My Student's Nicknames

In Thailand, where nicknames have to mean something, I’m not sure what makes parents name their child Beer. At least with the nicknames Bong and Zigzag I can assume Mom and Dad were ignorant of the pot reference, but sometimes, when they nickname their children Dollar or Boring, I wonder if they speak English at all.
Names like Lucky, Joker, and Beauty seem normal enough, but I’ve still never understood how parents came up with Cartoon, Nookie, or Big Bomb.
I can’t speculate on the psychology of the phenomena, but for some reason boys nicknamed Love, Arm, or Donut always end up katooeys (lady boys.)
Then there are girls with names like John, Ben, and Jimmy.
I understand that Brad Pitt and Jack Sparrow have given me false nicknames (that I allow them to go by) but I’m still trying to figure out if Rik Jaim’s parents are really Superfreak fans or not.
Then there’s the question of whether Party is always throwing keggers or whether Punch is prone to fist fights. I also wonder if Dick ever hangs out with both of the Balls. Other nicknames seem obvious though; I think poor Fluke and Extra are just lucky to be here.

"Bpai Tee-o"

We’re hard working teachers in the middle of nowhere, but that doesn’t mean we don’t let loose on the weekends. Only three hours away by bus, the city of Kon Kaen is a perfect getaway for falang teachers like us, whose personal lives have become the focus of the local gossip circles since day one. In our hometowns (Buakhao for me, Khao Wong for Hale and Taraneh) we have to be careful what we say in public, what we buy in local stores, and what we wear outside of the house, as it will all become common knowledge by the next day of school. Therefore, when we need to be irresponsible for a couple hours, the local watering hole is not an option.

More than just escaping the range of the Buakhao gossip net, we go to Kohn Kaen because of its legendary (at least in Isaan) night club: U-Bar. Why do they call it U-Bar? Well, because it’s U-Bar. Or Ur Bar. Or Your Bar. Right? I don’t know, but we sure feel at home when we go there. It’s a classic Thai discotheque where we buy our liquor (cheap Thai rum) from the local 7-11 and bring it into the bar, and then have it served to us as if we had just purchased the most expenisive bottle behind the bar. Though we're drinking bad rum (Thais call it whiskey), our service makes us feel like it's something paletable, and we only have to pay for ice and mixers. But this particular night, for us, was a special one. Somehow, somewhere on the Thai black market, because the Hale and Taraneh scored a bottle of Smirnoff Vodka. That's so rare around here, we might as well have been drinking liquid gold. Brave Thais even asked for a taste of the clear liquor just to know what they're missing, and we, the alcoholic falangs, drank so much of it, that we thought it tasted just like water.

Rice Fields Forever

School was let out early the other day, and with my extra free time I just explored my new neighborhood on my motorbike and took some pictures along the way. I escaped down dirt road leading through the rural areas, having no idea where I was going and unsure of how I was going to get back. It's all still very new to me here, so I'm still just trying to get out and about as much as I can. Here's some of the pictures I took, driving around for a couple hours, just outside of Buakhao.

Jurassic Park, Thailand

Anyone who thinks Thailand is where they rebuilt Velociraptor DNA to bring dinosaurs back to life in order to make the world’s greatest theme park is in for a big disappointment. Further, anyone who thinks Isaan’s (spelled on the sign as I-San) Jurassic Park is home to enormous collections of rare Tyrannosaurus Rex and Stegosaurus bones is also in for a big disappointment. Unfortunately, unless you’re amazed by small collections of not-so-spectacular fossils, you’re going to be fantastically under whelmed by I-San Jurassic Park.

That doesn’t stop Thais from taking pride in their rich dinosaur history though. Just because they haven’t found any major collections of bones doesn’t mean dinosaurs didn’t once roam these mountains and valleys. In fact, Thais are so proud of their small fossil finds, dinosaurs have become the mascot for the entire region, printed on t-shirts, store fronts, and huge replicas of the classic dinosaurs (not the ones fossilized at I-San Jurassic Park) stand at the welcome gates of the town.

Does Rubber Grow on Trees?

Well, actually, it kinda does. Like maple syrup, rubber is harvest from a tree by carving a notch out of it and collecting the sap. Here in this picture you can see a day’s worth of rubber dripping from the tree into a (usually a coconut) cup.

As I’m told, a common farm usually has several thousand rubber trees and each of them yields roughly 1 Baht of rubber per day. Around here thousands of baht per day is a phenomenal amount of money, but still to earn it that means you have to collect the rubber from each tree, scraping the cups clean of the white sap, thousands of times over. From there the rubber still needs to be processed and flattened into sheets. Driving around here the farms you can see what looks like white car floor mats hung out to dry like clothing; that’s the form in which the farms sell the rubber to the factories.

I’m still unclear on how profitable a rubber tree farm is though; it takes seven years for the farm to mature and the trees to grow big enough to harvest. I'll know more soon however, next Wednesday I'm going to my family's rubber tree farm to really see how the farm works.

Buakhao, Kalasin, Isaan

I realized that many people who read my blog might not have an idea of what exactly I'm doing in the middle of nowhere in Thailand. Thus, I figure, I must catch everyone up to speed.

I currently live in a small town of Buakhao in the district of Kuchinarai. This is in Isaan, or the northeastern, rural part of Thailand. I live in Jangwat Kalasin, or Kalasin Province. This isn't particularily important to most falang, but in Thailand everyone has pride in their province like we in America have for our respective states. The entire region of Isaan is nearly entirely absent of falang tourism (Thai tourists love to come up here for vacation), which boosts all of us white people up to celebrity status.

Buakhao is a small town of only a single traffic light, though we do have a 7-11. It takes no more than a couple of minutes to get across town and a couple more minutes to get out to the middle of rural-nowhere. Rice and sugar cane are the two major crops around here and they are grown nearly everywhere. Currently, it's rice harvesting season, and this Friday I will get my first chance a cutting rice.

I work at a huge high school of more than 2,500 students. Given that Buakhao is such a small place, I really have no idea where all the students come from, but it must be someplace out in the rice fields. Most are "bussed" in on pick-up trucks and tuk-tuks. Maybe one day I'll follow one of the tuk-tuks out of school to see where they go.

I am teaching English to high schoolers, the Thai equivilants to 9th, 10th, and 11th grade. I teach 4 hours a day though I have to stay on campus during off hours and am even forced to stay an extra half an hour after school for some -important- reason unbeknownst to me. Still, my wages (30,000 baht a month, or $750) are ample, especially in comparison to the average teacher salary (10,000 baht) so I do not complain.

I live with a Thai family about a hundred meters down the road from school, in small house behind the main residence. The family is rich by Isaan standards, and it's obvious looking at their home and it's landscaping. It's a young family of mother (Pee Meaw), father (Pee Took), brother (Min) and sister (Mon). The kids are 9 and 10 years old, and are little angels. I'm constantly amazed at how well they play together, how they never cry or fight, and how they always share every single thing they have.

My Thai mom (though she prefers to be considered an older sister) is a dentist and my Thai dad (older brother) works in Public Health. Their combined salary just eclipses mine, though they also have a farm of rice fields and rubber trees outside of town. It is an ideal living situation, enjoying Thai culture with a very traditional family that also has respect for my western way of life. They teach me about Thai culture, traditions, and language, and I offer them insight on the differences between their lives and mine at home. Though the find the idea of our western lives interesting, they always conclude that it's better where they are, in Isaan.

My teaching job is one semester long, September through February, though the family has already asked me to stay longer. They appreciate having a falang guest that is interested in Thai culture, eats even the spiciest Thai food, and who is also happy to teach their kids English in his free time. For me, teaching English is the least I can do to say Thank You for their incredible hospitality.

My house is a simple one, two rooms and bathroom. My bedroom is barren by western standards; only a dresser, a table and a bed sit in the room. In the other room I only have a shoe rack, since shoes are never to be worn inside. Other than that, my tiled floor sits empty and my white walls stand undecoratd. I've thought about "decorating" the place, but I hardly ever spend time there. My bathroom has a squat toilet (basically a hole in the floor), my shower has only freezing cold water, and since it's open to the outside, the bathroom is frequented by unwanted insect visitors.

There are three different waterfalls within 30 kilometers of my home though I've still only been to one of them. The rice fields dominate the landscape, and with them are the likely Thai livestock: chickens, cows, and water buffalo. I continue to be shocked by buffalo and cows walking down the streets, a sight that Thais think is as common as smiles.




Lara, my friend from Melbourne, teaches at the same school and lives further into town. She lives with another Thai family that, well, we'll say isn't so respectful of the privacy we falang expect and need in our lives. Perhaps I will write about this as another entry, another day, but her Thai "mom" slash "land lady" is constantly in her business. Above is the happy couple in front of Lara's place.

Loy Kratong

Though holidays like Valentine’s Day, Halloween, and Christmas have been exported to tourist destinations all over Thailand as perfectly justifiable reasons to drink a full bottle of Thai whiskey, in the Northeast (Isaan) the only exposure to our western holidays are through the English language classroom. Far different from the drunken, costume-less chaos of a Halloween in Bangkok, the school versions of our holidays still seem obscure compared to our modern day celebrations. The students are taught about ancient traditions founding the holidays that, perhaps, in our modern times we falang have all but forgotten about.

In the Thai classroom students learn about a Celtic Harvest Moon that brings out ghouls, goblins and witches out to haunt the town, a Halloween history lost amidst our trick-or-treating. Valentine’s Day is taught as an ancient Roman festival, during which single men and women were randomly paired together for the day as attempt to find true love. They fail to mention Hallmark gift cards, stuffed animals, and Hershey’s chocolate. Students learn that Christmas is the birthday celebration of a man some falang believe to be the Son of God. They learn of Bethlehem, and then are also taught about the addition of Santa Claus and the goodwill of giving gifts to family members, the sick, and the homeless. They say Christmas is December 25th though, and fail to mention that in modern practice, it is a month-long shopping spree to the soundtrack of jingle bells that begins the day after Thanksgiving and lasts until New Years.

What’s interesting to me isn’t so much our lost connection with the origin of our holidays (because isn’t that why we have them in the first place: to remember important dates that, in effect, preserve culture?) but more the Thai people’s preservation of their’s.

From a humble westerner’s perspective, Loy Kratong, the most recent holiday in Thailand, appears to have held its history and tradition intact without the addition of any superfluous decorations, or even the smallest rise in the price of the main pieces of the kratong (instructions on how to build below): flowers, banana leaves, or incense.

LOY KRATONG

Though not a new year’s celebration, Loy Kratong does mark an end of a season and the beginning of another. It occurs on the first full moon of November, a time marking the end of the raining season, when the bananas have been harvested and the rice is the next to be cut. Like our new year’s resolution, Loy Kratong is a chance for new beginnings. After people build their kratongs and set them afloat, they not only carry the problems and angst of the previous year but also, if one is lucky, they can grant a single wish.

Curious about the holiday I, of course, opted for full immersion into the spirit of the event. This means building my own kratong. Though entirely different from Halloween, I couldn’t help but feel similarities to the tradition of carving pumpkins I had missed only a week earlier. Though kratongs are made for an entirely different purpose, the act of building them out of banana trees and leaves took the same time, effort and creativity as carving a jack-o-lantern.

Though the children, Mon and Min, promised to teach me how to make my own kratong, Pee Meaw (pronounced like an imitation of a cat’s meow) taught me step-by-step, while the kids only looked on every couple minutes to add advice and support to my falang imitation.
It all begins with a heap of banana leaves and the trunk of a banana tree. A truncated portion of the trunk is the base of the kratong and first, we wrapped it in leaves, carefully cut to fit. From there the rim of the kratong must be decorated through one of many precise folding and pinning patterns.

Once the edge of the kratong is made “beautiful” then it’s time to start adding additional “levels” or just start adding flowers. I made a two-level kratong, though later when I covered it with flowers, the second level was covered completely and I wondered why I had spent so long cutting and folding banana leaves for nothing. Anyways, the point is to take your time making your kratong and to make it pretty, so I suppose making the upper, invisible levels is one of those things that you made because you know it’s there.

Once the banana leaf construction is set, then come some of the most important pieces of the kratong. Three sticks of incense stand in the middle of the kratong, along with one candle. Having both sit so close to each other, I wondered how the candle was supposed to stand without catching the entire sticks on incense on fire, so I made sure to put something between them to hopefully prevent any unwanted fires.
Around the incense and candle is an array of flowers entirely up to the builder. At first I thought building a kratong was an exact science, but as it turns out its as open to creativity as carving a pumpkin. The only real criterion for a kratong is that it must float. Hence our small tub of water, in which we took turns testing our kratongs for buoyancy. Though Min’s tipped over, soaked his incense and lost most of his flowers, my kratong floated comfortably (though it looked like a single wave would topple it.)

Once checked for buoyancy, adorned with all the banana leaves, flowers, incense and a candle, there are a couple final things one must do to ensure that their wish becomes true and the following year is a prosperous one. First, you must stick a coin in your kratong. One baht is perfectly okay, but supposedly, nine baht is the lucky amount. (I chose one baht, deciding it was a proper, modest amount.)

Along with the coin one must pluck a single hair from their head to put in the kratong as well. While I was having trouble getting one out, Min was quick to grab the scissors, ready to cut out a chunk of my hair. Seeing the excitement in his eye, I grabbed a little bit harder and yoinked a single hair from my head. Then, oddly enough, out came the toenail clippers. Min and I took turns clipping our nails and putting them into our kratongs, all for the sake of good luck. Everything in place, we then only had to wait for sun to go down and for the the full moon come up.

A family on motorbikes, that night we drove over to the largest body of water in town, a small resevoir surrounding our community park. A river is ideal for the holiday because it carries your kratong away down a path of good luck, but you have to use what you have around you and a large pond is all we had. Each with a wish in mind, we carried our kratongs down to the bank, and lit our incense and candles. As I had worried, poor Min's kratong troubles continued, this time his candle burning his incense down at the base, toppling the fire down to his flowers. Though I'm not overly superstitious, it seemed like bad luck to me though Pee Meaw, in true Thai fashion just said, "Mai bpen lai."

The candles and incense lit, we pushed our kratongs out to the water, put our hands together to pray for our wish, then splashed water to encourage the little banana boat out to sea. The kids watched their's float away making sure to see where it went, but I nearly immediately lost mine in the mix with dozens of others. In another Thai costume others lit off small bags rigged up as tiny hot air ballons. A paper bag with a small flame attached beneath caught the hot air and floated up and away into the night.

For everyone except Min, Loy Kratong seemed to go off perfectly and I truely believed it to be one of the greatest, most good-hearted traditions I had ever been a part of. It was fun to construct the kratong, and setting it off in the water had very spiritual feeling to it. But then, just as I was revelling in the purity, I saw some dastardly little teenagers, snatching up the kratongs that had made it to the opposite shore, and pocketing the coins that had been placed in them for good luck.

Everyday

My alarm goes off every morning at 6:15a.m. but it isn't until I take my routine ice-shower that I actually wake up. Today, however, I got a surprise a little before that.

The curtains on my windows are a strange lime color with an ugly pattern (I don't think there's a Thai word for redecorate) and in order to "open" them, I tie them up into large, single knots. I had a couple open this morning and decided to let them down. One came undone no problem, but when I opened the second an explosion of dirt covered me, the floor, and every thing around. Still asleep, I was clueless as to what had happened and reacted very slowly. As I blinked to open up my eyes, I saw the curtain moving.

Suddenly, instead of green, the curtain seemed black. Looking closer, I realized the black wasn't dirt, it was thousands and thousands of small black ants scrambling frantically across the green fabric. I looked down and saw the floor covered as well. Only then did I feel the "dirt" on me moving and then realized I had them all over myself as well.

Evidently, I wasn't the only one surprised. The ants were making a mad dash somwhere, any where, I have no idea where, but it was ant chaos. I had wrecked their home and they were panicking. They quickly snatched up all of their eggs and began to get the hell off of my curtain. Then nearly fully awake, I quickly unhooked the curtain from the wall, threw it outside, and swept the rest of the ants out my front door. The family dogs (a large mutt and two weiner dogs) came rushing over to see what the chaos was, sniffed the ant-covered curtain, then walked away uninterested.

Though a rough way to start my morning, the ant surprise did motivate me for my morning's shower. It's chilly out here in the country in the morning and that means my water is the same chilly temperature. Every day I have to psyche myself up for my freezing shower, something I doubt I'll ever get used to. Although it's incredibly cold, I will say that I never go to school tired. My eyes jump wide open when the hard spray hits me in the face, and there's no going back to bed after that.

Arriving at school, this morning I had gate duty. That means I must stand at the front gate and greet all the students who walk or ride their motorbike in. It's a strange job, but I have to do it every Thursday nonetheless. Upon arrival to school all the students wai (hands in a prayer position then bow their head to their hands) first to the Buddha and then to me (or whatever teacher is there.) Stranger than gate duty though, whenever a student walks past a teacher on campus, they must wai them in respect. It's a strange feeling having everyone get out of your way on the sidewalk, say hello, and wai you in respect. It's a strange reinforcement of the belief that we falangs are "special" (though having done nothing to deserve being called "special" at all.) Though a cultural thing, I don't believe teachers get nearly this much respect at home.

I sweat through every day teaching, my hands and pants dusted with a heavy coat of chalk. Each class stays in their room all day while the teachers rotate amongst the classrooms. The decorations of each clasroom is very indicative of the level of the class. The most advanced, well-behaved students, classrooms take very good care of their room, decorating it carefully and cleaning it every day. The lower lever classes give no time to their room or their studies and let their room, desks, chairs, and walls fall to pieces.

Despite the level, every class begins with the students all reciting the same routine dialogue:

"Good afternoon, teacher!"
"Good afternoon students. How are you?"
"I am fine thank you, and you?"
"I'm great but I promise I'll change this routine soon. You can sit down now."
"Thank you."

And then ends with the same:

"Thank you, teacher. See you again next time. Bye!"

The cafeteria is a large open building, with many tiny kitchens from which the same old ladies cook food to order. Some make fried rice, others pad thai, some soup, some curries, some other Thai dishes they don't make in American Thai restaurants. Kids line up to order from each of the ladies and the teachers may give the students money to wait in line and order for them. I buy my own lunch every day for $0.25 and though the portions are small, my salary is ample enough that I may enjoy seconds if I wish.

When the final bell rings it doesn't take long for the students to find their ride amongst the enormous sea of motorbikes, and the mass student exodus is like some strange motorcross race. It's unbelievable how many bikes are parked at this school during the day (there are 2,500 students) and I still don't understand how they find their own bike. Though school lets out at 3:30, we are required to stay an extra half an hour. Why, I'm not sure, but what I do know is that it ensures that I sweat through every inch of my clothing, and that that half an hour is the longest of the day.

By the time 4:15 comes around, I'm already at home, my chalked teaching clothing are on a lump on the floor, and I'm enjoying the same icy cold shower that I dreaded so much earlier that morning.

Carabou!

Last night I was lucky enough to go to what is already my second Carabou concert. This one was at Kuchinarai High School right in my town (I work at the rival, Buakhao High School.) Carabou is a huge Thai rock star (who actually sings what they call "Puah chee-wit" or "music for life") and though he often sings about the plight of the poor people in Isann and Thailand, he's a bit of what we in America call a sell-out. He's extremely commercial and though he doesn't have his own clothing line yet (that I know of) he has his own energy drink. After witnessing his hardcore fans, its evident that they not only have a love for his music, but they also enthusiastically drink his version of Red Bull as well.

Driving up to the concert there were so many people, cars, and bikes that I had no clue where to park. There were several people selling parking into their front yards. It's strange, the random things that make you homesick. Thinking back to Michigan football games and the Ann Arbor Art Fair, I drove past all of these places looking for cheaper parking farther from the entrance. After I drove through the chaos without finding any free parking,I gave up and decided I'd just pay for the best parking right outside the entrance. Seems I forgot where I was living; parking was just 10 baht. 25 cents. Sa bai, sa bai.

Police searched all the men who entered the concert for weapons while the women walked in unchecked. Though knives and brass knuckles were confiscated, large buffalo skulls with the Carabou symbol painted on the forehead were, of course, permitted. While I was being searched, I heard some huge explosions going off and immediately assumed violence had broken out someplace. Then, seconds later, there were huge explosions of fireworks in the sky. These were no baby fireworks. It was like the 4th of July. The funny part was that they weren't being set off from far away, but instead just in the corner of the field with nothing keeping people back from walking right up to them.

The set up for the concert was literally the inverse of what we have in the states: seating on the grass in the front and center of the stage, with dancing and mayhem fenced to the outside. Those who brought their buffalo skulls (I forgot mine at home) hailed them in the air to the beat of each song. Others sported the same look as Carabou: a Thai moustache, long hair, bandana, torn jeans and some form of leather jacket or vest.

Just as our poor falang butts were getting sore from sitting on the ground so long, Carabou made an anouncement, that he would like to thank the falang for coming out to his show, and that he was then going to sing them a song in English. He asked them to please stand up. We didn't really understand what he was saying but all of the people around us we signaling for us to stand. We stood up and gave an embarrassed wave to the crowd, then quickly sat down before he began to sing a song he wrote, in English, about Aung San Suu Kyi of Burma. Though we didn't understand all the lyrics, it was rocking song calling for the world to unite and free Aung San Suu Kyi. Maybe I'm wrong, and I hope I am, but I swear the chorus was "world, unite and kill Aung San Suu Kyi." I have to believe I heard the lyrics wrong, though I know for sure that the song after that had a chorus that consisted of, "Sticky Rice!! Som Tam!! Papaya pok! pok!" Just when I thought Carabou had been rocking out some heavy lyrics, he was singing about the regional food of Isaan.

Why we smile in Thailand

Two small bits from school today that show why, in Thailand, you just have to smile and go along with it:

Every day we have a morning assembly outside with every single student and teacher staning in attention during the National Anthem and the morning's Buddhist prayers. Today a constipated stray dog thought the best place for squeezing out his morning's crap was right in front of it all, at the base of the flag pole. He squatted there for several minutes, through the anthem, then through the holy prayer, and we had to just stand there and watch it (go ahead and pretend like you wouldn't look.)

Less funny, but still as strange, there were two large trees along one of the paths on campus. All day these poor grounds keepers were chopping away at these two thick trees with a single, small hatchet. It took them all day long just to chip away at trees that a chainsaw could have taken down in a matter of seconds.

These sorts of small things just don't happen at home.