Riding Buses and Opening Doors

Like most good stories, this one begins with a lot of beer.  The backdrop is the tourist clad streets of Bangkok.  The characters consist of sixty-six Peace Corps volunteers who have been given one night of freedom.  It was the first time in seven weeks that any of us had been allowed to stay out past 6pm without supervision.  The twist?  It was my birthday.  You can imagine the pandemonium that ensued.  I will spare you from most of the gritty details, to avoid spending an entire blog on the drunken antics of Peace Corps volunteers and the unmentionable number of beers they are able to consume.  That being said, I must share with you the highlight of my night. 

After over thirty volunteers had taken over the top floor of a bar, things were getting wild in all good ways.  Then, the band started playing a song and it seemed everyone around me knew the lyrics.  Then there were candles in front of me and I realized the entire bar was singing happy birthday to moi.  After seven weeks of stress, confusion, frustration, you name it, it was all starting to feel right.  I had the realization that the people surrounding me were no longer strangers, but my closest friends for the next two years.  And how lucky am I?  I actually adore every one of them.

The day after our romp in Bangkok was one spent mostly horizontal.  Understandably.  But even the world’s worst hangover couldn’t get me down because I was about to go on a trip.  I have a lot in common with puppies.  I like going for runs, I will eat just about anything (often after it has been on the floor), and if you say the word ‘go’ I am jumping for the door.  Put me in a moving vehicle and I am a happy dog.  Thus, when I took my overnight bus to go visit a current Peace Corps volunteer, the only place my head was, was catching wind out the window. 

I spent the next night eating pizza and ice cream with a good group of female volunteers.  The next day I was full of nerves as I headed for the city of Chiang Mai to meet my future supervisor/principal and one of my co-teachers.  I figured we would head straight for the village, but instead I was treated to a day in Chiang Mai walking through markets, eating delicious street food (two words: carrot slushie), and visiting the most important temple in the province.  It was instant friendship with my Thai counterparts which is great because those connections are priceless.  Oh no, not for future jobs, but for the fact that my principal owns an elephant camp and offered to come let me ride her elephants whenever I please.  Hey, if this Peace Corps gig doesn’t pan out maybe I can just become a professional elephant princess (this would entail riding the elephants and wearing a tiara because training them would be too much work and picking up the poop is obviously not an option, but wearing a tiara is always enjoyable).

The following day I hopped in the truck with my principal and set out on the one hour drive to reach my village.   The buildings shrunk and the greenness pulsed.  We turned off the main drag and onto a quieter road that eventually led us up a steep winding hill, through a National Park, then dropped back down into the trees.  When the road leveled I could see we were driving through sprite farms nestled in the embrace of several small mountains.

Despite all the awkward moments that hung in the spaces between language and culture, I was completely enamored with the little Amphor called Mae On.  While I was being whisked around on my grand tour I couldn’t help but feel like I was walking in somebody else’s life; the beauty of this place couldn’t possibly be mine to relish in.  It all became real when my co-teachers took me to the house I am to live in for the next two years.  On the bend of the quiet road sits a little blue house.  To its left is a pond, and on the other two sides lie fields of green that reach their generous arms until they grab onto the feet of the mountains.  Cows can be seen grazing out my kitchen window and I can plant my herbs in the hanging baskets out front. 

Sometimes you walk into the things you never knew you wanted.  This time I opened the front door.

Sanook

It is true – I have always been funny, but never this funny.  They say laughter can cure anything, which would make my host family so healthy they will never have to see a doctor again.  The health of this family is so resilient that their children’s children will never have to see a doctor.  What could be so insanely funny to make these people burst into belly-holding laughter morning, noon, and night?  Me speaking Thai.  I’m that good.

The communication is hazy, but I know enough to tell them what I ate for every meal of the day, which is pretty much the most important topic of discussion for Thai people.  My basic human habits and needs are monitored very closely in this household.  Where did you study today?  What did you learn? Did you shower today?  What did you eat?  Coconut?  That’s why you’re fat.  And of course, there is always the useful advice, such as when you golf you should wear sun lotion.  If you are sweaty you should take a shower.  Don’t eat too much, it will make you fatter. The bucket of water next to the toilet is not a decorative pond, it is your toilet paper. 

Joining the Peace Corps is like reliving childhood.  I am learning how to speak, poop, clean myself.  I have to call my ‘Ma’ for permission to play at my friend’s house.  Sound weird?  It is.  But it is also completely wonderful in every color of the word. Because despite all the awkward moments and exhaustion, there is that moment every morning when I ride my bike across the canal, gazing upon the wooden houses raised above the water. I can hear the monks chanting at the temple behind me and see the children waving from the school in front of me. The birds streak across the sky, diving into the rice paddies that are so vibrantly green I swear I can feel my blood buzzing just to be near them.  There are the evenings of sincere laughter as my family and I attempt to navigate a path between our two languages.  The food is something amazing, the children are ever-smiling, and I am constantly finding personal heroes in all my fellow volunteers.

I know Jon Stewart has already given you your Zen of the day, but here is mine:

Four days a week I study with a small group and language teacher at What Kun Tip primary school.  Before jumping into our lessons, the four of us join the students on the lawn in front of the school.  First we hang the flag, then we say our prayers to Buddha, then we DANCE!  They blast music while three girls lead the school in what could be interpreted as the Thai electric slide.  It is no wonder that one of the most important words in the Thai language is sanook – it means to have fun.  And do they ever.

Sunsets and Sing-a-longs

My feet were fast on the pedals, carrying me into the road.  My fellow Peace Corps volunteers rode their new bikes in circles around the school, down the road, ringing their bells like laughter.  The earth had spun to that perfect moment when the sun bathed everything in a warm yellow.  The colorful oriental buildings came alive in early shadows, lending a sense of life to these otherwise unresponsive buildings. Reveling in the cozy colors, I drove my bike along the road where small children had dashed from their homes to see the silly Americans riding bikes with helmets.  “What is your name?” a little girl called to me.  “Di-chan chuu Amy ka!” I cried back with a smile.  It was incredible to think we had not been in Thailand for even 24 hours yet. 

Just a few days before I had spent my last evening drinking IPA and eating Italian food with my mom – the perfect farewell to American life.  We woke early the next morning to quick lattes and loaded my suitcases.  At the airport it was too hard to say goodbye so we strung it along with more steamed soy and teary eyes.  Finally, I stood in the security line alone, looking around like a lost child, with the crashing comprehension that my childhood was a thing of the receding past. 

Upon arriving to Philadelphia for staging I was greeted by the immense comfort of the quickly arriving 65 other volunteers.  The plethora of accents was a testament to just how varied a group of Americans can be. Varied and simply wonderful-I adore the people I will be going through this experience with and could not be more excited to have them along for the ride. 

The days are so full they feel like weeks.  I have one week behind me, but it feels more like a month.  The week began with a watercolor sunset on a bicycle and ended with sing-a-long 1990’s songs on the terrace.  It is the quintessential Peace Corps experience and I am loving every second of it.  While friends strummed their guitars, fireworks erupted from across the river.  Whether it was with the wind in my hair or the light in sky, I felt something I had not felt in years.  It felt something like home.

So Here I Go

It feels like my entire life has been leading up to this moment.  As a younger, more naïve traveler I imagined I could run away from this life of mine and disappear into the world.  The only problem was everywhere I looked-there I was.  Somehow, this time, it feels different.  I hug my ratty old childhood blanket and lay it on the bed.  I pack my vitamins, my hats, my skirts that have swayed from my hips in a dozen countries before.  They know where I’ve been, the things I have seen.  These travel mementos understand me more than most people I know.  So they come.  This is it, I tell myself.  This is when it stops being goodbye, see you soon.  This is when my life in the world starts. 

Now I know it will not all be glory and elephants.  I have traveled enough to know that crying myself to sleep amongst the cockroaches on a rickety train is as inevitable as skinny dipping in Greece.  This time, however, I am ready to swallow it all.  There is no return date on my ticket, no deadline, no expectations.  I am not thinking about how skinny I will be next time they see me or how grown all the children will be.  Our reunion is tenuous.

It is not to say I hate life here.  In fact, it is quite comfortable to live in America.  Everyone glides through their lives like quiet mothers on an early morning.  It would be so easy to stay.  To work 9-5, to buy a house, to get married, pregnant, to eat the American dream like a big fat prescription pill.  Yet, it seems that anything that comes easily in life was never really worth having.  The adventure, the heartbreak, the utter lust for life, these things take guts.  It means stepping into a fast flowing river and simply letting go. 

So here I go.