New Thai Teachers

This is Lara and I with the head of the English Department at our new school, Rong Rian (school) Buakhao (white lotus.) As of last week I live in a small town in the middle of Isaan, the most old-fashioned, conservative, non-Bangkok part of Thailand. If you're looking on a map, its in the province of Kalasin and its next to another small place called Kuchinarai. My town is Buakhao.

There is one other falang in town besides Lara and I, Brenda from South Africa. The three of us teach conversational English to the school. Its a huge school though, over 2,500 students, and we each have nearly 1,000 students a piece. I teach for four hour-long classes a day, and I only see each of my classes once a week. If that sounds nearly impossible, that's because it is. I have been surprised at how much difference a single hour per week can make, but still, I think its just about exposure to native speakers. Many students already have a good grasp on grammar but their pronunciation (of the teachers as well) is often very poor. That is where we come in, teaching those difficult letters and sounds like s, ch, l, r, and w. Overall, I find the job quite relaxing, the kids are wonderful, and I love the town.

I'll write more about all of it soon, and have more pictures up as well, but for now I'm just jotting down these notes between classes on the school's pokey-slow internet.

Grung Tahyp

Here are just some classic Khao San Road pics from when I was staying there a little over a week ago. I have fallen way behind in the blog but already have this pics uploaded, so I'm just going to post them anyways. Being back in the same spot agtain in Bangkok is surreal though. Everything (borrowing the over-used phrase of Thai-English) is the same same. But different. Its all the same people selling the same shirts, the same 25 orange juices, the street pad thai, the cheap beers. The same little kids try to hustle you for 10 baht, though now they're looking a little old to be combing the streets for money. The same tuk-tuk drivers are still trying to scam people and take them to ping pong shows.

Still, other things are different. Some new music plays from behind the pirated CD stands (though Jack Johnson will forever be a favorite.) And entire new swarm of backpackers has taken over the road, will use Khao San as a starting point to travel all over South East Asia. Since everything else is the same, I half expect to see the same people I've always seen on the road, having a cold Beer Singh on the curb, watching the chaos stroll by.

The Man, The Myth, The Legend

Behold: the schwa. It is the most common sound in the English language. It is the sound we all often unknowingly use in the place of other vowels when speaking casually. It is the only letter in the phonetic chart cool enough to have a nickname. To some it might just be an upside down “e” but now the schwa has a cult following in Ban Phe, and it's spreading quickly. The leader of this surging Thai schwa cult, is the man who bears the mark of the beast on his forearm, none other than the one, the only, Sweaty Dave.

On account of Sweaty Dave and his henna soon-to-be-permanent tattoo, the schwa has transcended its definition as a phonetic sound and now encapsulates the zeitgeist of of September 2006, Ban Phe, Thailand, where 40 people came together in an attempt to become ESL teachers. The schwa is nothing, is everything, all at once. It is a mockery of a bush-league teacher and a faulty curriculum. It is the power of us, the students, to rebel against our teachings and enter the classroom without a rigid lesson plan. It is a memento of all the fun times had in the face of excruciatingly boring “teacher inputs.” It is also the encouragement that one can drink until the wee hours of the morning, pass out face down at the bar, and still make it to class the next morning bearing a genuine smile. It is the preparedness to always have a toothbrush in your shirt pocket because you never know where you'll end up, but you'll surely want to brush your teeth when you get there.

It's no accident that Sweaty Dave is the sole bearer of the schwa. He created the spirit of the schwa, the enjoyment —in place of what had been the frustration— with the shit show that was our TEFL course. Where we had previously bitched and moaned about dissapointments with the class (or about Mike, the head teacher, being a total prick), we instead learned to enjoy them. At first we were surprised that the course could be so poorly planned, that the lesson plans had to be adhered to so strictly, that the head teacher could be such an asshole. But then, with the humor of Sweaty Dave, we were able to accept the course and the teacher for what they were, and no longer sighed and complained about their ineptitude. Instead, we were able to smile at each moment that reinforced our shared dissatisfaction, and then laughed because, after all, that’s what the course was: a joke.

The schwa was a turning point. When Mike first presented us with the phonetic chart he introduced the schwa with the enthusiasm a Lit teacher would have had presenting their favorite book: a sincere yet dull excitement, unmatched by any of the students. But after we first rolled our eyes, the schwa grew into our greatest mockery, our best inside joke, and we were soon teaming with sarcastic love for the schwa.

Thai "Dogs"

First, please let me appologize for these horrific pictures. I know they're disgusting, but perhaps that's part of their charm. Or that's part of why you must see them. It's not all mangoes and sticky rice in Thailand. Like any country it has its problems and one that is particularily bad in Ban Phe is stray dogs. And these dogs are hardly even dogs; these diseased, mangled creatures defy death and carry on living their sad lives despite the laws of nature.

This has been something I've always struggled with in Thailand and have always wondered why something isn't done about it. The Thais never seem to mind the dogs, or, at least they don't mind shoo-ing them away. But none are ever neutered and they just keep humping. Its crazy becuase it seems like the only healthy part of these dogs is their balls.


I'm not sure this is accurate, but it's how I come to terms with the zombie dog phenomena: this is a Buddhist country and everyone believes in reincarnation. Though some people do, good Buddhists never kill animals; even monks brush mosquitos off their arms instead of splatting them. Thus, I think, the dogs are not killed because of the Buddhism and further, perhaps these disgusting dogs are the worst people of the last generation. All of those people who really were assholes in their past lives are now paying the price. The murderers, rapists, or other "evil-doers" of the past are now subject to the lowest rung of the reincarnation hierarchy: the life of a Thai dog.



So now when I see this dogs, I don't feel sorry for them, I pick up a rock and I say, "Hey buddy, don't blame me for this one. You brought this upon yourself." After all, these aren't just diseased dogs, they are Pol Pot or Jeffery Dahmer or perhaps one of the 9/11 hijackers.


So let this be a lesson to us all: be good to your fellow man, take care of those less fortunate of you, if for no better reason than because the hell you could receive in retribution for an evil life could be the life of a Thai dog.

Bowling For Baht

Every once in a while, all the way out here on the other side of the world, there are times when I forget I'm in thailand. It's not often, just here and there when I'm doing something Western that I dont associate with Thailand. A couple hours of bowling in Rayong was just one of those times, and I didn't remember I was outside the US until I returned my hot rental shoes and they shoe lady didn't speak English. Along with my shoes, cold beer and big florescent balls made it a classic night out on the town.


My amazing Thai bowling shoes. Almost had to steal them, but thought better of it in a country ruled by Karma.

Our Balls.

Ready for a strike.


Sweaty Dave taking time between beers to huck his ball down the lane.


Este using body language to help her game.


Me doing the same.


Sheila (Texas), Genvieve (Montreal) and Faith (Colorado)

The Good Life

The following four entries are from this past weekend. I mention this because it’s emblematic of exactly why I love traveling and being in Thailand so much. In any given weekend—or any day for that matter—there are so many interesting things happening all around me. More than that, it’s the smallest details about life around here that makes it so exciting. And these small things are precisely what you can’t possibly take in sitting at home in the states—you’d have to come out here to experience them yourself. Even then, everyone notices different things, details somehow connected to themselves. Here I’ve attempted to capture parts of the weekend in these stories and pictures, but already I’ve missed so much.

I spent the weekend with Faith, the best friend I’ve made thus far in my travels. On a rented motorbike we visited markets, waterfalls, caves, beaches, all in two days. Its a small bit, but I hope it’s still an interesting glimpse into the Thai weekend.

Feeding Fish Green Beans

On the unofficial list of The Strangest Things Thais Like To Do On The Weekend, on of the tops on the list has got to be feeding large schools of fish. Yep. Just that: feeding large schools of fish. It sounds simple, and perhaps boring, but Thais love it. Just imagine a huge pond full of hungry fish, and then you, standing above it, with fists full of food to toss in at your leisure. The fish swarm the places you’ll most likely throw the food and but then dart wherever you choose to toss it. Okay, okay, so that might not sound as illustrious or fun to you, but Thais (and I) live for it.


Throughout different spots around the country: rivers, lakes, caves, and in this case waterfalls, unusually large schools of fish have spawned. How or why they are there (or why Thais are so united in there awe of them) is beyond me, but the perpetuation of the (un)natural phenomena is obvious. Where there are large schools of fish, there are people selling food to feed them, and thus there are people buying the food, and then tossing the food into the water joyously, enjoying the spectacle of pounds and pounds of fish mobbing the bits in the water. Does it really seem so amazing that fish would spawn in great numbers in ponds where they have no predators and are constantly overfed?

In Thailand however, we don’t ask these questions. There are just too many questions without answers. For example: why do they feed fish at Khao Cha-mao green beans? I too thought foot-long crispy green beans an odd choice of food at first, but evidently, the fish love it. Most people snap the beans up into smaller pieces, presumably to maximize their feeding time, but as the picture shows, our Thai friends at the waterfall liked to make the fish earn their greens. They laid the beans out, just beyond the fish’s “reach” and watched them bravely attempt a flop out of the water, across rock just for a nibble.

Road Trip

Faith took each of these pictures from the back of our motorbike, snatching glimpses of the constant barrage of abnormalities I have to ignore in order to keep my eyes safely on the road. For me, the driver, its almost a video game, dodging stray dogs, on-coming traffic and strange carts—all while I having to deny myself the pleasure of sightseeing. In a way, these are pictures of all the things I missed while I paying attention to the road. Each was taken along a random route between the national parks and our home in Ban Phe, down everyday, nondescript Thai roadways in the matter of a half an hour.

Canine Cave Spelunking

Arriving at Khao Wong Caves, we were greeted by a large, closed gate and a barking dog running out from behind it. Unaffected by the closed gate, we parked the bike and the dog slowly muffled her barks, then approached us skeptically, and eventually let us scratch her head. She then lead us around the gate, wagging her tail, straight to where, presumably, her owner was relaxing. The owner warned us that the cave was closed due to a small flood. In my simple, modest Thai I explained that we didn’t care, we had already come so far and we wanted to walk as far as we could into the cave anyways. Impressed by my Thai, or completely careless about what the idiot falang did, he obliged. With our new four-legged friend leading the way, first crossed a shaky rope bridge over a small river, then through some slippery mud, all the way to the cave.


The limestone caves were cool, but the best part about them was impossible to capture on camera. With the dog by our side, we walked as far was the light would take us into the cave, all to the sound of hundreds and hundreds of bats screeching from the darkness. Though I didn’t admit it at the time, of the three of us, I was the biggest chicken. Faith and the dog were far braver than I, walking right into the cave, evidently not sharing my fear of an enormous gust of bats swooping from the cave only to feast on my eyeballs like Thai fish swarming over a foot-long green bean.

For me, each step was a calculated distance further that I would have to sprint back out when the inevitable loud noise would set off the monumental bat exodus from the cave. Faith tested her eyes walking past the sunlight though, and our new friend jogged into the cave as if he hadn’t noticed the absence of light or the palpable screeching of the frenzy of bats. As the dog disappeared out of sight, I thought it the bats would be coming at any moment, but a couple minutes later he casually walked out, unimpressed by the large, empty hole in the earth.

Grumpy Crab

Its hard to keep your chin up when you don’t even have one. Its even worse when you’ve been kidnapped from your home, cramped into tight quarters and forced to wait out the last hours of your life crawling on top of your compadres. Sure, you’d rather be on top where you can breathe and move around a bit, but then you face the chances of looking meaty and delicious and find your way to the boiling pot right quick. It’s a tough life when you’re only a customer away from being cooked alive; no wonder Grumpy Crab’s crabby.


Still, its better than being one of the Horse-Shoe Crabs in the next bin over, already legs up, on-ice. And Grumpy Crab can’t possibly be the only one to find the Prawn’s fate cruelly ironic: suffocated, surrounded by water too cold, too hard for them to breathe.

Grumpy Crab’s heard of crazier escapes though. He can breathe air, unlike those mindless Sea Bugs, swimming like Lobster tails without bodies. Therefore, with some precise pinches and some quick scuttling, Grumpy Crab could be back in The Sea by nightfall.


Back in The Sea other crabs claimed legendary escapes, slipping rubber bands off their claws, snipping a finger off a chef and scooting deftly back to the beach before apprehension. The Escape Crab even had the finger to prove it, though it certainly did look a lot like a piece of dead coral. “Dead coral or not”, Grumpy Crab declared, “the world’s my oyster and I’ll never be dipped in melted butter with garlic.”

Such conviction, especially from a crab, was inspirational. Thus, Faith and I opted for shrimp in Tom Yam Goong and Sea Bugs cooked in garlic.

Back to School

Suman, in the back of the songthaew, casually slipped the dress shoe from his left foot and, with the pad of his black-socked foot, polished the leather of his right shoe to a dull shine. He then fit his foot back in his shoe and did the opposite, bringing both shoes to an equal, modest cleanliness. This was our signal to get our things together; we were close to the school.

Whatever the Thai students might have expected, we were a motley crew. On the ride to school in the back of our beat-up songthaew, Brits, Americans, Aussies and a Scotsman did their last second preparations for class. Some finished drawings of simple nouns and adjectives. Some reviewed detailed lesson plans, memorizing the order of their activities. Others did their best to shake off the rest of the night’s hangover, smoking a cig out the back of the truck.

With so much focus on our lesson plans, few of us had time to work out expectations of the school where we were to have our teaching practice. We hopped out the back of the songthaew ready –or as close as we could get to ready- to teach. The students weren’t waiting in the classrooms, however, they were sitting in rows in front of a long table. We were welcomed graciously by the teachers, then directed to sit on benches opposite the students, on the other side of the table. On the edges of the table were large speakers and in the middle was a microphone. The teachers then asked us to each walk up to the mic and introduce ourselves and say something, anything, whatever we liked. One-by-one, we obliged, saying silly bits about ourselves we thought they would understand or enjoy. We were then welcomed accordingly: the students welcomed those who used recognizable English with rounds of applause and those who spoke with big words and thick accents were given confused looks and scattered clapping.

In the classroom we took turns teaching and observing, the poor Thai students were the guinea pigs of our hopeful English lessons. Some classes were great successes and, for the first time ever, the students learned some English from people who used it as a first language (or people who even spoke it at all.) Some lessons were less than successful, small disasters at best, and both the students and the teachers having lost the plot and we, the observers, could only watch the seconds tick by because we were stricken from interference with the lesson. Still, in each of the classrooms, whether students learned some English or not, newbie teachers were learning something about being in front of the ESL classroom.

While we were busy in the classrooms, the Thai teachers were roaming throughout the school taking pictures of the falang with their students and observing some new teaching techniques. Other teachers sat in their outdoor cafeteria, stapling banana leafs together to make small origami-like cups. Between hours, we were feed heaps of fresh fruit that we tooth-picked into our banana leaf cups and ate happily, constantly asserting “a-roy a-roy”, the food was delicious.



We were given celebrity status each of the three days we taught at the school and did our best to convey our gratitude towards our hosts. We gave the students every bit of teaching we could muster up, each of us drenched in sweat and covered in chalk by the end of the lesson. Despite some less-than-fascinating lessons, I think the kids enjoyed having us there. But in the end, the teaching practice was all about us. We needed the experience in the classroom, especially those who parted from entirely different careers to come out to Thailand to teach. Nonetheless, the teachers and principle of the school were incredibly generous and took all 20 of us out to lunch after our final day of teaching. It was an amazing lunch, the best I’ve had since returning to Thailand. I’m all but sure they’ll never read this, but thanks to Rong Rian Thong Da Pim for everything.

Ko Samet