What Your Shoes Say About You

Recently a friend posted a blog about what your clothes, shoes, or car says about the owner. A sort of statement of comfort, reliability, employment, or circumstance. While I, as most girls, live in a variety of shoes, I have to say the one's that mean the most to me, are my Adidas. My mom bought these white shoes, with blue stripes for me before I moved to NYC. She said I needed good walking shoes. This was before I realized the supply line shame in the majority of the name brands such as Nike, Reebok and the lot. Anyways, these shoes remind me of the comfort, support and stability, as well as fashion that my friends and family have provided me with throughout my nomadic journey.

These shoes have provided exactly what I needed in the most important aspects of my life. They have gotten me up mountains to hill-tribe villages in Burma. Steep terrain and rice terraces to ancient hidden temples, kept me from spraining an ankle jumping off an elephant, and protected me from hookworms when I had to wade through a flooded town in order to get to my laundry lady (I never made it to her, the water came to mid thigh and I decided to turn back and hand wash what I had left instead of risk an infection). These shoes have also seen sorrow. They adorned my feet while I woke early and rode in a silent car and motorbike parade to hike the slippery slopes of 5 leveled waterfall in search of a missing friend.

Aside from those adventures, they also served the purpose of fun. Running on the track and playing soccer with the locals in my town in Thailand, keeping toilet water from my feet in a third world train, and relaxing walks with my Sophie at the dog park. These shoes have seen the world.

These shoes have been to over 7 countries, and they have the wear to prove it. These white classy shoes are now brown and torn from all of their adventures. These shoes have been comfortable, cute, and resourceful, and although these "slave made" shoes are tainted with blood, tears and lost childhoods, they also served the purpose to restore some hope in those of similar lot.

I guess what my shoes say about me is that I am adventurous and live life to the fullest. I don't place high value on material things and am very caring, as even though my shoes are dirty and torn, they are 4 years old. And so, with my dad's work account, and a nagging friend who says, I "can't be a gypsy forever and need to settle down," I retired my battered, beaten and torn Adidas for some $130 New Balance black and trainers. I never liked this brand before, but they are Fair Trade, free for me, and cute, so we shall try them out and say "farewell" to the old faithful blues.

For more information on Supply Line's of your favorite products and Fair Trade, check out: http://www.free2work.org

Saddle Up Cowboy

Soi Cowboy, a street known for two things; prostitution and tourists.  The streets are filled with old white men holding hands with their young Thai, “girlfriends” who they have more than likely purchased for the night, if they have not purchased them that night, they have purchased them many nights ago, and these “lucky” girls have struck it big by keeping a Farang man. While these men are in the street, on the sidelines are scantily dressed women, grabbing at everything in sight, trying to get you into their bar.

My guide took me behind the curtain of what he says is one of the high-class joints. Girls who come to the city from the poor regions and hill tribes to work in hotels or at restaurants usually end up working on these streets in these clubs; the "lucky" one's at least, the majority end up being sold to a brothel and sent locked up like a prisoner, servicing up to 40 clients a night before being tossed out like disposable good. Once they have been seasoned and have paid off their debt, they are able to negotiate their own prices, and move up to more profitable and safer establishments, such as this. This is the same establishment glamorized in the movie, "The Hangover 2." The movie did a horrible job at displaying the accuracy of the club. In here, the girls have clothing (barely, though they are covered) and numbers. They dance in groups on the center island until an audience member pays the mamasan the 600 baht bar fee (this is a more expensive fee) and calls their number. The girls then are free to do as they please, and negotiate their own prices, with the man who paid the bar fee. Sometimes they will stay and flirt with the men other times, they will leave and go to another bar with the man, other times, its straight to the hotel and then back in time to try to dance their way into another man’s heart.

My guide called the mamasan over to our table, and we chatted with her for a bit. She used to be a bar girl herself, and now serves as the enforcer of her own club. She had some motherly tendencies, braiding my friends hair, giving affectionate hand massages and joking with us.  A girl came to try to talk to my guide, he said that I was his girlfriend, which was met with a pout. It didn’t stop her from trying to dance for his attention. When she didn’t get any, she decided to just talk with us instead. Her name is Apple. She is 25 years old. She is worried that even though she is “the most beautiful” girl at the club, she won’t be able to work much longer, the men like younger girls.

A Day in Bang

We set in for a day of tourism before working tonight. Staying on Khao San road can be very noisy, but at the same time, very local. It’s in the older part of the city, within walking distance to most historical attractions, and also many street vendors selling food and souvenirs right outside the hotels. The down side, at night it gets rowdy with the local lady boys trying to seduce backpackers and locals advertising for ping pong shows. Walking to the Grand Palace, which is home to the king of Thailand, and also a temple complex that looks as if my ten-year-old niece held it hostage with her Bedazzler. It also houses the Emerald Buddha. Luckily my skirt was long enough, where I didn’t have to pay a 200 baht deposit on some neon orange flowing pants for “modesty.”

We then walked to Wat Po. Which was under construction. Last time I tried to find this temple with a friend, we ended up lost in a mall for three hours waiting for the rain to subside and ended up back in a hotel eating pizza and watching a movie. So I was happy when the people we asked for directions actually knew where it was, and didn’t lead us to the other side of the city. This is home to the largest reclining Buddha in the world. Made of gold with mother of pearl feet. It’s hard for me to look at all these idols and not think the money would be better off somewhere else. If I melted this one Buddha, how many people could I feed? How many schools built? How many homes? Instead the gold is used for a palace-sized replica of Siddhartha, who was actually just a great teacher, who didn’t want to be worshiped or bowed to. In his lifetime, he actually sent away students who started to worship and bow to him as a god. It seems that every “religion” when left to man’s devices, turns into something is was not meant to be. Siddhartha, a teacher, is now a god, guarded by bedazzled demons.

We got our stuff together out of hotel storage and proceeded to the opposite end of the city to meet our host for the night. A jewelry designer/rugby player who has lived in Bangkok for the past 6 years, and is centrally located. Walking distance from my observations for the night.

Angkor Wat

We met some med students on the bus to Siem Riep, who had an extra bed in the room, and conveniently, we didn’t have a place to stay yet. Staying with them reduces the price to $6 USD a person per night. Score. Angkor Wat was definitely a sight to behold. Feeling as if you are stepping into a movie, and rightfully so, as many movies were filmed here. We stopped to laugh at some monkeys, as they rolled a few ancient relics off a rock, breaking them, and then running away like a teenage boy who just egged his crush’s house. Around every corner you can see the poverty in this nation in the people. The dirty kids who are selling trinkets for their parents, who are keeping a watchful eye from afar. Two boys were stick fighting on the ledge of an ancient temple and we struck up a conversation. Even the kids in this area can rattle off phrases and hold a conversation in languages such as English, Spanish, Thai, French, and Korean.  The boys of course asked for candy, we only had bread, which they gladly sat on the ledge of the temple and shared, while dropping their gum wrappers on the grass. As you walk into nearly every temple complex, there is a band of land mine victims with a sign saying they want to live in dignity, please make a donation, or buy a CD. They were actually pretty great musicians, regardless of if they had no hands, one arm, or were blind. Aside from the beggar kids who harass you for hours trying to sell postcards and bracelets (I asked them each time why they were not in school, where their mother was, always getting a response of, “I go school in morning” when I reminded them it was morning, they got a little flustered and one girl even said she didn’t like me) there was one boy who caught our eye. He had his school bag, and was wearing shoes, which was not typical for this area. I said hi and we passed which led him to follow us from behind. “I know a good photo,” he said timidly. His eyes lit up when we asked him where, he quickly took us to various placed in the temple and told us a little history. A hidden headless Buddha. “Khmer rouge take the head,” he told us as he got behind the Buddha, putting his head where the Buddha’s was supposed to be. He showed us hidden elephants, and many great photo spots. He was 11 years old, and when I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, he said, “Tour guide.” Usually the kids, who show you around or want a photo taken, will ask for money. This boy settled for English conversation, saying it helped him for his future. If you ever go to Cambodia, it is better to play a card game such as Uno, give food or candy, and make conversation with the peddlers, than to buy their good. The majority of the time, the money doesn’t go to feel or clothe them, it goes straight to their mothers and fathers drug and alcohol addiction.  If you really want to help, get them some food, or play a game, kids are kid no matter what their circumstance, and that little game you play, or the short attention you give them by conversing will last them a lot longer than the money you pay for a cheap bracelet. These kids are working, and are not free to play. So if you can give them a little bit of that freedom to be a kid, and play, or joke, it will benefit them.

The ride back to Phnom Penh was torturous, a woman crouching on the floor puking from the bumpy ride and constant horn honking did not help as we traveled to the city to go back to Bangkok on a 5-hour, one lane, primitive road. My friend got sick....really sick. I kept telling her not to eat the street food but she was trying to be "cultural" and "adventurous." The next day her meals would consist of 711 peanut M&M's and a cheese toasty.

Cambodia Would Never Know Drought

After finally finding a place to eat last night in the Riverside area, we walked along the boardwalk and observed the scene. It is interesting to see the tourist taking romantic strolls, Cambodian youth doing dance work outs and playing games, along side snack vendors selling fried spiders and fish. With the idyllically clean streets, under the fairy tale lampposts there are also a few families setting up for the night, their children sleeping in their laps as they overlook the river, while their other children bed barefoot in their pajamas, offering any type of service imaginable to the passers by, as a cop jokes with his friends and turns a blind eye.
We woke bright and early and went to the Russian Market for breakfast before doing some historical tourism. We may have caused a verbal argument between some Tuk Tuk drivers, but still managed to get a good deal. We took the long dusty road to The Killing Fields, where the Khmer Rouge would play loud music from a tree so that the moans could not be heard of the innocent people they were killing. More than 20,000 people died in this one small killing place. The 17 tiers of bones that were excavated are a humbling sight to see, while the children at the nearby school at recess create an eerie presence. They took them from S21 in the dead of night to avoid detection, also to avoid detection, they never shot their victims, they instead hit them in the head with blunt objects, cut their heads with machete’s, or sawed their neck with wood from a Palm tree. To avoid the stench, lye was placed over the mass grave, just in case someone was still alive.
Making our way back into the city, we stopped at S21, a former high school made into a prison camp. Classrooms were divided into small animal stalls with only a small square hole to peek into , a chain and bowl of water on the floor. This is the place people were taken before they went to The Killing Fields we visited. Taken in the dead of night to avoid detection. Of the rows and rows of photographs filling many rooms, only seven survived. They were placed in age groups; photos of men, then women, then teenagers by gender, then nearly a whole room full of pictures of children. A little toddler stuck on the wall as if he had neon lights. What was his crime? The fact that he was born to a teacher? Or someone with glasses? This reminds me of a student I have back home. His father was  a doctor in Cambodia, now works at a cereal packaging company. The price people pay for freedom is indeed high. We took a moment to look at the plumeria trees in the courtyard, surrounded by medieval playground equipment, which was turned into torture and interrogation devices before we boarded the bus for Siem Reap.

If The Heavens Could Cry.....

There is an old saying, “If the Heaven’s could cry, Cambodia would never know drought.” I always thought that was a sad saying, knowing the history of the country. But after visiting this land, I see the truth behind the words. In the next few installments, you will see the justification of this saying.
We arrived from the airport, our tuk tuk driver having to call the woman we were staying with for directions, because she lived in an unknown place. During this trip we would have to call her three more times for directions because no matter what we told the drivers, they never knew where we were going. To save money on this project, we decided to couch surf for a few nights. This was our first couch surfing experience. Our host gave us a key and then left. We were on our own. A musty room with a fan, a coconut mattress on the floor, and one pillow for two people, good thing I brought my own. We decided to try to find some dinner, we walked down the dark alley where children were riding bicycles that were bigger than them, nearly falling off because they cannot sit and pedal, they are too short, they must stand to pedal. We walked down the dirty street and saw some blue lights with a sign, “The Gold Rose Restaurant” good, someplace to eat. It looked too expensive for us, but we decided to look anyways. We asked the hostess sitting outside for a menu. They looked at each other and giggled like schoolgirls. That’s interesting. The Valet came to our rescue, only to laugh at us along with the girls. We had no clue what was going on. I wasn’t going to investigate further. I turned to my friend and said, “I don’t think this is a restaurant, let’s just go.” She insisted we try to communicate, opening her hands like a book and shoveling imaginary food into her mouth while saying, “MENU” very slowly. They continued to laugh until the door opened, inside were dim red lights, no tables and a bunch of scantily dressed girls. This was my first encounter with a brothel that wasn’t intentional. Where I didn’t have a plan, and I didn’t remotely know the language. As we were in a VERY bad part of town, we decided it would be best to just spend the $10 on a taxi and find a restaurant in the tourist district. Best $10 I have ever spent.

Are We Still in Thailand?

Today I left Nakhon Si Thammarat for good. It was drizzling outside; I haled a songteaw and loaded my bags, then went to pick up my friend Jane to board the night bus. I was going to stay in Bangkok for a night, and she was heading up to Chiang Mai. The bus was uneventful, and made one stop. When we got off the bus at our rest stop, it was like we were in the western world; that much was evident on Jane's face as her eyes got wide and she asked, "are we still in Thailand?" I felt like I was having a situation of culture shock, with stimulation overload. Usually these stops only serve a small selection of Thai food; Noodle Soup with Fish Balls, or Noodle Soup with Chicken Feet. Yuck. I would rather not eat. Also, the squatty bathrooms usually have no doors, and are smelly with a risk of dengue if you use them. This one was well lit, with impeccably clean bathrooms, running water with soup, and about 50 different selections of food stalls from fried rice to ice cream to mango with sticky rice. This was a welcome change. We arrived in Bangkok at 5:30am and boarded our separate taxis. Me to a hotel to await my friend, her to the other bus station. I dropped off my bags at the hotel and then walked to the mall nearby to eat breakfast and use the wifi while I awaited my check in time. I decided to eat McDonalds. As in my town, the closest western food worth anything is 3 hours away. I was excited for the hash brown and the sausage (in Thailand, sausage is usually just a hot dog, but at McDonalds, it is western sausage). This was mistake number one. After 9 months of eating nothing but Thai food, and the occasional Farang food when I go to a city, or a Thai version of Farang food, I got sick.  At 11am I asked the hotel how much it would cost to check in early, they said 600 baht, but then looked at the clock and then back at me and said “you can check in now for free.” Thank God! The bellman took my huge suitcases up the elevator and I spent the rest of the day in the bathroom, reading poolside, or trying to sleep. At 1am the shuttle picked my friend up at the airport and dropped her off. Little did I know this hotel would be the refuge and calm before a very intense trip. I paid 1200 Baht for this hotel. A little steep, but they offered luggage storage at 3 times less that of the airport, which would save about 1500 baht, and they also offered free airport shuttle, which would save about 1200 baht total, had I stayed at a cheaper hotel and had to take a taxi. The hotel had down comforters, real sheets, and an actual shower door, and I forgot to mention…. hot water. Not only in the shower, but also in the sink. A true luxury.

Prisoner of Nature

The whistle blows and we all perk up. “He is found!” the man yells in his broken English. What should have been shouts of joy and cheers turned into wails and silent weeping. The man in his child like snorkel mask had a rope tied around his waist that was connected to another long rope, strung from one tree to another, over rocks on a waterfall. Men came from up the path, if you would call the steep mountain lined with slick mud and tree roots a path, with a stretcher and a sheet. The rope around the man broke, leading the Thai rescuers and onlookers to throw money into the swirling whirlpool. 1000 baht to release our friend. We had spent all morning searching up and down the falls, climbing on rocks, wading in currents, and getting dirty sliding down mossy cliffs. We had hoped that when our friend slipped yesterday, he had merely hit his head and washed ashore downstream, crawled into a cave or cavern and waited for us. We expected to find him hitchhiking on the road, complaining that he had lost his phone or his shoes, yet again. Instead we find him trapped under a ledge of an angry whirlpool, at the bottom of a waterfall. The crowd that had gathered thought it was appropriate to take video and pictures of the crying foreigners waiting for the water to release its prisoner. The crowd of random people, children, and the rescuers wasn’t above taking photos as well, as they pulled our friend out with a rope.

We arrived at the hospital with no room for us, as the Thai circus crowd decided they were more important, and were in the viewing room gawking at the rivers prize. Again with the cameras. Another girl, who is blunt like me, decided she had had enough, while she shoved cameras out of the way and closed the curtain to pay some respect, I went to the Thais and showed them the door. They cleaned him up a bit, and put some clothing on him that he would have never worn in real life, and we were allowed to see him. We all gathered around and the director of our school, who is actually in his 60’s along with his wife, who climbed up the steep slick and dirty terrain in their church clothes this morning, said a prayer and we said our goodbyes to this man with a now purple face. They placed him in a Pepto-Bismol pink lined coffin with gold holograms decorating the outside. At least it is air-conditioned, as the funeral will last three days and they don’t embalm.

Missionaries

As I sit here in my moldy towel after a very cold shower (that’s right, I have no hot water), I reflect on my Christmas. I was able to visit a family member in another SE Asian country that I have not seen in 3 years. I traveled by mini bus, van, airplane, taxi, shuttle bus, spent the night in the airport, took a night bus, and also a car. The cool crisp mountain air was a refreshing change, as well as the Christmas lights surrounding the city park where live music played and couples strolled eating food and buying small gifts from the vendors. It was a great visit and got to meet many amazing people. This brings me to my next point. I’m going to be truthful, so I hope I am not offending anyone. The majority of the people there I met were missionaries. They teach at a University, they live in 2 and 3 story carpeted homes, with granite counter tops, full washer dryer units, plasma screen TV’s, with full cable, a fireplace, imported American furniture, and Nintendo Wii’s. The women typically scrapbook with each other, go shopping at the markets, go to coffee, and we all went to a water park at one point too. I have to say, that the more time I spent with these “missionaries” in their homes, the more I second guessed the allocation of money. To me, missions is to be out there with the people, as much as possible. Building wells, teaching English, doing medical outreaches, loving on street kids, not living in your luxurious house in your gated community with all of the wants (not needs) of an average American family. I know that not all missionaries live such luxurious lives, but when I see more and more of them that do, it makes me wonder if the money on the Nintendo Wii, that second car, or the 300 channel cable could be better spent, after all, it is the churches money. It’s hard to see them spend the money like that, when there are many villages in the same country they are called to, who don’t have running water, lack education past age 12, or are still without electricity. Doing holistic and missionary work requires sacrifice beyond leaving your family behind. It means taking some discomfort, for the sake of those less fortunate. It’s hard to see missionaries who do barely any work in the field beyond living there, having all these luxuries, when all I really want is a hot shower.

Best Christmas Ever!

My older brother says every year, "this is the best Christmas ever!" He has made this statement for as long as I can remember, and it's always at my grandmothers house, after we have all eaten hor dourves and dinner, sang carols, read the Christmas story, and Santa has came and left. We are usually sitting by the fire and talking while the kids run around and the older ladies wash the dishes, my uncles and mom singing their rendition of "Tip-toe Through The Tulips." This year I was not able to participate in the warm family festivities, but it didn't bother me, living in a tropical location didn't make it feel like Christmas, I'm sure I would have been sad had there been lights and a snow on the ground to remind me of what I was missing. Thanksgiving was worse, where all the foreigners got together and imported a turkey, and people were shuffling through my kitchen all day to use one of the three ovens in the town to bake their pies.

As you may have read in a previous blog about a beach and my friend Charlie, there was a Christmas party planned for the orphanage kids on his beach. Sadly, that fell through, the mini bus drivers decided that they would rather make money on tourists visiting the islands for the famed raves, than bring the abandoned children to the beach for the day. Luckily, this meant we could take the party to them, with more than enough volunteers!! With the money from the sale of my bike, we were able to purchase KFC (a luxury for them as it is the only foreign food available) for each child, and a HUGE keg of Ice Cream, more than enough for each child and worker to have at least one cone. With other donations we were able to purchase many small gifts, each child had armfuls of balls, dolls, and little trinkets. The night before, a group of people set up shop at a friend’s house to wrap, and wrap and wrap and yes you guessed it, WRAP! A group of friends who have an impromptu band played Christmas background music and the kids were dancing and jumping and played a musical chairs type game where they all sat in a circle while many gifts were passed around. When the music stopped, whomever had the gift got to open and keep it. Inside was another wrapped gift to keep passing as well. This went on until each child had one gift, and then the chaos began!!! We had many games and activities planned but with Santa showing up, and more than a hundred kids eating copious amounts of sugar, nothing went as planned. The best part of having the Christmas party at the orphanage instead of the beach was that students from my school were able to participate. More than 20 students showed up to love on the kids, pass out gifts, and just hang out. And each student brought with them at least one gift or money to donate. It was great to see the spoiled rich kids from the school take time out of their night to give back to a portion of society that is stigmatized and seen as untouchable in their cultures eyes. It was not a school requirement and no one asked to have their sheet signed for their community outreach credits.

Cake: The Sacrificial Lamb

Cake is 19 years old, she currently works at a hotel but she hangs out at the bars every night, making friends with bargirls, flirting with foreigners. She left her hill tribe to find work when she was only 14. Her English is well enough that she could obtain an ok job, but compared to what the bargirls make, which usually is a foreign husband after a year or two, she makes little. She mimics the moves they make; she befriends them to learn their ways. Within the year, she will quit her job and work at the bar. A foreign man is dollar signs, a source of income far greater than what she will make in her lifetime in Thailand.

Cake clung onto me, literally, following us to each place we went, chatting up a storm about this guy or that guy she met. How she didn’t sleep last night because she was busy getting ready for a date with a foreigner that she met and then he never showed up. You could try to tell her that these foreign men that come to Thailand are pigs but all she sees is money.

I learned a lot on these night visits with the bargirls and ladyboys, not only from them, but also from a Christian woman who opened up a massage parlor on this street. Unlike the other massage parlors, hers is closed at night. She spends every day with these women and let us in on a little insight. The majority of these bargirls are not there by choice, but were sent away by their families. I knew that women in Northern Thailand, Burma, Laos and Cambodia are considered less and will often be sold in order to purchase things like a television, or a water heater. But the girls on this street were different. They were sent away from their villages at a young age because their family could no longer afford the “free” education and they needed money. It is known in most families that one must be sacrificed for the other to flourish. The girls here are the sacrificial lambs. They come to find work, starting in dishwashing, laundry service, housemaids and waitressing. In this they can earn at most $120-$200 USD a month, which is three times as they would make in their poor village. Some get kidnapped right away in their timidness of the city and sold to illegal brothels, others get tricked into it, and the rest tend to find meager work. In their new jobs they encounter bargirls. These bargirls have beautiful hair, fashionable clothing, and made up faces. They have money. The constant demand from their families back home to send money sends these girls like Cake into the glamorized world with the dark underbelly. Cake see’s the money the girls flash around, she sees their beautiful accessories, and the attention they get from men, she gets calls from home demanding more money so that her family can “save face” in the village. (In Thailand, it is more important to save face and have better things than everyone else, than it is to be moral or righteous). Girls like Cake are doomed from the start.

Loi Khro

Loi Khro; also known as Hook Row. The name gives the illusion that it is a road of brothels and bar girls, and that is exactly what it is. It is dangerous for a sane man to go on this road without a female body guard, as he will 100 percent of the time be grabbed at, groped and prodded by hundreds of bar girls dressed in barely anything, looking to make some money. Their plastered smiles make less secure men feel wanted, their eyes show something else entirely.

That night was my first night on the job. We walked to a small restaurant owned by a Texan man and his wife. His restaurant was the most popular one on the street, he sat at the table next to us as we ate dinner and he was getting ready for his night out with his wife’s son. After a brief conversation we discovered that while most of the other restaurants and bars were sparse with customers, his was on a waiting list, and it wasn’t because the food was good. It was amazingly because on this soi known for prostitution and bar girls, his had none. We would spend hours on this street every night. The women having to walk directly in front of the men as we passed the famous bars where women and lady boys would grab and advertise their services. We would stop at the bars and listen to the music and wait. As long as you ordered something, anything, you could stay. Within ten minutes at each place we stopped, children would show up to sell flowers. It was a school night, between the hours of 10pm and 3 am. Each child had a specific area they were required by their parents to work, selling flowers and jasmine wristbands until they were gone or made a certain amount of money. If they returned home short, it was a brutal beating. My friend that I was traveling with, having previously lived in Chiang Mai, knew each and every one by name. He used to give them free English lessons in the bars afterschool under the scrutinizing eye of their parents. They hadn’t seen him in 7 months. They would approach us and he would stare at them. Their eyes were blank, you could tell this was a routine, it was if their little bodies were present, but their shut down overwhelmed minds were somewhere else entirely. Their feet barefoot, for effect, and dirt strategically placed on their faces, after a few seconds of my friend staring at them and not saying anything, they snapped back into reality and looked at him. A huge grin appearing on many faces we encountered, some becoming shy, and a few even throwing their arms around my friend as if seeing a parent after another child made fun of them at school. As long as we stayed on their “turf” they stayed by us. Playing games, joking, having arm and thumb wrestling competitions between the casual circles the children would routinely make around the restaurant to appease their parents before coming back to us and taking a place on a lap. We would take them to the store nearby and buy snacks, toastys and coffee. It was the drink of choice for 8 year olds; having to stay up late until the flowers were gone, then putting in a full day at school and going out to the streets again. One boy, at around 1230am, realized he had made enough money, but still had 6 flowers left. Instead of trying to sell them, gave them to us and ran off to finish his homework.

The next few nights we would buy the flowers from certain children we knew we could trust. It’s normal to not want to purchase the flowers because you know their parents ill intentions with the money but really? What is ten baht so this kid can get some sleep and hopefully do something better with his education? We would give the roses to the bar girls, just walk up, give them a flower and smile, or tell them they are beautiful. This earned us some weird looks, especially when the boys wouldn’t separate from the girls, but instead insisted on the curious ones sitting with us all as a group. Some realized we were not going to give them any money, so ignored the rose, the compliment and moved onto some middle aged European who would, and others decided they wanted to chat.

Mountains, Jungles and Ancient Hidden Temples

After waking this morning I went with a friend on a hike into the mountain jungles. Forgetting my bug spray and raincoat, which are a must on any given day in Thailand, of course I complained the whole way, as all I had to do was follow my friend. He would not tell me where we going or what we were going to see. After walking over an hour up the mountains, through the jungle, with no set path, we finally reached our destination. An old temple built when Thailand was still part of China. The ancient ruins and relics that appear out of the foggy mist are stunning to say the least and make you feel as if you walked into the past, or a movie. I expected Angelina Jolie to come out of a temple with her Tomb Raider gear and yell at us to "RUN!!!" Back to reality:  there are still monks that live up there, keeping their old ways and traditions, and you can see the children on their break playing in their little orange robes with shaved eyebrows. (Buddhist boys are sent to a monastery for 3 months out of their lives to learn discipline and religion. When a person first becomes a monk, they must shave every hair on their body, even their eyebrows, to symbolize being free from attachment.  Passing a narrow continuous row of tin houses, about the literal size of two train boxcars with people sitting out front. Probably ten families lived in those “houses.” They sit at home smoking their cigarettes while their children sell roses to tourists.

Last Year At This Time

Like I mentioned previously, I am trying to transfer my blog so that I have it all in one place. Last October I was spending my year in Thailand doing research, and this blog stems from that.

This past month has been amazing, splitting this up into a few blogs to make room for everything will be difficult as they flow one right into the next. Starting at the beginning, I boarded the train with less than a happy attitude. It was humid and around 100 degrees outside of my second-class sleeper to Bangkok,  which had a sticky floor and table, and the fan that was for my seat, didn’t work. Oh yeah, and the squatty potty; that you had to walk through a flood to get to. They set the beds down at around 7pm and took them back up at around 430 am when we were near Bangkok. Getting off the train I literally jumped on the city bus, as they don’t stop but merely slow down, to the bus station and boarded a bus for Chiang Mai. We arrived in Chiang Mai by 4 pm in the pouring rain and found a place to stay near the gate, which is the city entrance and  still standing from the 1300’s. I stayed in a 300 baht per night room with no window and it smelled like mold and mildew, but it was central to everything, clean enough with its thread barren sheets, ratty blanket and stained mattress. The bed also bent every time you sat on it, having to readjust the legs when you woke in the morning. Never would I ever stay in a place like this is America. This first night I met some people who I would be working with and went to dinner, Mexican! You will never understand how much you miss something until you have no access to it. In my town, your choices for food are Thai, KFC, or starve. Needless to say I would gain a lot of weight on this trip. We went on a short tour of the city and then called it an early night as I had been traveling for over 24 hours.

The Beach

It’s sometimes hard to remember that I am in a third world country. I live in my house behind a gate with my air-conditioned room. I drive my motorcycle or take public transportation. I have my Internet at work. I can go to the store whenever I want and buy whatever I want. I have running water (albeit cold), toilet paper, Ritz Crackers and Campbell's soup. Even the orphanage is nice with its fan rooms and air conditioners. It’s neatly trimmed lawns with flower gardens and a computer lab. It’s hard to remember that some of those kids come from villages not even an hour away, where they were unwanted, or where they could not be taken care of, or where they discarded, in danger or being sold, beaten or raped.

This past weekend I went to a beach in Khanom, about an hour and a half from my house. It is basically a deserted beach with only a few small hotels that are never filled, (maybe one room each night is occupied) and a bar/restaurant. It is a tranquil place of solitude, at least for the next few years, when the dive site is finished, and the condos are done. But until then, this is my beach, surrounded by mountains that the clouds burst through in the afternoon, with turquoise waters, white sand, and the infamous pink dolphins that are rumored to be hiding beneath the waters.

This is where our friend Charlie built his house, where he and his wife run a small bungalow type restaurant with hammocks as chairs. Charlie is originally from England, moved here many years ago and got married to a Thai woman. They lived for many years in Phuket, running a bar and a salon. His bar never got much business because he refused to provide prostitutes. It was near “soi thnn nrk” which in English means, Road to Hell. His wife ran a salon next door that catered to the untouchable crowd. Mostly Lady Boys and prostitutes. It was a safe place for them. They could go and get beautiful, which was allowed by their “owner” but they could also joke, chat like normal people, and Charlie and his wife would even set them up with email accounts and help them find work and help on the internet. Charlie remembers one specific story of trying to be persuaded to sell girls at his bar before he shut down. A father came in from the villages and said, “this is my daughter, and how much can I get for her.” Charlie looked at the man baffled and asked how old she was. When the father responded that she was 19, Charlie spit out his drink. “She doesn’t look 19! She looks about 14!”
“Yeah well, she (explicit) her boyfriend so why can’t she (explicit) here. At least if I take her here I’ll get some money out of her” He threw them out of the bar. Today Charlie regrets not just giving the father some money for her, and getting her out of whatever her father had planned, but hindsight is 20-20.

Charlie and his wife packed up shortly after as they were losing money and getting older. They took their savings and moved to Khanom. The quite town I previously referred. They built a huge house by the beach and their little restaurant. They have 3 dogs and 2 cats…. oh, and 8 puppies. They figured it would be a good retirement plan, but as all plans go, they are far from retirement. So far two girls and a lady boy have shown up at their doorstep. One girl from Burma escaped a civil war to be thrown into a karaoke bar in Phuket. Heard there was a kind couple that used to live there, and made the 6-hour trek to Khanom. She just hung around talking every day for a few months, until Charlie offered a job. She has no working visa, as she is Burmese, so he just pays her cash. The first thing that came out of her mouth was, “I don’t want to see men, and you won’t make me will you?” Charlie replied, “I sell food and beer, not flesh, you are my waitress, what you do on your own time is your business, but on working hours all you do is serve.” She does anything willingly, including taking me and a friend to the bus station when the taxi wasn’t answering his phone. She serves food, she cooks, she runs errands, and she practices her English. And for a few hundred baht, she will give a Thai massage on the beach. The other girl is a similar situation, from Vietnam, and same with the Lady Boy, he is Thai. The Lady Boy does the salon and spa. Massages, facials, pedicures on the condition that no flesh is sold. A welcome break to a forced action that had become habit.

Charlie’s leisurely retirement keeps getting farther from relaxing as time goes by. This past weekend while I was visiting, we made plans for this upcoming December. Last December he started getting volunteers to take the 900 some orphans from the circumference of his town, to his beach. This year I am helping. Many of these kids don’t see outside the confines of the orphanage, and their school, but on one day per year, they get to forget their troubles, neglect their chores, and go to the beach, a private beach that is all their own. Charlie donates all the food, and through his contacts over the year, we have a chef who is going to bbq for all of the kids. A mini bus station who has donated all their vans and drivers for the day, to pick the kids up in the morning, and bring them home at night, a satellite truck to show movies on the big screen and blast music all day, now all we need are some volunteers besides me, Charlie and his wife and three staff.