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Bangkok Studio

Moving downtown has had its advantages and disadvantages. I am MUCH closer to the good restaurants, shopping, and flower markets. I walk by a wine shop on my way home from school. The grocery stores have a larger selection of Western foods. On the downside, I see way more rats than I would like to see. What can you expect in a city with a population of ten million? I walk by three garbage cans clustered together at the end of my soi, and since the time I saw the garbage moving, I have given that corner wide berth. I also pay more rent for a smaller apartment. Think: location, location, location.
The apartment isn’t so bad, if you don’t count the fact that all of the rooms, all three of them, are lopsided. The walls all meet each other at odd angles, one at forty five degrees, another at one hundred degrees. Not a ninety degree angle in the place. It makes arranging furniture somewhat difficult.
It is also kind of, how shall I put this, ugly. Lots of brown. Peach mini blinds. A bed with one of those built in bookshelves, cubbies with glass doors, and a shell shaped reading lamp wired into the headboard. Tacky. Assorted bamboo end tables. A nondescript wardrobe. Parquet wood laminate in one room, pine laminate in the other. Just lovely.
I did what I could with the living room and bathroom, but the bedroom is a lost cause (that is why I did not post a pic of that room). I went with a modern look, which is something I didn’t think I would ever do. It is so different from my shabby chic 1940’s house in the country. Nevertheless, I am liking the space much better since I bought some art and sprinkled some color around the place. For now anyway, it is home.

Tea at the Oriental

I scream, you scream...

We all scream for ice cream, right? Well, maybe not. One of the things about living in Thailand is that I am constantly discovering that my assumptions about etiquette and other things are challenged daily. For example, it is common practice here to pick your nose in public. Not just in the car when you think nobody is looking or in the privacy of your bathroom, but everywhere. It is as common as breathing. Another thing, cutting in line seems to be the norm; whether you are queuing up to use the bathroom or waiting to pay for something, it is very likely that some Thai person will just make there way in front of you like they were there first. Lastly, urinating in public (at least for the men) does not seem to be illegal. Makes you very cautious of your footing around puddles.
Besides the unique Thai etiquette, food pairing can often be surprising as well. A few weeks ago, I was at my stylist’s studio getting my hair done. Kang, my hair dresser’s boyfriend and the prettiest little Thai man I have ever seen, asked me if I wanted some ice cream. It’s that kind of salon. They make you coffee, toast, bring you pastries, whatever. This particular day, Kang was dishing out some cookies and cream. When he asked me if I wanted some, I said sure. How can you say no to ice cream? After a few minutes, he brought me a sundae. I said thank you and graciously accepted it. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that in addition to the ice cream and chocolate syrup, there was corn and what looked like potatoes sprinkled on top of the cookies and cream. That’s right, corn and potatoes.
This posed a problem. To eat or not to eat? Yes, there have been times in my life when I have remarked that corn is like candy, especially when it is sweet summer corn right off the cob and bathed in butter. But even then, I would not think to pair it with ice cream. Likewise, sweet potatoes are definitely a dessert when they are in a casserole with brown sugar and marshmallows but these were not sweet potatoes.
I thought maybe I was wrong about the potatoes. Kang couldn’t have possible put potatoes on my ice cream, could he? Maybe it was some of that tasteless, waxy candy that the Thai’s like so much and it just looked like a potato. I knew I had to eat it; not eating it would have just been rude. I took a bite of the might-be-potato first. A cube of solid starch. Next came a few kernels of corn with some cookies and cream. Much to my dismay, this was not sweet summer corn. Instead it was fibrous and hard, like the corn you feed the ducks at the park.
Kang walked by, smiling. “Good isn’t it?”
“Mmmmmm,” I nodded with my mouth around the spoon.
I kept on at a steady pace until I finished every last creamy and starchy bite of the odd creation. This would count as a time that I was thankful for Thai-sized portions. If that had been a massive sundae like my dad used to make for himself in the orange Tupperware bowl, I don’t think I would have been able to finish it.

Final Destination--Jomtien

I must say, the preamble to the misadventure was more interesting that the final destination. Since we were five hours from the desired location and it was already noon time on Saturday afternoon, we regrouped and decided to go to one of the nearby beaches. Well, the rest of the assembly regrouped…I was busy getting over my little temper tantrum. When I returned from the washroom and had purchased some liquid refreshment, I was told that we would be going to Jomtien. I was grateful that everyone else was amenable to the change of plans, much more than I was anyway. Sunny called the two families that were driving separately and told them of our mishap. I was glad she was the one making the calls.
We had to backtrack a bit and then head out to the shore but before too long we arrived in Jomtien. One of the families in the group, Oscar, Michelle and Trinity, recommended a place they had stayed a few times before so we had the driver take us there. Birds and Bees (yes, as in the birds and bees) is a fabulous resort that is run by the same people who operate Cabbages and Condoms (remember that blog from last year?). In fact, there is a Cabbages and Condoms restaurant at this resort, too. All the profits from the resort go to PDA (Population and Community Development Association of Thailand) which helps the rural poor in this country.
This is a pretty luxurious place (check out the above pic of the infinity pool that seems to just melt away into the seaside). I had to adjust my mindset a bit because I had planned on staying at a $10 a night bungalow on the river and here we were at a very nice oceanside resort that was considerably more expensive than $10 a night. But it was worth it. Jomtien is a neighboring beach to Pattaya, a beach famous for its thriving red light district. Actually, it’s not really a district. All of Pattaya seems to be fit for the red light moniker. Fortunately, the best part of Birds and Bees is that you really didn’t have to leave the resort once you arrived so you could avoid the seediness of Pattaya.
Sunny, Daylin, Courtney and I shared a two room suite that was phenomenal. One room had bunk beds and two overstuffed hot pink couches. The other room had a huge bed, a couch, and a bathroom that resembled a rainforest (sans the pythons and poisonous tree frogs). When you stepped outside, you were surrounded by tropical vegetation, a fountain, a bridge over a pond that had many huge fish swimming about in it (koi?). We also had a spacious patio with a place to lie down and read a book and a picnic table, too.
The rest of the grounds are equally lush and tropical. Two huge pools. Verdant walkways full of flowers and random live animals—chickens, squirrels, and bunnies. A family of adorable, fuzzy bunnies lived in the open clearing by the pool.
I spent most of my time at the pool. I didn’t even go down to the beach. I took my meals at Cabbages and Condoms which was open air and faced the sea. Very relaxing.
Even though the original plans for the weekend changed drastically, it was still enjoyable. It could have been worse. I could have been in my apartment grading papers all weekend. Yuck!

Misadventure

At the end of last year, my friend Sunny had the brilliant idea of planning a girls’ weekend getaway to Kanchanaburi at the start of the school year, kind of a small group bonding trip for her team since she would be working closely with three different teachers this year (two returning and one new teacher). The other three members of her team are all married so Courtney and I were invited along [in part] to ensure that talk of marriage and children did not dominate the whole weekend. Martha (names have been changed to protect the guilty parties), another new married teacher who lives in Sunny’s complex, was also invited.

The projected date for the trip turned out to be the first weekend in September. The weekend was rapidly approaching and nothing had been planned yet so I took it upon myself to do some of the organizing. I sent out an email to the ladies inviting them to a girls weekend away to Kanchanaburi for a rejuvenating day swimming in the seven-tiered Erawan waterfalls and then luxuriating for a day at a quaint spa run by a British woman where you can get a six hour pampering package for $75 (massage, facial, body scrub, hair treatment, steam room, and more massage with lunch included). I myself was damn excited about spending a day at the waterfalls and another day at the spa. And after the initial hectic month of school, this kind of break was much needed.

Well, what I had not anticipated is that there are mothers and wives who cannot spend any time away from their children or spouses. What originally started out as a girls’ weekend away quickly morphed into a mega-family extravaganza. First off, Molly insisted that her husband and two year old son tag along. She hardly gets to see little Joe enough as it is during the week so she couldn’t bear to be away from him for even a weekend. And if the baby comes, so must the husband. Who else is going to watch the baby while she is at the spa? Okay, whatever. We can make it so that papa bear and baby bear are otherwise engaged at, say, the tiger temple or on a boat ride down the river Kwai. No problem.

Martha, another espoused parental unit, gets wind of this and does the same. Add another husband and a four year old daughter.

Then one of the other marrieds, Marilyn, sends an email saying that she heard Molly’s and Martha’s husbands were going and if it wasn’t stepping on anyone’s toes, she would like her husband to come as well.

Let me pause here for a minute and count to ten. No, better count to fifty. I need to explain to the reader that for whatever reason there seems to be a surplus of couples this year at my school. Now, despite the short-lived-but-often-recurrent “love sucks” mindset I have endured at different stages in my life, I have nothing against couples who still manage to preserve their own identities as well as wield the identity within a matrimonial union, but I have little tolerance for the people who cannot function unless their partner is at their side. And we seem to have an abundance of these super-glued-together-type couples this year. More often than not at the numerous beginning of the year social gatherings, I found myself surrounded by blissfully happy, hand holding couples that made me want to throw up (yes, that is a bit of adolescent regression…my apologies).

So, back to the main thread of this narrative—I get this email from Marilyn and I’m feeling slightly miffed. What part of girls’ weekend do you not understand? Do I need to send out an addendum email to clarify NO PENISES are to be in attendance for girls’ weekend? Actually, I did just that. I put my heart on the table and addressed a message to Marilyn that explained my insecurities, how when I am surrounded by couples I feel like my aloneness is magnified, that it is nice to get to know couples away from each other as individuals, that this is supposed to be a no testosterone weekend, and the men who are coming are coming to tend after the children. How much more clear can I get? Being that she specifically said that she wanted to invite her husband only if it wasn’t stepping on anyone’s toes, I thought that she would understand.

I was wrong. Her explanation: since she already invited him, she couldn’t uninvite him. Ha! In case you got lost in all my minutia and ramblings I may need to remind you that we are talking about her husband here—not the prime minister. So the tally for the “girls’ weekend away” has climbed from seven to twelve, the last four additions being of the male variety.

Turns out, Sunny can’t get a sitter for the weekend so her ten year old son is to come along, too. She decides to ask Mark, another new teacher, if his son, Dave, would like to come along, more or less to keep Daylin occupied. (Dave is here alone with his fourteen year old son until his wife and ten year old son can come in January.) Sunny was thinking that the father would jump at the opportunity to have a weekend to himself. Wrong again. Mark invites himself. So now we are up to fourteen people, nearly as many guys as girls. Alas, the weekend before we are supposed to leave, another couple invites themselves along with their two daughters who are in kindergarten and first grade. Grand total: nineteen.

But, I’m a flexible person. I understand that plans change. I told myself that this would still be an enjoyable getaway. I like all the kids that were going (except maybe the toddler who is in that two year old megalomaniac phase) and no matter what, I would soon be relaxing at the waterfalls and getting the royal treatment at the spa. It was going to be a fantastic weekend.

Sunny gave me the number for a driver that she hired when she went to Lopburi for the monkey festival last year. Two of the families would be driving up separately so we needed a fifteen passenger van. I called the driver and encountered a minor stumbling block: neither of us was proficient enough in the other’s language to communicate effectively. It felt like I was just hanging up on him even though I had explained that I was going to find someone who speaks Thai so we could make arrangements. Headed out the door to do just that, the phone rang and it was an English speaking friend of the driver. He was Thai, but his English was pretty good. I explained to him that I would like a van and a driver to take a group to Kanchanaburi the following weekend. We arranged a price and a place for pick up and all was well.

I also called the spa to make sure that there were openings for appointments and that there would be enough staff working to handle the group I was bringing. It was difficult setting this up because I wasn’t sure who of the thirteen adults wanted to go to the spa, when they wanted to go or what they wanted to have done. I couldn’t assume that only the girls would be going to the spa, or even if all the girls would be going to the spa since so many kids were coming. I also didn’t know which husbands were amenable to watching the kids while wifey received a much needed spa treatment. I sent out an email that asked who wanted what when but it did not garner much response since everyone (but me it seems) was busy teaching class or working. I understood too, that people may not want to commit to anything since you never know how the day will turn out, especially when kids are involved. Having the group size nearly triple had definitely complicated things. Fortunately, the owner of the spa was very kind and had plenty of experience with this sort of thing. I was able to give her tentative numbers and she would make sure there were enough people there and that she had enough food to feed us since more than one of us would be taking advantage of the half day treatments.

Phew. The hard part was over. Everyone would be able to find their own accommodations when they arrived in Kanchanaburi since there are plenty of guest houses along the river and booking ahead is not necessary.

Everyone showed up at meeting place at the appointed time and we were on our way. Our destination was two and a half to three hours away. Once the whole crew was settled in the van with the driver, I realized that none of the passengers were fluent in Thai. Not a good move. I did have my Thai dictionary with me and the phone number of the driver’s friend, which for the moment appeased me.

When I went to Kanchanaburi by buss last year to see the tiger temple and floating market, I collected some travel information on the area to share with people who visited me. Revonna had picked up some brochures from the spa when she went there in May so I had those to share, too. In the van, I passed the information around and everyone was excited about the upcoming adventure.

I felt like a virtual tour guide, despite the fact that I am geographically disadvantaged. Stefanie is the one with a geography minor and who has experience working at AAA as a trip planner. I, on the other hand, do not enjoy maps in the least. Sure, I passed ninth grade geography class, but that was because I had a crush on Mr. Perry and I didn’t want him to think I was an imbecile.

About the time Martha’s four year old daughter started up with the “are we there yet” mantra, I started to be aware of my surroundings. We had been trucking along for the better part of three hours, and I began to look for some signage that would alert us to how much further we had to go. The signs were in English as well as Thai, but much to my dismay, I did not see anything reporting the distance to Kanchanaburi. I did, however, see several signs marking the way to Chanaburi. The dawn of understanding was reluctant to arrive but soon enough it did. Oh no. Oh no no no no no!

Oh yes. After consulting a map I discovered the little town of Chanaburi. A seemingly nothing town, landlocked, no waterfalls in sight. Chanaburi…a place I had never heard of before, a name I have never before spoken. The map beautifully illustrated that Chanaburi is due south of Bangkok whereas Kanchanaburi is due west of Bangkok. I learned enough in Mr. Perry’s class to know that we were indeed screwed.

I did not yet make my revelation known to my fellow travelers who had blindly trusted me to lead them to Kanchanaburi. Instead, I wiggled my way around to the front of the van with a brochure for the tiger temple that was written in Thai and English. I pointedly underscored the Thai writing with my finger, Kanchanaburi. I wasn’t getting very far in making my concerns known to the driver. I crawled back to my seat and called the translator. When I told him the situation, he laughed. HE LAUGHED! (This might be a good place to add that I was suffering from my monthly hormonal issues; oh yes, they are real.) I asked the amused translator how long it would take to get to Kanchanaburi from where we currently were. His reply—five hours. Somehow I was able to end the call in a civil tone. Seconds later, the driver took a call from the translator as we pulled into a gas station.

The tears started to prick their way into existence from behind my eyelids. The rest of the crew knew by now that we were not on the proper course. The mothers and fathers, wives and husbands, even the children were taking everything very well, laughing, tossing around the ubiquitous phrase “mai ben rai” which translates into it doesn’t matter, everything works out; e.g. shit happens. And normally, I am a proponent of this attitude. But not this time.

We all climbed out of the van and my mind was swimming. What about the people who drove separately? What about the spa staff that is showing up to work a crowd of ten guests? Are we still going to get charged for this royal mishap? Are my colleagues going to be upset that our plans were rapidly changing course?

I walked around the back of the van, not that this was exactly a private place, but it seemed more private than anywhere else at the time, and I just started sobbing. Body wrenching, shaking sobs. The kind of crying where your chest heaves and the rapid intake of air sucks in your bottom lip, making it shudder either violently or comically, depending on if you are the one crying or the one watching. I was aware that this was a very un-Thai display of emotion, but at that moment, I really didn’t care. I knew that the intensity of my reaction was not proportionate to the reason for my distress, but I could not stop. “I just want to go to the spa!” I wailed into the open.

Not one of my finer moments, to be sure.

More interesting names

A new year brings a whole new batch of students and the funny names that go with them. This year I have Benz and Porche which I guess aren't so strange. But then there is Top, You, Paint, Earth, Nook, Warm, Great, Win, Can, and Grammy. I could write a whole sentence with that, something along the lines of "Oh, warm great earth with the paint can in the nook you win the top grammy." It's kind of like that refrigerator magnet poetry. Not very good but interesting anyway.



And then there's Bob, which just isn't an asian name now is it?

De ja vu

I am officially back in the swing of things here in Bangkok. However, along with all the niceties of life in this grand city—cheap manicures and pedicures, public transportation, super cheap travel—there are a few not so nice aspects of living in Bangkok. Top of the list: food poisoning. Yes, I have been fully re-introduced back into south-east Asia with nine days of diarrhea. You may remember my hospital adventure from last October. Same thing, but this year it was much worse. I spent the night before the first day of school on the toilet, to the point that I even considered making my bed in the bathtub for the night (who ever heard of fecal incontinence?). I didn’t feel bad; I just couldn’t keep my shit together, so to speak. I decided to let it run its course, keep myself hydrated and all that. I thought for sure it would go away. It seemed like it was on the way out the door and then BAM. It came back with a vengeance.
I had gone to school the other day thinking all was well. I was sitting at my desk grading papers when I began to feel like there was a poisonous gas expanding in my belly. Lucky for me, I have planning first period so I went to lie down in the nurse’s office. Sweet Ms. Peach always looks so sympathetic to whatever is ailing me. She let me lay down on a bed and I curled up in the fetal position because somehow I thought this would help. It didn’t. Besides, I mainly wanted to be close to the handy little bathroom that is in the nurse’s office. Good thing too because I made four trips in an hour.
I can’t explain how wretched I felt. I began to feel clammy and nauseous. I really didn’t want to miss school the second week of classes but I couldn’t picture staying there the way I felt either. So I made arrangements to leave. A substitute came to my room and I was free to go to the hospital. Of course I don’t have a car. And our school is not on a main road so taxis don’t frequent our soi very often. I was beginning to feel somewhat panicky. I didn’t want to have to explain to anyone what was going on with my gastrointestinal track and didn’t know if it would be proper if I asked someone to call a taxi for me. And I don’t know any numbers for taxis. I could feel the tears starting to come, the trickle of vulnerability rolling down my cheeks as I started the hike to the main road. Once I was away from the school I started bawling. Picture it, thirty something female in dress clothes trudging along a poverty stricken street in ninety degree heat crying her eyes out. Humiliating. And all I could think was I hope I don’t have to make an emergency squat around here.
Before I made it to the main street, a taxi did come along. Thank you, God. I think a very nice Thai man called one for me. He spoke to me (as I was ambling along, crying, clenching my butt cheeks together to prevent further humiliation) and asked me in very broken English if I needed a taxi. I looked around thinking maybe he was a taxi driver but I did not see a car. He motioned for me to wait nearby; I think he was going to call a taxi for me but I wasn’t sure. And I couldn’t wait. Unfortunately, my Thai has not advanced enough to say that I was suffering from explosive diarrhea and must get to the hospital ASAP. So, I kept walking.
I made it to the hospital without any incidents. The waterworks stopped (from one end anyway) and, as an added bonus, the nurse who checked my vitals did not have to bring out the special blood pressure cuff (the non-Thai sized one). I was beginning to feel at ease. The doctor was very kind as she told me I had food poisoning. She prescribed a shot of antibiotic and then five more days of oral antibiotics to fix me up. I was then led to the injection room. Doesn’t that sound horrible—injection room? I was thinking (hoping against hope rather) that they would be able to just give me the shot in my arm and be done with it. Ha! I can add delusional to the list of ails that were troubling me. The little Thai nurse came in and said that the shot would be in my buttocks. That would mean that I would have to bare my bottom to this little lady whose upper thigh is as big around as my upper arm. She made a gesture that meant I should disrobe and she disappeared behind the curtain. I was sick, but not sick enough to have this thought make me feel even more ill that I already was. I had just recently been told by a Muay Thai boxer from Holland that I had the biggest ass he’s ever seen (I personally think he’s been punched ten too many times in his little Dutch head which has thus skewed his vision, but still) so I wasn’t about to get naked in front of this little slip of a thing. She came back in and there I was, fully clothed. Maybe she can give it to me through my skirt? I laid down on my belly, pulled my skirt down a bit and proffered her an ample patch of the upper hip region which seemed to satisfy her. Another saving grace.
It wasn’t over though. I made it back to my apartment only to vomit violently two hours later. I never vomit when I am sick. Still later, I had a fever. What was this? I thought I was supposed to be getting better. Wasn’t that shot in the derrière worth anything? I began to panic. I couldn’t call anyone because I was out of minutes on my cell phone (I had called Stefanie to convert my Celsius temperature to Fahrenheit for me and to get a little bit of familial sympathy). Should I go back to the doctor? Maybe I was misdiagnosed? What if I die in the middle of the night, alone in my apartment?
About this time, the academic director called to make sure I was okay. She is the sweetest, most maternal person I have ever met. She offered to bring me some congee (rice soup) because that is one of the two things the doctor said I could eat (the other was clear soup—yum). I spoke with her husband, who is also my principal, and asked if I should take some Tylenol. “Why wouldn’t you take some Tylenol?” Huh, good question. Why does perspective and common sense go out the window when you don’t feel well? He suggested I take the next day off as well. I guess if I’m asking stupid questions like that, I wouldn’t be of much use in the classroom.
Anyway, I woke up feeling much better. No fever. No nausea. Not much of the other stuff either. I spent the day watching borrowed movies (Family Man, French Kiss, Great Expectations—I always forget how much I love that movie). So tomorrow, it’s back to the grind.

Here I go again

The whirlwind has finally settled down, or perhaps it’s just the calm before the storm. Either way, I am currently enjoying a brief period of relative inactivity which is quite blissful. Coming back to Bangkok has been exhausting, crazy, frenetic—and loud. In some ways I feel like the mute button was on for the five weeks that I was home in Virginia. I think at times I could literally hear the grass growing it was so quiet in Williamsburg (yes, even living with Stefanie, Diesel, Daniel, and Lizam) but now the volume is back on at full blast.
My first day and a half back in Thailand I spent adjusting to the time change and schlepping my stuff to my new apartment downtown. Then the new teachers arrived. We have about thirty new teachers this year and most of them had to find housing. For two days, four other returning teachers and I showed the newbies various housing options. This was a bigger task than I had imagined. When I arrived last year, I had already picked out a place on-line and moved right in. I knew that I did not want to have to haggle with a Thai landlord about whether or not they would replace a brown plaid couch with a solid green one before I moved in while at the same time fighting jet lag, acclimating to the intense heat, and struggling with the language. There were a few teachers who made this same decision but it still left twenty five or so people who needed new pads and fast.
Since we are not real estate agents, all we could do was show the new teachers the places that we know about. Places that we live, places where our friends live, that sort of thing. The housing possibilities in Bangkok are endless, but the affordable housing options with all the western amenities are a little more finite. We get a 13,000 baht housing allowance (about $370) which is plenty for a modest Thai studio or one bedroom apartment near school or downtown. Some of our teachers even pay as little as $171 a month for an apartment.
I guess I had imagined that most of the new teachers would just be ready to settle in anywhere, figured that many of them would be flexible and understand that living in Thailand is not going to be like living stateside. This would probably explain my surprise-which-quickly-turned-to-annoyance when I heard a myriad of complaints and demands. I want something bigger. There isn’t a pool. I need a bathtub. There isn’t enough light. I want a separate living area. They don’t allow pets. There isn’t an oven. We want two bedrooms for when guests come and visit. This is too far from the skytrain. This place is really noisy. This one feels too much like a hotel. I want to live in a brand new apartment because I don’t like other people’s germs (believe it or not, I’m not making this up). After two days of this, I decided they didn’t need my services anymore.
The next week was spent in meetings and setting up my classroom by day and dinners catching up with old friends and making new friends by night. It has been fascinating meeting the new teachers, hearing their stories, listening to their initial reactions about life in Bangkok. I have enjoyed being the semi-seasoned expat and giving helpful hints to the new residents on where to eat, where to shop, what to try, what not to try. Another benefit to helping with the new teacher orientation is that now I know all of their names.
Tomorrow is the first day of school for the students. I think I am ready (or will be after a few more hours of planning at home this evening). Wish me luck!

In a strange place

Two days before my flight leaves for home, I find myself in a strange place mentally. My brain is discombobulated. I have been exceptionally weepy--weepy like the fourth grader I was in Mrs. Richardson's class, back when a sarcastic remark or unkind look sent me into hysterics. I spent the better part of this morning crying at the immigration office. A man in a very large blue turban would not stop looking at me as I was sobbing wrecklessly, irrationally. Last night at a bar I hugged a friend goodbye, a teacher who will not be back next year, and I started to cry. And once I started, I couldn't stop. I had to abandon my mango daquiri and go home because this human faucet was stuck on full blast. (I think it was the violent, chest-heaving sobs coupled with the hickups that caused me to vomit out the taxi window on the ride home and not the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed.)

Normally, I can keep my head together. It's only on the precipice of big changes that I fall apart. The summer before I started teaching I had a spell. The October after Michael went back to Indiana I was in a similar place. Last July before I left for Thailand I lost it temporarily.

I recognize this as fear. The paralyzing fear of being in a new situation and not knowing the outcome. Will I be able to do it, will I do it with grace, and will I be successful?

Koh Samet

About thirty teachers travelled to Koh Samet for the end of the year beach trip. I took it really easy and indulged in several pineapple shakes and a foot massage on the beach. I think I could live on an island for a summer. Anyone want to join me?