Home School Observations

January 11th, 1995
Today I receive a letter from Chaiya. It is straight to the point: send us money now! When I convert the Thai money to dollars, I am shocked. He is asking for $3000 for full scholarships for he and Songkram. It is a full expense report, including food, clothing, housing, transportation, and books for a complete year. I’m sure it took him a long time to do all the calculations.

Not one time in the letter does he ask if I could please send some money to help with school expenses, rather he states it various ways, such as:”We need you to be a patronize,” and “We need you to helpful,” and “So we need you give a scholarship for us.” The whole tone of the letter is so demanding, it sounds so arrogant. I let the letter sit on my messy desk for a few weeks before I answer.

I send a short letter back, saying I will not be their sponsor, because I am not the rich American woman they think I am. When I look at the picture of Songkram in his new glasses, I am pleased that I did make a small direct contribution while I was there.

January 15th, 1995
Today I am finishing my raw notes from my memories of the ten day trip to Thailand, all the while racing time, trying to capture feelings and impressions before the freshness slips away. I put on my “Mr. Mos” cassette tape and am instantly transported back to Chaiya’s village, dancing with smiling junior high school students on the dirt ground. When I gaze up at the clear night sky, the sheer number of stars is overwhelming. The students stare at me staring at the sky, laughing at me enjoying the starry, starry night.

Tags: Thailand, sponsorship, Mr. Mos

PR: wait… I: wait… L: wait… LD: wait… I: wait… wait… C: wait… SD: wait…

January 2nd, 1995
At noon today I receive a collect phone call from Thailand from - guess who - Chaiya. He is a wise young man in some ways, naive in others. He knows human psychology, knows that my heart is still in Thailand, and that the emotional hold Songkram has on me will die soon.

I accept the charges without thinking of the cost, concerned that maybe something is terribly wrong. As soon as I hear his words, “I’d like to give you my bank account number,” reality comes crashing in and I cut the call short. I tell him to write me a letter all about it, and I hang up irritated.

When he calls again a week later, I refuse to accept the charges. I am shocked when the phone bill comes. Nearly thirty dollars for a three minute call. I am doubly pleased that I had refused to accept the charges a second time. What a terrible waste of money. I could have sent the money to Chaiya as a donation. Instead KDD gets it.

Tags: Thailand, collect phone calls, KDD

Friday, December 30th, 1994

Today is our last full day in Thailand, and it’s a little mind-boggling to think about all that is in store. We fly back to Japan at two in the morning!

Our flight from Chiang Mai to Bangkok is at 10:30 pm, and the first order of business for the day is to arrange for transportation to the airport. I make the mistake of talking to Annette, one of the owner/managers of our guest house. “Oh, good. You won’t be needing the room then,” she says in her thick Irish lilt. “We can give it to some of the trekkers who are coming back tonight. You can just leave your bags in the main house. You can have the room until 4:30.”

Well, that didn’t sit well with me, since I am still feeling a little ill. I am really counting on using the room right up until we leave for the airport. In my mind, we are paying the 100B room charge and just leaving a little early. But she doesn’t know these details, and I’d rather not reveal all the reasons just why it is so important to me to have the room past 4:30. I simply say, “Oh no. This is not acceptable to me. I want to use the room until I leave for the airport. I never said I was leaving today. There is no one waiting for this room.”

She tries again. “But you must think of the trekkers. They’re getting back after three nights of no sleep, and will be very tired. You want them to wait until 10:00 for a shower?” “No sleep?” I exclaim in surprise, and inwardly send a little thanks to the universe that I wisely had not attempted the long trek. I repeat my words, that moving into the dorm room at 4:30 is not acceptable, this time adding that I have been sick and need the room for an afternoon nap. She persists, suggesting that I can always nap in the dorm room, and take my shower there, too.

It is at this point that my anger gets the better of me, and I raise my voice, “I can’t believe this treatment! I am paying for the room, and I want to use my room until I leave for the airport.” I am struggling not to shout. Pon, Annette’s Thai husband, appears. He repeats the same scenario of us moving into the dorm room at 4:30. I clinch my teeth and neck in an attempt to bottle up the volcano of anger building inside. Annette interrupts with a nervous, “Now, now. There is no reason to get angry. We’re being nice and gentle here.” This comment only serves to make me angrier still.

“I have been sick,” I repeat, not so patiently. “And I will be using the room until 10pm.” Pon sees that I will not budge. “I see. I’ll call another guest house for a room for our trekkers,” he quietly says and reaches for the phone. After making the reservation, he gives me a lecture on anger, which I enjoy immensely. “There’s no need to get angry now,” he says in a gentle voice. “You can stay in the room forever if you like. Aren’t Thai people nice and kind? Now we do everything nicely here. It’s the Buddha way! If you are sick, we’ll take you to the hospital. We want to take care of you.”

My reply is firm and unemotional. For once a quick reply comes when I need one!

“Asking me to leave my room before I am ready is not taking care of me. You have trekkers returning everyday. This is nothing new for you. I’m sorry your guests didn’t book a room here before they went trekking.” I walk away quickly without giving him a chance to say anything further. In the end, we leave the room at 9pm, and it gets cleaned and is ready for some late arrivers the same evening. Just what exactly is the Buddha way? To push people around and then expect them to accept it docilely, as far as I can tell.

N and I spend a lovely last day in Chiang Mai, eating our last meal at J.J.Bakery for lunch, and stopping in a fancy Italian restaurant for dinner. We wander slowly, doing last minute souvenir shopping. I buy a thick, short-waisted reversible jacket to see me through the rest of my last winter in Japan. We have the urge to visit one more temple, and thoroughly enjoy the decor and architecture of Wat Bupparam, a five hundred year old building not too far from Thapae Gate. Across the street we find a bookstore with a good selection of English books about Thailand, and we both buy some.

I am glad to leave Eagle Guest House that night. We leave politely, with smiles from our tuk-tuk (funny how that Eagle Guest House courtesy van just isn’t available when we need it), and I’m sure while I am thinking, “I won’t be seeing you again,” Annette must be saying to herself, “I hope you never come back.”

During our one hour flight to Bangkok, we receive more courteous service from the Thai cabin crew than we ever could hope for from the Pakistan Airlines crew we are about to meet. The Thai Air service is friendly, personable, and efficient. We soak up every luxurious minute, as if this will somehow shield us from the curtness and ignoring that we are about to endure.

Living up to their reputation, the Pakistan Air flight is two hours late. The courtesy snack that is meant to appease us turns out to be butter sandwiches. We sleepily board at 4am, everyone on edge from the unexpected delay. It is a sleepless flight for me, as every time I get near sleep some child cries or shouts or bumps into the seat. Ah, the life of a light sleeper is a hard one!

Tags: Chiang Mai, Wat Bupparam, screaming dragonheads, J J Bakery, Thailand

Thursday, December 29, 1994
In the morning my fever breaks, but I spend most of the day in room 105, drifting in and out of nausea and sleep. I try to figure out the cause of the problem, and quickly narrow it down to drinking some untreated water at the Christmas party. N’s Chinese herbs care of the nausea. N goes out alone to explore Chiang Mai.

At about two in the afternoon I start to feel better and am antsy to get out of the room. I have a craving for miso soup, and set out to find a Japanese restaurant. It is so refreshing to be outside in the afternoon sun! I stop at a temple to admire the buildings and flowers. I seem to never grow tired of gazing at all the murals, gold leaf, and Buddha statues.

A voice startles me, “What are you doing?” and I look up from the orchid I am photographing to stare straight into the smiling face of one of the orange-robed ones. “I’m taking a photograph of this beautiful orchid,” I reply, and refocus the camera for the photo. “I grew it myself,” he replies. “Oh, really? It’s very beautiful!” I answer, and step back a little. He moves one step closer.

“How old are you?” he asks. I grow weary of this childish question, but politely lie and answer ”’33,”and then ask him the same. “26,” he says, moving another step closer. “Do you fast?” I hear him ask. “No, I don’t,” I reply with a puzzled look on my face. He answers, “Yes, you fat!” And just to be sure I understood him, he makes hand gestures, outlining a robust figure. I turn my back and walk away, shaking my head in disbelief at his blunt rudeness.

I continue walking toward Wat Phra Sing, the final destination for my afternoon adventures. I stop at a temple along the way, admiring its paintings and red and gold designs. It all looks so beautiful in the late afternoon sun. I am happy to be the only visitor, and no one approaches me, so it is a peaceful, pleasant visit I shall long remember.

A little further along the same street I spot red lanterns and some Japanese writing on blue cloth. I take a second look to be sure it’s real. Yep! It’s a little Japanese restaurant! I happily open the door and greet the woman behind the counter with a cheerful “Konnichi wa!” She looks at me blankly. I see miso soup on the menu for 10B (40¢) and order some.

I watch woefully as she pulls out a plastic bag from under the counter, pours too much instant miso soup powder into the bowl, adds water, stirs, and serves me. I smile politely, say “Kah pun kah,” and slowly eat the salty broth. Even though it is the worst miso soup I have ever eaten in my life, it soothes my stomach and rejuvenates me.

I reach Wat Phra Sing after closing time and with only an hour of daylight remaining. Not enough light for any good pictures. Across the gravel courtyard I hear, “Hello! Didn’t you come here yesterday?” Another line from another monk. He walks over to where I am standing. “No, I didn’t come here yesterday,” I replied firmly, and I am just about to turn and walk away when I am surprised to hear, “Honto da!” I am surprised to hear a Thai monk speaking Japanese, and I surprise him with my response, “Nihongo wakaru?”

His face lights up and we begin conversing in Japanese. He shows me his notebook, full of hiragana and Thai. He invites me to sit on a chair at a small table on the porch of a nearby building. We continue our conversation. I am curious to see what Japanese he has learned. He says something funny and I laugh. “Dame!” he says sternly, and mumbles something about his elder monk.

Suddenly he reaches over and touches my arm. “Bikurishita!” I exclaim. He has a puzzled look on his face. He does understand the word “Surprised.” “I read in my Thailand guide book that women should never touch a monk.” He looks sad. “Did you read the book before you came to Thailand?” “Yes,” I said firmly. That’s a pity. Forget the book,” and with that he leans over and picks up my braided hair.

I quickly stand up, obviously angry. “Do you know the word sukebe?” I quipp. “No, I don’t,” he says. “What does it mean?” “Never mind what it means in English. Just go look that up In your Japanese dictionary! You are sukebe!” and I turn and walk quickly away, shaking my head in disbelief. Two sukebe monks in one day. Unbelievable. “Wait ’til I tell N. She’ll get a good laugh out of this!”

That evening N and I go to the Night Bazaar together. It is her second trip and she mainly browses. I buy jumpers and jackets and dolls for my nieces, handmade paper stationery for myself, pressed flower cards, hair barrettes and headbands. I grow weary of bargaining and just pay the tag price. Even without the added attraction of haggling, I enjoy this shopping trip to the fullest. We shop ’til we drop, and take a tuk-tuk back to Eagle House. I sleep well.

Tags: Thailand, Chiang Mai, orchids, temple

Wednesday, December 28th, 1994

Due to my foot pain, we are not able to join an overnight trek as I had hoped. We settle for a “one-day trek.” We are the only ones from the guest house to be picked up in the van. We both get a sinking feeling. But the photos in the albums at the guest house make it look so nice! We try to keep our hopes up. Two other women are already in the van, a mother and daughter both on vacation from their teaching jobs at the International School in Lahore, Pakistan. Clare and Erin make the day more fun, as we all try to make the most of getting taken in by a tourist trap.

The day is to feature rafting, elephant riding, and a hike into the hill-tribe village of the Lisu people. What we don’t realize until the end is that all this activity takes place on quite a small piece of land, so the hill tribe is not as rural as you would expect. The hiking is parallel to the elephant riding trail, which is also parallel to the river where the rafting takes place. So you venture into the same “dense forest” three times!

I am depressed by the thought of watching elephants in chains, and so I sip out on the “Elephant Forestry” show. When it finally comes time for our own elephant ride, all the elephants have already been around the loop once. So our elephant is very tired. I am really sorry I cause it further misery.

It is a lovely hike into the village, which has many beautiful hand-made clothes and belts to buy. I can’t tell if any of the people really live here full time, or if the whole village is a show for us tourists. It is interesting all the same. I buy a reversible green and purple coat with a hood. The largest size fits me! N buys a red jacket. Included in the day’s agenda is a stop at the butterfly/orchid farm.

In the van on the way back to the guest house I begin to feel queasy. It worsens by the hour, and I spend the night in discomfort. N heads out by herself for the night bazaar, coming back to the room with jewelry and clothes for relatives and friends back home in Japan. I realize I have a fever and I finally drift off to sleep.

Tags: Thailand, hill tribes, village, Lisu, elephant ride, rafting, Chiang Mai