Top 10s

Top ten things I won’t miss about Thailand:
10. Soi dogs
9. Thai politics
8. Soi dogs with cleft palates
7. “Hey you!”
6. Soi dogs wandering into my classroom
5. Thai ice coffee
4. Soi dog’s crap on the streets
3. Rainy season that only decides to actually rain when I am (a) a mile from home with no umbrella or (b) on a ferry to a remote island.
2. Soi dogs with no fur
1. 12-hour overnight: bus rides/train rides/boat rides


Top ten things I will miss about Thailand:
10. Everyone within a mile radius of my home keeping daily logs of where I’m going and where I’ve been.
9. The multi-faceted mass transit system in Bangkok.
8. Daily pilgrimages to 7-11.
7. Visiting the orphanages.
6. Some of my fellow foreign language department teachers.
5. The natural beauty of Thailand including but not limited to: Khao Yai, Railey, Chiang Rai, Ko Tao
4. Budgeting 3 dollars a day for the most amazing Thai food.
3. Language lessons with my laundry lady that end up in giggles about funny translations.
2. Some incredible laborers for God’s kingdom in this country.
1. New, Phong, Priew, Mint, Nook, Wun, Ploy, Baitoey, Nan, Pea, Tey, James, Joon, Phi, Ann, Mew, Meow, May, Ice, and all of my other wonderful students who absolutely made my time in Thailand worthwhile!!

Travel Blog; Part Four (of Four)

Vangviang is a weird place. It was the last stop on my journey through S.E. Asia and conveniently also a required weekend trip to earn myself 30 more days in Thailand. The town in the north-central part of Laos is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. The small town is at the base of huge limestone cliffs partly covered in the Asian kinds of green trees that can manage to grow cliffside.

Lonely Planet writes that most travelers have a love-hate relationship with the town and I certainly found this to be true during my two days there. It’s centrality and accessibility for mainstream backpackers, combined with the sheer beauty of it, make it a required stop on any circuit through the country. Of course because of the unwritten requirement, the town has become somewhat of a backpacker's Mecca. Bars line the streets blasting Friends episodes and The Simpsons, while backpackers sample mediocre fare and discuss whether BeerLao is better than Singha, or Tiger is better than BeerLao, or Singha is better than Tiger etc. well into the early morning hours. The next morning everybody splits up into their respective “adventure groups.“ While some like myself pilgrimage to the cliffs for a few bolted climbs, others head to the river for float trips, caving, biking, hiking, kayaking or a blend of any of those. Then the night comes and Friends starts playing on every street corner and the beer debate begins anew. There is no discernible culture necessarily, other than the culture of 20-something Western European thriftiness. Like I said, Vangviang is a very weird place. Weird but certainly beautiful.

Intermission - Drill Baby Drill

No. Not really.

Because the vote is a week away and because anyone who knows me, realizes that I rarely fail to form a political opinion about just about anything, I must make a claim about where my vote will go this year.

A couple of months ago Jason asked me what issues this year are the trump cards that could swing my vote one way or another. After a bit of thought and a realization that this election holds a whole new set of deal-breakers than the last election, much like the rest of America, I finally settled on a solid and logical plan for the reduction of American’s reliance on foreign oil being the issue that seems most comprehensive of all reasons I would prefer one candidate to another. Wait….that was important to me during the Bush-Gore elections too, but I digress.

Anyways, Obama’s got some good things to say about this. He wants to ensure a programmatic regulation of the financial system by creating a National Infrastructure Reinvestment Bank. Through this bank he plans to create millions of jobs in support of building more solid and green mass transit-systems, and up-keeping the ones we have now. He also has planned some detailed goals about cap-and-trade programs to reduce our emissions and require that by 2012, ten percent of our electricity is generated from renewable sources. Meanwhile McCain chants “drill baby drill“. A long term move that the Department of Energy claims will be “insignificant” both in results and effect.

Since I would assume most of my reliable readers here have already decided who they will vote for on November 6th, I’m not writing this to sway anyone (aside from maybe encouraging any potential Brady bailers to stay firm when it comes to punching that little hole). I’m just saying that all of the issues that are most important to me (including positive diplomacy with middle-east regions and bringing our troops home, a suffering global economy, environmental concerns, etc.) seem to be very obviously intertwined and therefore my choice this week is an easy one.

I’m also very excited to finally vote in a swing state for once and I hope Colorado is the new Florida, leaving the whole world in balance while the absentee ballots pour in……

Travel Blog; Part Three (of Four)

I didn’t tour the Literature Museum in Hanoi. Rather I stormed it. After taking a motorbike taxi ride that, given the small distance covered was a significant rip-off geared toward the naïve traveler, I was finished being taken for my “money” in Vietnam. I pushed past the throng of Japanese tourists taking pictures of such useless figures as trashcans and billboards towards the interior of the museum which blessedly, was a aesthetically calming courtyard. A delightful retreat for a tired mind and body.

Debating every price really takes it out of me. Especially when the locals insist that you give them more than the price you agreed on and know just enough English to give you some far-fetched reason why they agreed to a price, but the conditions of the trip or transaction warranted more from my pocket book. Usually the circumstance allowed for me to give the negotiated amount and turn my back and simply walk away. This time at the museum however, I didn’t have the correct change so of course the taxi driver sped off with my larger bill. Sitting in the courtyard next to me was two 40-something American men, one of whom enthusiastically commented to the other, “Did you hear that tour guide say this place is where they used to train kids to Kung-fu?” Surely I don't act like those kinds of tourists. Such banter only served to irritate me further so with a very blatant roll of my eyes, I continued my journey inward to the next stop in the museum which happened to be a small room with a few chairs set up to listen to Vietnamese women play traditional instruments. Ahhh what a retreat this was. Much to my disappointment, the ladies only played for 30 minutes. I would have listened to them play those weird looking instruments for hours to sooth away the building tension I felt while traveling Vietnam, getting royally ripped off at every turn. As the ladies were packing their instruments up, I wandered up to the tip jar and of course, did what anyone else would in my position. I gave significantly more than I had paid for taxi rides all week.

The morning I left Vietnam on a flight to Bangkok, I had to ease through an alley past a man carrying a barely-live chicken upside-down by the feet, with it’s wigs splayed out across nearly the entire alley, feathers flying everywhere. Yes, I said to myself. It’s time to go home. A Buddhist proverb that I read recently says that nothing like traveling makes you realize where you home is. I guess I understand the concept here, but I would venture to say that Buddha (or whoever actually said this) failed to point out the significance of making one’s home fluid and transitional. Littleton is my home that I think is referenced in this statement, but I have certainly felt “at home” many places like Denver, Oklahoma and now Thailand.

These experiences in Vietnam left me yearning for some delicious Pad See Eww and the friendly Thai-English blend of conversation with motor-taxi drivers in Saraburi, while they genuinely drive around lost taking me home and actually get stuck in traffic jams, but of course never charge me extra for it :)

Travel Blog; Part Two (of Four)

According to the statistics at the War Remnants Museum in Saigon, 8 million Vietnamese died during war with the U.S. and around two-thirds of those were civilian casualties. You do the math. The number of people caught in the crossfire is staggering. During the 20th century Vietnam was also involved with two other major wars with the French and the Chinese on their turf. The fact that a white chick can safely travel solo in this once war-torn country is a true testament to the progressive resiliency of an amazing culture.

Walking around major city centers of Ho Chi Minh City and Hanoi, I didn’t really notice the average age of the locals until, well, I started noticing it. Unlike Thailand and the U.S., it is rare to see people older than 40 riding motorbikes to work on the streets, driving buses, walking in and out of banks, working at restaurants and hotels, etc. and I think, in part, the statistics claimed at the museum might explain why.

In the north region of Vietnam, I got to take a two day cruise on the beautiful emerald South China Sea through a rocky region known as Halong Bay. I had the best company of travelers on the cruise and spent one night on the deck under the stars talking American politics to two 20-something couples from Czech Republic and Sweden. They had the usual questions about why individual votes don’t really count in the U.S. (I tried my best to explain the math behind the electorate) and why Bush got elected a second time when people didn’t really like him after the first four years (for which I didn’t really have a reasonable explanation but I think the two are somehow related). The question that struck me the most is when they asked how it feels to tell the local people that I’m from the U.S. and what kind of reaction I get.

In Thailand, my students, friends in my community, and random taxi drivers looove that I’m from Am-er-ree-gaa. They love to cheer Obama, ask me about snow, sing to me their favorite Justin Timberlake tunes, and just recently have asked me to set their daughters up with Jason‘s friends. Conversely, there’s not much casual conversation about America in Vietnam. By the end of my trip I was barely whispering my answer when the locals would ask me where I came from. It’s not that I don’t love my country and am proud of my heritage of course. It’s just that many people my age in the states had parents that were severely impacted by the war in Vietnam and after observing the culture and reading up on a few statistics, I would venture to say that nearly everyone I talked to while traveling the beautiful country lost someone close to them at the hands of my government, often in a very harsh and violent way. It would be a sincere understatement to say that I hope their traumatic history will never repeat itself.

Travel Blog; Part One (of Four)

There I was after hour four on the bus through Cambodia’s remote frontier, linking my trip to the beautiful ancient ruins of Angkor Wat, to the next stage of my journey. I had grown weary of riding the bus by this point. Though the frontier is splendidly rural, unspoiled and certainly a joy to observe from the windows of a bus, I was ready to reach my destination, the capitol city Phnom Penh. That’s when my carriage to the capitol got caught in the worst traffic jam I’ve ever seen.(Including LA, Bangkok, and last December when Jason and I were vectored over Loveland pass on a Friday at midnight because of an accident in Eisenhower tunnel!) During the bus ride, I had been seated next to the only other traveler aboard, and while I was content to ride the jam out, he was not. After some confusion, a bit of translation, and lots of questions to the locals on the bus he determined with more than 50% certainty that we were about 7km from town, and it would take around four hours for our bus to clear the bottleneck of other buses, motorbikes, vans and cars, that were returning from a religious pilgrimage to the countryside by way of this one-lane, barley paved highway.

“Get off now, we’re walking,” he said. Playing the more than 50% odds and remembering my 5k ‘fun run’ times from my days in Stillwater enjoying the Juke Joint Jog, I figured it was worth a shot. So I got off and I walked, at breakneck speed jumping muddy ditches, dodging other Cambodian walkers, pushing and weaving through congested bottlenecks of motorbikes and moving horizontally through narrow breaks in bus traffic. At some point my 200 baht (6 USD) backpack straps broke and I had to tie a them into knots around the waste strap, but that only stopped our forward progress for a moment and after a bit of adapting, I had a bag that could be carried on my back again.

It was crazy! But it was a blast and in the end it worked. We reached the other side of the traffic jam in about an hour of speed walking with only a few bumps, bruises and burns from running into motorbike pedals and bus bumpers. I got the best cardio work-out since leaving the states. And I think in a few months my lungs might recover from the fumes as well. Definitely worth getting off the bus.

A New Walk

A few weeks ago, I thought about staying in Thailand for a second semester. Now that we have officially wrapped up with finals this semester, the 2 months that I have remaining in Thailand are ticking away faster than I would have ever anticipated. The thought of leaving my students after only six months seems incredibly depressing. Especially the students that have really touched my heart in one way or another. (Particularly a 14 year old named New in my Reading/Writing class and a few of her M3 classmates. I will tell the story of New someday soon, I promise, but for now let me just say that she is my sister in Thailand that I never knew until now.) I have my kiddos, my laundry lady’s pleas for me to stay, and the few friendships I’ve made around town pulling me one direction, and in the other direction the pull of mountains covered in snow, my skis in the closet, who the expat missionaries at the house-church I attend in Saraburi refer to as my “Colorado Magnet” (aka Jason), special family holidays and my dear friends in the states.

Going through the decision making process about whether to stay or not, I am reminded of a good friend who recently decided to leave the life she had come to know in Denver, and return to her home state in the Mid-West. Remembering the thoughts that she shared through that process encouraged me greatly in the decision of my own because like myself, she was leaving dear children that she had been mentoring for a long time, and the feelings of guilt and anxiety about leaving them at times was overwhelming. She left though, and I think so will I. There comes a point where you can no longer take responsibility for each individual (or in my case each individual’s English education) and trust that God has used you to equip them for good things in their future, independent of your consistent involvement. God’s love for His children here at SBW is so apparent and I trust fully on His continuous pursuit of their precious hearts for many years to come, with or without me.

Getting to Know You, Getting to Know All About You

Some Thoughts on Edumacation

A couple of weeks ago I read an article, maybe in the Times or Newsweek, that instead of delivering information, educators of this generation will be more responsible for directing their student’s efforts to acquire information effectively and efficiently. Rather than passing down knowledge, good teachers, the ones who leave lasting and useful impressions on the lives that they touch and teach, will be better equipping their students by directing them to find the information for themselves in a educated and purposeful manner.

There is certainly some truth to this, thank you world wide web. It does not take long for the new teachers at SBW to find out that nearly any assignment given as homework, will be turned in a few days later as a regurgitated forgery of internet sources, lacking independent thought and originality. The real challenge for me, has been to create assignments that inspire creativity and require student’s to come up with their own thoughts in their own time and still allow for the google searches that are so familiar and comfortable. Of course some of my assignments have worked better than others, and often I actually have appreciated the efforts of my students to research on-line.

The “post-modern” me understands how inseparable creativity and originality is from the internet at the present. So, needless to say, I have truly been stretched the past few months to figure out exactly what I’m teaching and what is the best method of making English enjoyable and applicable, while still maintaining the educational integrity necessary to overcome a temptation to “cut“ and “paste.”

Why God Doesn’t Want Me to Hate Nude Beaches Anymore

I’ve always had something against nude beaches. I’ve never actually been to a nude beach, but just knowing they exist has always stirred up an odd mix of fear, or denial, or hatred in me. Like the people that go to them are probably only rich European scam-artists, Columbian drug dealers, and Russians who don’t know what it means to stay faithful their spouses. I don’t know why I’ve pieced it together that way in my mind, but I have. The seeds of this perception were probably calculatedly placed in my mind by some junior high youth pastor as an attempt teach the importance of modesty, but I will save the ranting about youth pastoral technique for someone who has studied it a bit more.

The reason I mention this is to the tell the story of two weeks ago, when I was basking in the sun on a beautiful beach (not a nude one!) with Jason in Malaysia. I had to make the journey south to get a new visa. Thailand is notoriously known for it’s human trafficking so, understandably, they don’t just want people coming and going as they please, especially for extended amounts of time without jumping through some hoops. Malaysia on the other hand, has made an entire tourism industry out of attracting Westerners in need of the proper stamps to their boarder island Penang, because of a legendarily lax Thai Consulate. In between dropping my application off on Friday morning (which took all but 10 minutes) and picking it up Monday morning (which took another 10 minutes) Jason and I got to spend some good beach time relaxing equator style, as well as a couple of days in KL, from which Jason has the better story to share. Just ask him about the plumbing in low budget guest houses.

On a side note, the farther removed I am from my students the more skin I’m willing to show. For instance in Bangkok, I will wear shorts once in a while and all the way in Penang, I had absolutely no reservations about bringing my two-piece swimsuit for the lukewarm water and ample sunshine. No reservations that is, until I looked around. Malaysia (which I didn’t learn until arrival) is a major travel destination for people from India and countries nearby like Pakistan. Because of this, the cultural and religious norm is for women to walk the beaches fully clad in Burkhas, just like the ones us Americans saw on the news when we invaded Afganistan. Some women were wearing the full garb with only a slit where their eyes were, and a few more rebellious ladies left most of their faces uncovered, but still in the full black cover-up dress. Fortunately, most of the women didn’t let their rather confining beach attire get in the way of some good ole’ banana boat fun. Everybody loves a banana boat. We decided that if they haven’t already made those outfits out of good moisture-wicking fabric, then maybe Go-Lite or Royal Robbins should start a new market.

As I was lying on the beach that day in Malaysia, feeling completely scandalous because of my exposed face and everything else an American-style bikini doesn’t leave up to the imagination, I started to wonder how all the women around me were judging me and I was beginning to worry that maybe they had the same perception of me as I have of all of those women that go top-less at other beaches. And I began to think it very unfair that they would consider me a drug-dealer or someone who cant be faithful to just one mate just because they could see my belly-button. So needless to say God used this time spent on the beach with my wonderful boyfriend, to convict me of some judgments I’ve had on people I’ve never met. Afterall, if He had it His way, we’d all be running around stark naked and it’s because of our own fallen nature that instead, we’re running around deciding what is and what isn’t appropriate to wear at a beach or anywhere at all. So I’m not saying that I’ll ever go to a nude beach. It’s not a part of my culture so I don’t think I’d ever get over the awkwardness of it. I’m just saying that from now on, I might try to be a bit slower to make judgments of people I’ve never met who come from cultures I’ve never experienced. Maybe the ladies in Burkhas will cut me the same sort of slack.

"Get on Blondie. You Have No Choice"

I cant read minds. But if I could I would imagine that was what the motorcycle-taxi driver was thinking (in Thai of course!) a week ago while I was attempting to bargain down the ridiculous price of 100 baht to drive me into town. I was aghast when he quoted me the price, but when reality set in, he was right. I had no choice. This encounter occurred after spending a week in Chiang Rai, Thailand‘s beautiful northern province. I had a brief break from school so I headed up north to stay at the AKHA Children‘s Home (www……). The blessing that spending time at this wonderful place was for me, is another blog altogether. Right now I just wish to tell the story of my journey back home to Saraburi.

I spent a few days in Chiang Mai (just South of Chiang Rai) after the children’s home, vacationing and relaxing before the 10 hour bus ride back to Bangkok. Rumors and stories have been told that bus rides can be an adventure in foreign countries, and this occasion proved no different. Aside from the length of the trip, was the crazy lane changes the driver made through the hilly terrain of the North. He would change three lanes without so much as a signal, going downhill at high-rates of speed, just to be on the inside of the next turn. At times I felt as though the outside wheels left the ground on each curve. I had the front seat on top of this double-decker, so needless to say, I was glad to not be one of those with the disposition to get motion sickness. Using my growing Thai vocabulary, I asked the bus “steward“ what time he expected the bus to get to Bangkok and got a reply somewhere along the line of “thirty-three o‘clock.” Often I find myself wishing people would just talk to me in Thai and leave me to sort out the translation rather than attempting English, but I digress.

At some point the police stopped the bus and a 20-something woman was escorted off, and at some point I decided it would be a good idea to cut the journey short of Bangkok by one hour and try catch a train from the neighboring province to my home in Saraburi. Assuming that the natural place for the bus to stop would be at the Ayuttaya station (it is the original capitol of Siam after all and in 10 hours, the bus makes many stops at many terminals), this seemed like a good plan. Surely where there is a bus stop, nearby will be a train stop as well. What happened however, was something like the bus pulling onto the shoulder of the highway, the steward walking up with my bag and telling me I had arrived at my destination. Reluctantly I got off. Right there on the highway. With the shiny lights of Ayuttaya far off in the distance. Fortunately, there was a taxi-motorcycle driver sleeping nearby under a road sign just waiting for an opportunity like this to pull up. The fumes and sound of the bus driving away awakened him with enough consciousness to know that a Farang was standing there on the side of the highway, with no choice but to pay his exorbitant price for a lift to the train station. By his mercy, I got a 20 baht discount for my bargaining efforts, but really, he was right. I had no choice.

The train ride back to Saraburi was what I expected. Lots of people crammed into a tiny space. 33 o‘clock turned out to be about 11 pm, so needless to say, I was tired and just wanted to be in bed. Of course, not before a little girl on the train petted me though, much to the embarrassment of her mom. There was a man holding a spaniel puppy next to me and the girl thought it completely natural to pet first the blonde puppy, then the blonde woman. It was quite funny and everyone nearby on the train had a good laugh. After the day was over and I was finally comfortably settled in my air-conditioned bedroom, I had a chance to sit back and really savor all of the events of the day. This is a wonderful country. Even it’s toothless, smiling, overpriced taxi-drivers, it’s waiters on a bus who don’t know how to tell time in English but try anyways, and it‘s 3 year olds who have never seen light hair before. It’s all wonderful.

Good Morning!

I have found it surprising how quickly I have become integrated into this culture so far away from home. Of course I have no grandiose plans of fitting in, to the point of merging within the culture so much that I am no longer consider a Farang (foreigner from the West) to them. My blonde hair and green eyes will prevent that. But I have found that I am starting to make friends. The lady who owns the hair salon always wants to talk to me about where I have been and where I am going. Despite how it sounds, she is not nosy. We have just found that with her limited English, and my limited Thai, this is the easiest conversation that covers the most information. Today she was eager to offer me my first fried bug. It was a beetle of sorts and incredibly squishy and salty. Of course I didn’t turn it down, but should the offer come up again tomorrow, I will politely say I don’t care for eating bugs. Which reminds me, I must look up “No, thank you” in my translation book tonight. Then there’s the lady that owns the washing machine that I use on a regular basis. She has become my favorite neighbor. Her smile is a genuine reflection of, I’m positive, the kind and thoughtful heart behind it. Conveniently, she also has an eager-to-learn English mind which combines nicely with my eager-out-of-necessity desire to learn Thai. She and I always try our best to exchange a few thoughts in a broken Thai/English blend. I’m interested to see how our friendship progresses over the next five months because there is something about it that seems, well, different. Like, I think we could fill many afternoons with insightful conversation, but at this time and in this place, our vocabulary and sentence structure limits us to just a few words and a couple of laughs everyday.

Following those conversations are the 4 or 5 shop owners who stop me to say hello, and of course my favorite little boy who is always on his bike and always yells “Hello! Good morning!!” to me, no matter what time of the morning, afternoon, or night it actually is. At first it was too cute to correct. The last couple of days though, we’ve been learning new greetings like ‘good afternoon’ and ‘nice to meet you’. I am here to teach English after-all.

All of this happens everyday in Groundhog day-esque fashion. Two weeks ago it would take me 5 minutes to walk my block of the world in Saraburi, Thailand. Suddenly it is a 20 minute adventure. So long American sense of urgency and efficiency. I will say ‘good morning!’ to you again in five months.

Contact Info

Carly Witt
Saraburiwitthayakhom, Foreign Language Department
532 Phaholyothin Road
Muang, Saraburi, Thailand 18000

My phone number: (66)890-587-384

Details in the Fabric

Sunday June, 22nd

Hold your own, know your name, go your own way; And everything will be fine. -Mr. A-Z

This morning was unsuccessful. I had grand schemes of waking up early (which didn’t happen) to walk my ever-increasing pile of sweaty, stinky laundry to the nearby street store that boasted one or two washing machines in the back for 20 Baht. I don’t have a laundry bag yet, just a large plastic bag used to transport some of my newly purchased school clothes, so needless to say a westerner (Farang) roaming my neighborhood streets with a huge plastic bag of dirty clothes was a comical sight. I’m sure not nearly as funny though, as the Farang walking back with the same dirty bag half an hour later. By this time the handles to the fragile bag had grown thin and I was beginning to worry that they would tear, leaving me to pick up my clothes strewn all over the street, motorcycles and cars whizzing and swerving by. Now that would have been a funny sight. The good news is that the bag didn’t break and I have one or two more outfits for the first couple of days at school so I will show up clean and stink-free. It will be soon though, that I will become desperate. Word on the street (soi) is that I have a neighbor who will do laundry at a reasonable price. I’m not sure how to find her, maybe knock on each door holding a dirty shirt and bottle of detergent until it seems like someone responds with a price. We’ll see how desperate I get. My hope is to read this blog again in just a few short weeks and laugh because tasks such as doing laundry are easy and routine.

This afternoon I will cross the soi to go to the street market. I’m getting hungry so a chicken skewer with peanut curry and maybe a freshly fried pastry, followed by the fresh dragon fruit and the mangotines in my fridge at home sound like a perfect way to end cap an unsuccessful day in Saraburi on a very positive note. Maybe while I’m out I’ll also take a walk looking for this allusive laundry facility, sans fragile plastic bag of course.

Thais Blame Bush Too

Wednesday, June 18th

A joke from Noot today: In Japan the people have in intelligence to develop the country and the natural disaster of volcanoes to destroy it. In the U.S. they have hard work to develop the country and the natural disaster of tornadoes to destroy development. Here in Thailand we have many friendly people to develop the country and our natural disaster that destroys development is our politicians.

Apparently they don’t like politics in this democracy either. They also complain every night on the news and radio about the rising gas prices. I’m not that far away from home after-all. Apparently they’re upset that the U.S. government is warring with Thailand’s only source of fuel, driving up their prices with no involvement in the dispute, just the repercussions of the questionable decision to invade and occupy.

I find it surprising what takes adaptation for me in this new culture and new way of life. The typically difficult aspects of Asian culture, like rice and noodles for every meal, the lack of air-conditioning in a tropical climate, and many many many people in every public place are easy adjustments. What I find difficult is that I cant wear my shoes in public showers. Like the shower at the public pool I enjoyed as a refreshing retreat from the humidity two days ago. It was all I could do to not tip-toe my way through the bathroom, looking completely ridiculous in my quest to seek only dry spots to lay my delicate feet. The American in me (like that little imaginary person sitting on your shoulder whispering the reminders you heard from you mom in elementary) kept telling me how easy it is to spread germs in public restrooms and how really, I should be wearing my shower shoes. Such a thing is unheard of in Thailand though. Barefoot is the way in the land of smiles.

Land of Smiles

Sunday, June 15th

Actually I’m not entirely sure that it is the 15th. Or Sunday for that matter. My last few days have been filled with traveling for hours and hours by airplane. So far that I really think to go any farther would be to start getting closer to home rather than further from it. So goes life on a sphere. Anyways, I have also spent the last two days sleeping off the inevitable jet lag and relaxing with my host family in Bangkok. The way God has provided for me in these beginning days of my life in a new culture truly amaze me. He has blessed me with a family (Churaipon, Kanit, Ingsong and live-in family friend Noot) of honest, seeking pursuers of Christ (a rarity in a society dominated by Buddhism), who are sensitive to my culture adjustments. So sensitive in fact, that tonight they made me a side dish with the family meal that included a less spicy version of what they were eating. Chu (my dear host mom) wouldn’t even let me try the spicy version. I guess she doesn’t want to scare me off too soon.

They keep telling me that I fit in perfectly with the family. Like I’ve been here for months rather than two days. I’m not sure how someone couldn’t fit in though. I’m waited on for every meal. Escorted to the market (I don’t even have to haggle my own prices!), and allowed the freedom to sleep as long as I can stand the heat (which is more like a June in Oklahoma than I expected….just a tad more humid).

I am excited to go to the school next week though. To really get started on my life, my work, and my ministry here in this beautiful country. Chu and I were talking today about how to many Thai Christians, work and ministry are separate, but how we think that Christ desires us to view them as one of the same. To live is to minister. God has us on this earth to be everyday missionaries. It is not to be separated from what we consider our working life, our free time, or our church life. That is the focus I hope to reflect on during the trials and joys that the next few months hold. What an exciting journey. I don’t know what tomorrow holds, well actually tomorrow I’m playing 18 holes of golf with Kanit and Ingsong, but next week….I’ll just have to see.