaven where the god of authority perches with a lightning bolt labeled “the rules.” Therefore, with the tenuous situation of a military coup in Thailand, most people have been keeping on the safe side and sticking around the house, office, apartment, or what have you. For many of my acquaintances this means confinement to a space consisting of a small house and, if lucky, a front or back yard.

This change is not drastic because many of my friends take serious precautions already, even when a military coup doesn’t happen upon their daily schedule, such as not wandering about town in large groups, limiting leaving their place of residence to one day a week, staying inside when they hear there are a lot of officers around town, etc. This adjustment is not subtle, either, because this is one of the longer periods of time where people are sticking around inside, rubbing salt into the wound that no, not only do they not have rights and freedoms in Burma, but they also lack those things outside of Burma, in a place that is a sometimes democracy (Thailand).

I feel doubly pained by all of this right now when I compare the “lockdown” situation of those I am close to with my own life, needs, and freedoms as a white “farang” (foreigner) here in Thailand. A few weeks ago six of my students left Sangkhla, five to temporarily attend university in Burma (they will likely return here at the end of November), and one to attend a very cool 9-month school in Chiang Mai focusing on human rights and the environment. It has been hard for me to say goodbye to them, all of whom hold a special place in my heart, and accept the new, shrunken class which remains (this is not to say that each member of the remaining class isn’t incredible). What’s more, it seems to me that I am hitting the natural slump after the initial euphoria that accompanies all transitions. In working through this post-honeymoon period, I have found my savior in life outside my house and office with new and old friends on all sides of town, solitary walks, runs, and bike rides, and general wanderings around unbeaten paths of red dust and hopping snakes. I am finding that in these escapes from my house/office (next door to each other) I unearth my patience and energy. And then I think about what my life would be like if I were faced with the situation of most of my good friends here and could not do any of these things that allow me to reach a point of sanity and happiness again.

It’s like a punch in the gut—to hear of the oppression all my friends face in Burma—the forced labor, the whimsical desires of the military junta and the necessity to follow them, the alarmingly low level of education, the theft of property, the poverty that rips them of time to even think about things greater than the next meal—and then learn that they can come here to Thailand where they are away from the junta yet live like caged birds. The pain I feel when a friend compares herself to our scrappy kitten only to say that the kitten has more rights than she does makes me choke back hot ugly tears of sadness and anger.

This pain manifests itself in me as a deep rage and desire to take out this anger somewhere. Maybe I can yell at the person who is telling everyone to stay in. Maybe I can yell at my own friends and tell them to just use the rights they SHOULD be granted by virtue of being a human. But the sharp reality is that neither of these outlets are the true culprits; no, the one to blame is the military regime, a malleable beast that is dispersed in the veins of Burma, staining its teeth blood-red as it chews beetle nuts stolen from rural farmers, and sitting in a building created through the forced labor of numerous citizens.

So I sit here now, back at home, Billie Holiday playing on the ipod and a big beetle buzzing around and occasionally smacking me in the head. And I write to you to communicate the pain and grit and shit that exist here, musing on what I can do to make this inequity inch its way towards equality… it feels like a battle of David and Goliath.

I guess I should keep in mind that David did eventually win that battle, however.

Slice of life

2006-09-17T06:44:00.000-07:00

I was touched. I thought you might be too...

sunset in Sangkhla.

Posting and video to come later today.

Love.

Sticky Rice Extravaganza

2006-09-12T19:19:00.000-07:00

Fire Breathing Dragons:

Hello and welcome back to my life after, what I admit, was far too long of an absence on the bloggosphere.

In first creating a blog I promised myself very little other than that I would never once start a sappy blog entry with some self-important apology for not writing. This is for two reasons: first, your precious minutes are far more worthy of philosophizing on the important topics of the true creation of human beings, the significance of man, fat-reduced avocados and Trader Joe’s bird’s nest appetizer deliciousness. Second, while I would love to consider this blog fundamental to your daily going-ons, I will shy away from such conceit until I too bring an invention such as TJ’s birdsnests to play in the world arena.

Yet here I am, groveling at your feet: sorry for not writing.

This being said I will now inform you of a new pledge. I will write one blog posting per week and shoot it out into cyberspace come rain, heat, gecko turds or scantily-clad monks. This is my gift to you, oh dear ones, to improve your procrastinating, unproductive moments and give you a slice of life from the border.

A final note on this blog, which I will make part of its permanent description: please share this prose with anyone and everyone you please. My experiences and information are not to be sheltered from the world in my arms alone. The issues, joys, pain, and humor to which I am exposed are facts of the world and deserve to be shared as such. This blog gives you, dear reader, the opportunity for a grassroots glimpse of life in a place likely to be upside-down from your own experiences, and I welcome you to jump in and share it with others. SPREAD THE GOOD WORD.

Ah hah! Now on to the juice:

Laos: Great. A lovely adventure allowing me time to gain perspective on life here at home as well as open my eyes to another country in this region-- its customs, personality, beauty, and the particular issues that plague it. It felt both wonderful and strange to be a backpacker-- wonderful to become anonymous for a few weeks and act on my every whim, and strange to be one among a sea of tourists often much wealthier than those inhabiting the actual land under our feet, outfitted with cameras and passports and ready to be taken advantage of by those willing to take it. I therefore feel conflicted about writing much about Laos, as I know the vantage point of a traveler is limited, and conclusions drawn from cultural interactions are often premature.

Foreward aside, I will now list for you some rather charming/ fascinating aspects about this “Jewel of the Mekong:”

1) The land is unlike any I have ever seen. Due to the rain, a lush green cloaked everything in sight and water seemed to dribble and spill out from everywhere, giving the natural environment the mystique of a long-lost waterworld, inhabited by dinosaurs and mosquitoes so large they ate rats. The limestone karsts jut out from everywhere, adding a sense of drama to each bus ride and rice-field tryst. Rice paddy lines the landscape as far as the eye can see. The beauty of the water now coating these fields is a thin disguise for the pain this earth endures in the dry season-- a close inspection reveals earthquake-like cracks in the land just below the water’s surface.

2) Just as the water spilled over upon everything I encountered, so did the sticky rice. Every meal was served with a delicious bundle of the white and gooey staple, encased in a cloth inside a small or large bamboo basket. The cap of the basket was to be replaced every time you took a walnut-sized ball from it, mainly due to the bad luck that was sure to find you if you disobeyed, and secondarily so the rice would not lose its heat and general deliciousness. The sticky rice was so copious it even found its way onto the sides of the golden and glass-laden temples, left there as a prayer ritual for Buddha. Other diet staples include the delicious lapp (a dish of sticky rice, water buffalo, fish, or chicken meat in a flavorful marinade), water buffalo jerkey, spam wrapped in banana leaves (ehem… this one can be placed on the “let’s leave it in Laos” list), dried and fried rice cakes, dried and fried Mekong river moss, and baguettes, baguettes everywhere, leftover from the Frenchies during their tenure at the Laotian helm.

3) The only things possibly more plentiful than the rice were the bomb carcasses—both alive and dead— planted like seeds in northern Laos from the U.S. offensive in the 1960s. In order to contain Vietnamese guerrillas, the U.S. dropped a record number of bombs in Laos, leaving many dead then and many still dying today as they take an unlucky, unsuspecting step in the wrong direction. Remarkably and not surprisingly is the reaction to the bombs littering the Laotian countryside. Like so many people I have met here in Sangkhlaburi, nothing goes to waste, including old tools of devastation and death. Instead of shunning the metal meant to destroy, Laotians have recycled successfully dismantled bombs into tables, tools, monastery bells and more.

4) Aside from being resourceful, the people I met were friendly, beautiful, and accompanied by a sense of humor both charming and mundane. The friends I made in my short stint there seemed far less interested in “saving face” as they are here in Thailand and to a lesser extent in Burma, and I found this gloriously refreshing.

5) And lastly, the monks reigned supreme. The few cities to which I wandered were dotted with monasteries and temples every few blocks, the image of orange robes cleaned and hung to dry pervading my line of sight. Giving to the monks in the morning was not the humdrum and poorly attended routine on my block at home, reserved only for the most faithful and earliest to rise. Indeed, giving to the monks was a full-on ceremony at 5:30 AM in which entire families, armed with coconut-sweet rice wrapped in banana leaves, lined the streets and a show of orange clad men, shaved heads, and serious expressions prodded along, receiving donations and chanting a prayer from time to time. Come 6:15 the show was over and any unsuspecting tourist hitting the streets at this moment would have no idea of the activity which existed just moments before.

And that, my dear friends, is my wound-up, spout-out, round-about version of Laos for you. For a true taste pack your bags and hoard your U.S. dollars (accepted everywhere there), and hop the next flight to Vientiane.

And as my gecko Stanley makes his mating call, so I sign off for another bloggo entry.

To the moon we go!

Laura

Fajita burritos

2006-08-25T02:37:00.000-07:00

Yes hello green gremlins and fusia-infused cadets!

Here I sit, soaking in the energy of Bangkok as it swirls around me, molecules traveling fast due the heat and roaches running wild eating the remains of the day.

Back in action, baby. Back from a lovely and delicious break/ vacation/ visa extension/ sticky-rice-consuming-palooza. I write briefly to let you know I had a lovely time and came to many insights and viewed many beautiful things I will share with you shortly. For now, however, it's off to the sweaty streets of Bangkok to hang out with some pals.

'Til very soon my dearies...

:) Laura

ps. I have not eaten fajita burritos in some time... please send me small thoughts of the deep-fried goodies and I will vicariously chow down through those.

Wanderlust

2006-08-15T03:12:00.000-07:00

Alas. It has come the time for the inevitable "visa run" that plagues (or rather blesses) travellers located in Thailand on a tourist visa, even if it is an extended one, much like my own. Therefore, I am required to hop in and out of the country every two-three months. After an initial one month extension, the three month mark has finally arrived (and will be celebrated tomorrow), and therefore requires me to pack that bag of mine and join the backpacking masses, guidebook in one hand, wallet and passport clutched in the other.

Part of me is scared of the thought of loneliness as I become very accustomed to my group living situation in Sangkhlaburi, always being doted on and doting on others. It will be a strange and welcome experience to be an anonymous person again, not identified as "Teacher," or "that strange white girl who never will take a taxi ride and is always asking the market if they have received their new ice cream shipment yet."

Currently, I write from the luxury and comfort of Bangkok, where I am graciously hosted by former roommate and allstar Mackinnon Webster, who welcomes all those into her home with open arms. In Bangkok I feel that I have crossed borders and am in a different country all together, and that my visa run is already complete, the difference between Bangkok and Sangkhla is so stark. Glistening buildings, fountains of marble and high-rolling business men take to the streets in stark contrast to individuals who seem to be sucked right from their rural Thai village, wearing muddy, loose farm clothes and carrying fried goods over their shoulders, selling them for the equivalent of 10 cents. The variety of social norms here really seems much more distinct than those I have seen even in the hub of culture that is NYC.

In a few hours I will hop a night train to Laos, where I will be for a week, and then swing back home via Chiang Mai, a city I've heard only positives about. I will write if given the internet opportunity, but going on the fact that I've heard no ATMs function with American cards in Laos, I'm not too sure about the internet connection. I will write again in a week or so, when I bop back through this city on my way home.

Onwards and upwards fine fighters-

:) Laura

No Man's Land

2006-08-11T08:48:00.000-07:00

Well, hello world.

It is raining.

Again.

Or should I say

Still.

Or maybe I should just express how I really feel

THE RAIN HASN’T STOPPED IN OVER SEVEN DAYS AND I WANT TO KICK SOMEONE IN THE BALLS.

Indeed, the constant pound of drops, dirt-caked shoes, muddy shower water, and not an ounce of sunlight has made this past week notable if not for its threat of flooding, than for its incessant dreariness.

Oh please lord, dry up the skies.

I have dealt with the DELUGE in the following ways: increasing my sarcasm tenfold, mercilessly killing all the insects that have migrated from the ground to the confines of my house (this pursuit delayed my bedtime by one hour last night), eating a lot of muesli left by a foreign visitor to the office, and trying out the Mon way of dealing with armpit hair, which consists of the painstaking process of plucking each individual friend from the region. I don’t know yet if I recommend it. I’m still recovering from the unnatural craning of my neck.

In other, less minutia-focused news, I have spent the time forced indoors reading up on Burma, making it my objective to try to wrap my mind around what is truly going on in this crazy place called the border. To complicate matters, Tuesday morning was filled with a journey unlike any other I’ve yet to experience, in which I ventured into a place that didn’t even seem to really exist… a no man’s land, if you will.

Now, when I was little, each summer would be marked by the nightly roundup of neighborhood kids in order to play a massive and disruptive game of capture the flag. The game would take place between the suburban lawns of my house and that of the Kryder’s (the family who lived directly across the street). The road in between our houses was no man’s land. I remember that place as one marked by a torrent of insults shouted from one team to another, a place of boredom involving the less stealthy team members (ahem me) forced to keep guard while skilled team members snuck off to recover the glorious flag, and often a place where, at times, quiet, illicit trades would occur between members of opposite. That was a play no man’s land.

This one was real.

In celebration of Mon Revolution Day, which was celebrated this year on the same day of the famous national uprising in Burma (August 8, 1988: a time during which the people saw hope and joined together to protest the Burmese military junta, eventually ending in the death of around 3,000 civilians, the exile of innumerable families and individuals, and the magnification of fear in uncountable ways) myself and 6 others woke up early Tuesday morning, piled into the back of a pick-up truck and headed off on a slippery concrete road. All of this occurred amid, you guessed it, a deluge.

When initially invited to the “Japanese Well” town, I was informed that it was neither Thailand nor Burma, but an area controlled by the New Mon State Party, the Mon ethnicity’s main political entity which reached a cease-fire agreement with the military junta in 1995. I heard various reports from Western friends stating, on the one hand, that it was completely safe to go, and on the other, that there would be Burmese military spies all over the place and they would notice both me and those individuals with which I was traveling. I must say, to hear a phrase like “there will be spies everywhere” initially made me chuckle in disbelief and curiosity at my friend’s seeming paranoia. As I let this thought seep in, however, I realized how, in all likelihood, this was true. I also realized how the weight of evaluating my safety felt like an utter infringement of rights, and how, unlike this one time I had to question my security, my students have to do this every day, whether they are inside Burma, or here in Sangkhla balancing on a feeble agreement between the Thai and Burmese authorities that permits them to be on Thai soil.

With a few nerves building in my stomach we drove. I watched the kilometer measurements on the side of the road decrease in number, a countdown to the Thai-Burma border: 14… the white markers looked like a mixture of gravestones and elaborate sandcastles… 11… we passed the usual sites: monks out for early morning food donations, dogs shagging roadside, cows being led by their owners, rice paddies, rubber tree forests, more… 4… before we reached zero we veered to the left, departing from the concrete and welcoming a road of mud, holes and water below our tires. We passed a few motorbikes and other trucks and I noticed our transition from the usual Thai-passing-on-the-left to passing other cars on the right (as they do in Burma). I realized that we had arrived. We were neither in Thailand nor Burma. We were in a wet jungle, a no man’s land.

After a few more minutes of a bumpy ride, and my realization why the roads to get from inside Burma to Sangkhla are often closed and necessitate embarking on a boat trip instead, we arrived at town.

There really wasn’t much to see. We had arrived in a small town with bamboo houses and thatched roofs. We wandered into the houses of friends, who were introduced as such-and-such a general in the New Mon State Party, and who all seemed to be related to my students and each other in some fashion. We drank Burmese tea which felt incredibly good on my drenched soul and ate over-sweetened jelly-cookies. I didn’t see any James Bond Burmese militia or anyone who I suspected to be such. I didn’t feel unsafe.

We wandered out in the rain for a procession in which Mon was spoken and a crowd of maybe 300 stood, umbrella clad, to watch the New Mon State Party soldiers discharge a series of bullets into the air. All the guns fired—a sign of good luck because normally each year at least one gun gets jammed. My students swelled with a pride I couldn’t really understand and took pictures as the ceremony ended, posing with their regular, unsmiling camera faces. I felt happy and strange and like a nomad in this place without an identity that belongs to a group without rights and then I realized the poverty of it all. I watched the soldiers, dressed in their official uniforms of green converse running shoes and dark green cotton sweatshirts. I saw my students, happy but plagued by worries of food expenses, hospital visit expenses, ways to provide financially for their families. I looked at the food stand where inexpensive rice balls stuffed with pork fat exuded delicious smells into the air. I saw the gray of the sky and the rain and broken umbrellas. I felt happy for the opportunity for my students to celebrate in peace and also heartbroken at the lack of human rights, at the disparity of the world, at the inequity of all things.

As we loaded back up into our truck, sitting in the open-air flatbed of the back, I felt so many things—anger, confusion, fear, happiness and pride—but mostly, really, I felt the rain.

Art and rice

2006-08-06T03:27:00.000-07:00

Two lovely images from recent adventures: 1) art class, 2) rice paddy wanderings.

One of my students working on an art project instituted by a cool volunteer here. If you can look closely at this picture, the words are very powerful and summarize many of the difficult experiences that have painted my students' pasts. These portrait-stories will soon be wheat-pasted around NYC and Pittsburgh by my friend as part of a street art project. A piece of Burma in your neighborhood, perhaps...

In the rice paddy.

Cell

2006-07-30T19:12:00.000-07:00

Bloggosphere:

I write to you from my beloved desk with the electricity flickering in and out and a deluge pounds my roof. The only consistent light is that of my laptop as it relies on its battery for survival, its neglective attendant (me) typing away and crossing her fingers it won’t die before I get my thoughts down on its electronic surface.

And in the meantime all the bugs in the house are magnetized to this very computer screen, preening themselves and flexing their back legs in what I assume to be some animal kingdom mating ritual.

It’s nearly midnight and I am scrambling like mad to impart my words to you, for fear all my thoughts will leave my head if I go to sleep now.

Things here are, per usual, beautiful, rewarding, rainy, sunny, hilarious, surprising, fascinating, and inspirational. They are also confusing, and raw. So raw that I don’t know what to make of it at times.

Tonight is one example. The “social life” to which I was accustomed in my first month here, consisting of a great British dude taller than Pinnochio’s nose is long, a German man who shadily shares his home with his “woman” and engages in some sort of “importing and exporting,” and a man named Jimmy with the largest girth I have seen on this side of the planet, (Jimmy hails from America, of course, and is an ex soldier who first came over this way as a confused and rebellious 17-year-old during “‘Nam.” He is intensely convinced that all of Thailand and Thai people are going to hell in a hand basket, and emphasized his rationale with the ever convincing and frequent use of the word “fuck.”), has given way to a more consistent and optimistic crew, marked mainly by their shared desire to advance human rights.

I joined a group of 8 or so for an incredible dinner. We meandered down to one of the “houseboats” populating the shoreline here on Sangkhalia Lake (the lake around which my town is centered) and sat down there for some delicious Thai food.

After consuming chunks of a fish so large that it warranted a Kodak moment, wading through the grease-infused omelet and inadvertently sucking down two chilies, my friends and I delved into conversations more indulgent than the food we had just eaten during which we discussed development, opportunities, human rights, independence, cultural differences, the paths that had led us to this table and more. While the houseboat swaying led some to near seasickness I settled on a feeling of absolute contentment and amazement that I had arrived at this moment surrounded by a group of open-minded, interested and interesting individuals who look at the world as something larger than themselves and take action to be a part of that world.

Bellies full, we paid our bill and wandered back towards home, laughing and making snarky comments as one individual shared an anecdote of a near death experience on the NYC subway.

And with that I felt this scene of my dreamlike lifestyle here had ended and would pick up again in the morning. At least this is what I thought.

It’s funny how when you run into a person you know randomly, or see something crazy you think that if you hadn’t done this or that that you would have never seen that person, never witnessed that thing, never heard that cry.

So there I was walking home—not biking like usual, delayed just so due to the time I took saying goodbye, turning the corner, etc., doing all these things that determined the very second I would walk by this random house and see what I would see.

And this is what I saw: a man dragging a woman on the floor. And this is what I heard: yelling. And this is what I did: I stood, watching, in front of their house, paralyzed. I did not ignore it because of my outrage, and I did not run towards them for fear of this abuse and my place as a total stranger who does not belong in it. And in five seconds the yelling was over and I could see the woman getting to her feet, and I hide behind a nearby fence and listened.

And then she emerged from her house into the drizzle and dim light on the street and she was crying and holding the back of her head where a huge welt had formed.

At this point I had turned and feigned walking as though I’d heard nothing. I approached her as she gasped for air through her sobs and began to speak. I spoke in English, in broken bits and pieces of Thai and Mon and it seemed none of these words had an effect. So I just did what I could—I took her hand and walked with her away from her house, going to wherever we were going—friends by accident, by odd fate.

She looked like a teenager and I would have assumed it was her father who had done the beating if it weren't for the wedding ring on her left hand. After walking for a bit and feeling the back of her head swell larger we sat on the side of the road. She wasn’t bleeding, but she kept running her hand through her hair, checking for blood, and when she did not see it seeming unconvinced. I tried to think about the last time I had hurt my head so badly that I was bleeding or at least thought I was. I determined it was never.

Eventually an acquaintance of both her and her husband drove by, speaking in Burmese to her and saying something about English to me. He left and returned five minutes later with a woman who spoke perfect English and served not only as a translator between me and this woman—who’s name is pronounced Eh-Kaa—but also an informant on the general situation of domestic violence among Burmese ethnic groups.

As for Eh-Kaa’s situation, she and her husband are natives of Burma, hoping to be in Thailand for a brief time during which they can make money to support their parents back inside Burma. Both Eh-Kaa and her husband work extremely hard: a 14-hour shift each day at a clothing factory for her and a different factory job for her husband, who also drives a motorbike taxi at night for extra cash. They have been married for one year and have no children. Eh-Kaa explained tonight’s situation honestly—she had come home from work to a dinner her husband had made. She tasted it and told him it was bad and that he should throw it away. He took her suggestion, throwing the curry and then throwing punches at her.

The abuse in their relationship is regular. Tonight’s, however, was worse than normal. Embarrassed and angry, Eh-Kaa’s husband had taken to his motorbike after hitting her and fled to his parents house nearby.

As for violence among the Burmese population, the English-speaking woman reported that physical violence is common among husbands and wives and ingrained in the culture. She informed me that the best thing to do for Eh-Kaa and her husband was to tell the neighbors to keep an eye on the couple, and if the beating is really bad—life-threateningly so—we will find a way to help Eh-Kaa out of her situation. It kills you to hear something like this. And it also kills you to know that at the moment, this recourse is probably the best thing to do. Tonight I felt helpless.

The evening ended as we dropped Eh-Kaa back at her home, an austere two-room cement block. Her husband was still gone, and Eh-Kaa reported she would lock him out this evening if he did attempt to come home and I believed her.

Eh-Kaa’s face was stained with tears and the ugliness of fear and unhappiness when I said goodbye to her. She looked young and small in her concrete apartment. Her door isn’t what we think of as a traditional door, but more of a heavy, metal garage-like door and she struggled to close it by herself. I lent her a hand and as I watched her face disappear from my vision and listened to her deadbolt her door I couldn’t help but feel she was locking herself into a prison cell.

Tomorrow

2006-07-23T19:12:00.000-07:00

" 'Tomorrow' written on the wall."

This is what one friend from Burma told me about how people think of democracy in her country.

"We write it on the wall," she said, "so that we keep our hope for democracy 'tomorrow.' But then again, writing on the wall is not easily erased."

Catapulted to motherhood

2006-07-12T04:38:00.000-07:00

Yelloooo brave soldiers!

Greetings, once again, from the uproariously large, claustrophobic, crowded, and, dare I say it... beautiful city of Bangkok.

I find myself here a second time in two weeks to attend a conference on human trafficking. At such conferences as these I find my head exploding with ideas throughout the day, be it through a conversation with an individual with similar interests, during a lecture, or chowing down on some coconut-curry soup. At these moments I want to suddenly jump up and down with excitement about some strange or brilliant thought that comes through my head and feel much like I've just drank three cups of coffee and cannot sit still. Does this happen to you? Please say yes.

Needless to say the information and thought-provocation that occurs at these things is priceless, more so than any mastercard ad I've seen yet.

I'd now like to redirect your attention to another subject, however. That of motherhood.

Yes, motherhood. It seems I have become one. No, no, there are no pregnancies involved, just a process of growing ever closer to my incredible, delightful, stupendous students. True, many of them are older than me, and true, many of them are just as much a doting parent to me as I am to them, but still I can't seem to help laughing when they laugh, crying when they cry, swelling with pride when they overcome difficult situations, and raging with anger when they throw away an opportunity. In fact, in just the two nights I have spent away from them I have stopped myself from calling them to check on them on various occasions, reassuring myself that it will only be a few more nights away from these darling babies.

I think it may be fitting to first update you on who these people are and why they are so incredible. I work with 14 (formerly 15, but one recently left for Burma where she is negotiating a marriage proposal-- a difficult subject that deserves a blog entry itself) citizens of Myanmar (which I regularly refer to as its former name, "Burma"). They are all of the Mon ethnicity (there are 8 major ethnicities in Burma, all seeming to want self-determination, making things very difficult...) and are from the Mon and Karen States in Burma. They have exhausted all education opportunities provided them by the Burmese military junta government(including university-- which all agree is totally corrupt and leaves them with what is still considered a very poor education by Western standards) and are now in a "post-ten" (after grade 10) school created by the Mon State Education Department. This "post-ten" school is located in the jungle, in a place where electricity is nonexistent and mosquitoes reign supreme (all my students except for one have had malaria). The Mon Women's Organization, working with the Mon Education Department, bring the students to study in Thailand, quite close to the border of their country, so that a native-English speaker can teach them (ahem... Laura).

Unfortunately, I cannot give the bucket-load of details I would like, due to security reasons for many involved, but it is safe to say that the students are making many sacrifices to be here in Sangkhlaburi studying with yours truly.

My students come from a place where they do not have the rights to which we are so happily accustomed in the U.S. and other Western countries. Simplicities of infrastructure, health, education, gender, and economic rights-- to name just some of the areas involved-- are not granted to my students or their families. Many have spent time in refugee or resettlement camps, and many have felt imminent danger. Many have moved due to attacks on their villages by the military junta. Many have family members working in other countries to make money and send it back home, and some of these guys have never seen these family members again, as their relatives lack the opportunity to return home, or in the worst case, suffered from fatal injuries while working the least desirable jobs of the world.

Enraged by this unfairness and given the opportunity to further their education (unlike many of their siblings and friends who must work to assist their families), my students have incredible visions for themselves to be at the forefront of politics, democracy-building, international NGO involvement, health, and more.

So there you have a snippet of what they have been through and go through. Now. Let's get down to it. Who are these guys? Well, you may recall I had a photo up for a few weeks, but I recently took it down, again, due to security concerns. But for those of you who did see their shining faces, you may have guessed that my students are incredibly vivacious and happy people. They are a hilarious bunch of people. They are wise, intelligent, and take advantage of opportunities like no one I have ever known. Whether I am teaching them about Nelson Mandela or how to correctly use the terminology "that sucks," they absorb information in an incredible way. They possess a wide range of things I consider skills, but that they think of as as natural as breathing, such as cooking incredible meals, fixing anything that is broken, killing snakes and other crazy beasts that climb out of the cupboard when least expected, making their own clothes, using everything around them in nature as a means of nutrition, a tool, a medicine, or something else, and so much more.

Sometimes I suffer from communal living overload (as I eat most meals with these guys and reside next door), but I've actually found that the remedy to this situation, oddly enough, is to spend even more time with my students, which reminds me just what cool people they are. I mean, how can you not laugh when, after you teach the word "boob," one of your male students declares that he "only has a small boob." Freaking phenomenal.

Okay, enough words to swarm around in your head for now.

Small boobs for everyone--

Laura!

Feast your eyes on this...

2006-07-06T05:46:00.000-07:00

These kiddos just showed up at my open window one day. I put on Madonna and we had a sporadic dance party (apparently I've had a latent love of Madonna for sometime). For the next hour they proceeded to terrorize me by pretending they would leave, and then enter my house and hide in various crevices. Fab.

Jungle love. It's driving me mad. It's making me crazy.

Small town girl in big citaaaay

2006-06-30T10:39:00.000-07:00

Why hello smurfettes! I write to you briefly with an installation from Bangkok, where I am spending the weekend primarily buying books and other necessary materials for my class, and secondarily gorging myself on all the exciting ventures that a small-town existence filled with geckos and neighborhood kids doesn't have to offer (see also: delicious and varied food, and wine that doesn't taste like cat throw-up). Flash forward to July 5. I have just a few moments to impart portions of this wonderful life to you as I am madly preparing for class and am doing so with limited internet time today. I've been slowed a bit by a cold I picked up in Bangkok, and now, while I have recovered am muddling through the work pile-up that accumulates from vacation and then a night off for sleeping and nose-blowing. I must say that yesterday, July 4th, brought a dull ache for America to my stomach. Strange for someone who is not opposed to criticizing the country at every chance she gets, yes, but I must say I missed the parades and fireworks and informal beer and hotdog fests that line every backyard as you drip sweat and chat with new and old friends.

We celebrated here with a day of lessons devoted to the good ol' U.S.A., in which I spoke of independence, Tea Parties in Boston, "the British are coming," and more. We topped off the day with a lesson in making none other than PB and J sandwiches, and eating watermelon.

Anyhoo, off to lesson plan. More to come shortly. Photos will soon appear as well.

Laura!!!

All for the Pomelo

2006-06-26T03:41:00.000-07:00

There are so many images and thoughts buzzing around in my mind right now that it is hard to pick just one to share. Repeatedly during the week, I find myself internally narrating a situation I am experiencing as though it is a story. It seems that many times during the day something strikes me as so far removed from my normal life that I can only see it in terms of a piece of fiction, something that I must record for others, and hope that in that transferring I can further process and understand the reality of the beauty and happiness and sometimes tragedy that I am experiencing.

It is a Sunday afternoon and I am sitting in my room typing away on my laptop (not to be taken as meaning I have internet at home. While I do live in a phenomenal pad and enjoy the company of my laptop hauled from the US—I’ve learned to love my flash drive and create much of my work at home to eventually be printed/ transferred online at the MWO office 10 yards off), smoke from my mosquito coil (a small, green coil slowly burning on the ground beside me—meant to keep mosquitoes away) curling up around me, music from the VCD (a crappier version of DVDs) sneaking into my ears from the MWO office where the students are listening/watching the same music video that is played everyday, at least twice a day.

My room is a light blue color, cement walls, a tile floor, a beautiful wooden window flung open in front of me that reveals the neighbor’s fence, which is adorned with some sort of dizzy pepper plant, and many slugs that cling to it. The sky is blue and gray—a sunny day in the rainy season, and I see the tops of many trees and large bushes in their yard: coconut, banana, mango… the list goes on.

I am kept company by a few small lizards on the wall and my uncaged, larger pets named Stanley and Gretta—two green and red geckos who have permanently moved into my room in the last week. They’re great kiddos—mainly 'cause I can just go over to the wooden panel they live behind and stare at them whenever I please, and I don’t need to worry about feeding them or cleaning up their crap (they only use my floor as their litter box about once a week). They’re pretty sneaky and you might not notice their presence if it weren’t for small signs I am now picking up on: a tiny piece of their tail hanging out below a rafter, only the wings of the moth in my room last night left when I wake in the morning, etc.

So here’s this posting’s main event: the journey I took yesterday with my friend Hong Sar. The main purpose of this escape was to venture into the “jungle”—what we would refer to as the countryside in the U.S., but is far more exciting to call “jungle”—as one feels they might indeed see a tiger or elephant, or discover some nomadic tribe unknown to humanity until today.
We decided on our destination last week, when I declared the superiority of the pomelo (HUGE grapefruit-like fruit) over all fruits in Sangkhlaburi, and Hong Sar revealed the fact that he knew of a location where the pomelo trees were dripping with ripe fruit, where coconuts fell two feet in front of you begging to be consumed, and, best of all, where it all was free: the JUNGLE.

We buzzed off on his motorbike at 10 AM and as we followed the smooth concrete road it quickly dawned on me that in my little house with little geckos and little cats and amazing students and rice and lesson plans and all things that comprise my daily existence how very easy it was to not realize the gorgeous scenery surrounding me. As we took turns and hit bumps we would glance to either side and see green green green. Green valleys filled with all sorts of vegetation morphed into hills in the distance and mountains even farther away until the scene eventually melted into the gray sky. Not an inch of the fertile red dirt that cakes the jungle floor was visible. I felt like a moron with a smile exploding off my face as I realized the damn beauty of it all, and felt thankful that Hong Sar’s rear-view mirrors weren’t positioned to see my uncontrollable smile. It’s hard to express your amazement with someone who knows this beauty as his backyard.

Before hitting the jungle, Hong Sar pulled off for a pit stop in a “safe house” he had told me of earlier. It turned out to be a home for mostly children with HIV/AIDS and other physical and mental disorders. Most of these kids, even the orphaned ones, would normally live in the refugee camps on the nearby Thai-Burma border, but their conditions required the assistance of a nearby Christian hospital, and thus they were torn from their communities in the camp and all a bit sad about it.

It was difficult to be with these kids. They were all beautiful and loving and excited to see some fun visitors. But an overall sadness came over me when I found no one really taking care of them—no one but themselves. Kids helping kids. One five year old made a meal for an older child who appeared to have cerebral palsy. One teenager worked silently at a nearby loom making fabric and absolutely silent. I’m sure someone was around in the distance, but it further disturbed me that Hong Sar and I could just walk into the group of small buildings in this pseudo orphanage and hang out. Other than a heavy heart I wasn’t sure what to feel—what to do—what to say to alleviate some of the loneliness of this place.

We then moved a few yards down the road to an adult facility. We passed through a small opening in a bamboo fence and into a yard where many people sat—about 20—again people with HIV/AIDS and mental disorders (interesting that these two groups were lumped together at both facilities). One woman approached us and was very chatty, seemed very excited to see new faces to speak to, and quiet starved for attention as she followed us out when we left, singing bits of a song she knew for us and unable to say goodbye. She knew a random smattering of English words and while walking around the facility demonstrated them to me. The people living there were of innumerable ethnicities- all sorts of ethnic groups from Burma, one man from China, another from Malaysia. Everyone was pretty much hanging out in silence, sleeping, or making some crafts to be sold elsewhere. The chatty woman ran indoors and back out again producing a photograph for our pleasure. It was a picture of her in Bangkok—a particularly strange thing to see as it is very difficult to get the papers to get from Burma to Bangkok. None of my students have ever been there and see it as an ultimate goal…

As Hong Sar and I left the adult facility he told me bits of the one woman’s story. He first learned of this place when he was writing a news article about it for the publication he works for and he remembered interviewing this particular woman. It turns out she was trafficked from Burma to Bangkok and sold there as a sex worker. She contracted HIV and her status was somehow discovered and she ended up back here, in a small border town, living out the foreseeable future in this facility.

A victim of sex trafficking. How strange to study and read so much about one topic and never know anyone who actually experienced it until one random moment when you pop off the road for a pit stop on the way to pick pomelos in the jungle.

The rest of the day consisted of a visit to the Christian hospital, where I saw a few cases of late stages of HIV/AIDS—emaciated bodies and weak expressions and distant eyes, and then back on the road again to the hot, mosquito-filled jungle.

With distance and some time between us and the sadness we had viewed just an hour before, Hong Sar and I picked fruit, waded through streams, sweated, laughed, joked about the unending shits we would have after such fruit gluttony, and met farmers.

But when I hopped back on my friend’s motorbike I also knew that I was dazed and uncomfortable. Through all the merriment I could not shake the thought of one of those HIV positive children or that one woman one day in the Christian hospital, occupying some bed as they withered away, another emaciated body, another statistic.

Burmese Material Girls

2006-06-16T19:51:00.000-07:00

Blogo-licious Readers:

Mongeera Ow, or hello there, as they say in Monland.

I write to you as I sweat in my bedroom, preparing to turn in early tonight, at 10:30 in place of the regular 11 pm. It has been a warm past few days, which has allowed to me to add the word “atau” (hot) to my ever growing Mon vernacular. (Note: I came to Thailand having checked out Thai CDs from the library, purchasing a Thai phrasebook, and fully expecting to come back well versed in the language. It turns out that my Thai will very likely be quite struggling when I return, and instead my Mon skills will be pretty awesome, which is unlikely to get me anywhere on a resume, but then again the rest of my life has far from centered on being coherent to others, so why start now…)

Although rainy season is upon us, it has been an undeniably dry and thus warm few days, causing me to shower a total of three times a day in place of the regular two. While in theory sunshine is wonderful, in reality here the rain provides a much-needed breath of cool air. When heavy drops come they seem not only to clear the air of the moisture that clings to you at all times and in all places, but the water seems to clean the plants, the trees, the people, the mangy dogs that roam the streets, and the stray motorbikes that have been left without cover. After the rain everything seems pure and energized. People emerge from the awnings where they have hidden for the past 15 minutes and what was a ghost town just moments ago springs to life. The sun often emerges immediately after rain as though it is denying that it ever left us. This close tie between sun and rain leads to predictable and beautiful rainbows over this tiny town.

The most wonderful part of the rain is when a huge deluge comes. It really seems as though buckets are flooding down upon you. One way to describe it would be to imagine the craziest rainstorm you can remember— that moment where you asked yourself if god was mad at you ‘cause man! This rain is strong! THAT is what happens here around once a day. While it may sound scary, it’s actually quite peaceful. The rain that pours on the tin roofs leaves you unable to hear even the person standing beside you speak. It forces you to pause, to reflect, to wait. You’d be mad to up and leave your building, and you’d be unsuccessful if you attempted to pass the time with a conversation. It’s just you. Waiting. For the rain to stop.

So my true purpose of writing was to share tonight’s activity: a birthday party. We held it for the adorable Htaw Lai (pronounced “toe lie”), one of my most advanced students, and certainly the shortest. She turned 23 today. The party consisted of a surprise which revved everybody up quite a bit. Hushed conversations took place all day in which fanta-purchasing, sign making, and ice cream flavors were discussed. It was adorable. While my students had told me that a typical birthday involved “feeding ice cream to your friends,” I figured that this phrase translated to providing ice cream for friends. Tonight I discovered that a Mon birthday tradition is sitting in a circle on mats as the birthday person literally shovels ice cream into the mouths of all friends and family present. It’s amazing. Then a good deal of force-feeding people impossibly large scoops of the melty-stuff ensues by whoever is feeling most confident. We share a total of one spoon, which is pretty great too, provided no one has a life-threatening illness.

What started as quaint force-feed party quickly morphed into a dance soiree inspired by my teaching the class Madonna’s “Material Girl” a few days ago. After the fifth time we repeated that “only boys who save their pennies make my rainy day,” I felt it was time to move onto another staple of American dance parties: rap.

All of my female students grabbed each other’s hands as we jumped around in a circle havanageela-style and they learned the best dance moves a white, suburban Jewish girl could offer.

After a warm and ridiculous thirty minutes which involved mainly me jumping around and my students declaring how “chan lan,” (beautiful) my “moves” were, we switched off the ipod, arranged ourselves on the floor and the students sang a traditional Mon song for their skilled dancing buddies to move to. I saw two traditional Mon dances, the slow variety, which is, indeed, INCREDIBLY slow, and the “fast” variety, which moves more at the rate of a slow-dance in our terms.

I felt pretty great as I watched these awesome women singing and dancing around me, seeing them feel so comfortable with these words that poured easily from their lips and the moves that were second nature to their bodies. How incredible that this is just that same old, comfortable thing to them, and to me, it is something completely new and beautiful.

I felt as though I was in some promotional video for a cultural exchange program, what with the beauty and friends, and the ice-cream force-feed.

Ah no. Here I said I’d go to bed early and already it’s 11:05. Ah well.

To papaya salad-

LK

Ps. I love the blog comments. Keep ‘em comin.

Images

2006-06-13T03:08:00.000-07:00

The beautiful Sangkhlaburi.

The SQUATTER

2006-06-11T19:41:00.000-07:00

Ah HAH!

Hello lovers and lovettes!

Greetings from Sangkhlaburi, Kanchanaburi Province, Thailand. I am here, yes, in my final destination and already two weeks into the swing of things. And it is lovely.

Upon first arrival I was greeted by the two women I formerly knew only by email and conference calls, Mi Kun Chan Non and Seik Non, and it was amazing to meet with their smiles as I loitered at the “bus station,” which appeared to merely be a cement block. The warmth and beauty they exuded that first moment has carried through these past few weeks and characterized the majority of my experiences thus far.

First off, the nitty-gritty:

What I do: I am teaching a group of 15 AMAZING Mon (an ethnic minority in southern Burma) individuals aged 18-28. Among them are current students, teachers, members of the Mon State Army, farmers, dress makers, and many more. There are 12 chicks and 3 dudes. Once again, I cannot stress how very incredible these people are, but I will get to that later.
Hours of work: I teach a four-hour, English-intensive day with these same 15 students, Monday-Friday. We go 10-12, break for lunch, and then 1-3.
Schedule: My schedule thus far has been to get up around 7 (with the ridiculous yelping of the roosters (note: roosters here speak a different language. Instead of saying the good ol’ American cock-a-doodle-doo, these guys taper off at the end, rather sounding like they have just been clubbed in the head. It’s more like a cock-a-doodle-(now lower your voice about ten octaves and heighten the volume) uhhhhhhh)), eat some breakfast (rice with something fried and delicious), go to the internet café/ plan my lessons for the day/ week, wander aimlessly and play with small kittens, etc. I then teach, correct homework from 3-6 or so, eat dinner at 6:30, ponder my existence while the rain patters on our tin roof, do class planning/ filling out documents for various things, and go to sleep with the sound of my gecko Stanley annoyingly calling out to his friends in the surrounding houses.
Future social life: The schedule so far has been very work intensive, however, things have changed and lightened this past week as I entered into the initial stages of developing a social life outside of my students, and also realized how AMAZING just chilling with my students can be, regardless of what we are doing.
The food: Awesome. I often eat with my students and the other office members of the Mon Women’s Organization. While I thought I would return home to flawlessly order the most delicious of items at any ol’ thai place, unfortunately this is not the case. I am learning, however, how to make a killer fishpaste and some incredible Mon curries. We eat tons of vegetables, much to my pleasure, and absolutely every meal is based on rice. Mon people also eat with their hands, which is very cool. I join in from time to time, but must admit that my obsessive-hand-washing-complex often leads me to use a spoon. Ah, OCD.
Oh and by the by, don’t go thinking I just consume here, I also am on cooking duty with two of the MWO staffers every 6 days, which involves rising at 6 to hit up the market, where you can feast your eyes on still-flapping-fish, pig heads, every type of fruit and vegetable you can imagine, orange-clad monks wandering the streets for their daily food donations, and people, people everywhere.
My house: Is a palace. I am renting the house next door to the MWO office (where my students and all staffers also live—a characteristic of many non-profits here). Not only is this house the nicest I have seen thus far in all of Sangkhlaburi, but it is also the cheapest to rent of the options available. It’s a two-story, tile-floor house meant for a family, and here I am wandering it all alone. And all this for a total of $60 this month and around $80 for the following ones. Hopefully I will meet some cool person to share rent with me, but until then it is quite nice. What is great about the location next to the office is that I have invited my students to share some of this space with me (they were a bit squished sleeping 12 girls in a room the size of one American single-person bedroom), and they rotate through, four living here each week. It’s a slumber party every night, but they have homework to do and I have lesson planning. Two nights ago I got them to spill the class gossip and discovered that indeed there is a couple! What’s more is that they may have even held hands! (note: holding hands in Mon culture= seriously badass).
The toilet: Okay. I know you all want to know the details about the squatter. And I will spill the beans. Peeing on the squatter is okay, but the splash-effect is not always the best. Doing the other thing we do (I dare not say the “p” word) works quite well, as you are logically aligning your body for the deed.
I, however, am a lucky child. In my house, RIGHT off my bedroom, in fact, is a throne-- a western-style toilet-- cover and all. It’s not a flusher (you must pour water down it manually), but it is pretty luxurious in these parts.
My bed: Is a mat on the floor with a mosquito net covering. I dig it.

Whew. I have many anecdotes to tell about enormous insects, palm-reading, teaching Mon nationals how to rap, soccer balls used as pots for plants, Burmese courage and survival and heartache, the plump boy in my village who is my arch nemesis, plastic bags everywhere, sweat- heat- rain, resourcefulness, feeling low and feeling high again.

But those are to come. It is back to the grind for me, and back to the grind for you.

Much love and sweet dreams-
L

Heat and Barefeet

2006-05-26T04:38:00.000-07:00

HEAT.

I moved from the crazy busy streets of Bangkok up North about 100 km yesterday to a town called Kanchanaburi, home of the Bridge Over the River Kwai (some of you may have heard of this due to a book and movie by the same name-- it is a part of a huge railway built by the Japanese during WWII. It is mostly famous for the backbreaking labor conditions, which caused the deaths of numerous Allied PoWs and local workers during WWII). It is extremely HOT in Kanchanaburi. The heat is undeniable, climbing effortlessly to 100+ today as I wandered the streets, preemptively tracing out the path in front of me to maximize my shade-time. The moist air and strong sun rays make you SWEAT, I mean really sweat, and the cold shower back at one's guesthouse proves a heavenly refuge from the warmth.

Despite today's heat, I have greatly enjoyed my short time in Kan-buri (as it is referred to in short). It is a welcome respite from the business of Bangkok. The air is far fresher and the tourists far fewer. With this, of course, comes the stares of small children and the schoolkids practicing out their "hello," and "where you from's" on you. In my experiences travelling, this attention is endearing when in a good mood, and exhausting when all you want is to blend in, relax, and be any old person in town. Today it was fine, however, and reminded me how I am really embarking on something new.

There is so much to say right now that I don't know where to begin. This may be fairly stream-of-conscious so be prepared. I'll start with the most recent.

After exploring Kanburi today, viewing the museum for the Bridge Over the River Kwai, and actually heading to the bridge (filled with tourists of all backgrounds- even Thai- dawning their fannypacks and cameras), I headed for the ice cream/ coffee shop I noticed yesterday. The place is called "Famous Coffee," and attracted my attention due to 1) ice cream, 2) air-conditioning, and 3) the smiling face of the man behind the counter.

In my overheated state, I desperately craved an iced drink, yet feared the repercussion of drinking ice which may not be safe (something that could potentially lead to an incident much like my Mexican parasite-amoeba episode. I therefore stumbled through my Thai phrase book asking the man behind the counter if the ice was "clean," "for drinking," or "boiled." This absolutely confused him. He had no idea why this foreign person wanted an ice tea that was boiled. Boiling the ice would defeat the purpose of the whole "iced" aspect. As we stumbled around for about 5 minutes both in total confusion, but not wanting to give up, I hit a wall where I felt that type of confusion and misunderstanding that can lead to tears. All over some stupid ice. As I suddenly felt alone and very much like a foreigner, the coffee man smiled. I followed suit, smiling back. We laughed at the ridiculousness of this situation and our fumblings.

What almost caused a breakdown, instead ended up as a breakthrough (Coro-speak...), as I ended up sticking around the coffee shop for 2 hours, meeting Aek's (the barista's) wife Nong Lek, their son Nong Am, and the local police officer, Kui, who has a sister living in San Francisco. They are a incredibly cool bunch of people. It turns out Aek and Nong Lek just opened this little cafe about 2 months ago. They're from a smaller town close to Kanburi, but now live above the coffee shop. The best part of the place is their ice cream display, which looks much like that in any American ice cream shop, but has a scale in front of it. When I asked why, Aek told me it was to encourage the skinny people to buy ice cream. It dawned on me that this could only be a viable business strategy in Thailand (NOT the U.S. (see also: obesity epidemic))...

A word on Thai food: delicious. A few more words: I have realized some of this may be due to a key ingredient I didn't recognize before: sugar.

Some interesting observations:

you know how in Thai restaurants you have the option of taking off your shoes? That is because it is a common practice here to take your shoes off before entering any household, some stores, and most other places, especially wats (temples) (i.e. I am barefoot in this internet cafe). The feet are considered very dirty. It is a show of disrespect and totally rude to point to or touch someone with your feet. In wats, you must sit with your feet facing away from the buddha.
plants beautifying the sidewalk here differ from those in the U.S. in that they are "potted" in water. It is all water lilies and the like-- very beautiful.

Alrighty my dearies, off to go eat some ehan thai (thai food), hopefully some baah sot (fresh fish).

Puppies-

Newness

2006-05-20T19:19:00.000-07:00

As I often do when journaling in a new land, I record sights, sounds, smells, all the things that stand out for me enough to notice that it is really not the norm where I am from or in my own practices.

Without further adieu, here is my list as of today:

Hippie-thaisters getting hair extension dreads sewn into their short hair on the touristy sidewalk of khao san road
foodstands everywhere. fruit that is green, red, hairy, spikey, smelly, and delicious. As I write I munch on a large green guava-like thing, and yesterday consumed lychees (they are reddish-green on the outside and have a beautiful spikey thing going on), although one brit I met described them as "balls" to me, I ate this things called "sela" or some such. Delish. And much more
lots of kids playing with remote-controlled cars. I feel I have returned to the 80s.
Tuk-tuks. these are 3 wheeled taxis that buzz around the city leaving gobs of blue-black exhaust. the drivers enjoy sidling up next to you as you walk down the sidewalk and just trailing along, sometimes not saying anything, and just figuring you'll jump in when you feel so inclined. when you do not, they buzz off in a what feels like a fit of rage-- revving their engines and coughing the exhaust fumes in your direction.
roaches. huge roaches. squished and sometimes not, crawling over the unsuspecting pedestrians flip-flopped foot.
vendors. everywhere. every available sidewalk foot seems to be covered.
snarkey shirt vendors. Not only have I seen the hilarious "good bush bad bush" shirt a few times, but yesterday I was moved to blurt out a laugh among a crowded sidewalk as I walked alone, when I saw a shirt with a dog mounting (to put it nicely) a bunny, and the word below stating simply, "wrong."
7-11s. They proliferate here. Unbelievable how many 7-11s I see. It's like Dunkin-donuts in boston, or starbucks in any other part of the states.
which brings me to my next point: starbucks. I've spotted 3 so far. People seem to be enjoying their frappachinos. In this regard, I've also spotted a McDonalds, Haagan Das, Baskin Robbins (what?!), and the inevitable Pizza Hut and KFC, which seem to find their way to all parts of the world.
more dogs with hair-dos and some jewelry around their necks.
group work-out classes in Lamphini park. This is where a huge group of people (around 200) gather and follow instructors in any of the open spaces in the park as they do group aerobics and the like. It is incredible. There are quite a few men who partake in these classes, which I found surprising
large cars. Unlike parts of europe where I have been, I was shocked to see SUVs here. Even the smaller cars are like our regular cars-- not compact at all, as I was expecting
monks. they have shaved heads and wear orange. Just like the pictures.
female versions of this. They wear white and I am still trying to figure out what they're all about.

Alrighty. All for now. I hope you enjoy this list. I'm off to start my day-- wander the city much like I did yesterday... who knows what I'll report in the near future.

:) L

Touchdown

2006-05-19T05:49:00.000-07:00

Rightio. On the ground. I arrived about 4 hours ago to this HOT, busy, and colorful city. I'm sure there are many other things this city is, but I have yet to discover them at this point...

After an uneventful journey (other than a man who has issues screaming profanities when he falls asleep on an airplane and is sitting across the aisle from you), I have arrived safe and sound. I'm staying in what's known as the "tourist ghetto" of Bangkok, Khao San Road, where backpackers of all walks of life gather and share tidbits of their travels and their personalities, share a drink, and then go on their merry way.

Fruit vendors and pad thai stands line the cute little street where I am staying, and new arrivals with big bags seem to show up every few minutes here.

Regardless of the tourists rambling around these parts the newness is undeniable: new smells, sounds, language, tastes, and sights. It's exciting and beautiful and it's so clear to me, despite the stress of packing, the annoyances of immunizations, the numbness of my backside from extended plane rides, what moves people to explore. It's phenomenally exciting and energizing.

Off to attempt new friend making, try new foods, and eventually get a good nights rest.

LK

ps. and if you ever wondered if people in other countries dote on their dogs a la paris hilton, the answer is yes, as a dog with a hairdo greeted me upon entering the internet cafe.

Scrumdiddly-update-a-licious

2006-05-10T18:11:00.000-07:00

Hello there cheekey monkees!

To you wise, hilarious, supportive, sarcastic, accomplished, and ambitious reader-friends: An update from LauraVille.

As many of you know, I am off to start a brand new adventure. This one takes me to Thailand, where I will be for at least 7 months, 6 of which will be spent working with a women's rights non-profit called the Mon Women's Organization (MWO), which is located on the Thai-Burma border. I am being sponsored by a fabulous, progressive, human-rights, grassroots, teach-a-man-to-fish organization called the American Jewish World Service (AJWS). They are an independent non-profit working to "alleviate poverty, hunger and disease among the people of the world regardless of race, religion or nationality." (www.ajws.org) They're incredibly active in promoting awareness and action to stop the horrors occurring in Darfur, as well as promoting women's rights globally, two subjects in which I have a great interest.

What's interesting for me in volunteering through this organization too is going abroad with the backing and name of a Jewish organization. Most of you know I feel far more culturally Jewish than deeply religious, and I am by no means the type of person who wishes to impose my religious beliefs on others (let alone a person who knows exactly what those religious beliefs are...). I do see quite a bit of benefit in being affiliated with a Jewish organization, however-- not so that I can teach the world about Abraham, Isaac, and their pals--but rather so I can be a Jew abroad and dispel the negative stereotypes much of the world has come to associate with Jews. Shockingly, a good number of friends I made in my most recent travels around Eastern Europe informed me that I was their first Jewish pal (I experienced this with both Eastern Euro locals as well as other travelers). I feel similarly about representing Jews as I do as representing Americans these days.. we aren't the most popular global citizens out there...

Back to Thailand. I'll be in a town called Sangkhlaburi, population 10,300, according to my Lonely Planet guidebook, in the Kanchanaburi province. It seems to be a small place, boasting one ATM and possibly an internet cafe...? What is fascinating about it is it's location close to the Burmese border, and the interesting mix of cultures, people, and languages that will ensue. Regardless, I am nervous for the small-town experience...

From what I know now, I will be assisting in some training of the interns in MWO's intern program. I will be specializing in project management and some English teaching. Maybe I can squeeze some theatre in there as well. There's always room for that.

My commitments as I embark on this journey are many: to respect the culture, to make meaningful and lasting friendships, to dive into learning the language, and to focus on some new documentation skills. Primarily I will be using a video camera to document my experiences, friendships, and the beauty I will inevitably encounter. I'm not sure where this camera will lead me, but I have a good feeling about it.

As for email contact, I will try my best. I do not want to take up excessive internet time at my host organization, and am not really sure what the internet rental situation is like over there. Therefore it is best to check on this (impersonal, I know) blog-o-sphere. My living situation is yet to be ironed out. Whether I will be spending time as a guest in a family house or in an apartment is yet to be determined.

In other news, I am nervous as all get out as the days count down...

Peace,
LK

ps. The trusty ol' 847-372-6484 cell will be retiring as of May 17, one day before I get on a jet-plane.

Countdown to leaving

2006-05-09T17:00:00.000-07:00

Whew. So here I am, sitting in the suburbs, in a house that is large and comfortable and full of every amenity I could want: hot water, a fridge stocked with food, internet access, 3 TVs, a telephone in nearly every room, lights, clothes, blankets, rooms to spare, newspapers delivered to my door, the trash and recycling collected about 20 feet away from the side door, cars that talk to me, cell phones, heat, aircon, books, radio, CDs, all of it. It's all here, and it's all comfortable. And I'm about to bid it all adieu.

What is it about us that makes us want to up and leave the familiar? That makes us decide to jump into experiences that will scare us, make us uncomfortable, make us experience loneliness?

It seems to me that it's the possibility of growth. That, and the feeling that we are actually living, breathing things, walking around this earth with open eyes. At least that's what I'm telling myself.

I've been abroad many times before in my life: Spain for 9 months at the age of 16, Kenya and Tanzania for a spell during college, Mauritius in the summer of 2004, Eastern Europe this past fall... but the same emotions still flutter up into my stomach and mind before departing for any adventure. The fears, while they change each time, are still there regardless. This time they are mostly fears about the future, fears about leaving wonderful friends and family-- about all the amazing relationships that are a phone call, car ride, or simple walk away.

I also have silly fears. I fear that by meandering to some nether region and working on a remote cause will somehow detract from my route to "success," whatever that undefinable word seems to mean. I start to get scared that if I'm doing this now, then when will I go to grad school? When will I make money? When will I apply for that fulbright I always wanted? when will I take all those prereq grad school tests?

Regardless of these fears, I somehow seem to pull myself together, do a decent job of packing up my belongings and taking care of my goodbyes, and go out on that limb.

I'm scared, I'm nervous, I know that I could stay where I am and take comfort in all that I know. But somehow I won't do that. And that makes me feel alive.

Countdown: T minus 9 days.

Change is good

2006-05-03T19:55:00.000-07:00

Ten inches gone... it is a new me: