Of Floats and Flowers

Darting to work this morning, with coffee in one hand while the other frantically tried to flag down a taxi-moto, I had the faint impression that I was in Manhattan, running late to work - except here I will hop on the back of a motorcycle after bargaining in Thai for the "not white" price as my driver dodges chickens and random Buddist parades that clog the street every morning and the smell of noodles and fish and curry fill the air. Fine, so the similarities with New York ended with the Buddist parade but I felt like I could have been in Manhattan. Day One UNHCR. I have a love/hate relationship with First Day’s. First day of school, first day of work, first day of aerobics class, first dates - I love the anticipation of starting something new but hate hurdling the steep learning curve that is inevitable in everything new. Today was no exception. I am thrilled to death about what I will be doing, but hate the initial feeling of overwhelmed-ness that hits when I realize how much there is to learn. I spent all of today with a fat green highlighter and extra fine Uniball pen reading stacks of past history of the program on which I will be working and figuring out my role in it. The acronyms alone are daunting – RSD, POC, AGDM, PWG, PAB, LAC. I tend to agree with a Chilean friend who, utterly perplexed by a conversation he overheard between myself and a colleague, finally exclaimed, “Why do you Americans like putting together all those perfectly sensical words into one jumble of letters that makes no sense?” Ah, to sound important, my friend, of course, and to confuse people from Chile. My job will be preparing something called Best Interest Determination (BID - the acronyms never end...) for minors living in the refugee camps without biological parents. I will recommend whether or not they should be resettled with their caretaker/guardian to a third country. Through interviews with caretakers, family members, teachers, and the child, I will try to piece together their story, locate their parents and recommend the best course of action for the child. It is certainly a complex situation without an easily identifiable solution. Some children are sent to the camps by parents in hiding in Burma so they can attend camp schools, some have no idea where there parents are, others are orphans. If the parents are still alive, it is very likely that resettling the child means permanent separation. The ramifications of the decision are clearly enormous, but tracing parents is difficult in all situations and nearly impossible in others with the current crisis in Burma.

Yesterday I had the opportunity to attend one of the biggest Thai cultural events of the year – Loi Krathong – in the first capital of Siam, Sukhothai. Loi Krathong is the Buddist holiday where the Thai celebrate the end of the rainy season and the symbolism of the purification inherent in water. It is a festival to celebrate water and purity. Sukhothai, three hours south of Mae Sot, is the best place in the country to celebrate, so when friends told me they had an extra spot in their truck, I was ecstatic. There are parades in the streets all day long – the royal family is represented, Thai dancers, and others represent various aspects of Thailand’s rich cultural history. Tents and stalls were set up in the thousand year old ruins of Sukhothai Historical Park, creating one giant carnival. As one of my friends commented dryly, “Festival or funeral, the Thai's never miss an opportunity to throw up tents, sell plastic junk, and barbeque”. For weeks women have been making small intricate flower floats with candles and incence (krathongs) that each person purchases for 20 baht (about 50 cents) and release down the river after dark, to pay homage. As tradition goes, if you make a wish as you loi the krathong, you will have happiness all year.

A woman selling krathongs

Making a wish before I loi

J. Crew Thailand?