No Place To Home

Today's Thoughts... (special happy birthday to a special birthday somebody!)

When I started the house search for myself and my hopeful-soon-to-be roomie TaReva, we had some basic notions of what we desired in a happy humble abode— electricity, internet, running water, sunlight, security, cooking space, living space, sleeping space, and maybe a dash of greenery by way of a garden or verdant stoop. We were asking too much, far too much. After seeing approximately 26 ½ houses (one we didn’t even make it inside; we just bolted at the gate), I was starting to lose hope. The house was too small. Too big. To empty. To cramped. Too far. Too close. Too unperfect. We’re being picky, we admonished ourselves. Get over it! It’s just a place to sleep and eat after all. I mean, isn’t it?

Forget that we’d gone through View who tried to get us to move onto a farm 2km outside of town and once led me to a gate from which we ran (she, in 4 inch stilettos no doubt) as a snarling hound gave chase at the front gate. Suffice it to say, we told View buh-bye quite a while ago. And then there was Nat; she was a real sweetheart, truly. Except Nat wasn’t so good with directions, and never quite understood that motorbikes simply can’t do the things cars can, like Idk whip it down the highway at 120 km/hr because “this way only take 20 minutes to house, na!” So after seeing her sixth house and spending 45 minutes driving around in the blazing hot season sun, baking, browning, burning to a crisp, sweating unforgivingly, and fuming at her “just a little this way, that way, na” directions, I told Nat we would no longer be needing her services. Of course, there was Oh and Woh and Wee and Yip and Yay, but no such cry of joy ever escaped my lips while I was with them. Uh-uh. Not a one.

Ready to accept defeat, we then met April. Oh April. I should have known something was screwy with this one when she made me meet her at a bookshop and drive her on my moto to the house we were viewing. When I asked where her own bike was, I got a nebulous, “oh not here. Somewheres. Drive this way.” The entire 10 minute ride was pretty much her criticizing my driving (you been here one year! Hahaha. No way! Joke! Joke!) to her wigglinggg, wriggling, and bouncing on my seat (so much so that the next day my seat lock broke and I had to get it serviced) to her obnoxiously pointing out that my bike was spewing black smoke and is that what it always does? Thanks, April. Thanks.

We pulled up at the house and…I had seen it before… the day before in fact. She looked surprised, alarmed, and then pissed that apparently her client was double-teaming the agents on his townhouse. In silence we drove back to the bookshop, bouncing all the way, and she barked at me to meet her at a new house the next day. So foolishly I did. Well actually considering that my bike was broken, I missed the first day’s visit which TaReva attended, warning me of monkeys and Elvis Presleys. So the second day, I arrived. It was an okay house. Nice amenities—kitchen, three bathrooms, jungly walkway to the front door, bungalow. But I immediately noticed precisely what TaReva had mentioned—a giant glass display case filled with monkey memorabilia and faux-autographed framed black and whites of the King (and not his Majesty of Thailand though he hung overlooking all near the door). There were large blown up posters of Elvis and other 60s performers, black and whites of old times Chiang Mai, and primate paraphernalia like cups and bowls and door hangers and figurines EVERYWHERE. We briefly thought for a moment of hanging the King next to the King, but then figured that’d be deemed blasphemous or sacrosanct at the least.

But April assured me it all could go (except His Majesty), that the family had once owned a pub and these were the remnants. Okay… But then there was the problem of the window, 5/6 of which was blocked by the ENORMOUS glass display case. “Can come down,” April nodded smiling. No worries. That’s when I noticed the door… or rather lack thereof. At this, several bells went off, particularly imagining the pregnant pause when I would tell my parents that I moved into a house without a door. I could hear my mother’s warning voice calling me by my full name. That was all the motivation I needed. I called TaReva.

“We can’t,” I heard myself saying over the phone. “I mean, there’s no door. It’s just a screen with a padlock. There isn’t even any glass.” But TaReva suggested let’s come in and talk to the landlords; see what we could work out with sensible people. So today we went and met the sensible folks that built a house without a door, mounted a glass case in front of a window, blocked off a driveway by planting a tree, and decorated their living space with 52 hairy apes (I counted). Needless to say that went great. The case was there they said to hold the figurines and photos. Could it be moved? I mean, the house felt sort of cave-like as it was. Of course not because the scorching rays of the sun would pierce through the three inch glass on the window and like a microscope to a hill of ants, sear the flesh from our bodies in the daylight hours. Sorry, they said it’d be too hot. Pretty much exactly like that. As for the door, they laughed. Security? A thought that hadn’t occurred to them. To much work to put in a proper door or glass panes. Maybe a curtain? How about a nice curtain? Padlocks are so strong after all. And that pesky tree in front of the gate, well that has to stay. Because it’s there already of course and that’s where it lives. The tree, not you. It lives there.

Flushed and breathless, TaReva pondered aloud about the lack of privacy in the bedrooms with windows that face directly into those of our neighbors (students who dorm in the single rooms next to the house). We then received a fifteen minute schpeel about the hand-picking of the students and their good souls and kind hearts and closed eyes even when you step out of the shower in a towel or change and expose a bra or dance around naked and perform wildly ritualistic pagan ceremonies in the wee hours of the night. Well what about friends, we ventured? What about their friends? Well of course they are not allowed to have friends over, ever. Or to smoke, or drink, or stand outside, or talk after 8. Do those rules apply to our house? Do you smoke? No. Drink? Occasionally. Have friends or menfolk over? I have a boyfriend, I squeaked. Does he live here? No. Will he live here? No. Will he visit? Certainly. How often? Just a few times perhaps. Where is he? Indonesia. Consideration... pause... (why was I holding my breath)... and success! TaReva was not so lucky when she mentioned our guitar-playing, dinner-party having friends. Oh, just maybe six of us, maybe some guitars, yes, and maybe some singing, of course some food, Lauren loves to cook, I’m learning guitar, no no, not late at all, maybe midnight? The conversation screeched to a dramatic halt. I waited as they contemplated. I was sweating and I could feel the drops sliding down my nose. So naturally, I fled to the kitchen as she duked it out.

When I came back, a bit more red in the face and thoroughly ready to go, she re-capped the evening’s arrangements—no the glass case would stay, the tree lived there, the door might have a gentle blowing sheet to shield us from fiends in the night, and perhaps, maybe, in a manner of speaking, they could procure a waist-high bush or spritely shrub to conceal our naked forms in the bedroom windows. But under no circumstances were guests to be allowed past 8pm. The owner has to get up at 3am, so not a chance. So we said our good byes to the nice people and hopped on our bikes. Oh! One more question! April said we could get our own fast Internet plan, is that right? Not a chance. Only one line for the whole compound. Ah, yes. Of course. Gotcha.

Hmmm. I guess I won’t be blogging about our days in the house from hell from the house from hell after all.

Landlords: 1.

April: (-∞) Negative infinity.

Lauren and TaReva, oh-ye-pathetic-souls: Zip.

Just the beginning...

Today's Thoughts...

Now the past two weeks have literally flown by in a whirlwind of sweltering classrooms, chatty students, papaya treats, crowded bars, bouncing tuk tuks, and elephants. But with a roof finally and permanently over my head (fingers crossed), I have sat down to pen the first in a series of hopefully exciting, enthusiastic, and incredibly extraordinary musings on life in southeast Asia :) My first day here, after three days without sleeping in a bed (passing out in airport lobbies, on the Tube in London, at doughnut stands, and in the waiting room of a child’s nursery [it seemed like a good place for a quick nap]), I crawled out of the Chiang Mai airport and with the generous aid of one of my soon-to-be Thai co-workers, fell into a hard, but comfy bed in guest house #1. Approximately 6 hours later, I woke up, dressed, and headed for my first day of work teaching university students English and what I thought was Modern American Drama. Instead I get there, my office a cozy bare desk, with a lovely note and book on it stating that I would be teaching English, as planned, and… Ancient Greek Myths and Mythology and the Bible. WHAT?! Panicking, and realizing that I needed a brand new 16 week syllabus by TOMORROW, I went into hyper gear, pulling everything from my 5th grade obsession with Greek gods to the Greek theater course I’d taken to 18 years of Catholic education and viola! I walked into class the next morning babbled for an hour entirely from 5th grade memory about gods and last year’s memory on playwrights and before I knew it, class was over, the kids had furiously copied every note I’d written, and the next week, I had eight new students join and not a single one drop. Success.

Not every class was like that. My other three classes (two subjects) were more trying than anything I’d ever imagined. Now I understand a teacher's pains. Drenched in sweat and frustrated beyond words, it can get impossible, but that’s when you take it one day at a time. Like everything here. Take finding a place to live for example. After working 7 hours a day in school for a 35 hour week, we’d spend anywhere from 5-7 hours in the evening scouring places for rent— apartments, condos, houses, you name it. During this time, I moved approximately 6x from guest house to guest house (small hotels) and room to room. It was beyond taxing. But at long last, we have a place to call home. For now at least. And it’s thrilling. The rest of these two weeks has been ridiculous past anything I could have dreamt up so that’s why I thought it best to sum up some first encounters...

Ten things I now know about Thailand:
1) Meat on a stick is delicious. Almost unequivocally delicious except when it turns out to be some sort of fried fat on a stick rather than meat. But otherwise, meat on a stick (whether or not you can properly identify it), is almost always tasty and a must-have delectable (so long as it smells and tastes like meat). Think NYC hot dog stands with uber Asian flavor. Mmmmm.

2) Dainty girls riding motos in skirts always ride side saddle sort of like something out of a Jane Austen novel with modern adaptation. And it is cool. In fact it is so cool I have yet to do it possibly out of fear, humiliation when my skirt inevitably flies up, or a combination of both. But for other people, it is tre chic. And no need to hold on either. You lose major cool points for that ;)

3) Speaking of cool, all cool guys wear...interesting haircuts. We’re talking layers, bangs, side drifts, the works. Your cool coif, whether female or male must always resemble something art deco-esque. The greater lengths for girls the better. The more layers the better. And the more highlights and colors (again whether guy or girl), yes oh yes the better. And if you’re an ultra cool dude you wear some shade of blonde tending towards strawberry or auburn and you change your dye at least once a month or so. My students have taught me this.

4) Monks dressed in orange abound. Everywhere. So just know that. They might be 50 years old, 500, or 5, but they abound. And they wear bright orange robes that make them easy to spot. Since women are not permitted to touch them, we typically steer clear whenever we can, but when we hopped in a songtaew (red truck with an open air back that acts like a taxi) with a monk in the passenger seat, that was a special case. Not to mention awesome. I mean we rode in a red pick up truck with a monk dressed in neon orange for goodness sake! It was a moment to be remembered.

5) Best moment ever was having a student wai to me (meaning, press her hands together palm to palm as if in prayer and bow slightly) from the back of a motorbike as she rode past in a sign of respect. I was so blown away by the gesture not because I didn’t recognize it (students wai their teachers in greeting, in departing, in handing in homework, or asking to use the toilet), but because she did it from the back of a moving vehicle! I was terrified she would fall off and die, but utterly flattered that at approximately 30 feet distance, she felt the need to honor me.

6) By the end of this trip, I will be a one square wonder. Toilet tissue that is I may or may not also have permanently bleached armpits, legs, arms, and chest because most all the toiletry products I have encountered have whitening agents in them. Whitening powder, paste, liquid, you name it—in lotion, powder, deodorant, everything. Non-whitening products are around, they just take careful examination to track down. So if the pictures of me start looking a little gray… well, then, you know why.

7) Chiang Mai is beautiful. Perfectly splendid and wonderful place to live in. The year promises to be an adventure, what with elephants parading down the streets and all.

8) Time is fluid and being on time is optional. Those of you who know me well know that is nothing short of a miracle for me ;)

9) Best hang outs are bars and clubs like Moisture and Warm Up. Name says everything.

10) Finally, fried chicken can and does not only exist but thrives in a country full of rice and noodles. And I found it within three days. This blog serves to testify.

More to come! (Though not so long!) Comment! Email! Talk to you soon!