Amy in Thailand

A few pictures as I procrastinate from work, packing and insanity

2007-06-11T09:43:00.000+07:00

A few pics from my big day in Mae La. I feel so unbelievably lucky to be here, doing this...

Mildly uninspired.

2007-06-04T16:06:00.000+07:00

Hi all. I'm not dead, really. I have been insanely busy with work, though decorating my apartment (ok, fine - not decorating. Maybe I just bought cushions. And a giant gong. A gong can do a lot for a room) and discussing with friends the personal lives of all of the waiters and cooks we know in town (seriously - instant entertainment for hours, I tell you) has managed to occupy any free time. Don't get me started on the endless drama of families in refugee camps and figuring out who has lied about their child/parents/registration/marriage/death. Somedays I feel like the CIA. So many stories, and liars (though even they are kind of fun. We have even started a Liar's Club for them all) and sad cases.

And then there is Mae Sot's sorry excuse for a gym. I really hate it there. The horrid gym lady continues to gleefully smack my stomach/ass/thighs whenever I walk in right after she announces to the the entire gym what my current weight in kilos is. Bite me. Stupid gym. Stupid underfed Thai women.

My bike lock rusted shut after only two weeks of the rainy season... while it was ON my bike, so I had to walk/hitchhike to work for the entire 9 days it took me to find someone with chain cutters who could cut off the lock. I managed to forget about this about once a day and would tear down the stairs, late for work, and try to hop on my bike - only to fall over when the rusted lock wouldn't let the wheels turn. I would then have to run down the street to flag a motorcycle taxi... and go through the same routine the next day, much to the daily amusement of the fish soup lady across the street from my apartment.

Stay tuned for the next enthralling installment of Amy's Life on the Border (though, that really makes me want a burrito right now. Mmm... I wish I was on that border).

The price we pay

2007-05-21T16:45:00.000+07:00

My afternoon with the disabled in Mae La. (since I have absolutely no confidence in my video-posting skills, here is the link):

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-8383145620138000524&hl=en

So, it's nearly 7pm and I've been at work for a very, very long time. I should go home. I want to go home. But, instead, I am blogging. Not that I have anything super exciting to share tonight. I am in the middle of a nine DAY monitoring and observation from Bangkok child welfare/protection higher-ups of my program here in Mae Sot (Best Interest Determinations for separated children for those of you who only skim my highly-informative postings). I hate monitorings. Lucky for me, I work with a great team that makes me look good. Unfortunately, the US resettlement campaign continues to put cases on hold until our report is completed, and there are well over 200 cases in the queue. (Queue is, by the way, my new word of choice. Likely caused by spending far too much time with Brits. It's a quite useful word though, I might add). I am working frantically trying to assign cases, interview, guide recommendations, write up reports and edit the fairly botched English of about 20 cases a week. It's weird knowing that I help decide the fate of a child and an entire family. In some cases, everyone involved wants the child to go with an aunt or grandparent and resettle with the US - and I have to make the decision that it is better for the kid to stay with his parents in the mind-numbingly stagnant refugee camp... indefinitely. It's a really scary role to have. I am learning a lot though, about child welfare, child protection, advocacy...

Last week was difficult. A young girl that I have been seeing for nearly six months ran away from home last Thursday. Actually, not home even - she ran away from a safe house. Her story is rather tragic. Tossed around various family members in Mae La for her entire life, she was never really loved or accepted by anyone. At 14, she lost her virginity to a man in camp who hit her over the head with a flashlight before raping her, then her friend. He told the girls he would kill them if they didn't leave camp immediately. So, at 3am, less than an hour after being violently attacked, the girls fled the refugee camp. Their plans were to run to Burma, where they hoped to join the KNU resistance army. They made it about 20 kilometers down the road before meeting a woman who promised them a job, only to sell them to a brothel for one hundred dollars. When the girls refused to sleep with the men, their "owner" pointed out that they were no longer virgins anyway, so why were they so upset? A few months after being trafficked, the girls escaped, returned to camp... and were arrested on charges of prostitution. Other than the authorities, no one had even missed them in their absence. Jailed for six months in the camp prison, and called whores by their own family, the girls ran again - ironically (or, not so ironically if you think about it) back to the brothel where at least they felt safe. Two months later, my girl - who I'll call Grace - was purchased from the brothel by one of it's customers. He paid $50 and took Grace home with him. She was again arrested by the camp authorities for prostitution (absurdly instigated by the wife of her rapist), when they discovered that she was pregnant. Now, 16-year-old Grace has a three week old baby who she wants to give up for adoption on some days (the child has been "promised" to the old lady up the hill) and other days wants to keep. Children having children. Grace wants to resettle to the US as an unaccompanied minor. My heart cringes at the thought of her alone, in a strange country, after so many years of trauma. Her life is so volatile now though - it is almost hard to imagine how it could get any worse. She ran away last week, and I spent several sleepless night worried about her back in prostitution. She came back a few days ago, and I received word that she wants to talk to "that bossy white girl". We'll see what happens. Maybe she still wants to resettle. I had to break the news to the "old lady up the hill" that she cannot keep the baby, so now she is mad at me too.

My visit to the Karen Home for the Disabled was a highlight of last week. The men - all living with various disabilities from battles or landmines - want to resettle to a third country. They laughed with me and told stories and sang. They have a tightly-knit community in camp, and part of me feels like it would be disastrous to separate them. What is one poor Karen villager, with no arms, going to do in Des Moines by himself? I tried to give him as much information as I had about life in the US, services available for refugees and for people with disabilities... but there are so many unknowns. As I was explaining to their group about the potential for many disabled adults to lead successful, relatively-independent lives complete with jobs and education, they stared at me with a mixture of hope and disbelief. "And our families?" they demanded. "Will the government help take care of them?" I assured them that their are many programs and services to dependents of people with disabilities. "What about me?", one asked. "What kind of job will they give me?" I turned, to see a man with no arms or legs; mangled skin covering the sockets where his eyes should have been. "I don't know," I said quietly.

War. What have we done to each other...

Stud Boyfriend

2007-05-14T16:52:00.000+07:00

So... having nothing to do with Thailand, but everything to do with your occasional blogger (because not only am I living a life of excitement and adventure on the Thai-Burma border, I am also a proud girlfriend), I am posting a link of my bf from a report done on his Iraqi training base by CNN. There I was at work, like any other Tuesday morning, with a cup of coffee, attempting to be a responsible citizen and catch up on relevant world news. You can thus imagine my surprise at discovering who else but Drew Fuller, hollering at a bunch of Iraqis, in the middle of the desert... on the front page of CNN. Here is the link to the article and video (because I still have yet to figure out how to post videos on here):

http://edition.cnn.com/2007/WORLD/meast/04/30/riminton.iraqtroops/index.html

The article itself is about the camp at which he has been training his Iraqi counterparts. To see the boy in action, click on the second video clip on the left-hand side, entitled "Behind the scenes training of Iraqis". His is the non-Arabic voice you hear, and then it pans to him on the right-hand side.

The LA Times interviews him in this article:
http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-iraqarmy3may03,1,7359944.story?track=rss&ctrack=4&cset=true

I'm sure that my own moment of fame is coming any day now. I too, eagerly await the book deals, the mini-series, a Lifetime movie, perhaps...

Around Town

2007-05-07T12:49:00.000+07:00

Novice monks on an early-morning outing to collect tithes
Riding in trucks with girls - me, Christabel, Felicia, CathrineI have given up on ever having good hair in this place

Cellulite: it happens fast

The Day After

2007-05-04T08:06:00.000+07:00

A dear friend died yesterday.

A friend whose life reflected the beauty and grace of Christ; a friend whose life caused many to trust in a Savior. A friend who has loved me and supported me; a consistent presence in my life for as long as I can remember. I will always remember ati days and a hundred Sunday potluck dinners and long green vans and mrs. pj and camping trips and her amazing laugh. I have been challenged to live a life of authentic worship; authentic faith because of her example.

A friend who hoped in the Story of Redemption; a hope that radiated from her, and affected every facet of her life.

Beautiful DW, you have loved well, and have made me long to know God as you do. I will miss you...

Hot Summer Days in Camp

2007-05-02T14:12:00.000+07:00

Who needs a swimming pool when you have a water pump??

Hanging clothes out to dry

An 8:45am Musing

2007-04-26T08:45:00.000+07:00

Today, right now, with now-lukewarm coffee and a stack of emails to address... I miss Africa. All of it. The entire continent. I miss the mystery, the hot sand, the intensity, the enormous pristine clouds against the impossibly blue sky. Carrying things on my head.

I try to balance things on my head here but people laugh at me.

Five Months, Four New Years, and a Little Holiday Called Song Kran

2007-04-17T17:27:00.000+07:00

Me, Catherine, Cristabel and Oivinn - Soaking wet

Thai New Year, also called Song Kran, but really known as the Water Festival, is potentially the weirdest celebration I have ever attended. For an entire week, Song Kran involves everyone in town, piled into the back of pickup trucks, drinking beer, inching down the street, while throwing water on passersby and everyone else who is piled into the backs of their pickup trucks, drinking beer and inching down the street who are throwing water on them. It is a time to pay homage to Buddhist images, clean house, meet girls. Historically, the "sprinkling" of water on the elders is to wish the receiver good luck and blessings in the new year. Perhaps it started out that way. These days, it's an all out free-for-all that bears some resemblance to a water park/club scene where major streets are blocked off for public partying to a degree that is certainly illegal in the US - and where anyone has permission to soak down anyone else with a Super Soaker. Any medium for transferring water is acceptable - buckets, as stated, garbage cans, water guns, hoses. Everyone participates, and, surprisingly everyone has fun. It would never work at home. Oh, can you imagine the lawsuits, the scantily-clad women, the drunken brawls that would take place? It would not exactly be a family-friendly event.

A few quiet moments with Cristabel and The Great Gatsby before the water started

Day One started out - dry - peering around the corner and assessing my options. The two kids are currently hosing down the scared-looking white couple clutching tightly to a camera bag in a Ziplock. The middle-aged British guy who owns the hamburger restaurant has a bucket filled and ready to go. The old Thai lady on the corner is grinning ear-to-ear, cheerfully spraying down a truck of people with the water gun that is as big as she is. I quickly decided there was no hope. I attempted to dart behind them all without being noticed. I made it around the malicious Brit with no problem, but the old lady and the kids saw me, and ambushed me with heavy artillery before I could devise my next evasive tactic. "Stop it!", I yelled. "I don't want to get wet!" Ha, you scoff. Your blogger exaggerates, perhaps. I can run fast, you inform me. It can't be that bad. Your plan is resistance, I ask? On the grounds of personal liberties, perhaps? Politely informing your would-be assailant with a gleam in his eyes and a overflowing water bucket in his hand that you prefer not to get your hair wet? Ha. You better just hope there is no ice in the bucket.

I was at first annoyed, feeling rather guilty for being so boring when everyone else was clearly having so much fun. I have decided that people all over the world can be divided into camps - those who like being splashed at the swimming pool, and those who don't. I am afraid I am in the latter. "Don't shoot me in my FACE", I hollered indignantly, to one particularly obnoxious shirtless white dude, who was having a blast reliving his frat days. "You don't even know what Song Kran IS!" I begged, ducked, evaded, grumbled until finally, dripping, aware that I could not possibly get ANY WETTER, decided that it was time to play. Grabbing a water gun, I began hosing down obnoxious frat boys, little old ladies, punk little kids. We hopped in the back of a truck, armed with small and heavy artillery, and for hours cruised the streets spraying down everyone spraying down us. I have never had more fun.

1. Cat getting attacked 2. Cat's retaliation

Riding in a tuk-tuk is the WORST for getting wet. Because traffic is just inching along, the tuk-tuk occupants are sitting ducks.

I would upload the really great video I shot of the whole water dousing event, but as COMMUNIST THAILAND HAS SHUT DOWN YouTube it appears that this will no longer be possible. Please, whoever made fun of the king - you've made your point, now TAKE IT DOWN!

Note to those still confused by the Title of this post: Karen New Year, Our New Year, Chinese New Year, and now, Thai New Year = 4. You're welcome.

The YouTube War and... just war

2007-04-11T11:53:00.000+07:00

In military-controlled Thailand, the government has banned YouTube, a video sharing website, for a disparaging video clip mocking the king. Excuse me, am I in China? http://www.reuters.com/article/internetNews/idUSBKK17066320070404

So, I am neck deep in editing and correcting a pile of best interest reports for unaccompanied minors in Mae La. I now have 15 new English-as-a-second (Or third. Or fourth)-language staff under my supervision (eek!) and spend hours a day figuring out what is often skewed, archaic English and making it sound... not weird. Like this. What is one to do with a sentence like "she rendered her hand in goodwill and pity toward the child"?? Or this one - "the older child is obviously far stupider than her younger sister, who is quite bright". My rather awkward favorite I stumbled upon last week was this unfortunate sentence - "the girl had all sorts of rashes in her woman parts"...

Help.

In far more serious news, the fighting is escalating right over the Thai/Burma border. On Saturday night, SPDC (State Peace and Development Council - Burmese military) soldiers attacked several KNU (Karen National Union - the resistance army) military bases. The areas of attack are adjacent to the river, directly across from Mae Ramat town and Mae La camp. There had been no fighting in that particular area for over five years, until this week. Several hundred people fled their villages when the fighting started and crossed the river into Thailand, scattering in camps and Thai fields. Some have already returned to their homes. Some are literally sitting in the village on the Thai side, watching their houses on the Myanmar side.

Tension is high in the camp and in Mae Sot, as families fear a repeat of 1998, when Burmese soldiers attacked two refugee camps on the Thai side and burned them to the ground. The official word is that there is no danger of attack; the Thai military says they do not have sufficient range to hit the camp. But, rumors are flying - of death threats and SPDC orders to burn the camp. It is nearly impossible to separate fact from fiction. The inhabitants of Mae La are terrified. The shelling and mortar rounds could be heard from camp on Sunday. Evidently, the refugees and camp authorities are on high alert, and bags are packed in preparation for an emergency evacuation. The SPDC and DKBA (Democratic Karen Buddhist Army - a split off of the KNU that has aligned itself with the military junta) have reportedly taken over several KNU battalions base camps right across the border - going through Thailand to get there. There are troop movements on both sides (Thai and Burmese), as no one seems to know if the situation is calming down or heating up.

Sometimes, I forget that this is still a war zone - albeit a quieter, less publicized one. Villages are being burned to the ground, women raped, young boys forced to join armies, the elderly coerced into forced labor, children left orphans as their parents are killed, families running for their lives. Oh yes, this is still very real. Just because we aren't hearing about it on the evening news or reading about it in the paper doesn't mean that the world is as it should be.

Pray, my friends. Pray for our world...

And.... she's back!

2007-04-07T11:07:00.000+07:00

Your dubiously-faithful blogger has returned. And is currently at work. On a Saturday. Which somehow just feels very, very wrong. I am drinking an iced latte though, which can right nearly any wrong, thanks to the strange, out-of-place Starbucks-esque yuppy coffee shop in town run by my Thai teacher and her family. Speaking of Thai lessons - namely mine - it's not going so hot. Somehow, in the period of four short weeks of cable TV, Mexican food and The South, I have managed to forget at least half of the 23 words of Thai I was up to before I left. Sad. Friends, it has gotten very bad. I struggled to remember the response to "how are you?". This morning, when I attempted to order my coffee and tell him to make it "extra hot", I apparently asked the poor barista to "heat the goat very hot". Oh well. My trip home though has done something for my language, apparently. My friends pointed out yesterday that I had used "y'all" in at least 11 sentences over the course of the day. Oh my.

Sadly, my creative method of procrastination is not getting me out of work any quicker today. I will leave you all, to your exciting Friday nights and restful Saturdays. I just wanted to assure you all that I have returned from the Land of Plenty and am thrilled, no - happy... no - content. Yes, content - to be back to my cute, gritty little border town of Mae Sot. Home of refugees, small small English, Buddhist parades, gem smugglers and really good Pad Thai. Being home with my family and friends was amazing, and it was hard to leave everyone, but I still have so much I want to do here, and so much more I want to learn... like Thai. Stay tuned for exciting stories from home - or at least pictures.

It's a good thing I like this, because things are about to get crazy

2007-03-07T15:11:00.000+07:00

It has been a really ridiculously busy, exciting few weeks as 10 new child interest assessors and 5 interpreters started. It looks like they are going to make a fantastic team and ready to meet the demands of the US resettlement campaign and the hundreds of separated minors that will come with it. Already, after only a few weeks of interviews by the US government, over 150 such families have been identified and referred. I am excited about this project, and the new challenges I will face with the craziness of the next months.

I have more pictures to post from the past few weeks in Mae La (which, by the way things are looking, will be my home away from home for basically the rest of my life) but, it's now 5am, and I am currently sitting in an internet cafe at the Bangkok airport waiting for my flight to go home for a few weeks, so pictures will have to wait. I look forward to seeing some of you soon!

New BID team - and it begins!
Family meetings in camp to relieve fears about determining child custody and resettlement issues.
At the UNHCR office in Mae La

In Defense of... Me - and - More Cute Kids

2007-02-22T19:14:00.000+07:00

Faithful readers, I fear I have let you down. You have undoubtedly been expecting exciting stories from exotic lands; gripping tales of intrigue and adventure on the border; provocative, moving accounts of suffering and hope of courageous refugee families; witty and endearing observations of cultural differences and the faux pas inevitably encountered and made. Sadly, blogging to such a diverse audience has posed a more difficult challenge then I expected, and I find myself longing for the days of the dreaded mass email. So, consider this an apology. An apology if you were, perhaps, expecting more from your restless traveler and observably inconsistent blogger. She promises to do better. However, she would like to gently remind all that it is rather disconcerting to bare self and soul to an unidentified world, where said borne self and soul might be laughed at, scorned, or rudely ignored. So, having said this, I will continue my occasional updates and small stories with an determined attempt at greater consistency. If you find that you are still troubled by the lack of inspirational content here, I would like to say, as nicely as possible - shut it and get your own blog.

With that bit of unpleasantness out of the way, we can move on.

I have settled down for the night after a long run and a mini workout at the sort-of gym (where the gym lady continues to squeeze my stomach and gleefully slap my butt every time I walk by. Also giving gym lady great pleasure is watching me weigh myself, at which point she then announces to the room my current weight in kilos. It is beginning to upset me, really) with a bowl of cereal on my vinyl couches. Lucky for me, the karaoke bar across the street is just warming up for the evening, beginning with their nightly rendition of "Hotel California". Why was that song ever popular again?
Work has been rather insane, lately. The US resettlement campaign in Mae La is in full swing (nearly 20,000 have applied already), and we are frantically trying to hire all of the new staff we need to accommodate. For me, in my tiny little world of unaccompanied minors, that means 14 new staff - 10 assessors and 4 interpreters. I am in the thick of training this week and next, hopefully having everyone ready to go by the end of next week. So far, after merely 2 weeks of interviews by the US, I have a stack of over 100 unaccompanied children to interview and figure out where to send. It is exciting to be a part of resettlement on this scale; to be a small part of the individual stories of these families, and their dreams for the future.
One woman informed me that she wanted to remove her pending application to Norway because she heard everyone who lives there suffers from chronic nosebleeds. Just how was I supposed to respond to that? Another man heard that the refrigerators of refugees in America are empty. An empty refrigerator did not distress him nearly as much as hearing that Amercians do not eat rice - "what kind of people don't eat rice? We will all starve to death!" he accurately pointed out. There have also been rumors going around camp that the planes cannot hold the number of people wanting to go to the States. "I'm not going", said one elderly woman adamantly. When I asked her why not, she replied "if there are too many people, they will put the extras on the wing of the plane. I've heard what they will do to me and I'm not doing it." It's a little funny, and a little sad. People so full of hope, with so little information trying to make a decision that will affect so much.

New Apartment!

2007-02-11T20:59:00.000+07:00

After three long months of harassing the owner with weekly phone calls and the occasional threat, I finally moved into a Mae Sot version of my dream apartment. Above a sushi restaurant and across the street from the banana lady, Tesco supermarket and the most obnoxious karaoke bar known to man, my little studio is exactly what I want (fine, so I could do without the karaoke bar - waking up to drunk Thai guys screeching "Total Eclipse of the Heart" at 1am... nightly... got a little old after Night Two). I have a great view of Mae Sot, and the mountains in the distance on a clear day. It is so great to have space and a place of my own and... a wok. Mae Sot is finally starting to feel like home...

My first dinner partyI am now the proud owner of a wok

Bedroom/living room/dining room
Complete with hot water AND a sink that doesn't empty on my feet (!)
My treacherous staircase (and, for the first week, I did it with a BIKE. Seriously, the fact that I am still alive is quite remarkable)

Faces of Reality

2007-01-27T11:53:00.000+07:00

I spent several days in two refugee camps in the mountains. Nupo and Umpium camps are home to around 70,000 refugees fleeing from Burmese atrocities. They were a full few days, as I wandered around camp, met with local camp leaders, interviewed families and played social worker to complicated family and custody situations. I am so grateful for the opportunity to be a part of the story of these incredible people. Their pasts are dark, their futures uncertain, their present stagnant. But yet, life goes on - some semblance of life, anyway. They are unable to work, pursue education, their children are stateless, medical care is limited. They are hunted by their own country and not wanted by their country of asylum. All they want is to go home. But, with every day that goes by, that hope is crushed a little more. So... they sit. And wait. Get married, have babies, chew the beetlenut that stains their teeth, gossip about the neighbors, learn guitar, organize an afternoon game of football, and wait. Wait for the international community to care. For some country to stand up for their rights. Wait for the day when they can return to their homes and gardens in peace. Wait to have some sense of agency over their own lives. Wait for the day when their children don't live in fear.

Umpium Camp

Umpium Camp hospital

Bangkok Craziness - or - Why I Prefer to See Men in Skirts

2007-01-15T14:07:00.000+07:00

I can finally join the not-so-exclusive club of now-aging GIs during leave from Vietnam, of dreadlocked hippies in search of enlightenment, of cast and filming crews for least two James Bond movies, of sex tourists, and elderly adventure tours, and college kids on spring break and middle-aged middle-class suburbanites who wanted to go somewhere 'exotic' for their two week vacation: I spent my first real weekend in Bangkok. I figured that, after 3 1/2 months of being in Thailand, it really was becoming rather embarrassing that I hadn't even seen the infamous capital. So, I decided this weekend was as good as any, and, with visions of Starbucks and Burger King dancing in my head (seriously, where do these bad hamburger longings COME from, anyway?!), I hopped on a bus and made the nine hour trip down. Ran into a bit of a snag when I discovered that Kao San Road, boasting nearly hundreds of seedy backpacker hostels, was utterly and completely filled to the bursting point. Again, I found myself at midnight, in jammed packed streets of a sprawling, massive city... homeless. I weighed the pros and cons of sleeping in the corner of one of the plenteous all-night bars with wandering the streets of Bangkok until dawn. Thankfully, I didn't have to make that decision when I found the ONLY hotel in Lonely Planet that wasn't booked and happened to have a room. The fact that it was a 30 minutes moto ride on the other side of town deterred me not in the least. By the time I checked in, after lugging my backpack around for 4 hours, I was equal parts annoyed, exhausted, and grateful.

Bangkok was funny place to be over the weekend. Still on edge after the the New Year's bombings, and because there was a holiday on Saturday, many were afraid there would be more attacks. So, to forestall would-be bomb depositors, authorities removed all of the... trashcans from the city. That's right, up and down town every street in Bangkok, tourist and residential and commercial areas alike had tidy and not-so-tidy little piles of trash lining the sidewalks because there were no trashcans anywhere to be found. It's seems like an odd - but arguably not ineffective - way of preventing bombings. As it were, there were thankfully no bombings on Saturday. The "tourist police" on the other hand (seriously, that's what their uniform says!), were quite busy wandering up and down Kao San Road busting little stands making and selling "Student ID cards! Diplomas! Visas! While U Wate". A creative idea, that. Unfortunately, the tourist police got to them before I could get that master's diploma I'd been wanting...

I went to what is possibly the most ridiculous mall in the entire world. I realize I have yet to visit every mall in the entire world, but I would bet Thai baht that this one would be in the running. It was eight (8) stories - the cinema took up two floors! It took nearly twenty minutes to make it from the top to bottom! The other floors were Versace, Armani and... KFC where I was able to eat the mashed potatoes that I have been craving forever. And an Oreo blizzard from Dairy Queen... Mmm.. There really were thousands of people at this mall - really nice looking people. The Thai have mastered the art of looking good, for sure, the women were polished and perfect, in their high heels and perfect makeup; the men in almost too preppy clothes (no man sarongs here!) and trendy hair. I felt too much like a dirty Peace Corps volunteer with duct taped sandals to be mixing with all of them. I did watch the Jennifer Connelly, Leonardo DiCaprio film "Blood Diamonds" - a disturbing look at the global diamond trade and how corrupt sellers and ignorant consumers create a market for diamonds obtained through conflict and bloodshed of the nationals from where the diamonds originate. Watch it. It will put a holy fear of diamond buying in you.

On the way out of the mall, I walked right into the middle of honest-to-goodness models in a real, live photo shoot. As much as the idea of the whole modeling scene makes me want to gag and puts me on a very tall soapbox, I have to admit that I was a bit star-struck and stood and watched for several minutes before peeling myself away.

So, upon reflection of my First Experience in the City of Angels - it's opulence, extravagance, presumption, and, yes, charm - I think I prefer a simpler life. A life without eight story shopping malls, Dolce & Gabana, Ferraris, pretension... Yes, I think I prefer gritty, authentic, little Mae Sot, with it's 3 traffic lights and four 7-11s, where men are completely content... to wear skirts.

Zipping around on a moto (not the safest idea in the world, probably)

A brief word about leg waxing in Mae Sot...

2007-01-08T10:19:00.000+07:00

My male readers, you might as well stop reading now, especially those of you that didn't understand the title, before you conclude that the entire female sex suffers from extreme forms of masochistic inclinations. For the rest of you, may I advise against attempting to remove leg hair by waxing in Mae Sot. A veteran waxer, I don't think I have ever experienced more pain than when I made the unwise decision to walk into the little corner salon that advertised "waxe" and boldly ask that they take care of my legs. The last time (yes, it boggles the mind that there was, in fact, a last time) I attempted it here, the woman pulled out several mysterious-looking containers of what turned out to be some stronger version of Nair (there is no way the FDA has approved whatever she used), and proceeded to chemically BURN off my leg hair. My skin itself produced fumes for days afterwards... So, the second time, bolder but not necessarily wiser, I ventured into Salon #2, and inquired about hot wax. "No problem, no problem", she assured me. Smug, proud of my Thai, I rested in the chair, as I saw with satisfaction that she brought out a more appropriate-looking can of steaming wax, that she cooled by lifting and stirring with a wooden spoon. This is where the jubilation ends. Three women, and several curious onlookers crowded around me. She began slathering on the hot, sticky wax all over the top of my legs. "Umm... what are you going to pull it off with?", I asked with not a little bit of concern. No cloth. With swift jerks, two hands on each leg, they began to yank off the wax with their fingers, pulling hair and skin and top layers of bone off with it. I yelped. "Ow ow ow ow ow!!! No! You have to use little strips of CLOTH to pull it off!" "Oh...", they nodded. The elder woman said something quickly to the younger one who ran out the door with some money. "Ok," I thought, "we are getting the cloth, they just had a different technique". The other girl came back and they slathered up my legs again, then, to my horror, she produced a roll of packing tape meant to rip off the wax. "NO. WAY!" I stopped her before my legs were permanently disfigured. There was nothing left to do but re-rip off the wax AGAIN by their fingers. At this point, my hair - what hadn't been violently torn out from the roots along with all of the skin cells surrounding it - hung on in patches, with sorry bits of hardened wax stubbornly clinging to it. My red, traumatized legs and I limped out, hair and all.

I think I will go back to my trusty razor.

Christmas in Siam

2006-12-26T10:34:00.000+07:00

Thank you all for your thoughtful inquiries and concern about my Christmas out here. It was lovely, actually. In a determined effort to make it as un-pathetic as possible, my friend, Sarah and I did everything we could to conjure up nostalgia and warm-fuzzies of Christmas past. While I thought it would be far cooler to sit alone in my room with a bottle of Jack Daniels and a packet of cigarettes, teaching myself to smoke (you know - stories for the grandkids), it was a beautiful day and I felt quite interesting and, well... grown up in spite of myself. Sarah and I sat amid lighted candles, a screensaver fireplace, complete with real crackling sounds (when looking at that while holding our hands in front of the candles, I could pretend it was a real fire), a modest little pile of presents, and tepid apple juice out of a box that we passed back and forth (it's LIKE cider). We watched the only English language Christmas movie we could find in town (anyone ever heard of "Christmas with the Kranks"? It's a real classic, let me tell you). It was even a little cold. A friend who lives out in the beautiful country an hour outside of Mae Sot invited us for lunch, and I nearly made myself sick on mashed potatoes, which was all I really cared about. It was a peaceful day, and I have managed to avoid the Jack and Marlborough's for at least this year.

Pictures to come...

I am so blessed to be here, having the opportunity to do what I am most passionate about. I am still a little in awe of a God that allows us the chance to live from our deep hearts; to live fully and vibrantly. As a Norwegian friend observed yesterday, "Christmas isn't just for the Christians". Indeed, how much God desires for all of humanity to discover the joy and the hope possible through His life and death; how He has come to fulfill our deepest longings and restore us to that for which we were created. Christmas seemed very real to me this year, and the message of the Gospel so very tangible - how Christ came to restore and to heal and to fulfill. May our eyes be opened to how we can be an extension of His love and restoration to a broken world. May we choose to see the suffering of those around us - because, my friends, suffering is all around us; whether we see it or not is our choice. In Mae Sot and refugee camps and IDP areas and Oklahoma City and Charlottesville and New York and Omaha. May God continue to break our hearts for those around us; may we CHOOSE to see their needs. We have been given so much...

Ringing in the New Year, Karen style

2006-12-21T14:53:00.000+07:00

The Karen New Year celebrations are bigger in the refugee camps than even across the border in Karen State, Burma. (Though please don't ask me about the cultural or historical background of Karen New Year - I don't know). I went to Mae La camp for the festivities where there was dancing, singing, football games, and rice wine for all. Peace, man

Sassy Karen women

Photo op with the football team

Winter has finally arrived to Mae Sot. Everybody has been telling me it has been winter for a month-and-a-half, which has utterly exasperated me. "What do you MEAN how I am handling the cold?! - It's 95 degrees!!" Three days ago however, without warning, it felt like the cold front from the North Pole rolled in. It it cold. I am in three layers of shirts as I type. Hang on, I'll check the Weather Channel so I can accurately report..... According to weather.com it is currently 55 degrees here. Don't laugh - I'm freezing! Everyone is running around in parkas and wool hats too. I wish I had a parka this morning, bike riding to work with wet hair - not fun. Well, I might not be having a white Christmas out here in Siam, but as least I will have a cold one.

On an entirely unrelated note - can anyone tell me WHY the sidebar of my blog is showing up at the bottom of the page? Better yet, can anyone fix it for me? It's getting really annoying. I have a funny feeling that the problem and the solution has something to do with the template in HTML code. So if any of you techies out there could find it in your heart to assist an, er, technologically challenged blogger, I would be eternally grateful. Really, I would. Send me a photo and I shall even devote an entire post to praising your HTML skills. I will send you dried seaweed. I will name my firstborn child after you (unless you have a weird name, in which case we will just use initials)...

Afternoon musings

2006-12-17T16:10:00.000+07:00

So I have decided this blogging thing is far more difficult than I would have thought. I am not very good at it either. It doesn't seem nearly exciting enough to write about the mundane (and yes, even doing what I am doing, living a few kilometers away from what some consider to be a genocidal war, has incredibly mundane days. In fact, most of my life rests somewhere between mundane and uninteresting) and the note worthy doesn't seem to occur on a frequent enough basis to write about it. Faithful readers, I salute you. (Hi Mom). For reading when I don't write about anything interesting, and checking dutifully to see if I even found the mundane to be inspiring. Not that I am not inspired. Oh no, there are far too many cultural stimuli, things to learn, intense life-on-the-border stories, food to try, random/strange/just really weird travelers and ex-pats that live in Mae Sot, to ever make life boring. It has though, I suppose, settled into some type of norm; a routine. And it is always difficult to write about routine. So read on if you don't mind hearing of the mundane, or are just bored at work and feel free to leave a comment if anything strikes you (though, if that's just you, Mom, maybe just email).

A quick rundown of Amy's Week in Mae Sot:
I was in the office, a lot. I recognize that every cool job has an uncool, necessary subset. For me, that's paperwork. If I am not in the refugee camps interviewing incredible families with fascinating stories (cool) I am in the office for days at a time typing up reports and recommendations from the interviews (not cool). I don't mind the office that much. There is good coffee to drink all day, so that helps. And, I am still thrilled to death to have the chance to do what I have dreamed about for so long, so it makes everything ok. Though if I could create a world that did not include the words "report", "word attachment", and "editing revisions" I believe life in general would be better.

I interviewed an older Karen couple with the cutest little boy I have ever seen. He is seven. And orphaned. And applying with his doting, adoptive parents for resettlement to Canada. And he has HIV. As I swung him around the room, doing my special routine of Which-one-of-us-will-get-dizzier-and-fall-over-first, and he screamed and clung to my neck as his eyes rolled back in gleeful terror, I realized how lucky I was to be there, at that moment, and be blessed by the life of the little boy I twirled around in my arms. He wants to be a doctor when he grows up, he informed me seriously. Canada = medical care, citizenship, a future.

I have discovered a sort of really-small-border-town-in-Thailand rendition of a gym, which I have attempted to frequent nightly. They have 4 sets of weights, 2 elliptical machines (which I thought were only used by sorority girls with swinging ponytails who were already in shape but have actually discovered that I actually like them (elliptical machines, not sorority girls)), 2 treadmills, 8 stationary bikes, and 3 incline benches. Not exactly a Gold's Gym, but it's something. At least I don't have to resort to "lifting" my Nalgene bottle, filled to the top with rocks, which I did faithfully in Benin for a year-and-a-half. There is no AC and it is quite stinky, but it is something.

Attempting to come up with a creative solution to my bathroom sink, whose plumping is nonexistent, leaving the water to go down the drain and out a pipe that empties, sink level, on my feet. It really is gross. I mean, take the brushing-teeth dilemma. So I spit in the sink which them empties spit and toothpaste on my feet. Or even not as bad as that is the equally-gross hand or face washing dilemma. In this dilemma, I wash my face or hands because they are dirty, and then all dirty hand/face washing residue either runs all down my leg or splashes up on me if it happens to miss my leg directly and hit the tiled floor first. It is kinda like taking a bath and shower at the same time with already-used-bath water when all I want to do is rinse off my contacts. Why the owners/builders of the apartment complex could not have just finished the plumbing like they do everywhere else in the developed world, or even not completed the plumbing at all, but run the pipe - which is already in existence - out the wall I don't know. That would have worked out just fine. Cut a little hole in the wall and run the pipe outside. Problem solved. I am tempted to cute a whole in the wall myself, but am afraid I won't get my deposit back (fifty bucks is fifty bucks). My technique right now is a simple, albeit only mildly effective one: I put the sink drain plugger (does that thing have a name?) in the drain, but only partially plugging it. So, that way, the toothpaste/soapy/makeup/contact goo/dirt water only trickles down to my feet, instead of gushing and splashing everywhere. I could get a bucket to put under the pipe-that-should-be-running-out-the-wall-dangit that could catch all of the water, and just empty it when it got full, but the thought of a that amount of dirty toothpaste/soapy/makeup/contact goo/dirt water sitting around in a bucket dissolving and not dissolving and rising to the top and sticking to the edges really grosses me out. Then I would have to empty it. Then what am I supposed to do with it? I can't carry the bucket outside - or I guess I could, but people would see me and get all disgusted at the weird white girl that collects gross water in her bedroom. And if I dump the bucket out down the drain in the bathroom, it will splash all over me, I might as well not have even bother collecting it in the first place. A real dilemma, I tell you.

As you perhaps have ascertained, it hasn't exactly been a thrilling week out here. But it has been a good one. It has been one where I have learned to depend a little more on God, to choose to be content even if I am not necessarily feeling inspired, and realizing that I make the choice to be happy; I make the choice to live fully and with purpose today. And these are good things to remember.

Rattana Manion a.k.a The Disney House. When I moved in, I asked if I could choose my apartment by the color. They said no.

Thai-style toilet. Posing many logistical issues, as you can see. As far as I can tell, peeing on one's feet is unavoidable under these conditions. And yes, the bucket of water is used for rinsing.

There's a Hole in the World Tonight

2006-12-06T19:54:00.000+07:00

Courage, it would seem, is nothing less than the power to overcome danger, misfortune, fear, injustice, while continuing to affirm that life with all its sorrows, is good; that everything is meaningful even if in a sense beyond our understanding; and that there is always tomorrow."
~ Dorothy Thompson

I have spent the past few days in Mae La camp, interviewing several families that are applying for resettlement to Norway.
Today was a very sad day for Mae La and the Karen community. A woman in the community, active in SGBV (Sexual and Gender Based Violence) initiatives and programs, was killed last night. She was stabbed to death 8 times by her husband, who then put a knife through his own heart, in front of their daughter. After her death, it was revealed that this women, such a strong leader in women's rights advocacy, suffered herself from an abusive marriage for over four years and ultimately died in a horrific act of violence. The husband's motive is unknown.

One family has been in the camp nearly twenty years - their children have never seen the outside of the gates. The surrealness of it all stuck me, sitting on the bamboo slats of the floor of their home - yet completely normal at the same time. I tried to sort through decades of family history, making notes and families trees and timelines in an attempt to dissect their past. Families are complicated - all families, no matter the family or the country; but here, one must factor in the havoc wreaked by war to the normal family's complications. So much havoc... families separated when the army burned down the their village; or killed their spouse; or forced their grandmother to be a porter, beating her if she stumbled; of children sent away to a refugee camp simply so that they could go to school; of sickness that plagues and often takes the lives of those in hiding in the jungle, where malaria is a rampant killer. Most family's complications are not encumbered by these...

I spoke with Wah Lay today, a quiet 14-year-old who used to live with his parents and siblings in Karen State, Burma, in an area controlled by the DKBA (Democratic Karen Buddist Army). the family lived in fear of DKBA soldiers' frequent "visits" where money was taken, children were recruited as soldiers, and women were raped. For the right price, a household would be left alone. As a Christian in a Buddhist controlled area, DKBA took every opportunity to persecute the family, and others regardless of their religion. Poor farmers, Wah Lay's family eventually reached the end of their resources to bribe the military. The soldiers stormed in their home one afternoon and demanded their fee, which Wah Lay's father was unable to pay. "Fine", they snapped, "we will take your son instead. He looks big enough to hold a gun." Wah Lay was 11 years old. They were to return for him the following day. Hours later, under the cover of darkness, Wah Lay and his father fled the village and trekked through the jungle for two days and two night until they reached The Big River separating Burma and Thailand and... safety. Wah Lay was left in the care of an uncle in Mae La camp. This afternoon, his face very still as he relived the memory of just how close he came to being one of the thousands of Burma's child soldiers, he would not meet my eyes. He is excited about going to Norway, where he wants to study to be a doctor.

I sat cross-legged against the bamboo walls, eating red bananas and drinking water from a chipped mug with "Go Huskies" printed on the side. Oh Burma! When will you stop the persecution of your people? When will you hear their cries for a homeland? They long to return, but you have crushed their hopes...

Preparing sugar cane

Comin' to America

2006-11-28T21:15:00.000+07:00

The stars are amazing tonight. I rode home after dinner and stared up abruptly at Orion's Belt. I've never been a good constellation spotter, but tonight, I felt like I was going to run into it, it was so close.

I've moved, for the third time in Mae Sot. If all goes as planned, however, this will be my next-to-last move. The *real* one will hopefully take place in January when a spot opens up at my little dream studio apartment building above the Japanese restaurant and karaoke bar. I've always wanted to live in a studio apartment. I know - all you impoverished New Yorkers will tell me how actually not cool it really is, to live in a closet, to have your bed blocking your refrigerator and your bathroom basically in your living room. But still, even the name sounds cool to me and I think it will be really fun. Plus, I can order in sushi and entertain myself and others by singing karaoke on the weekends, making it even more enticing.

The cat/house sitting plan that my faithful readers remember I undertook last week, was a near-disaster. First of all, for those who know me well, I am not a huge fan of cats. I have always been a dog person. Cats have always seemed moody and bony and prissy. And they do weird things, like pounce. But, I was willing to lay aside my prejudice and give the species a try. Again, I repeat, it was a disaster. First of all, one escaped a few nights before my friend and their owner was to return. I was frantic. I looked all over the neighborhood for her, calling "here kitty kitty" in Thai and English and asking guards and neighbors if anyone had seen her. I couldn't believe that I lost her cat. It was suggested to me that her sweet-looking Karen neighbors might have dined on poor kitty. I defended them, but apparently, the Karen do eat cat... The next night, the remaining kitty, spastic without her playmate, crawled all over me in bed, prancing on my face, licking my ear, biting my toes. Then in the middle of the night, I awoke to a terrific crash and got up to see the floor fan spinning wildly on the ground. All I can figure is the tiny little cat shimmied up the fan cord and pulled the whole thing down, knocking off the front cover and breaking all the blades off. She appeared rightfully subdued after her little fiasco, but the fan was toast. The weekend was not shaping up too well. I decided it was definitely time to leave, before I burnt my friend's house down.
So, a round up of the week is as follows:
Number of missing cats: 1
Number of nearly-decapitated cats: 1
Number of nights spent protecting my toes from being bitten: 7 or all of them
Number of destroyed floor fans: 1
Number of cats potentially eaten last week in Mae Sot Villa: 1
Number of episodes of 24 viewed in 4 days: 24

Yesterday was an exciting day. I went to Mae La camp to be present for the announcement by the American Embassy in Bangkok that the US will be offering resettlement to anyone who wants it in Mae La camp. (We are actually doing something useful for the world, for a change!) There had been rumors of such a large-scale group resettlement undertaking, and it was alluded to on the BBC, but there had been no official word. So a representative from the embassy, Homeland Security, and IOM (Int'l Org. of Migration) made this big announcement, with upper members of the camp committee and other high up refugee leaders, and then they announced it in four languages over the loudspeakers to everyone in the camp. Of course, there will be a forever long process of applications and interviews and denials and medicals - but they said in effect that 45,000 people will have a shot of getting out of the black hole of the refugee camp and actually have a chance at a future. I didn't even know what to expect when I went, but it was a really exciting morning... My boss and I went around to a few of the camp-based organizations explaining what it all meant. One guy, who has lived in Mae La for 15 years, eyes widened when we said "don't you see? The US is opening it's doors. You can leave Mae La if you want to!" Beaming, he said "Please, I want to go to the America. Can I go? Can I really go?" It was so exciting to be a part of it. This is one of the worst protracted refugee situations anywhere - they can't go back to Burma because they are still in danger and Thailand refuses to allow them to stay. So they are stuck in a refugee camp, unable to work, unable to pursue dreams, leading stagnated lives of unrealized potential. Twenty years some of them have been in the camp; there is an entire generation who only knows life from the inside of a refugee camp. (As regards the title of this blog, I recognize that my musical education has been sadly neglected, so someone should gently correct me if my sorry attempt at a Neil Diamond reference isn't quite working out).

Needing a caffeine boost this afternoon, and forgetting I didn't have my bike, I walked the few minutes up the road to the 7-11 near work to get a drink, planning to take a moto taxi back because it was so darn hot. However, the stupid moto drivers were trying to charge me double the price. I was so annoyed. It was only the difference of about a quarter, but I refused to give in. My bad attempts at being mean and assertive in Thai only amusing them even more, they just kept saying "20 baht, 20 baht" to my "NO, that is NOT the price. 10 baht!". Finally, exasperated but stubborn as ever, I flipped my hair and walked off. A few meters down the road, a man selling hotdogs from a little kiosk off the side of his moto stopped and insisted on picking me up. Apparently, he had heard the whole conversation, felt sorry for me, and came to get me. He motioned that I was supposed to climb INTO the hotdog cart, which I didn't think would work very well, so I hopped on the very back and rode side saddle like Thai girls in mini-skirts do. The guards at work burst out laughing when I pulled up to the gate on the back of the hot dog seller's cart. Joe holding a roasted... wombat

Why I am Grateful

2006-11-23T16:37:00.000+07:00

Alternate Title: Why I am Not at All Bitter that I am About to Get on My Crappy Bicycle to Ride Twenty Minutes in 98 Degree Heat to Eat Fried Rice by Myself on Thanksgiving

So, using whichever title you prefer, with arguably more fanfare than necessary, here is my list of things sparking my gratitude today:

- sort of high speed internet

- the opportunity to learn Thai

- that enough people speak English here that the fact that I am really not learning any Thai at all isn't too much of a problem

- 7-11

- the ability to inquire "have you eaten rice yet today?" to find out if someone is hungry

- that men here are confident enough in their sexuality to walk around wearing sarongs as skirts

- internet banking

- Hazel Taste Coffee Shop - complete with WIFI and vanilla lattes that you'd swear came from Starbucks

- the opportunity to learn to drive on the wrong side of the road

- that my new best friend is a cool Korean who was in the Special Forces training to defend an attack from North Korea by... hot air balloon

- the Apple corporation for creating the IPod

- http://www.people.com

- seeing a woman in a burqa talking to a painted-face Karen

- instant messenger and cell phones so I can talk to my far-away boy

- eating for 75 cents

- meat on a stick

- non-meat entities cooked, smushed up, re-formed and also cooked on a stick

- the Mae Sot donut man

- Thai rap - oh, wait, this is a grateful list. My bad...

In closing, I am even grateful for the scary dogs - because throwing rocks at them makes me feel empowered.

Sunday in Mae Sot

2006-11-19T12:49:00.000+07:00

I still haven't found a house. I had been staying in a little room in a cute guesthouse until yesterday. It wasn't exactly the Chamber of Commerce poster accommodation perhaps, with it's location behind the police station, in front of the bus station, next door to scary dogs (I still have a scar from the biting event, by the way), and across the street from a prison for the poor undocumented Burmese who were unlucky enough to get caught. The Thai police hold them in Bangkok and elsewhere and bring them to Mae Sot as the last stop before the weekly deportations back to Burma every Wednesday. It's outrageous, really, considering most are refugees fleeing persecution and death from the SPDC in Burma and the Thai government sends them right back over. But back to not having a house. So, I still don't. A friend asked me to cat/house sit for her for awhile, so I've moved to her house - which has turned out to be halfway to Cambodia - or at least that's how it felt last night as I walked the 45 minutes into Mae Sot. It's all fine - I have a bike - until night-time when all the dogs come out. I'm a little scared, I'm not going to lie. There are perks to this plan, though. My friend has a TV and well-stocked DVD collection, and a coffee maker. Really, a few mean dogs can't compare to being able to make my very own coffee on demand.

Work is rather incredible. I feel so lucky to be here, doing this. I travel to the one of the three refugee camps our field office serves a few times a week to interview families and piece together their stories, then recommend what should happen to the foster children. The UN has little "offices" set up in each camp - bamboo structures with thatched roofs, lizards, a long table, and a stack of plastic lawn chairs. It is rather surreal to be in the camps and to observe the strange normalcy of the lives there. Someone plays the guitar nearby, and kids are having a soccer game right outside - their shrieks and cheers pierce through the air every so often. Cars zoom by on the interstate that runs right beside the gates of Mae La camp - serving as an ironic reminder of life continuing right beside the stagnated existences of the 45,000 inhabitants within. I sit with a family and try to understand their history - I've quickly discovered there are no easy, nor right, answers. Ultimately I must recommend a course of action - should the child stay with his foster family and resettle with them to Norway? His parents may or may not still be alive in Burma somewhere - no one has received word from them in 5 years. Do we risk permanent separation from them by sending him to Norway or do we deny him the right to be with the only family he has ever known and leave him in the refugee camp on the hope that someday his parents will return for him? It's rather intense work with long-lasting consequences for all involved. I love it though. There is still so much I have to learn...

Thai lessons are... going. I wish I could say "well", but, considering that people either laugh at me or just look really confused whenever I try to say anything, "well" is probably not the descriptor of choice. I can say some things, like "Today, I went to the farm and saw 2 cows." I can order rice, noodles, chicken and lattes. I can tell moto drivers to slow down. The tonal nature of Thai continues to completely floor me. Like to say "near" you say graie but to say "far", it is... graie. Ha! A tonal difference that I can't even HEAR - let alone SAY - is all that distinguishes one from the other. And I refuse to even attempt to say "banana" because, a tiny little tone difference changes it to, um, "penis". I am certainly NOT risking going to the market and inquiring about the wrong one!

Alright, off to find lunch food. I don't think I mentioned, but the bike I am riding is an absolute piece of junk, but as I am currently residing in CAMBODIA its use is necessary. It was made for a 10-year-old, for starters, circa 1982. Then, the pedals - or something - jerk everytime I turn them. The brakes don't really work - but this isn't of huge concern as I'm nearly sitting on the ground, so stopping shouldn't be a problem. Today, the ride is complicated by the fact that I am in a skirt - I'm not used to biking, ok! - so I can only ride with one hand on the handlebars while the other attempts to keep from flashing all of Mae Sot. It will be a miracle if I make it home in one piece...

A little trip to Malaysia

2006-11-14T19:26:00.000+07:00

I like to imagine that I am a Woman of Adventure. A woman not inhibited by schedules and planning and such that consume the thoughts and Day Planners of normal members of society. A woman unfazed by change. However, there was a moment as I wandered - lost - through the narrow, crowded streets of Chinatown in Kuala Lumpur (every town in the world boasts a Chinatown, as it would seem.... except Oklahoma City, perhaps), alone, with all my bags, in Malaysia, at midnight, and nowhere to stay for the night, that a slight tinge of something akin to panic started creeping into my consciousness, and I wished that I had planned for this trip sooner than 12 hours before. Screw spontaneity . (Sorry Mom, I should have been a more cautionary title, such as "Don't Read, Mom"). The hotel I thought I had reserved didn't have my reservation, nor rooms, but suggested a hotel down the street, also with no rooms. The second suggested a third, the third a fourth. By the fifth hotel, exhausted (6 hour car drive to taxi to bus station to taxi to airport to KL to hour long bus before I finally arrived), I slapped my credit card down at a nice hotel without even looking at the price. Usually a ridiculously cheap, seedy-hostel dweller, this was one time where I couldn't have been happier to see down pillows, room service, and cable TV. After my first rather stressful night, I had an amazing stay in Kuala Lumpur. The city is magnetic and diverse and beautiful and chaotic - but chaotic with an almost tranquil order to it. There are two - sometimes three - of the following on every block (and I am not kidding): KFC, McDonald's, 7-11. McDonald's even offers delivery. I ate incredible Malay and Indian food at every meal (except for the, uh, inexplicable stop at McDonald's for one meal. I know, I know - I don't even remember the last time anything from that disgusting, artery-clogging place went into my mouth. For some reason though, so overpowered by desire was I for the taste of a questionable-meat-fake-cheese Quarter Pounder, I couldn't help myself. Don't judge...). And then there is Starbucks (*sigh*...). After restraining and resisting and writing all sorts of diatribes against the unjust role trendy marketing and globalization has had on the local coffee industry in East Asia, my resolve completely and utterly failed me and I indulged in not one but FOUR grande vanilla lattes over the course of the weekend. Ex-pat Western capitalist guilt notwithstanding, I enjoyed every bit of all four.

The trip to the Thai Embassy to apply for the visa was slightly more complicated - at one moment I realized there was a distinct possibility that I would be stranded in Malaysia indefinitely, without a passport. It took all my skills at persuasion to convince the consulate clerk that really, it was in her best interests to process my visa on a Saturday, when, of course, the embassy is closed. On the way back from the Embassy, Trip 1, fearing I would never see my visa, or passport again, I expressed my frustrations to my taxi driver. It, apparently, was my lucky day. Jamal specializes in, ah... assisting, shall we say, with visa/passport complications. Whipping out a business card, complete with a bogus, nondescript company as cover, he promised to deliver my brand new passport and Thai visa to me before my flight left on Sunday. I burst out laughing. I did, however, keep his card. One never knows when one might be in need of a fake passport...

Petronas Towers
I loved Kuala Lumpur. I found the people strong and welcoming, and the city inspiring. I can't wait to plan a real trip to Malaysia now. So, after the whole trip there in reverse (hotel to taxi to hour long bus to airport to shuttle to 6 hours to kill in Bangkok to train to subway to motorcycle to 10 hour bus back to Mae Sot) I arrived at the Mae Sot bus station at 4:30 Monday morning. I fought with a tuk-tuk driver who took advantage of the fact that he could totally rip me off because it was the middle of the night and there was nothing I could do about it. After 20 minutes of bargaining, stomping off, coming back, stomping off again, I realized he had me and I might as well suck it up and pay the $1 and go home (Yes, I know it was only a dollar, but it should have been 50 cents! It's the principle, people!). At least I got to wake up and go to my cool job. Downtown KL - Petronas Towers are the tall buildings in the middle

Just so you know I was really there...

What Catherine Zeta-Jones and I Have in Common

2006-11-08T20:34:00.000+07:00

After what has most possibly been the most last-minute, haphazardly planned trip since the invention of sky miles (with my move to Thailand being a close second), I found a ticket, booked a hotel, begged/bullied the Thai consulate and will be heading to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia tomorrow. It should be noted that I, Foreign Affairs major though I was and self-proclaimed Student of the World I might be, do not really know anything about Malaysia and only vaguely had any idea where it is. Only when looking at a map recently did I even realize that it is broken into two parts and, until 2 hours ago, had no idea in which part lies Kuala Lumpur (capital of Malaysia for all of you secretly pulling up a map right now). So, no visual image of Malaysia. I thought really hard but still came up with nothing. Then I remembered that KL is where they filmed "Entrapment" where Catherine Zeta-Jones hangs on for dear life on the outside of the bridge between the Petronas Towers - the world's tallest skyscraper until 2004. And that, my friends, will be me this time tomorrow (though, hopefully I'll be on inside of the bridge). I have to make a visa run - my tourist visa can't be transferred to a work visa until I check in at a Thai embassy outside the country and then come back in. No, it doesn't really make any sense, but rules are rules, Malaysia is Malaysia, and I am the new Catherine Zeta-Jones.

Of Floats and Flowers

2006-11-06T19:48:00.000+07:00

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?

ER Thailand

2006-10-30T14:43:00.000+07:00

and the borderline motonony was broken. And I have something to write about. OK, so maybe not monotony exactly, but something in some moments akin to boredom. Hmm... though not really because I was bored per se, but three weeks of a near-constant rotation of food, internet, reading and coffee eventually takes its toll on even the most avid eater, web surfer, reader and coffee drinker. Sorry - back to the ER story, which, now that I think about it, is really not nearly as dramatic nor interesting I had thought when beginning this post. So I ended up in the ER after a crazy dog came out of nowhere and - unprovoked - chose to take a healthy little chunk of skin out of the neighboring white girl's leg (mine, as it were). OK, so maybe not a chunk - a small layer at least. I had been assured repeatedly that the inordinate number of stray dogs running around were PERFECTLY HARMLESS and merely barked. Ha. After consuting with my Scottish med-student friend Ian, we decided that a little swing by the ER wouldn't hurt and, despite my utter terror of needles, a rabies shot would be better than my head imploding if the stupid dog was indeed rabid. While not really finding anyone who spoke a word of English around, Ian and I, through an amusing little game of charades and the assistance of the marginally helpful Thai Phrasebook, managed to make the dog bite story clear. As it turned out, I didn't need a rabies shot, though have quite a healthy little bruise as a momento of the evening. Stupid dog.

And, in far happier (though perhaps less entertaining) news, I have a job. That's right. I give a resounding "ha!" to all you nay-sayers out there who thought moving to Thailand with no job, no friends, no place to live, no contacts, no leads to speak of, no real idea of what I was doing besides for a vague desire to work with refugees was not, perhaps, one of my brighter ideas. The crazy, impromtu plan just might work out after all. I have a temporary contract with the UNHCR (United Nations High Committee on Refugees for those a bit out of the int'l loop) that begins on Wednesday, and in the process of negotiating the *real* contract that will begin in January. Anyone who has known me longer than 2 days can imagine how excited I am about this. This does mean, however, that my days of being a woman of leisure (see beginning of paragraph 1) are numbered - to 1.5 to be exact. I have been reading some good books though, for those of you in search of a good read. I just read Bono, in Conversation with Michka Assayas and am currently reading The Language of God: A Scientist Presents Evidence for Belief by Francis S. Collins - both of which I highly recommend. And, I have my first Thai class tonight with my new friend Ying who works at the coffee shop. I will be busting out Thai like a local in no time, I'm sure.

Preferred mode of transportation

I met up with an old Peace Corps friend this weekend in Kamphaeng Phet - a town about three hours south of Mae Sot that is home to Buddist ruins dating back to the 14th Century.
We had a fabulous time crawling over ruins, drinking coffee, catching up on Benin, Sri Lanka and Thailand gossip, wandering around the sort of big town that became mysteriously empty at night in an attempt to find food - any kind of food. At least there are always noodles.

Really old Buddahs...

And only one yoga class to my name

"Pray for freedom."

2006-10-20T14:17:00.000+07:00

This was the response of the Karen man who sat with his family in the Mae La refugee camp, when asked how The Church could pray for the persecuted of Burma. Visiting the camp was - good and unbearable and exciting and amazing and real. Yes, so very real. I have thought for so long work within a camp is what I felt most called to do, and it was strange to suddenly experience that moment. To see in the flesh what I have dreamed of for years. Less... dramatic I guess and more... tangible. These are very real people who have experienced more than any of us could ever know. And they were standing right in front of me. The camp, sitting a few kilometers from the border, is encased in barbed wire and gates - to protect, but really to contain the people within. The Mae La camp is home to roughly 50,000 refugees - mainly Karen who wait in hopes of someday being able to return to their homeland. Other camps house Karenni and Shan.In the camp, life continues more or less. There is a heaviness to the air; the heaviness of parents who have no idea where their children are, of wives who witnessed the murder of husbands, of children who watched in terror as their mothers were raped before their eyes. The heaviness is attached to a horror very, very real. It was because of this that I left with a very full heart. It did not have the affect on me that seeing poverty for the first time often has. I have seen poverty before. It was the knowledge that these people before me had experienced gross injustices; their lives shattered; their families murdered; their futures forever changed.

I visited an orphanage/children's hostel inside the camp - children who either have no parents or children whose parents are still on the run in Burma, and have sent them out to attend school in the refugee camps. There, I met a father who has been in hiding with his pregnant wife and two small children. They just came out of Burma a few months ago for his wife to deliver the baby (medical care in the jungle for those in hiding is non-existent) and because one of his daughters is very, very ill. The two girls, who appeared to be about 3, came and sat near me. "Are they twins?" I asked, unable to identify the sick one. No, the youngest is three. Sheetja, the sick one, is nearly seven. I stared in disbelief. Leukemia is eating away the very flesh of her body. The family has nowhere to stay, so is sleeping and eating at the children's hostel where they are trying to get Sheetja care before it is too late. Perhaps it is too late already. Sometimes, they are able to drive her into Mae Sot, where Dr. Cynthia's clinic for refugees and migrants (http://www.maetaoclinic.org) gives her blood transfusions. But she needs more than transfusions. The medicine she needs for leukemia is expensive and getting out of the camp to get the medical care is difficult if not impossible. The father, love and concern for his family gleaming from his eyes, is subdued. His daughter is dying. Once his wife delivers, he will return to Burma. Return to hiding. Hope that peace comes soon. Hope that he is making the best decision. None of his options are good.

We drove away from the camp in silence.

And there is still 7-11

2006-10-18T20:30:00.000+07:00

Yes, you read correctly. Out in the middle of nowhere Thailand, 5km from the border of nowhere, Burma, there is 7-11 - several of them, to be correct. Large fridges of Coke, chocolate milk, Gatorade. Rows of gum, Chinese chips, Thai candy, and packages of fried seaweed. A supermarket down the street akin to a small WalMart, called "HongLong Mini Mart", where one can buy such essentials as Pantene Pro-V Shampoo, Kellog's Corn Flakes, and ranch dressing.

Mae Sot is far bigger than I first thought. Probably because my first experience in it involved getting lost in the dark of some deserted little neighborhood of teak houses with no lights, scary dogs, not a soul who spoke a word of English around, a random crazy lady who grabbed my arm with slimy fish hands and refused to let go. So crazy girl and I walked together.

Mae Sot is a diverse little trading town (specializing in gems and black market goods to Burma) of Burmese, Thai, Indian, Chinese and Karen. It is certainly an interesting ethnic mix - Burmese men in long sarongs tied in front; Muslim women zipping by on motos, narrow slits in her veil revealing only her eyes; young Thai army rangers with guns slung over slim shoulders; Karen mothers and children with painted white faces in traditional hill-tribe dress. Completely different than Chiang Mai - more grime, less beauty, more haphazard-feeling, less Western, more mysterious, less English, more stares. Oh yes. We are back to staring at the white girl. But... I like it here. It feels more... authentic somehow, even in its grittiness.

I think I will stay. There is an extensive network of NGOs that do aid work in the camps (though the NGO world is tough to break into, from what I've found), so the job prospects are better here. A few such prospects are looking promising - I'm realizing just how much "right place, right time" is worth. A lot.

I went running last night with a new friend down this hazy dirt path at the foot of the mountains. "Watch out for snakes", he told me with a smirk. Weaving between the rice fields in the muggy heat as the sun painted magnificent streaks of pink across the clouds, I realized how lucky I am. I love running out here - it evokes feeling of such freedom and life.

I went to the border of Burma the other day. Saw the Thai-Myanmar Friendship Bridge - an ironic name considering that Thailand and Myanmar aren't friends at all. Thailand doesn't want to deal with the effects of a neighboring military regime that persecutes its own people, leaving them displaced and forced to flee for their lives. With the promise of Thailand - and relative safety - just across the bridge, some brave Karen, Karenni and Shan attempt escape. The lucky make it across. The less fortunate are shot down by Burmese military before they can reach the other side. I wanted to take a picture of Burma, so you could have some image of where I am as you read, but as I furtively tired to whip out my camera, a kid in a uniform with a gun said "no". I put the camera away.

A little Indian restaurant across from the mosque makes the best samosas I have ever had - served with the requisite Thai chilis of course. Food has been a bit more problematic here than in Chiang Mai. Everything is written in Thai or Chinese and no one speaks enough English to offer a translation. Lucky for me "noodles" appears to be quite universal, so I haven't starved. And there is still Diet Coke. So there's that...

Heading off in a few moments to visit a refugee camp with a local NGO. Promises to be an interesting day!

A few observations...

2006-10-12T12:32:00.000+07:00

- Men should NEVER wear capris. I don't care if they are cooler and your leg hairs get hot in long pants. Pants, shorts, fine - but please choose one. I don't care if you are European - don't do it.

- The ability of Thai teenage girls to multi-task is quite impressive. She can talk on her cell phone, hold an umbrella and sometimes a small child WHILE driving a moto. And we throw fits about women applying mascara at stoplights...

- There are four Starbucks in Chiang Mai. While I do love my vanilla lattes, I am not that much of a sucker - you can buy the exact same thing (with a dollop of whipped cream on top!) at one of the million little coffee houses for about 75 cents - while Starbucks, proud as ever of their coffee, still charges the equivalent form of $3.78. Come now, outside of the most ridiculously boring yuppy traveler- who does that?! I'm sure the Thai laugh at the ones who do. Starbucks, no surprise, is often abandoned with the bored-looking Thai baristas playing crossword puzzles in the corner.

- The obnoxious number of tourists. It really is quite out of control. Whenever I walk by a small hoard of them (approximately every 11 feet), my eyes inevitably narrow - what are they all DOING here?! In fact, there are so many of them that none of them speak to each other. Striking up a conversation with a foreign-looking passerby would be almost as peculiar as walking up to a random person in a suburban mall. The thing in my favor about all of this is that it allows me to live in relative anonymity - I run in peace, eat in peace, stroll in peace. No marriage proposals, offers to allow me to cook their noodles and/or bear their children, or stupid whiny songs written in my honor (does "yovo, yovo bonsoir" ring a bell to anyone?).
Yes, I am white - and nobody even cares.

- I credit some enterprising Thai for marketing what is truly the greatest invention ever - corn in a cup. Yes, I know it sounds simple, but, seriously, it has nearly changed my life. Tender, sweet corn cooked under a little kiosk with salt and butter and served in a cup with a cute, appropriately-sized pastel spoon and sold for a quarter. Genius, I tell you.

- Respect for the King. Really, I've never seen anything like it. There are huge monuments and multi- story tall images of him with fresh flowers all over town (and, purportedly, the rest of Thailand). Every Thai in Chiang Mai owns and frequently wears a yellow polo shirt with a royal emblem in celebration of his 60th year as reigning monarch. The entire nation adores him and trusts him implicitly. If the king says something one day about his sadness at all the trash littering the streets and the general lack of upkeep in towns, the very next morning you would see everyone out in the streets cleaning and sweeping. It is remarkable, and inspiring really - especially in a time where the climate everywhere else is one of general distrust of politics, politicians and leaders.

I spent an hour last night hanging out with this Thai family on their front porch who wanted to teach me Thai while drinking whiskey :-) I did learn how to say the useful phrase "you only want to teach me Thai because you are wasted" - so I look forward to using that on a regular basis. I think I would like to take a Thai language class. Because it's a tonal language, it has been super difficult to hear and remember words and phrases, but it has been fun to practice the few things I have learned.

I am heading to Mae Sot tomorrow - a town a few hours southwest of here, spitting distance from the Burmese border. I met yesterday with individuals working in the Chiang Mai office of this great organization called Partners, and will meet with their Mae Sot office when I arrive there. Many of the NGOs with whom I would like to work have field offices in Mae Sot (there are a handful of refugee camps nearby), so it will definitely be the place to go to find work/volunteer positions. As beautiful as it is here, I am excited about getting away from Chiang Mai and it's Starbucks and 1.2 million tourists and discovering life in a smaller town.

Why Silkworms Do Not Taste Like Skittles

2006-10-08T08:47:00.000+07:00

I ate a bug last night. For real, on purpose. Chewing it up and swallowing. A man with a big hat on a little bicycle tuk tuk came around selling them. The proprietor of the guesthouse bought a small sack of many different varieties and popped handfuls of them down like Skittles. He put them on a small plate and passed them around to a group of us non-bug-eaters. No, I said. I refuse. Imagining the crunchy flesh of a beetle or the leg of grasshopper becoming trapped between my teeth - no. Perhaps it is the crunching that makes the thought of bug eating so repulsive. I have eaten the slippery firmness of an eyeball, the sinewy slickness of a tongue; other organs that I shan't mention here in polite company. But none of them crunched. And friends, I have my limits. The line simply must be drawn somewhere. Eventually, however, I realized that I was in Thailand after all and that I only live once (though what that has to do with anything, I'm not sure). With a sigh of resignation, I wrinkled my nose and chose carefully. The grasshopper? Crunchy with transparent wings? The beetle, toasted with soy sauce? I finally decided on the silkworm, for reasons I cannot explain. It was big. Really big. At least there weren't appendages hanging off that would require crunching or risk the aforementioned fear of becoming lodged between my teeth. The firm shell of the poor little thing barely indented with pressure. I shuddered a few times, braced myself, placed it in my mouth and began chewing as fast as I could. Words cannot describe how it both filled my mouth and completely sucked all moisture out of it. Somehow, the little bugger (heh) expanded. I started jumping around and hollering with my mouth full of partially chewed bug. I couldn't spit it out and I couldn't swallow. I just held it in my mouth, jumping around (me, not the bug) until I could finally wash it down with a healthy swig of beer. Ew.

I've just come from eating banana pancakes. With real syrup. For my fourth morning in a row (correction: I had cinnamon french toast in between) and hilltribe coffee. Every morning I vow to begin eating traditional Thai food for breakfast - soup, noodles, and rice - yet every morning I smell the pancakes at the farang (foreigner) restaurants and think about real maple syrup, and I cave. I actually have my leftover banana pancake sitting beside me in a clear plastic bag, because I couldn't bear to leave it behind.

Met an old Frenchman the other day who works in Java, Indonesia at a school for the deaf and mute and who offered me a job if I can't find anything I want to do here. He might perhaps be crazy, but he understood my French, so we have become friends of sort.

On the advice of Lonely Planet, I headed out yesterday in search of the oldest ruins in Northern Thailand at a placed called Wiam Kum Kum - dating back to the 11th century (and at home we sell WWII era flasks as "antiques"). Five km outside of town, I jumped on the back of a sawthaw (open back truck with 2 benches that serves as a taxi). Because the benches were full, I stood hanging off the back of the truck, squished between three young Thai military guys, who immediately started giggling and poking each other. One finally worked up the courage (after several unintelligible tries) to squeak "Aye lahv yooo!" Ah. The sweet language of love... SO, after a bumpy ride hanging on for dear life and fighting off my would-be suitors, I was dropped off at the nearest village to Wiam Kum Kam and started walking. After awhile, realizing I really had no idea where I was going, I asked a woman hanging laundry, who laughed, promptly put me on the back of her moto and off we went. She dropped me off three km later and I wandered around the ruins and massive temples. It started pouring down rain a few minutes later, so I hung out under a tent with 4 cute Thai women who wanted to know if I would come live with them.

Heading off now to the a nearby mountain, atop of which sits an ancient wat. Apparently you can see all of Chiang Mai and the surrounding towns from the top.

Monks and Markets

2006-10-05T17:00:00.000+07:00

One of the wats (temples) I visited today. Visitors are welcome, but must be appropriately dressed - no shorts or bare shoulders welcome here. Once inside, some of the Thai are praying, and monks wander around, praying and blessing visitors. I learned today the reason there are so many 12-year old boys in orange robes running around: it is culturally appropriate to send young boys to study at a wat for a year during their adolescence - almost as a rite of passage. So the young robed lad I saw dutifully sweeping the temple stairs today could have very likely been playing video games in the arcade yesterday.

Inside the wat -

The monk in this picture is speaking a blessing over the visitor by tying a
piece of yarn around his wrist. He spoke a blessing and tied the yarn around my wrist as well, but using much more care - a man who has taken the monastic vows can never touch a woman.

Looking like a dumb tourist in the market...

Happiness is: $3 Massages and Kawh Soi

2006-10-04T14:28:00.000+07:00

Seriously. Three dollars for one HOUR! Thai massage is different - your body is pulled and stretched; like passive yoga almost. It was amazing though, and for three bucks, I could definitely get used to it!

So, I am here and all you worriers can stop worrying. After all the explanations, all the goodbyes, all the plans (well, not really the last part I guess), I am here in a little cyber cafe sitting across from a shaved-head orange robe clad monk who looks 12 and is typing furiously away on msn messenger :-) With some Thai Michael Bolton crooning in the background to set the atmosphere.

Chiang Mai was the perfect place to develop first impressions of Thailand - peaceful, amazing food, and ridiculously clean. The people are so gentle and so polite - I stepped out in front of a motorcyle earlier and HE apologized to ME (none of this "doucement" business for you Benin people)! The language itself is very gracious and polite - though because it is tonal, I still have yet to master "hello".

I have made friends already - a once-Floridian- turned-scraggly-spiritualist who changed his name to Peeshta and is here for a month before moving to India to, uh, cleanse and pray with Hindu monks for a year. Then this dude Michael from Vancouver who has been here 8 times before and is returning now to move to a small village in the mountains and write books on yoga or something. Interesting kids - who can pull out these crazy Southern accents from nowhere (though my surprise is apparently unwarranted because, as Michael pointed out, Vancouver is definitely in Southern Canada). Anyway, I shared a taxi from the airport with them and am staying in a little guesthouse down the street from theirs, which made the initial scariness of walking out of the airport by myself a bit easier. While on the topic of my guesthouse, the Thai proprietor's name is... Tyrone. :-)

The food so far is incredible and I learned how to say "no spicy" so my digestion system doesn't go up in flames. Ate this amazing coconut milk and vegetable concoction called kawh soi for lunch and realized how much I have to learn. It feels odd to be so completely out of my element - no idea about custom or language or mannerisms or habits. I love it here. There are beautiful temples everywhere (Chiang Mai alone has over 300), coffee shops, fruit stands and little motos and tuk-tuks zipping in and out of everything. I have decided I'm going to learn how to drive a moto soon. Maybe I'll even buy one.

It has been cool, humid and rainy today and I adore it.

And it begins...

2006-10-01T13:30:00.000+07:00

So it's 2:17am the night before (or morning of for you technical types) I head off for my next great adventure. For those of you familiar with packing habits of The Great Procrastinator, I am not - perhaps to your shock and amazement - sitting in the middle of piles on my floor cluttered with unpacked items, looking at pictures or old journals out of sheer overwhelmed-edness. Not this time, my friends. I am happy to announce that two quite-strained-looking duffel bags are sitting upright and nearly completely zipped shut with all my important worldly possessions (and some not so important possessions that may or may not include 2 (two) 8lb dumb bells). In any case, I am quite proud that I am packed and sort of ready to go a whole 12 hours before the trip to the airport. I've finally made some progress in the packing arena it appears.

I am not quite so prepared for what happens once I step off the plane in steamy Chiang Mai and try to figure out exactly what I plan on doing with myself for the next six to twelve months. I do have an informative-looking Lonely Planet that I shall have plenty of time to study during the ridiculously long flights (does anyone have any information about the free wine situation on China Air? :-)) and a list of contact emails, organization names and phone numbers to follow up on when I arrive.

And so I am ready. The bags are packed, the cute taupe sofas sold, the GREs taken (who would have thought that finding the area of a stupid sphere would still be important after all these years?), the stuff scattered in storage units and closets across Oklahoma and North Carolina, the goodbyes ready to be said - it is time to go. I am excited for yet another dream to become a reality. I am reminded of a favorite quote, "Don't ask yourself what the world needs; ask yourself what makes you come alive and go do that. For what the world needs is people who have come alive." It is because of this that I am going - to do the thing that makes me come alive. Because life is too short to live any other way.

Signing off from Oklahoma,
amy