A Very Bandon Sriserm Christmas

So Christmas Eve is upon us, and holiday celebrations are in full swing here in Nan.

Getting paid to entertain.

At least they are at Bandon Sriserm School. The ajaans and I have been bringing Christmas spirit to the kids of BS with vigilance: popsicle stick Rudolphs, cotton ball snowmen, design-your-own stockings, nonstop Christmas carols blasting from our office, and a 7 foot plastic tree in front of our door. All week long, the halls have sung out with tiny "Mewwy Cwist-mas!" shouts from children of all sizes. At lunch hour, a group of 3rd grade girls single handedly turned our office into a veritable Winter Wonderland. Sriserm kids from 1 to 92 know "Jingle Bells" by heart (although most parts in between the chorus get mumbled over). Although very few of our students will actually observe a holiday on December 25th, Christmas for Thai kids is a lot like Halloween: a fantastic excuse to throw a class party, sing songs, and be entertained by the foreign teachers. So entertain we did.

A Thai gift exchange:
Piglet wrapped in a chip bag. 

In 6/1, we organized a White Elephant gift exchange for our class party. The students piled their wrapped gifts in front of the room, I turned on some Bing Crosby, and the games began. There was almost no stealing of gifts - which could be the result of politeness, or more likely the fact that every gift was so random and amusing that no one could pass up the opportunity to open the next one.

This morning, the four of us dressed in Christmas costumes to sing carols and pass out candy to the whole school at morning assembly. Courtesy of Aj. Prakop's seemingly endless stockpile of English-teacher-goodies, Emily and I dressed as silk Chinese-style Santa and Mrs. Claus. We stayed in the outfits all day... it was practically like wearing my pajamas to work.

Because of 6th grade Girl Guide and Boy Scout camp this Thursday and Friday, and a mysterious no-school day for Kindergarten, I was a student-less ajaan today. To make up for it, I joined Emily (er um, Santa) as Mrs. Claus for her 1st grade Christmas class parties. Highlights included gifts of candy jelly and handmade paper fans from students, and watching Joke smear chocolate all over his face instead of decorating his Christmas tree. God I love my job.

Just your typical married couple.

Tomorrow we'll wake early to the 80 degree heat of December in Thailand, gather 'round the 1 ft tall plush Christmas tree in our apartment (courtesy of the Hebner family), and open each others' gifts. After mid-morning Thai massages, we'll be off to celebrate Christmas Day with the Nan Farang Bicycle Club (aka other whities) with drinks, food and fun at a local restaurant.

For now, 'tis the Night Before Christmas... and we're off to the Fifth.

MEWWY CWISTMAS!

Sleepless in Sukhothai

Sukhothai: Concrete jungle where dreams are made up

For fear of feeling the Post-Too-Much-Fun-Letdown after our Chiang Rai trip (and because we had another 3-day vacation), Emily, Kelsey, Christian and I planned another adventure last weekend. Our destination: Sukhothai, the ancient kingdom capital of Thailand, and a UNESCO World Heritage park filled with centuries old ruins. We set out early Saturday morning, and a hop, skip, and a rather empty southbound bus ride later, Emily and I arrived in Sukhothai, and were met by Kelsey and Christian. The DJ crew was reunited, and it felt so good.

Our first task was accommodations - always, it seems, a hit-or-miss endeavor in Asia. I picked a place out of our guide book, primarily because it was cheap and they offered a free songthaew ride to and fro the bus station: the Sabaidee Guesthouse, a strange but quaint bungalow style hotel situated way off the main highway. It was so far off the main road in fact, that they probably offer the free songthaew ride because otherwise no travelers would ever find them. We checked in, signed a form for our keys, gave our passport number and paid for the night.

After all this, the purse-wearing man at the front desk said, "I would like to tell you, tonight and tomorrow early morning there will be loud music playing outside." He explained that it was a Buddhist funeral celebration - 100 days after a person dies, his family and friends throw a huge celebration of final prayers in his honor, and send off his ashes into the sky. "This okay?" he asked, smiling. Uhhh well seeing as how we're settled in, paid, and the songthaew just left.... Sure man, it's fine. We would later realize, as we often later realize, just how not fine it actually was.

Seeking: pineapple burger and good times

We put our stuff down and set off for a lunch and to see some ruins. While walking around "town" searching for a Sukhothai pineapple-hamburger Kelsey had heard rave reviews about, we discovered what a bizarre city modern-day Sukhothai is. It's divided into the "Old City," with the ancient historical park, and the "New City," pretty empty of people but built up with a highway running through it, tacky tourist shops, backpacker hotels, backwards-facing tuk-tuks, loads of 7-11s, and restaurants that boast on their signs "We Are In The Guide Books." We stopped in a few places asking about the infamous pineapple-hamburger, and after first being directed towards a 7-11 ("Hamburger! Hamburger there!"), we gave up and ended up at a joint called Poo Restaurant. (Toilet humor inevitably ensued the rest of the trip). At Poo, we encountered 39 baht beers and an older Belgian guy who offered to rent us overpriced motorbikes. We went for it, not seeing many other rental shops around and deciding motorbikes were the best way to explore this strange city.

After lunch, Emily and I climbed behind Christian and Kelsey on the two motorbikes (Em and I still have yet to try driving one in Asia), and the four of us rode out to the Old City and arrived at the park ruins just before sunset. The sights were incredible. From the 1200s - 1400s, Sukhothai was the kingdom that ruled most of modern day Thailand; as the ancient kingdom's capital, Sukhothai Old City's structures were preserved and still stand - some more in ruin than others. There were crumbling brick temples, vine-covered stone walls, bell-shaped chedis, enormous 30-foot tall stone Buddhas, and a huge algae-covered moat lining the park perimeter. On motorbike, whizzing past ancient ruins, climbing over 800-year-old rock... It felt a little like Lara Croft Tomb Rider. (But I guess I'll hold off on that comparison til I get to Angkor Wat).

When it got dark, we headed back to the New City in a fruitless search for nightlife. Our best option turned out to be store bought whiskey from 7-11 and green apple Slurpees (don't knock it til' you've tried it). We ended up back at the same 7-11 for refills of both substances, about three times in three hours. For dinner, we ate amazing Masaman curry (which is delicious, but since it's a southern curry, it's hard to find in Nan), and after making a brief appearance at the Chopper Bar, which featured weird Thai country music and an American flag pinned down by a buffalo skull on the wall, we decided we'd rather just enjoy each other's company and hang out back at Sabaidee. Around 1am, after sitting downstairs talking for hours, we hit the sack (so to speak): 3 various-sized mattress pads lined up on the floor of a bare wooden room, and a fan to keep the bugs away.

What the fans could NOT keep away was the 5 am funeral music. At 4:49am sharp, the shrill sound of keyboard and a man whining into a microphone poured in through the darkened windows. Disoriented, I couldn't tell whether the obnoxious loud sounds were coming from outside, downstairs, or right next to me: it was as if someone found a CD of the worst keyboard-organ music in the world, popped it into a stereo, set it right next to my pillow, turned up the volume and hit play. We all lay there groaning for 10 minutes, but the music was incessant. One song stopped, and the next one got louder. We closed the windows, but they were so old and disjointed that it didn't do much.

Fed up, Kelsey got up to look for a quiet space somewhere in the near vicinity. She came back with a solution: the large bathroom down the hall, which hypothetically was shared by everyone staying on the second floor of the Sabaidee Guesthouse. A minute later, we could hear Kelsey dragging one of the twin mattresses down the hall and cramming it into the bathroom, where it just barely fit on the concrete floor. She sold me on the idea too, and once we maneuvered the mattress so that we could shut the door, I had to admit it was pretty quiet in there. We fit a fan in there as well, and along with the antique non-functional television set that was planted beside the bathtub, it felt just like your average one room house; we curled up and soon fell back asleep. If any other guests tried to use the bathroom that morning, we didn't notice, (and frankly, at that point, didn't care).

Cruisin' together

When the music had finally stopped around 10am, we got up to change. On my way back out, I ran into the guesthouse cleaner and her daughter, who had already dragged the mattress out of the bathroom. Embarrassed, I apologized, explaining that the music was too noisy for me. "Mai bpen rai (no worries)! Sorry!" she said back, as if guests bringing mattresses into the bathroom to sleep happened all the time. Who knows: maybe morning funeral parties are more common at Sabaidee than the front desk man had let on.

Sunday morning, we went back to the Old City to finish seeing the ruins. Our success story of the day was finding Kelsey's pineapple-hamburger restaurant, which also turned out to have the largest and most delicious food menu I've ever come across in Asia. Literally, it was Bible-sized. After breakfast indulgences, we headed to the park, where we mostly motorbiked aimlessly through the outskirts of the main temple walls. While taking a break for water, two Australian guys on bicycles stopped and asked us what sounded like, "Hey, you look like you know your way around. Do you know what's happening?" Emily legitimately thought they were asking us for drugs and felt awkward. Kelsey almost opened her mouth to say, "Well, Poo Restaurant had decent food, and the Chopper Bar was cool I guess...". I just stared blankly, confused.

"Hey! What's happenin?!"

We eventually sorted out that they were asking if we knew Wat Saphan Hin - among the most famous temples in Sukhothai. (Yeahhh, I guess I tend to learn most of my important facts after visiting a historical place). We were totally unhelpful to the Australians as far as directions go, but a little while later, we made it ourselves to the amazing Wat SH, which was located 300 meters up a mountainside. We parked ourselves on the stone wall in front of the giant Buddha statue, and sat staring out over incredible views of the park, the ruins, and the lush green rice paddies just beyond, lamenting that our marathon 3-day-weekends together were to come to an end this week.

But for the moment, we just took it all in. It was, after all, Wat Saphan Hin.

Letting It Happen In Chiang Rai

You know it's been the Best Weekend Ever when:

1. You spent it in the amazing city of Chiang Rai
2. You slept a night on a floating bamboo river raft at a 36-hr Thai music festival 
3. You now go by the name "DJ MoonMuang," are besties with DJ Day Jumper, DJ Squeek-Lez and DJ B9, and have experience throwing down a beat 
4. You befriended your 42-year-old Thai tuk tuk (taxi) driver, and wound up treating him to ice cream, five rounds of whisky, dinner and a late-night jam session - all while he drove you around for an entire day 
5. You ended one night singing with friends in your own private room at the underground level of a Thai Karaoke Bar - said tuk tuk driver making it a Party of Five 
6. Weekend souvenirs include a fur-lined winter hat and a kite, and
7. You endured watching grandmothers vomit and losing your camera in the same 12 hours and STILL want to call it the Best Weekend Ever.

Here we go.

This weekend was the King's 83rd birthday, and with no school for the national holiday on Monday, Emily and I decided to venture out of Nan for our 3-day vacation. We bused to Chiang Mai on Friday after school, met up and stayed the night with our fellow PiA fellow, Kelsey, and by Saturday morning the three of us were at the bus station, headed for Chiang Rai - a city about 3.5 hours north of CM, near the border of Myanmar. We were going for the Chiang Rai Music Festival - a 36-hour outdoor concert held on a riverside "beach" along the Kok River (Kelsey had found a flyer for it a few weeks ago; planning had commenced immediately).

Saturday morning started out smoothly. We got up on time (even after just 3 hours of sleep), managed to grab breakfast and coffee to go, and arrived at the bus station well before our bus was scheduled to leave at 9am. When still no bus had come by 9:15, we asked around showing our tickets and were told by the ever reliable staff of Green Bus Thailand that it would be there in ten minutes. A Chiang Rai bus eventually did roll in - but a few moments after we boarded, we were told that we were on the wrong bus and kicked off: the 9am Chiang Rai bus had already left. After a few rounds of argument with the bus staff about whether we'd have to purchase new tickets, we were finally put on a third bus - a double-decker, neon painted, "Crazy Bus Thailand" bus. Boxcar Children style, we were put on the Crazy Bus as stowaways in a small dining car compartment, along with an entire Thai family: mom, dad, kids, baby, grandfather, and a toothless 100-year-old grandmother.

Craaazy Bus Thailand. Crazy, indeed.

All was going well until a few hours into the bus ride, when grandma got carsick next to Emily and reached for some plastic bags. She took care of business nonchalantly, then fell back to sleep, while we looked around at each other horrified and started to feel claustrophobic in the enclosed space. Over the next hour, carsickness became contagious among the family - everyone just passing around plastic bags and treating it like a regular occurrence. The little girl was taken into the hallway outside, where she threw up all over the side door entrance, and was then left there for the remainder of the bus ride (grandpa went and checked on her every now and then, always giving me a big smile on his way out). Next, mom got sick while nursing, and had to quickly pass the baby over to the next closest family member before reaching for her bag. No one seemed concerned about this vomiting phenomenon in the slightest, and everyone (including the girl relegated to the hallway) went back into a peaceful nap afterwards. Meanwhile, water from the next door bathroom - a squat-toilet room with a bucket of water for flushing and no latch on the door - sloshed out and leaked into our dining car, making the unpleasant stench even worse. Just an average day in Thai bus adventures.

Once in Chiang Rai, we wasted no time getting a ride to the festival. It had begun Friday night and was scheduled to go until Sunday at 6 a.m., and we didn't want to miss any more of it than we already had - especially since we had no idea what to expect at a Thai music festival or how crowded it would be. Turns out, however, that "36-hour music festival" really means that it happened Friday night, then would start again Saturday night. At 2:30 on Saturday afternoon, with our backpacks in tow and eager to get the weekend partying started, we were the only souls on the lot, except for the Thai carnies setting up their food stalls and workers doing sound checks on the stage.

Getting all "fancy" with raft accommodation.

A guy named Lek who was apparently in charge showed us around and explained that things would start around 4 p.m.. Since even the ticket stand was not open yet, he said he'd just "find us later" to pay. He showed us where to eat lunch: under a tent with some food vendors (customer tables hadn't been set up yet). Then he asked if we wanted to stay the night in a tent or raft. Although we'd pictured sleeping in tents, we had to ask about the raft option, and were taken to the riverside where a row of "freshly assembled" bamboo huts (about 6 x 8') floated out in the river. The rafts even had personal "bathrooms": four short walls made out of thatched palm fronds enclosing a hole in the floor of the raft. The rafts were vacant except a handful of festival workers who were taking an afternoon snooze in a few of them, so Lek said to hop in whichever one we wanted - he'd just charge us for that later, too.

The Peace House: leaving little to the imagination.

With nothing but time to kill (things definitely were still not "hopping" at 4 p.m.), we walked around the deserted lot for a few hours and visited the only stand open, the Peace House: a Rastafarian hut selling free bananas, handmade satchels, cannabis flags and dreadlocks extensions. An Australian-turned-Jamaican girl who worked there told us she'd been hanging out there for a week (really?), and was glad we took the "fancy" option of a raft over the tents. Later we played free rounds of promotional games at Thai energy drink stands while they set up (and stocked up on a lifetime supply of sample Tune-Up and Hang). As the sun set, we lounged on the river on our raft - home base at the festival - and chatted in broken Thai with the awkward 18-year-old boys chilling in the raft next door.

After dark, four of Kelsey's friends from Chiang Mai who had planned to meet us arrived - Christian, Dave, Alam and Conrad. Together we made up just a handful of non-Thais at the festival, which featured a host of prominent Thai ska bands such as JoyBoy, T-Bone, Better Weather and DJ Afro Beat Wizzard. (Crowds did eventually surface at the stage as the night went on, but the spacious lot was awkwardly unfilled the whole evening... I guess next time they should hang more flyers).

Fur hat brigade

In what would be a theme for the weekend, our night consisted of a series of escalating ridiculous events.  We befriended Thai ska music enthusiasts in the concert crowd; purchased fur-lined lumberjack hats to wear around all night; managed to get into the "VIP" front stage section, for optimal dancing space; participated in fire show (Kelsey was handed a stick with flaming ends, and just rolled with it); set off Loy Krathong lanterns; convinced a bartender to fill up a mixed-drink "bucket" with vodka, since he wasn't allowed to sell us the bottle alone; acquired our own DJ names (see #3 above); and ate about four different rounds of dinner at the Thai food stands. At some point while I was moshing with Thais center-stage, my camera fell out of the hole that had formed in the lining of my $2 cotton shorts. It is lost forever (these pics are borrowed), but still, having had so much fun this weekend I can't even feel sad about it.

Ska music is so hot in Thailand right now.

Eventually we did go to sleep - huddled on our raft in blankets and fur hats to drown out the techno music that played until sunrise. By morning, we were yet again the only ones left at the "festival": even rastafarian woman had finally left the Peace Hut. We had some workers give us a lift into Chiang Rai city (there was plenty o' room in the truck beside the metal poles they were transporting), and parted ways with the Chiang Mai guys except for Christian, who made the wise decision to hang out in Chiang Rai with us another 24 hours.

After checking into a guesthouse, a tuk-tuk driver took me, Emily, Kelsey and Christian to the famous White Temple, Wat Rong Khun: a huge, all-white (duh), insanely trippy Buddhist-Hindu temple at the edge of the city. We held an impromptu photo shoot on the steps with some Thai tourists (one of whom called me "a moon among stars," apparently since my yellow shirt popped against everyone else's white), then met the tuk-tuk driver again, who had been waiting for us.

The White Temple, Chiang Rai. Unreal.

Best Weekend Ever - must include kites.

Now is a time as good as any to tell you more about Tik, our tuk-tuk driver. After all, this guy became a huge player in the Best Weekend Ever. Tik took us the White Temple around 1pm Sunday, and didn't leave our side until 1am that night. After the White Temple, Tik agreed to a quick stop to buy kites on the roadside (even holding Kelsey's hand to help her cross the highway), and played photographer while we tested them out. We treated him to ice cream. He suggested a good "beach spot" on the river, and sat with us while we ate and drank there for a few hours - pouring ice in our cups and delivering our order to the waiter for us. We included him in our game of "Would You Rather...," making whatever comparisons we could make with a limited Thai vocabulary (Hot or Cold? Black or White? Rice or Noodles?). Tik helped himself to some of our dinner and drinks. We hummed the Thai national anthem for him, to a recorded version on Kelsey's handphone. Tik was shy, in his forties, and spoke no English, but he fit right in with us... By the end of dinner, this guy was no longer our tuk-tuk driver; he was our friend who just happened to own a tuk-tuk.

THIS guy. Had to treat him to some ice cream.

We told Tik we wanted to find something to do in the city that night, preferably involving karaoke. Due to the King's birthday, most places were closed and dry, and we knew we'd need a local's help. Tik gave us his phone number, and gestured to call him when we were ready at our guesthouse. After a few rounds of whisky-sodas, improv rap sessions (themed: "Just Let It Happen In Chiang Rai"), and awarding weekend points to each other for best ideas and positive attitude, we were ready. We donned our fur hats, and Tik arrived in a minute - with a new change of clothes on.

Tik took us to what was quite possibly the seediest hotel bar in Chiang Rai, but likely our only option that night. We ordered a karaoke room, and Tik came right along with us. After several hours of karaoke (during which Tik sat in the corner shyly, but got a kick out of us rocking out to Melissa Etheridge in fur hats), Tik drove us home. When we tried to pay him, he said mai bpen rai - no worries. We shoved 200 baht in his hand anyway, but seriously: What. A. Guy.

Early Monday morning, Emily (DJ Day Jumper) and I said a regretful goodbye to Kelsey (DJ B9) and Christian (DJ Squeek-Lez) and headed towards Nan. We could all agree it was a weekend of superlatives. Letting It Happen In Chiang Rai reunion trips TBA.

Christian, me, Tik, Emily and Kelsey: Party of Five

Next weekend is another 3-day vacay: stay tuned!

October Vacation, Part 5: Tale of Two Cities

Hoi An, Vietnam - Saigon, Vietnam

For the the 18 hours of mileage between Hanoi and Hoi An, Vietnam, we packed ourselves like sardines into a sleeper bus.

"Sleeper" is really a pretty misleading name. The bus interior consisted of three rows of double-bunked reclining seats, situated so that when you're laying down in them, your legs are stuffed inside a coffin-like trunk, which supports the upper half of the person sleeping in front of you. It actually wasn't bad once I settled in on a top bunk, and the rocking of the bus became more soothing as the night went on. But how anyone can really sleep with a Vietnamese variety/game show blaring on the overhead television and the bus driver honking at anything and everything that crosses the road all night long, is beyond me.

Tucked in for the night... and then some.

Although every bed was sold when we left Hanoi, the bus driver picked up about 20 additional passengers at various unofficial stops throughout the night, charging them for the floor space in between bunks. Every time I woke up and peered down over my bed railing, there were a few more old men crammed into the narrow aisle floor below. This meant that in order to get to the bathroom in the back of the bus, you had to basically monkey bar-climb along the bunk ladders, so as to avoid stepping on a sleeping body. I stopped drinking any liquid around 9 p.m. so as to avoid such trips.

Hoi An by night, a beautiful sight.

After a "surprise" 7 a.m. 5-hour layover in Hue, we finally made it to Hoi An. It was absolutely gorgeous, and worth every uncomfortable (but at least entertaining) bus mile. Hoi An is in the center of Vietnam's eastern shore, almost smack dab in between Hanoi and Saigon. It's a city unlike anywhere else we visited in Vietnam: quiet, friendly, and preserved in a way that literally takes you back in time while you roam the streets. The artisan shops glowed at night with handmade lanterns, and at day you could walk the whole city along cobbled stone streets and bridges. It felt a lot like walking around Downtown Disneyland, except everything was authentically just that beautiful.

Riverside in Hoi An 

Hoi An is famous for two things: 1) expertly skilled tailors (you can have a whole tailor-made outfit made in 2 days, for about $30) and 2) incredible food. I indulged in both. Since we stupidly only gave ourselves one full day in Hoi An, I didn't have time for an entire dress or coat to be made, and so settled for an incredible pair of custom, traced-to-the-shape-of-my-foot sandals. Whenever we needed a break from walking and sightseeing in Hoi An, we stopped and ate; cau lau, a special noodle dish found mainly in Hoi An, and "roast duck in a pot" (for $2), and a strong cup o' Vietnamese joe were my primary sustenance for the 36 hours we spent there. And of course, a glass here and there of the world's cheapest - 20 cent - beer. When in Vietnam...

We begrudgingly packed our backpacks in Hoi An after just a one night stay; our pre-booked train ticket urged us onward toward Saigon. While we waited in the lobby for our taxi to take us to the train station, I sat and "chatted" up the old man whose family owns our hotel. He told me, in broken English, about his two kids - both around my age, and studying at university. I told him how much I loved Hoi An and Vietnam, and showed him the book I was reading, Catfish and Mandala, about a Vietnamese-American man's yearlong bike trip up the Vietnam coast. He took the book carefully in his hands, turned it over to look at the author's jacket photo, removed his cigarette from his mouth, and gave me a huge grin. "Vietnam!" he exclaimed. Then, in the spirit of cross-cultural exchange, he angled the television set towards me, on which he was watching a Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, and pointed to the screen. "America!" 

I griped about the sleeper bus in the first part of this post, but truly, it wasn't so bad. The train from Danang (outside Hoi An) to Saigon, however, was rough. We boarded the train 3 hours after it was supposed to arrive at the station, and made our way to our 4-person sleeper car. Our fourth roommate in this two bunk-bed car was a 50-something year old Vietnamese man with a smoker's hack, which left us sleepless for most of the night. Cockroaches climbed on the walls and in between the sheets, and at 5am the snack cart man came pounding on our door with fish chips and popcorn. At 7am, we were already itching to get off the train with 9 hours to go. The only meal we ate was in the "dining car": a bowl of noodles with onions and cuts of pork belly, which still had some hair-like particles attached to the skin and grossed me out too much to finish. For the rest of the afternoon, we sat up in our bunks, exhausted and antsy.

The unpleasant addition to our train car.

About an hour outside of Saigon, Anna got up to go to the bathroom. 5 minutes later, I heard her shriek my name from down the corridor. She had sliced her fingers - badly - on the train car door, and was dripping blood everywhere. I took her arm and we rushed through car after car looking for a conductor. Grandmothers and mothers and babies ran out from their bunks to see what the commotion was all about.

Finally, we found a group of train staff standing at the window. They saw Anna's other hand cupped full of blood, and their eyes grew huge. They pulled out a First-Aid kit from storage, which was really just an old black black seemingly full of everything but medical supplies. Out of the Mary Poppins purse came extension cords, rumpled papers, assorted utensils (I think I saw a fork hit the floor)... and at last, a half-used roll of gauze and tape. They rinsed her hand in the sink and bandaged her up while we sat on the floor - Anna with her head on my shoulder and eyes closed - and in no time, the bleeding had stopped. We thanked them profusely. On the walk back to our car, an elderly Vietnamese woman stepped out and gently grabbed my arm. She gestured to Anna and clucked her tongue, stroking my hand apologetically. I thanked her too. 

We hit Saigon that evening, and after a first stop to a medical center to get Anna's hand stitched up, checked into Madame Cuc's guesthouse in the city center. Madame Cuc was a tiny woman in her thirties who had to practically jump down from her stool at the front desk in order to show us a room. The main attraction of her hotel was that it served complimentary breakfast AND dinner: coffee, eggs and baguettes in the morning; ramen noodles and juice for supper. For gals on a tight budget, it was an easy sell.

View from the Reunification Palace, Saigon

At first glance, Saigon could have been any big city in any big country in the world. The city streets were packed with a slow moving stream of honking cars and motorbikes. Storefronts and apartments stacked on top of each other at the street edge. Sprawling urban spaces appeared in every direction. The only things that really stood out as distinctly Vietnamese were the noodle stands reading Pho and the Kindergarten-sized furniture laid out in front of restaurants on the sidewalks. 

But by the end of our four day stay in Saigon, the city felt very Vietnamese. We visited famous pagodas, Saigon's Chinatown, and the Reunification Palace - which has been preserved to look exactly as it did the day that Saigon fell to the north in April 1975. Our last full day, Nicole and I visited the War Remnants Museum - a brutal, graphic, emotional, and unabashedly anti-American account of the Vietnam ("American") War. Although the whole museum was only three small floors, it took us over two hours to get through the exhibits - even leaving out some rooms on the top floor. From what I could tell, we were the only Americans in the place (and in general, we ran into fewer American tourists throughout Vietnam than other nationalities). By the end of our walk-through, I felt exhausted, sad, and so chock-full of horrible images that we spent the rest of the afternoon in pretty sober moods.  

That night, Nicole and I decided to have last night of wandering the city. After paying our hotel fee, we each had about one taxi ride's worth if dong left in our wallets, so we decided to do an abbreviated, non-alcoholic-drinking kind of wandering. 

Craaaazy Buffalo: shoulda known this street was
going to bring bad news.

Two minutes into this abbreviated stroll, on a dark but pretty well populated street, I felt a sharp tug on my purse strap and a rush of air whirl past me. I looked over, stunned to see half my purse missing and the rest torn to shreds, with my entire wallet (and the rest of my 10,000 baht savings, and credit cards) gone, and a two-manned motorbike speeding off ahead with the goods. I was shaken up by the moment, but Nicole kept me together. We ran inside the nearest shop to tell them what had happened - although we both knew full well that without traveler's insurance and with it mostly just being cash stolen, there was nothing to be done. 

Back at our hotel, Madame Cuc knew it too. But she saw me upset, and gave me an long, awkward, and sweet hug in the lobby. She also shoved some free bananas into what was left of my purse before sending us upstairs to bed. 

Luckily, I had Nicole with me who generously agreed to be my ATM/Sugar Daddy until we got back to Nan to sort out my stolen credit card issues. Very luckily, I had left my passport and camera in the hotel room that night. It was a lot of money lost (especially by Asia standards), and I could try to hold a grudge... But in the end, Vietnam was too incredible, strange, beautiful, and completely extraordinary of a place to not want to revisit before my time in Asia is done. Plus, our next vacation stop was to the white-sand beaches of Krabi, Thailand. Who could be pissed off there?

We're baaaaaaaack! Over Fruit, Volume 7

After a long hiatus, here's my and Emily's latest "Over Fruit" episode - brewed fresh for you this afternoon.

Enjoy!

Everybody Loy Kratong!

Loy Kratong-ing: the light festival in Chiang Mai (Source)

This weekend was Loy Kratong ลอยกระทง, the annual Thai lantern festival held on the full moon in November. In cities and towns across Thailand, huge paper lanterns are set off into the night air, along with firecrackers and sparklers. People also assemble and decorate small floating rafts (about 5-6 inches in diameter) from banana tree trunks, leaves, flowers... and sometimes colored ice cream cones and sliced white bread (this is Thailand, after all). Incense sticks and candles are placed in the center of the raft floats, then sent down the river, hundreds at a time. (Loi means "to float" in Thai, and kratong is the name of the rafts).

Sending kratongs down the river: a time to forgive and forget.

I've been doing some research on exactly what the meaning of the lanterns and rafts is, and there are a few different explanations. Basically, sending off lanterns into the sky or down the river is supposed to be like sending off one's bad luck or bad past experiences. Letting go of the rafts and the lanterns is symbolic of letting go of one's grudges, anger, and jealousies with the hope of starting afresh and turning over a new leaf in life. Some people apparently even cut their fingernails or hair and add them to the raft, to symbolize getting rid of the bad parts of one's self. Others say releasing Loy Kratong lanterns is supposed to bring good luck, and that the practice originated as a way to honor and thank the ancient River Goddess.

In class this week, I noticed the 6/1 students were reading an assigned book in English that compared Loy Kratong to the American "festival" of Thanksgiving. Although the two holidays obviously have no connection in origin, there are indeed some interesting similarities. Both Loy Kratong and Thanksgiving are held in November, but not on a set date (instead, the full moon or the last Thursday of the month). Both involve giving thanks: Thais give a shoutout to the River Goddess or to Buddha with their candle floats, or simply feel gratitude for shedding a bad past, while Americans give thanks for whatever it is they are grateful for in their lives. Both holidays are held at the end of the calendar year, and in their respective ways allow people to reflect on the past 12 months and prepare for a fresh start.

Wear your helmet on Loy Kratong.

Friday kicked off Loy Kratong, and our whole school marched to the river in the morning to send off lanterns. Every kid brought, bought, or made their own kratong float. Creepy ol' Director Sukda began the riverside ceremony by lighting an enormous paper lantern. He let go a little early, and the flaming lantern proceeded to drift horizontally instead of vertically, floating right into a pile of 4th graders and almost lighting little Tart on fire. After the janitor had plowed through the crowd to reset the lantern and saved the day, all the students and teachers lined up at the river and let their kratong go on the water.

Saturday night, after some Christmas shopping at the Hmong night market, Emily and I decided we'd celebrate Loy Kratong our own way with a mini Nan "pub crawl." We went to not one but TWO restaurant bars and had a beer at each. At midnight, we decided to really go crazy and head over to the Fifth Night Club - mostly because we were hankering for the overpriced and delicious popcorn they sell at the front door. 

It's hard to explain exactly how, but the night took a few big turns, and ended with Emily and I at a stranger's apartment eating a 5 a.m. feast with the entire Thai staff of the Fifth, including: Tee, a baby-faced male singer at the club, who has impeccable fashion sense and a huge crush on Emily; Puu, the 34-year-old club manager, who in retrospect I'm fairly sure is a lesbian - and possibly thinks I am too; Pi Pong, the bassist who only knows how to say "I love you" in English, and liked to use it every time he refilled the ice in my glass; Nong, another band mate who had a long mullet-ish haircut and was wearing linen pants, but somehow still pulled off the large "THUG LIFE" tattoo on his forearm; and Som, also a singer, who was celebrating her 22nd birthday that night and was the one to invite us over to her apartment "to eat food" as the club was closing. Naturally, we said yes.

Now, in America, late-night munchies usually lead to a Jack-in-the-Box drive-thru window. In Thailand, they involve 1) a trip to the talat (outdoor food market, open and in full swing even in the wee hours of morning), 2) buying a full spread of fresh fish, clams, noodles, veggies and spices, 3) bringing it home to prepare on banana leaves and cook outside in a portable hotpot, and 4) eating with friends while sitting cross-legged on grass mats until you're positively eem lao (full). By the end of the meal, Emily and I were indeed eem lao, and finally, after exchanging phone numbers with literally everyone in the group, we biked ourselves home at sunrise. 

Last night (Sunday) was the full moon and official Loy Kratong night. Everybody in Nan - babies, teenagers, mothers, fathers, grandmothers, tourists - gathered at the river to send lanterns up into the sky and float kratong down the river. Fireworks and sparklers were going off in every direction (again: safety more of a light suggestion than a rule of thumb here... We saw more than a few paper lanterns accidently go up in flames, and another few get caught midair by electrical power lines. You just kinda cross your fingers and hope for the best). 

All night long, the sky and the whole Nan River were filled with glowing candle light. Hey, if I can't have a real Thanksgiving this week - Loy Kratong made a mighty fine substitute holiday.

October Vacation, Part 4: Along Halong

Halong Bay, Vietnam

Halong Bay, Vietnam. GO.

Everyone reading should immediately locate Halong Bay on a map, then buy a direct plane, bus, and boat ticket there. 

The entire time we spent in Halong Bay, I was thinking to myself, I didn't know places like this actually existed in the world. Halong Bay is a UNESCO World Heritage site, and nominated as one of the world's "Seven Natural Wonders" - for very good reason. For as far as the eye can see, the bay is an endless plane of jade green water interrupted by thousands of huge craggy limestone cliffs and islands, that rise up like crooked various-sized skyscrapers balancing on the water's surface. Anna, Nicole and I signed up for a 3-day, 2-night tour of Halong Bay in the Hanoi airport (unfortunately, tourism is set up such that it's hard to visit without joining the dreaded Package Tour), and by Friday we were eager to get out of the hustle and bustle of the city for it. We set out early Friday morning, and were cruising on our sailing junk cruise ship in the Bay before lunch.  

Cruisin

The first day of our Halong Bay tour involved sailing on the ship all afternoon, visiting the "Suprise Caves" located inside one of the Bay's huge karst formations, kayaking, enjoying an afternoon beer on the top deck of our ship, and swimming off the boat at sunset. We ate a dinner feast of spring rolls, vegetables, rice, and pork, and spent the rest of evening chatting it up with our fellow package tourists. As a whole, they weren't the most lively bunch (post-dinner karaoke had to be forced down most of their throats, even when we started everyone with a rousing rendition of If You Wanna Be My Lover)... But everyone was very friendly and eager to swap travel stories. There was a Belgian woman who spoke 6 languages and had taken a 5-month leave from her marketing job in Germany to travel by herself through Southeast Asia; an Irish Gaelic couple who were traveling Asia and Australia for an indefinite amount of time (but were pining for the Guinness back home); two young girls from Spain, who mostly kept to themselves; and an older, very heavyset Russian couple, who smiled a lot and loved to swim in their speedos, and who required a Vietnamese "page boy" to tag along on the tour for translation help (they didn't speak one word of English - the Official Language of Tourism in any country, it seems).

Post-impromptu sandal hike. At least the view was worth it. 

On Day 2, we were dropped off at Cat Ba Island, the biggest of island in Halong Bay. Feeling a lot like sheep or herded cattle, we were passed off to a new tour guide in the morning (the gregarious "Won"), shuttled onto taxi boats, then tour buses, and finally dropped in front of Cat Ba National Park. We had actually signed up for the bicycle tour option, but had instead ended up with the hiking group - who were about to climb up through the island jungle to the tallest viewpoint on Cat Ba. We told Won we weren't really equipped for a hike, pointing to our sandals and beach gear. He apologetically promised he would rent bikes for us later in the afternoon, but that since we were now at the Park anyways, we could take an "easy hike" to pass the time. So hike we did: one hour, all the way to the very top, through the jungle, in shower-shoe flip flops. Sabai, sabai.

 

Eat your seafood IN THE SEA.

We spent the rest of the afternoon on bicycles and at Cat Ba beach, which had only a handful of other tourists on it and incredible panoramic views of the bay. The beach was breathtakingly beautiful, and Nicole and I stayed floating out in the green bay water until we were too pruney to stand it any longer. Around the land point from the beach, a small island bay is home to an entire "floating fishing village," which is exactly what it sounds like. Local fishermen live with their families in one room homes that float out in the water, about 100 meters from the shoreline. Alongside the homes are floating seafood restaurants, to which people can hire dinghy boats and eat what's gotta be the freshest seafood meal in the world: while you wait, you can watch your fisherman chef pulling nets up from the water beside you.

Cat Ba Beach: gorgeous.

The last day of the tour, we were shepherded back on a boat and taken to Halong City - the dirty, crowded, overdeveloped gateway port to Halong Bay. The tour company served us lunch there, and we sat at a table with a large group of Vietnamese tourists. In a typical display of Asian food-hospitality, they all reached over the table to serve us from plates of rice and chicken, and showed us how best to eat it, before even touching their own food. One guy even left the restaurant after we'd cleared our plates to buy chili-spiced guava from a street vendor, and fed half the bag to me. (I will never tire of being fed delicious food from total strangers in Asia).

From Halong City we headed back to Hanoi, and caught an 18-hour overnight sleeper bus to our next stop in Vietnam. ...More on that transportation adventure, and the marvels of Hoi An, in Part 5. 

October Vacation, Part 3: Do You Know The Way to Hoan Kiem Lake?

Hanoi, Vietnam

Celebrating a millennium of Hanoi.

10 p.m., our very first night in Vietnam. Our taxi driver has stopped the car about six kilometers from our hostel in the Old Quarter of Hanoi. "No! No!" is all he can explain to us in English, as he tosses our backpacks out of the van and impatiently waits for us to get out too. Another recently-ejected passenger begins to argue violently with the driver on the sidewalk, while yet another gestures towards the throng of people marching through the nearby streets and shakes his head at us: "Cars won't go there tonight."

Great.

Exhausted from a long day of travel, mapless, and with only "Hello" psuedo-memorized in Vietnamese, we began to feel helpless. The area we were standing in was near the highway, with no hotels or tourist offices in sight. We'd landed in Hanoi right in the middle of its weeklong 1000th Anniversary celebration, for which hoards of Vietnamese had flocked to the capital city. The crowds and huge military parades made the streets so people-thick that we couldn't even walk down most of them.

A few minutes later, two elderly Vietnamese women dressed in pajama pants approached us from the crowd and asked us something in Vietnamese. We shook our heads I don't understand, but hoping they'd be able to give us some directions, mentioned the name Hoan Kiem, the large lake inside the Old Quarter of Hanoi. The shorter one shook her head back at us, then yelled excitedly "Hoan Kiem! Hoan Kiem!", grabbed my and Nicole's hands, and took off with us. 

Half an hour later, we were still handholding with the Vietnamese grandmothers - crossing streets and weaving in and out of the crowd without ever letting go of their hands. We realized at that point that we had walked great big circle around the parades, and were not actually getting any closer to one particular destination. Several times, the women would stop to talk to one of the many police officers on the street corners, who were usually slouched over on a plastic chair smoking a cigarette. The police officers' responses to their questions were always the same: they eyeballed us, laughed, shook their heads, and pointed in some other direction. Clearly, the Old Quarter was not gonna happen for us this night. 

Just when we were ready to bail on the old ladies, they led us down a series of dark quiet side alleys away from the crowd. One of the women stopped at a gate, pulled out her keys, and a moment later we were standing in her living room with her daughter, Ha, who had evidently been woken up just for the occasion. We explained our situation to Ha and her extremely outgoing 3-year-old daughter (who "looks like a boy because she is lazy about eating"), and she told us we would have to wait until morning to get to the Old Quarter, but that she would help us out tonight. She took us into the kitchen and had her sister make us noodles. While we slurped them and watched a Vietnamese soap opera with the rest of the family, Ha and her mother went out on their motorbikes looking for hotels in the neighborhood that would accept foreigners (many are not licensed to host non-Vietnamese guests).

By the time we'd finished dinner, Ha was ready to take us. I said goodbye to my new 3-year-old bestie and the grandmothers, and we walked a few blocks to the hotel. Ha purchased us water bottles and bananas, and arranged with the hotel owner a one night stay and a taxi ride in the morning to the Old Quarter. She even left us her number in case of emergency. It was the most incredibly kind "Welcome to Vietnam" gesture we could have asked for.

In the Old Quarter, we stayed at a dormitory-style hostel run by a friendly Vietnamese guy named Mike. It was probably the cleanest place we stayed on the whole trip, and cost all of $5/night (which included free breakfast and free pre-dinner beer). Mike talked with us in the lobby every morning and evening, and gave us recommendations things to do in the city. Our room had a total of six beds, three of which Anna, Nicole and I occupied, and three of which were empty our first night there. The second night, we came home from dinner to find that a young Vietnamese mother had taken a fourth bed, along with her one-year-old baby. I was worried for my sleep that night, but it turned out that the baby made far less noise than the mother, who answered her cell phone every hour at a wholly unnecessary voice volume.

Hoan Kiem Lake by night.

Hanoi was full of incredible sight-seeing. We visited ancient pagodas, preserved traditional Vietnamese homes, museums, monuments temples, water puppet theater; we spent most afternoons sitting by the lake and resting our feet (Hanoi is a fairly huge city, but taxis were usually out of our budget, and the bus system was terribly confusing). At night, the 1000th Anniversary celebrations began. Around 5pm, the inner city was closed entirely to car traffic, and tourists and locals alike would poor into the streets, waving red banners, wearing head bandanas and stickers, carrying sparklers, balloons, anything. It was fascinating to watch, and impossible to avoid. The area Hoan Kiem Lake hosted a huge parade each night, with elaborately-costumed dancers surrounding pink floats and tossing out goods to the crowds.

Everybody and their Vietnamese mother in town.

One night after dinner, we went for ice cream by the lake and then sat on a stoop to people watch. It wasn't long before a couple asked to take their picture with us (a pretty standard foreigner request in Asia). Two minutes later, another family. Then a pack of teenagers. Then a mother wanted us to pose with her baby. Then a group of young guys just wanted our picture on their cell phone camera. Then another group of kids. And so on and so forth for about forty minutes, while we just sat on the sidewalk. My cheeks began to hurt from smiling. We contemplated making a sign: 1 Photo 10,000 dong.

PHOOO

Hanoi granted us our first authentic taste of pho, a Vietnamese noodle dish that I could probably live solely on if I had to. To save money, we decided we'd do as locals do and only eat at street stands our whole stay in Hanoi. This worked fabulously, except for one night when we had trouble finding a "table" at the stand we wanted to eat at - "table" meaning a set of Kindergarten furniture: for some reason Vietnamese like to sit on chairs and at tables that require bringing your face to your knees to eat. After getting no recognition whatsoever from the servers at the stand for a good 10 minutes, we gave up and walked across the street to another noodle stand. About 5 seconds before we were going to be served at that stand, Nicole made a crucial observation: the pile of pig tongues, hearts, and noses resting on the chef's table. ...Our search for dinner continued.

Next on the Vietnam tour: a cruise around Halong Bay.

HBD, AJ CP

So I thought my 21st birthday was pretty epic, but turns out a birthday celebration from 11-year-old Thai children can rival Ivy Inn karaoke.

I came into school yesterday to find my office and desk covered in balloons, courtesy of my wonderful roommate-coworkers, who also plotted with my 6/1 class last week to have a surprise party. Before class, one of the Thai co-teachers, Aj. Wandee, brought me a chocolate cake that read "Happy Birthday Caitlin, September 2th." (It was close).

I try not to let it go to my head.

At 9am, I had my first class with 6/1. Halfway through the lesson, Khim1 told me she wanted to practice her English Competition speech for the whole class, but that she wanted to do it next door in the stage room. I agreed and we all went next door and let Khim begin speaking. Mid-speech, someone hit the stereo and "Happy Birthday" (chicken dance style) started blasting from the speakers. The entire class filed into the room and onto stage, broke out in a coordinated song and dance number, then turned around and had "H-A-P-P-Y B-I-R-T-H-D-A-Y" spelled out in huge letters on their backs. They presented me with a huge card reading "HBD AJ CP," signed by the whole class.

Gifts galore

Then, as if I wasn't already dying of laughter and gratitude, another group of students came into the room in Snow White costumes and put on a skit about why the Witch was not invited to my birthday party. Next, Khoonsuek and Ka-noon came on stage with their violins and played me "Happy Birthday." Finally, every student pulled out a gift from their pocket or backpack and handed me them one by one - each present more hilarious than the last. I was showered with Santa Claus teddy bears, cell phone key chains, a pot of fake flowers, a snow globe, a Spiderman wallet, a Lion King II book, and an assortment of other adorably random things. We ditched the rest of my lesson plan for the day and ate a delicious cake instead (that read, "From Your Lovely Students").

At night, I went out for dinner with some other farang teachers and a few Thai friends, who treated me to my first pizza in 5 months. Other gifts included an American flag from my Swiss and Belgian friends, and a knit wool scarf from Cho and Orm (because heaven knows, I'll need it when it drops down to 70 degrees here). Really, I got everything I could have ever wanted.

It was a very very happy birthday.