The Work Party

A group of teachers at Bandon Sriserm are being promoted this semester, to "higher level" teacher positions. To celebrate, one of our coworkers hosted an ajaan fiesta of sorts at her house Friday night... complete with a full karaoke set-up and catered dinner of delicious Thai dishes.

It turns out that when you combine a continuous supply of Spy wine coolers, a series of mispronounced obscure-1960s-American-songs, and two very loud microphones, Thai teachers become a lot like 20-year-old sorority girls at their spring formal. Every time a new song came on - and the lyrics appeared next to cheesy graphics on the projector screen - someone new would grab the mic while the rest of the (female) crowd coo-ed and caw-ed in perfect unison: "ooouuu...eeeeeeeEEEE!" In between dinner courses, the teachers got up and danced around the tables. My K2 co-teacher, Aj. "Lips" Warunee - who loves me even though we can't understand two words from one another - grabbed my arm and pulled me out to dance with her. Like the other ajaans, she moved gracefully, with her arms swaying and hands perfectly arched in traditional Thai dancing style; meanwhile I swung clumsily side-to-side, smiled and shouted over the music, "I have no idea what I'm doing!", and cursed Spy's 2% alcohol content.

The school director, creepy ol' Mr. Sukda, told us at school that day he loved CCR, and we quickly learned he wasn't kidding as he belted out back-to-back solos of "Have You Ever Seen the Rain" and "Born on the Bayou." Mr. Sukda also told us at school that day that he wanted each of us to sing at the party. We laughed awkwardly - as we usually do in response to his comments (..."do you drink whisky?"... "I have never seen you in shorts"... [and this morning to Anna]: "you looked beautiful at the party but during school not as beautiful"). Half an hour into the party, however, we found that Mr. Sukda wasn't bluffing on that count either. The four of us were ushered to the microphones while "Hotel California" began playing from the speakers. Hopefully horrific singing (all 6 minutes 30 seconds of that absurdly long song of it) is one of those things that gets lost in translation.

Anna, me, Emily and Nicole
Some sing to remember... some sing to forget.

Saturday, Aj. Prakop invited us to cook lunch at school with her again, and we made a delicious batch of red curry and pad ka pow (ground beef, garlic and basil leaf) (I've got the recipes if anyone's interested!). After we ate, Prakop casually asked what we had planned for the rest of the afternoon. We said we had no plans, and she thought a moment and said, "Okay, how about I'll take you to the national park?" Aj. Prakop called her husband, Aj. Hanou - who apparently dropped any plans he might have had to drive us around all day - and we were piled into his truck and on the road an hour later. Prakop and Hanou took us to Nan's Srinan Naitonal Park, about an hour outside of the city. Aj. Prakop rode in the bed of the truck with us in between sites, sliding about (while laughing hysterically) as the car climbed and descended steep hills. The views from the top of the mountains were stellar.

Naaaaaaaaaaaaan

The rest of the weekend was spent lazily, reading - and finishing! - my book at our new favorite coffee-dessert shop, The Milk Club (not to be confused with D-Milk), and visiting with Cho and his wife Orm (the couple who own the coffee shop next to school). Orm is probably in her early thirties, and had Aj. Prakop as a teacher when she was in grade school. She is slender with a cropped haircut and an endearingly crooked-tooth smile, and like Cho, has this effortlessly laidback way about her that makes her very easy to talk to. We had brought Cho and Orm the leftover curry and rice from our lunch feast on Saturday, and in return, he bought us two cakes at the local bakery. (Cho had called me earlier in the afternoon: "Kate? Where are you? Please come by my store later when you are on your way home. I have something for you."). It was one of those typical cyclical-Thai-gifting scenarios, this-for-that, but it also felt like a seal of friendship (if I may be so corny) - the first out-of-the-way offering between recently-formed acquaintances.

Orm told us about a free Chinese opera Sunday night, which was being held inside a large open-air building next to Nan's Chinese temple. We eagerly told her we'd love to check it out, and arrived early to get seats. It was fantastic, and ridiculous, and incredibly trippy all at once: enormous bold-colored and glitter-covered costumes, bright neon lighting and stage backdrops, facepaint so thick and distorting it looked like clay masks, and loud musical numbers interrupted by a dramatic gong repeatedly hit backstage. One scene involved two characters in (actual) masks, doing a trick where their masks would change color and shape as they danced to the music. I had an aisle seat, and when the performers came out into the audience, I was taken by the hand by one while he whisked his cape to the side, and watched as his mask changed from bright yellow one to a differently-patterned green one. Even from that close, I couldn't tell how he was doing it!

The Chinese Opera: hold on to your seats.

All in all, it was one of those Oh-My-God-I-Want-To-Stay-In-Nan-Another-Five-Years type of weekends.... and it's nice to think that after more than 3 months here, those are still plentiful.