tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87665695104529857402024-03-05T06:58:36.134+03:00Wanderlust and Everything AfterFormerly "No Coffee, No Workee." a blog about my big adventures around the home, and the even bigger adventures at home.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.comBlogger450125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-59125325653863552932017-09-11T20:52:00.002+03:002017-09-11T20:52:37.249+03:00My First Hurricane: Impending Doom, But Mostly...Waiting.As I write this post, I sit at the kitchen table of a Mexican diplomat in the heart of Atlanta, Georgia. Gray skies and steady rain have moved into the area as the remnants of what was Hurricane Irma swirl above the Southeastern United States.<br />
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It's my first hurricane experience and my first evacuation. Our quaint 1949 duplex in the Beachside area of Ormond Beach, Florida was clearly the wrong place to spend a hurricane that had been predicted to rip up the Eastern coast of the state. The predictions had been bothering everyone in Florida for about 10 days prior to the storm making any US landfall. Seeing the massive storm churn around its well-defined eye in the mid-Atlantic was exciting and worrying. The "cone of uncertainty"--decidedly the funniest way to describe a projected area where the hurricane's strongest force would occur--showed the entire state at risk, with Daytona and Ormond facing what forecasters would have you believe was certain doom. I made Alan come with me to the grocery store to pick up canned food and huge jugs of water on September 2, long before it was cool to get your supplies. Turns out that was a really good move, as shelves were emptied just a few days later with hurricane-preparers loading carts full of bottled water, Gatorade, chips, beer, toilet paper, batteries, and baked beans. I would say that list also represents the priorities of during the storm, though beer could probably also rank number one in many households.<br />
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News coverage hailed Irma as a catastrophic storm capable of immense and widespread damage throughout the entire state of Florida. Everywhere you looked, Irma was on the lips of people and on the screens of phones, and coming over the radio waves.<br />
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So we had supplies as we watched the storm inch across the Atlantic, still going about our daily lives relatively unbothered. Every day the storm advanced closer to the Leeward Islands, still hundreds of miles from Florida. By last Wednesday, our university announced that we would close for a week to let people evacuate and come back from the powerful storm. In the final class I taught on Wednesday, students were glued to their phones and laptops trying to get messages to their friends and family about their plan. One student was frantically trying to contact friends in the French Air Force stranded on St. Martin.<br />
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The beautiful weather in Daytona Beach in the days leading up to our evacuation betrayed the ominous monster looming somewhere in the ocean, wreaking havoc on tiny island nations, decimating houses as it went. Floridians, meanwhile, ran gas pumps out of gas, kept store shelves empty and booked every hotel room south of the Mason-Dixon line.<br />
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On Wednesday evening, Alan and I made plans and back-up plans with friends of friends of friends in Atlanta, and parents of friends in Live Oak, Florida. We would have to see what the path looked like, we said.<br />
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Thursday morning, we woke to beautiful, clear skies and an eccentric neighbor trying to haul an abandoned couch to her place. We tried to help, but alas, no use. It was way too heavy. She planned to ride out the hurricane at home, so I gave her the ice cream that I knew wouldn't last on our evacuation route.<br />
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Preparing for the worst case scenario, Alan and I planned to stay with a friend's parents in Live Oak, Florida, hoping to get out of the brunt of the storm without having to drive too far. We imagined that heavy rain, wind and storm surge could ruin our house and our newly acquired couch and mattress, so we did all we could to prepare. We packed all of our clothes into suitcases, tucked all dishes into cupboards, and got everything off of the floor. We lifted our new couch onto a table and hoisted our mattress onto chairs in the hope of keeping them out of any storm surge. I carefully secured the tarp flap that covers our outdoor laundry area, with our old noisy washer and dryer set, secretly hoping that maybe if it were to get damaged, that I'd be able to get a new one that works a little better. We also put most of our dry food into bags to take with us, and emptied as much of the fridge and freezer into our cooler as we could. The last thing to do before leaving, our landlord had advised, was to turn off the power at the breakers.<br />
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We pulled out of the driveway at about 2 PM, most earthly possessions in tow, with two cars and a cat. We were immediately confronted with heavy traffic. Everyone was trying to go north on I-95. It was difficult driving, to say the least. Floridians have a special way of driving that involves hard acceleration and sudden braking. That is fine in a sports car, but not in a heavily-loaded Subaru with an animal inside.<br />
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Things cleared up significantly when we turned onto I-10 West at Jacksonville. We met our host at the McDonald's near the exit so that he could guide us to the place where we would weather the storm. As we skirted the very small town of Live Oak, idyllic pastures and green lawns dotted with plantation-style houses again betrayed the impending doom that the radio was claiming. We turned off the paved highway onto a sandy dirt road, dipping down into a dense forest. Small houses stood among the trees, while Confederate flags waved and bald eagle statues hovered over Trump/Pence yard signs. We finally pulled into the steeply-downhill grass driveway of the quaint house of our hosts. Once we had our things inside, the host showed us the grand Suwannee River, rushing by, just a few hundred feet from their house. I remembered playing that song of piano several lifetimes ago.<br />
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By this time, the infamous "cone of uncertainty" had shifted to a path straight up the spine of Florida, putting Live Oak more or less in the line of fire; yet, still two days from any mainland US landfall, the path seemed just a guess and no basis to make a decision. Our hosts insisted that we were safe and that there was no reason to worry. The next morning, Alan and I contemplated going further north to Atlanta, but ultimately decided that we would just fill up our gas tanks instead. In the micro-town of Live Oak, a steady stream of cars was driving out of town, toward the interstate. Cars full, we headed back to our secluded river house to spend a lazy day at the dock of the river, pondering the coming hurricane.<br />
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Given the updated predictions that the hurricane would be bringing much of its fury to North-Central Florida, Alan and I made the decision to wake up early Saturday morning and head to Atlanta where we could relax a little more. Our gracious hosts packed us big lunches with tons of snacks and sent us off with hot breakfast. It felt like we were leaving on some kind of mission. Turns out that hundreds of thousands of our closest Floridian friends were doing the exact same thing. Even at 6 AM, the interstate was crowded, rest areas and truck stops were absolutely packed, and the coffee makers were nearly out (can you imagine?). By mid-day, the traffic was even more intense, and we waited in chaotic lines to top off our gas tanks. We veered off of the packed interstates in favor of rural highways, which took about the same amount of time, but was far less stressful.<br />
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Metro Atlanta was a big mess when we arrived Saturday late afternoon. Traffic on a 12-lane road was at a stand-still, creeping forward with 1 out of 4 license plates from Florida.<br />
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We're staying with a friend of a girlfriend of one of my new coworkers. It's amazing how people seem to just come out of the woodwork to help. I must have had 10 or more distant friends contact me offering places to stay. Some of them were way too far away, but it was still nice of them to offer. Things have been uneventful since arriving here. The place we are staying is next to a walking trail and park, so we've been out among fit Atlantonians with their dogs.<br />
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We've had one eye on our phones the whole time, checking for updates as Irma eventually did make landfall in the Keys and then up the west coast and into central Florida overnight last night. No word about the state of affairs in Daytona yet. I've heard that the bridges to the Beachside area are closed until they are inspected tomorrow, and that it's very likely that we do not have power available at the house.<br />
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The plan, then, is to wait in Atlanta as the wind howls today, and head out early tomorrow morning (with our millions of Florida friends) and make the trip back to the south to see what Irma left in her wake.<br />
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Here's to my first, but probably not last, hurricane.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-59166875058678690232017-08-13T22:35:00.003+03:002017-08-13T22:35:48.530+03:00Florida and a Short RantYou know those places you swear you'll never move?<br />
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For me, it was anything south of the Mason-Dixon and east of the Mississippi.<br />
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Ironically, my new address will be in Florida, which is both east and south of those things I said I wouldn't cross.<br />
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Daytona Beach, to be exact. The awesomely 80s hot spot for Spring Break and party-going. That strange mix of affluence and blue-collar (perhaps no collar) America. The retirees and the college students. The coming together of so many Americas.<br />
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Alan and I drove from Flagstaff to Daytona last week. 2000 miles, 24 cans of LaCroix, 7 states, 6 tanks of gas, 4 days, 3 LaQuinta Inn and Suites, 2 liters of iced coffee, and 1 lost "Hook 'em Horns" bumper sticker later, we rolled into our new city. Our AirBnb is in Holly Hill, the blue collar neighborhood between Ormond Beach and Port Orange. "The salt of the earth kind of people" as one apartment manager told us after furrowing her brow at hearing the name. We are staying in a mother-in-law apartment attached to a small house in the neighborhood. It's small, but big enough for us right now.<br />
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We've found a cute duplex VERY close to the beach to rent starting sometime in the next 10 days.<br />
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Florida is hot and humid. Thailand-level hot and humid, dare I say. Actually, it was hot and humid starting in Texas, and got progressively hotter and stickers through Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama. You probably know that I've traveled around the world, but you might not know how little of the US I've actually seen. We overnighted in Amarillo, Shreveport, and Tallahassee, none of which had I ever been in.<br />
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I guess I want to say something about the American-ness of it all. I've always been a bit wary of the deep South. My mind goes to Confederate flags, sweet tea, and strange accents immediately. I've also never lived in a very diverse place. In fact, even living overseas, the places I was were very incredibly homogenous. I happened to be a minority in those places, but the people around me were fairly uniform. Part of the beauty of the US is its diversity. People of all colors, shapes, and sizes share the same cities and streets here.<br />
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If I may go on a related rant, yesterday's events in Charlottesville where a car was driven into a crowd of peaceful counter-protesters during a white supremacist rally broke my heart. One person, a 20-something Caucasian woman, was killed when the car plowed through the group of people and then reversed back out, injuring dozens. This is an act of terrorism on our own soil committed by an American who is full of hate and fear. This is not ISIS or Boko haram. This is the state of affairs inside our own borders. There are some people who are consumed by hate for their own neighbors. I think we can all agree that hating your neighbor is a problem. No religion accepts that behavior. No true patriot believes in betraying his neighbor. The governor of Virginia condemned the attack and said that there is no place in America for white supremacists. Good for him. International news coverage of the event points out that the US president did not call out white supremacist groups. It's not a stretch of the imagination to think how the rhetoric would be different if the driver of the car had been Muslim. The future of America depends on each one of us, and especially our leaders, to condemn hate crimes and terror attack, no matter who commits them. There is room for all creeds in this country, but there is no room for hate.<br />
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I'm bringing up this rant because I am going to have to face a lot of my own stereotypes about this region of America in my new place, and I am going to continue to learn and grow as a proud American, to love my neighbors and treat the people around me with respect and dignity. It sounds a little too "peace and love," but what can I say? Clearly there is already enough hate and negativity in the world. We all need more love.<br />
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So, let me just say some of the things I already love about Daytona: the sun is bright, the sand is clean, the ocean is warm, and the people are nice. I excited to see how this chapter unfolds.<br />
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Until then, sending you my positive vibes from beautiful Florida.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-66952493139005610502017-07-21T01:37:00.000+03:002017-07-21T01:37:49.008+03:00Another AdventureNote: This was composed mid-June and it's already mid-July--somehow it went unpublished.<br />
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I changed the title of my blog, again, to reflect my current situation. I'm not in Turkey or Thailand. I'm in my hometown, Lincoln, Nebraska. USA.<br />
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The new title is "Wanderlust and Everything After." I don't think I'll ever *want* to stop traveling. It's just too interesting; however, it also requires sacrificing many other priorities--family, investing in personal possessions, buying a house, etc. Moving back to the US, is, in a way, one of the biggest adventures I've taken on. There is a sense that I need to succeed in finding a great job and making a great life. It seems like this should be easy compared to living abroad. So far, it's pretty overwhelming. I've been back in the States for a week, and I've already done two days of job shadowing in Lincoln, an interview in Denver, and--happily--several plates of nachos.<br />
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Alan and I both got cheap smartphones to join the rest of the world. It's nice to be able to call and text without being tethered to wifi, but it's also just a little more stressful to have one more device to manage.<br />
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We're working on getting short-term health insurance and finding a good used car. Hopefully, a Subaru.<br />
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Once we get a job offer we like, we'll have to pack up our three-year-old wedding gifts (so grateful to have those waiting for us), drive somewhere, and find a house. Little Egg will be by our side, of course.<br />
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Until then, we are posted up at my parents' house, hitting the job search as hard as we can, and hoping for the next phase to start soon.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-51164553671902407322017-05-29T10:21:00.000+03:002017-05-29T17:42:53.956+03:00How to Export a Pet from ThailandI'm writing this post to help my fellow animal lovers who want to take their pets out of Thailand. The information online is outdated and confusing, so I'll give some tips to successfully obtain an export permit.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">1. START PLANNING NOW. Regardless of when your trip is, start planning immediately. Ideally, you'll be planning about six months before flying. There's a lot to arrange. English-speaking staff at BKK Quarantine Office: <foreign@dld.go.th>; phone: 02-134-0731<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"> </span><strong style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"> </span></strong></span><br />
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2. Do your research on which airline meets your pet's needs. Not all airlines offer in-cabin rides for small animals. Call your airline and inform them that you'll be bringing a pet. Many airlines have restrictions on how many animals can be in the hold or in the cabin at one time. Ask your airline for their specifications on pet carrier type and size requirements. Yes, you'll be calling your airline at least once. Be patient.<br />
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3. Don't forget to figure out getting from your location to Bangkok. For example, it was not possible to fly out of Chiang Rai with a cat in the cabin OR in the cargo, and pets weren't allowed on any of the bus lines, so we ended up renting a car and driving.<br />
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4. Arrange to be in Bangkok <b><u>AT LEAST 3 DAYS PRIOR</u></b> to your flight. You'll need to visit the Customs Export Building at the airport for the airport vet to do a health screening. They do not take appointments, so I suggest arriving at 08:30 when they open.<br />
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5. Do your research about the vaccinations required by Thailand and by the destination country. Our cat had vaccines for "Combination" (Rhinotracheitis, Calicivirus, Panleukopenia, and Chlamydiosis), Feline Leukemia, HCP+Chlam+FeLV, and Rabies. Your country might have additional requirements, but the US does not.<br />
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6. Visit your local vet and make sure that you have all current VACCINATIONS for your pet. You'll need proof of these.<br />
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7. <span style="color: red;">Find a vet who will implant a <u><b>MICROCHIP</b></u> into your pet. THIS IS REQUIRED FOR ALL DOGS AND CATS LEAVING/ENTERING THAILAND.</span> Make an appointment with the vet for the procedure, and be prepared to pay about 1000 Baht for the chip and accompanying paperwork. Just this morning, I personally saw a cat denied a permit because he didn't have a chip. The owner was really upset. Don't do that to yourself. IT IS REQUIRED FOR ANY DOG or CAT LEAVING/ENTERING THAILAND.<br />
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8. About a month before your trip, visit your local vet to get a signed pet HEALTH CERTIFICATE and to get your pet's vaccinations and vaccination dates translated into English. The vet's letter should include a physical description of the animal, the translated vaccine record, owner's contact information in Thailand and in the destination country and a note like this:<br />
<i>"I certify that this animal has been examined by me on this date and the animal appears healthy (by physical examination) and appears to be free of any infections or contagious diseases which would endanger the animal itself, other animals, or public health. The animal has also had all required vaccines."</i><br />
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9. Get oral deworming tabs and flea/tick prevention (e.g., Frontline) from the vet and administer to your pet 1 week before the trip.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">10. Go to BKK Animal Quarantine Office between 3-10 days before departure.</span><br />
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<b><span style="color: red;">Make sure to bring:<br />1) A copy of your passport<br />2) Flight itinerary <br />3) <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0Byd5g3IXDXBCMm5GZ3FTZTFZYVFOVm0tM1pycWl5aUJ2TF80/view?usp=sharing">Form R 1/1</a><br />4) Veterinarian note of identification, health certification, and vaccination record of pet<br />5) Microchip information for pet<br />6) Copy of vaccination book for pet</span></b><br />
Getting to the office for the health check in BKK is a little complicated. They are open Monday-Friday 8:30-16:30.<br />
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Address: Suvarnabhumi Airport Animal Quarantine, Free Zone Area, Customs Export Building, 1 st Flr, Suvarnabhumi Airport, Samutprakarn Province. Tel : 02-134-0731 / Fax. 02-134-3640<br />
The office is not in the main terminal, but in the Cargo area / FREE ZONE. Inside the Free Zone, there are lots of private cargo companies. <span style="color: red;">The Customs Export Clearance Office is in a long, narrow building that runs perpendicular to the private companies. You'll see a huge docking area on the front of the building, and the numbers 1-20. The vet office is near number 20</span>. There are two parts to the office. You'll see a sign that tells you where to start. The office is super tiny and smells like animal pee, so be prepared. Don't go on an empty stomach. You'll get a queue number and the form R1/1, unless you've already printed a copy at home. They will call your number to take your pet's picture and then call you again to go over your paperwork together. Then, your number will be called for the vet check. The vet will feel your pet's body and head, check the mouth and ears and take a rectal temperature. Finally, you'll go and wait for your official certificate and EXPORT PERMIT in the second room. GIVE YOURSELF PLENTY OF TIME at the quarantine office. We needed about three hours, and it wasn't that busy.<br />
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Good luck with your pet travel!<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-64168672362665769442017-04-15T09:27:00.002+03:002017-04-15T09:27:19.686+03:00Songkran and Other NewsSongkran is the Thai New Year. For a week in mid-April, everyone seeks relief from the blazing Thai heat by splashing water on each other.<br /><br />Yes, a week-long water fight.<br /><br />Last year, I got just a few buckets of water thrown at me while we vacationed in Southern Thailand. This year, we stayed in Chiang Rai. We experienced Songkran on a motorbike, which is a good (though dangerous) way to see the action.<br /><br />Storefronts replace customers and products with huge barrels of water. They use small buckets and SuperSoakers to drench all passers-by, especially those on motorbikes. Green bottles of Chang beer line tables behind the barrels, and plastic glasses full of ice and Chang sit full-full, seating beads of water on the tables. Chang-filled young people wipe chalky white powder on each others’ faces and pour cups of ice water down the backs of their shirts. The water and powder symbolize a fresh start, a cleansing. It’s also the only time of the year when touching people of the opposite sex in public is acceptable.<br /><br />We were absolutely drenched after just a few blocks of downtown. My bike helmet was smeared with white powder, and I was shivering with cold. In an unusual turn of events, this year’s Songkran has been filled with gusty cold thunderstorms that make it a little less fun to be wet. Most people will have a hard time believing that it’s even possible to be cold in Thailand, but let me tell you, it is. Even during Songkran.<br /><br />Although it’s one of the happiest and most fun times of the year, Songkran is also a very dangerous time, which is why I ended every class last week with, “Wear your helmet and buckle up. I want to see you again after Songkran.” It’s a time notorious for traffic accidents. Alan and I saw first-hand some of the reasons why. I mean, even at other times of the year, Thai roads are dangerous due to the variety of vehicles allowed and the lack of enforcement of laws (and to anyone who wants to tell me that India, Vietnam, Pakistan, etc. are worse, that’s fine. I won’t argue. I’m just saying that Thailand is pretty bad in it’s own way). Stop signs are not observed at all, and the green light mentality extends into the first couple seconds of red light. Almost all highways are divided with a median, which means that the only way to get across the road is a super-risky U-turn. Anyway, anyway, anyway…back to Songkran. So merchants line all roads, including the so-called Super-Highway to throw bucket-loads of water on motorbikes speeding by, who then swerve from their usual position on the shoulder into traffic that is going as fast as 90km/h. Add a bunch of beer and cheap whiskey to that already bad situation, and it’s clear why so many accidents happen. What drives me the most crazy is that people don’t even wear helmets or seatbelts most of the time. It blows my mind (no pun intended) that people will go so far as to have a helmet in their lap (in case they spot a police check point), but not wear it. WHY?<br /><br />Some statistics claim that 70% of the accidents during Songkran are with motorbikes, and most of the rest are with pick-ups. Kids and adults pack into the back of pick-ups, also armed with water guns and buckets to throw water on people en route. While it looks really fun, if this truck is involved in an accident, all of those back-riding passengers are at a huge risk of injury or worse. There was a public outcry when it was tried to pass a law against riding in the back of pick-ups. Especially in rural areas, impoverished farmers and workers rely heavily on riding in the back of pick-ups as a means of getting to and from their 12-hour work day. Needless to say, the law was not passed, and seeing the Songkran kiddos with their goggles and Hello Kitty buckets standing precariously in the back of speeding trucks makes me crazy.<br /><br />Perhaps that’s enough rant about road safety. It’s sort of the ever-present problem around here. What has been really nice this year is to see some color return to people’s clothing. The Songkran outfit is shorts and a bright Hawaiian shirt. After six months of wearing only black, white and gray in honor of the late king, it’s so refreshing to see gem tones and neons again.<br /><br />The countdown to America is getting much closer for the Orr-Lynch trio. Getting Egg to Bangkok is proving to be the most complicated part, actually. Pets aren’t allowed on flights out of Chiang Rai, due to several accidents and over-heating problems for animals in the cargo area of these flights. <br /><br />We have to go to Bangkok a day early to get Egg checked by an official. That means we will basically have two days in Bangkok with our little guy in tow. Luckily, we have lots of practice. He goes everywhere with us. He’s out with us now at a coffee shop.<br /><br />We’ve had the neighbor cat over for some play dates recently. Egg seems to love it. We will definitely be getting more animals when we are settled Stateside. We already have some names picked out.<br /><br />Stay safe out there, Chiang Rai and beyond. Until next time... <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"MS 明朝"; mso-font-charset:78; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;} @font-face {font-family:"MS 明朝"; mso-font-charset:78; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;} @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1073743103 0 0 415 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page WordSection1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} --> </style>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-41526447754309774622017-02-28T04:11:00.000+03:002017-02-28T04:11:29.021+03:00Updates from Chiang RaiHello world. It's me.<br />
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I haven't written for a long time. I'm sad about that.<br />
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Here are some highlights from recent months:<br />
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1) Not a highlight--Egg (the cat) has been dealing with a serious injury to his tail that just will not heal. I think it started with a dog bite. Later a deep infection and failed sedation that resulted in me having to go to the hospital for a serious cat bite and getting a 5-shot series for rabies. Egg doesn't have rabies.<br />
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2) A highlight--Alan's brother, Andy, and his friends came to visit us in Chiang Rai. It was one of my favorite weekends that we've had here. The guys went caving (I proctored an exam), then we went to a waterfall, and out for drinks at the rice-paddy bar in the middle of nowhere aptly called "Overdose." No one overdosed. It was just beer. The next day we drove on my favorite road along the Myanmar border up to the giant Buddha in Mae Sai, and then to Chiang Saen to see the mighty Mekong and ancient city. It was so fun to share our lives with family.<br />
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3) Another visit highlight--Our good friends that we met in Turkey (<a href="https://mikeandyulia.wordpress.com/2016/11/" target="_blank">Yuliya's blog</a> is amazing) came to visit last weekend. That was also super fun! We went to Khun Korn waterfall and so many delicious restaurants. I got a foot massage with my friend before going for food and fun at the night market. They met Egg and saw our lovely campus. It was so validating to show fellow teacher friends our place.<br />
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4) Alan and I have decided to go back to the US for now. Following Alan's father's recent bout with cancer, as well as realizing just how far away we are from our families--and not even to mention the craziness taking over the world with Donald Trump at the helm--we think it's time to be a lot closer to home. It won't be easy. We need jobs, shelter, transportation, and pretty much everything, but if we can make it work in the middle of Turkey and rural Northern Thailand, surely we can handle a place like the American West. By the way, if you know of any jobs in university teaching, editing, writing, academic advising, material development, or related positions located near the Rocky Mountains, please let me know! (jenalynch13 at gmail dot com) We've been getting up at 5:30 every morning to do an hour or two of job search stuff before work. It's a slow process, but not uninteresting!<br />
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5) I'm starting a new project today for the Chiang Rai Comptroller General office. They want a speaking class taught by a foreigner--I hope they're ready for a Jena-style course!<br />
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6) I'm continuing my action research in second language writing about how students learn to incorporate source material into their writing. I've got some good stuff in the works!<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-60260727382007947322017-01-08T12:58:00.003+03:002017-01-08T12:58:55.706+03:00Old Passport MemoriesThe defining feature of my 20s has certainly been travel. My passport's weathered pages are filled with stamps and stickers and visas from around the world. The passport I was issued in 2007 now has four holes punched in the cover to nullify it. I've picked up a crispy new passport from Chiang Mai on Tuesday, and I felt a sense of sadness to see my trusty be-stickered old passport be taken out of commission. As a farewell, I'm going to write a page-by-page post about the memories this passport has helped me make. The stamps are written about in the order they appear in my passport, which is a little confusing, but authentic to how a passport is stamped.<br />
<b><br /></b> <b>Front cover: </b><br />
<b><br /></b> Sticker: <i>IM [Khmer script?]57</i>. I'm pretty sure that was affixed in Cambodia. Somehow it has survived the six years of shuffle since then.<br />
<br />
<b>ID page:</b><br />
<br />
My more precise signature of 10 years ago, where the letters of my last name are actually legible. My favorite ID pic of all time in which I look like a Russian spy, or perhaps a 19-year-old American college student. Issued On September 11. Not a great day for Americans.<br />
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<b>Page 1</b><br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span> <span style="text-align: center;">Stamp: </span><i>Heathrow Airport 1 Jul 2014. LEAVE TO ENTER FOR SIX MONTHS. EMPLOYMENT AND RECOURSE TO PUBLIC FUNDS PROHIBITED.</i> Though, feel free to have the worst night's sleep of your life in our arrival area outside of the international terminal.<br />
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Stamp: <i>ADMITTED / CHI / DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY-US CUSTOMS AND BORDER PROTECTION JUL 08 2008.</i> Returning from study abroad in Austria, one less boyfriend, one more tattoo.<br />
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Stamp: <i>FRANKFURT 26.01.08 17.</i> Entering Germany for study abroad in Austria. When you have German grandparetns, you've gotta stop in on your way through Europe!<br />
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Visa: <i>VISUM. ÖSTERREICH. 15-01-08. MULT. REPUBLIK ÖSTERREICH GENERAL KONSULAT CHICAGO.</i> Visa to study abroad in Graz, my first experience living abroad. I could sum it up as, being an exchange student is mostly about parties, the Euro was really expensive in 2008, and Schnitzel fat goes directly to your butt. Wouldn't change a thing!<br />
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<b>Page 2</b><br />
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Visa: <i>KINGDOM OF CAMBODIA [USED]. Phnom Penh, I. A. 25USD. Single. 8 JAN 2010. Capt. Ly Bunna Deputy Chief of visa service. "</i>What have I gotten myself into?" That was a distinct thought while this visa was being glued in. <a href="http://jenablogsaboutcoffee.blogspot.com/2010/01/first-impressions-of-phnom-penh.html" target="_blank">Blog entries</a> from 2010 are all about this plunge into Southeast Asia.<br />
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Stamp: <i>IMMIGRATION CAMBODIA. 08 JAN 2010. 08 FEB 2010. P121. </i>Holy shit. I'm actually doing this? Why is it so dark outside?<br />
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Stamp: <i>IMMIGRATION CAMBODIA. SIEM REAP AIRPORT DEPARTED 28 MAY 2010. 08 FEB 2010. S068. </i>I cannot believe I survived <a href="http://jenablogsaboutcoffee.blogspot.com/2010/05/angkor-wat-and-other-ways-to-end-trip.html">that.</a> Hey. there's a Dairy Queen at this airport.<br />
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Stamp: <i>ADMITTED / CHI / DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY-US CUSTOMS AND BORDER PROTECTION AUG 01 2015.</i> Agent says, "So, what were you doing in Turkey for 13 months?" Sub-text: so, uh, joined ISIS lately? Please wait in the room where we've made any obviously Muslim people sit.<br />
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Sticker: <i>JAPAN IMMIGRATION INSPECTOR. [CHARACTERS] LANDING PERMISSION. 29 MAY 2010. 27 AUG 2010. Temporary Visitor. 90 days. Narita. </i>Officer: "What were you doing in Cambodia? So, are you planning to marry the boyfriend that you are visiting? Ok, welcome to Japan." Answers: volunteering as a teacher; uhhhhh why are you asking me that??<br />
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Stamp: IMMIGRATION. DEPARTED. NARITA. 25 JUL 2010. <i>Well, I never saw that boyfriend again.</i><br />
<b><br /></b> <b>Page 3</b><br />
<i><br /></i> Visa: <i>KINGDOM OF CAMBODIA [USED]. Extension of Stay [Khmer script] Single. 04 MAY 2010. 08 JUN 2010. Neth Savoum. </i> One more month. You can do it. That prison-style calendar you've been using to count down is not so great psychologically, but you're doing it!<br />
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<br /></div>
Visa: <i>KINGDOM OF CAMBODIA [USED]. Extension of Stay [Khmer script] Single. 02 FEB 2010. 08 MAY 2010. Neth Savoum. </i>Well, I guess I'm committed to at least three months. Better figure out how to make this work (brownie sundaes).<br />
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<b>Page 4</b><br />
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Taped in paper: <i>T.C. LOS ANGELES BAKONSOLOSLUGU. ATTENTION !!! WITHIN ONE MONTH OF YOUR ARRIVAL IN TURKEY, YOU MUST APPLY LOCALLY TO THE POLICE DEPARTMENT FOR ALIENS (Emniyet Müdürlüğü Yabancılar Şube Müdürlüğü) FOR GETTING A RESIDENCE PERMIT IN THE CITY WHERE YOUR WILL BE STUDYING, WORKING, RESIDING. WWW.EGM.GOV.TR. </i>Moving to Turkey as newlyweds.<br />
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Visa: <i>TÜRKİYE CUMHURİYETİ. GİRİŞ VİZESİ / ENTRY VISA. TRANSİT VİZESİ /TRANSIT VISA. 08.04.2014-08.04.2015. Tek Giriş. 365 Gün / Days. Single Entry. çalışma / work. Y.Ö.K Başkanlığı. 3 MART 2014 tarih. 60,00 USD. 82444403-29. sayılı olur yanıları. A. Semra GEYIK. Konsolos. Consul. KAYSERİ MELİKŞAH ÜNİVERSİTESİ.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>Stamp<i>: </i><i>T.C. İSTANBUL </i><i>HAVA HUDUT KAPISI</i><i>. </i><i>GİRİŞ. 07 02 14. </i><a href="http://jenablogsaboutcoffee.blogspot.com/2014/07/be-careful-what-you-wish-for.html" target="_blank">We actually arrived in Turkey.</a> I thought I would want to kiss the ground, having been in transit for more than 48 hours, but that is pretty much the last thing you want to do in the domestic terminal of the Istanbul airport. I took a fitful nap instead.<br />
<i><br /></i> <i><b>Page 5</b></i><br />
<i><br /></i>Stamp<i>: </i><i>T.C. İSTANBUL HAVA HUDUT KAPISI. </i><i>ÇIKIŞ 17 01 15. </i>Excited to leave Turkey for a week in the land of pork and beer: Germany!<br />
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Stamp<i>: 17. 01. 15. 53. FRANKFURT AM MAIN. </i><a href="http://jenablogsaboutcoffee.blogspot.com/2015/01/germany-trip.html" target="_blank">Visiting Oma and Opa in Germany for a break from Turkey.</a> It was surprisingly hard to switch back to German after working so hard on Turkish!<br />
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Stamp<i>: 24. 01. 15. 53. FRANKFURT AM MAIN. </i>Back to Turkey.<br />
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Stamp<i>: </i><i>T.C. İSTANBUL HAVA HUDUT KAPISI. </i><i>ÇIKIŞ 01 08 15. </i>Leaving Turkey for good.<br />
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Stamp<i>: CAMBODIA IMMIGRATION. PHNOM PENH AIRPORT PERMITTED 19 FEB 2016. 19 MAR 2016. P107. e-VISA. </i>Going back to Cambodia six years later to present at a conference. Familiar in the weirdest way. <a href="http://jenablogsaboutcoffee.blogspot.com/2016/02/going-back-to-phnom-penh-after-six-years.html" target="_blank">One of my favorite blog entries ever.</a><br />
<i><br /></i> Stamp<i>: CAMBODIA IMMIGRATION. PHNOM PENH AIRPORT DEPARTED. 21 FEB 2016. 19 MAR 2016. P136. e-VISA.</i><br />
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<b>Page 6</b><br />
<i><br /></i> Visa<i>: KINGDOM OF THAILAND. [USED] Non-Immigrant B. S. 80 USD. CHICAGO. 5 Aug 2015. 4 Nov 2015. ROYAL THAI CONSULATE GENERAL. </i><a href="http://jenablogsaboutcoffee.blogspot.com/2015/08/first-impressions-of-thailand.html" target="_blank">Welcome to Thailand.</a> <a href="http://jenablogsaboutcoffee.blogspot.com/2015/08/some-things-are-just-same-everywhere.html" target="_blank">Same Jena, different country.</a><br />
<i><br /></i> Stamp<i>: IMMIGRATION MAE SAI THAILAND. DEPARTED. 13 DEC 2015. </i>Walking over the bridge to <a href="http://jenablogsaboutcoffee.blogspot.com/2015/12/i-went-to-myanmar.html" target="_blank">Myanmar</a>--what???<br />
<i><br /></i> Stamp<i>: IMMIGRATION SUVARNABHUMI AIRPORT THAILAND. VISA CLASS NON-B. 16 AUG 2015. ADMITTED 13 NOV 2015.</i><br />
<i><br /></i> Stamp<i>: CHIANGRAI IMMIGRATION. APPLICATION OF STAY IS PERMITTED UP TO 23 AUG 2016 APPLICANT MUST LEAVE THE KINGDOM WITHIN THE DATE SPECIFIED HEREIN OFFENDERS WILL BE PROSECUTED. SIGNED [Thai Script]. IMMIGRATION OFFICER. 12 OCT 2015. [Thai script].</i><br />
<i><br /></i> Stamp<i>: MYANMAR IMMIGRATION. ADMITTED TACHILEK. 13 DEC 2015. </i>One of my proudest stamps, though it's super hard to read. Myanmar represents one of the final frontiers to me, a place still largely unexplored by tourists.<br />
<i><br /></i> Stamp<i>: MYANMAR IMMIGRATION. Left for MAE SAI. 13 DEC 2015. TACHILEK.</i><br />
<i><br /></i> <i><b>Page 7</b></i><br />
<i><br /></i> Visa stamp:<i> NON-IMM. IMMIGRATION THAILAND RE-ENTRY PERMIT. Valid until 23 AUG 2016. ONE. Multiple. 23 AUG 2016. 12. OCT 2015. CHIANGRAI IMMIGRATION. [Thai script]</i><br />
<i><br /></i> Stamp<i>: IMMIGRATION. MAE SAI THAILAND VISA CLASS N-I B. ADMITTED 13 DEC 2015. UNTIL 23 AUG 2016.</i><br />
<i><br /></i> Stamp:<i> IMMIGRATION. DEPARTED. 19 FEB 2016. MAE SAI THAILAND.</i> I think this was a mistake. I was not in Mae Sai on 19 Feb. I did leave Thailand to go to Phnom Penh this day.<br />
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Stamp: <i>IMMIGRATION BANGKOK THAILAND. VISA CLASS NON-B. ADMITTED 21 FEB 2016. UNTIL 23 AUG 2016. </i>Back from the conference in Cambodia.<br />
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Stamp: <i>IMMIGRATION SUVARNABHUMI AIRPORT THAILAND. 16 DEC 2016. </i>Oh! Going to America for the first time in 18 months! Very exciting!<br />
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<b>Page 8</b><br />
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e-Visa: Kingdom of Cambodia. NATION-RELIGION-KING. [USED]. Tourist. 30 days. 0 Children. 25 January 2016. 25 April 2016.<br />
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Stamp<i>: CHIANGRAI IMMIGRATION. APPLICATION OF STAY IS PERMITTED UP TO 23 AUG 2017 APPLICANT MUST LEAVE THE KINGDOM WITHIN THE DATE SPECIFIED HEREIN OFFENDERS WILL BE PROSECUTED. SIGNED Pol. Capt. S [Thai script]. IMMIGRATION OFFICER. 12 OCT 2015. [Thai script].</i><br />
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Visa stamp:<i> NON-IMM. IMMIGRATION THAILAND RE-ENTRY PERMIT. Valid until 23 AUG 2017. ONE. Multiple. 23 AUG 2017. CHIANGRAI IMMIGRATION. [Thai script]</i><br />
<i><br /></i> <b>Page 9</b><br />
<i><br /></i> Stamp<i>: IMMIGRATION SUVARNABHUMI AIRPORT THAILAND. VISA CLASS NON-B. 16 AUG 2015. ADMITTED 1 JAN 2017. UNTIL 23/8/17.</i><br />
<i><br /></i> <b>Page 10</b><br />
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Blank<br />
<b><br /></b> <b>Back cover</b><br />
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Sticker:<i> GÖZEN. IST. SECURITY. </i>Turkey was really big on security at this time. They still are, and with good reason. My passport and luggage were covered in these stickers.<br />
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Sticker: <i>APIS GÖZEN SECURITY. ISTANBUL.</i><br />
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Sticker: <i>Security. 08/07/08. 16. FIS.</i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-58415457721436890462016-12-15T03:59:00.003+03:002016-12-15T03:59:35.750+03:00Compassion Going ForwardAnother year. I will have spent all but 13 days of this year in Thailand. It's not a bad place to spend a year or two. I've been here for a year and a half and I still can't say much more than what is absolutely necessary for my daily life. I still can't read, not even close. Somehow, though, I get by. Happily?<br /><br />My question mark is there because while I'm blissfully taking my cat on walks through hills of Northern Thailand, other parts of the globe see so much suffering. I'm worried about the state of the world.<br /><br />A few days ago, I posted a news story about <a href="http://www.aljazeera.com/news/2016/12/istanbul-armed-group-tak-claims-deadly-attack-161211132135392.html" target="_blank">bombings in Istanbul</a> carried out by a separatist group. They killed 40 random people who were near a football stadium. That in itself is bad, but it is too often that I'm posting "a heavy heart for my dear friends in Turkey" or something similar. I think they've had more than five highly-publicized bombings just this year. That doesn't count the smaller ones in less well-known regions.<br /><br />Discontent for the current regime in Turkey by some groups has fostered an extreme distrust within the government for any opposition, real or perceived. Following the July coup attempt, <a href="https://www.scholarsatrisk.org/2016/07/15-universities-shut-connection-state-emergency/" target="_blank">academics and teachers in Turkey</a> have been under scrutiny if they have any semblance of association with an exiled Islamist preacher. Many of them have found themselves permanently kicked out of academia, or even under arrest, detained, or deported.<br /><br />Today, I've been down a wormhole on <a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/Aleppo?src=hash&lang=en" target="_blank">#Aleppo</a> on Twitter. There are lots of videos of kids with holes in their heads, missing body parts, and what remains of them is bloodied and covered in rubble. It's not a movie. It is real life for Syrians. Aside from bombs, people are starving to death and unable to get medical supplies to treat the sick and wounded. People in East Aleppo are now filming videos with the real belief that this video will probably be the last one, that is, they will be dead before they can film something else. They don't want to be forgotten, to have died for nothing. Fathers beg for safety for their children, not themselves. They despair at the world's inattention to their calls for help.<br /><br />A seven-year-old tweeted what she thought would be her last tweet. Seven. She and her mother share an account and they document life in a besieged city. They believe they will die at any moment.<br /><br />I think it's hard for people outside of Syria to understand the daily devastation because it seems so unreal that a government could do that to its own people. I know it's hard for me to comprehend. Imagine if people had been tweeting from concentration camps in Nazi Germany? Perhaps people say we didn't know that was happening at the time. Modern journalism takes that excuse away from us. We KNOW that Syria is being destroyed, but we either blissfully ignore it or we watch with morbid fascination as a country destroys its heritage and its own people.<br /><br />I saw another <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/12/13/woman-kicked-downstairs-berlin-subway-shocking-attack/" target="_blank">video with footage from a security camera</a> in a Germany subway. It shows a couple of white German guys kicking a hijab-wearing Muslim woman in the back as she is going down the stairs away from them. The kick sends her flying forward, face first into the concrete floor. The men walk away as if nothing has happened. The woman lays at the bottom of the stairs for several agonizing seconds until passers-by rush to her side. Her arm was broken, and I bet she will never feel safe walking alone again. That kind of blatantly racist violence is beyond me. A woman, walking alone, minding her own business--they kick her in the back so that she falls down the stairs? Really? In what universe is that even remotely an okay thing to do to anyone?<br /><br />What am I missing?<br /><br />Why are people so intolerant of each other? Why isn't there more discussion and compromise? Why is violence so often the reaction?<br /><br />I feel like people need to sit down and listen to each other. Slow down and pay attention to what's happening, and not be so caught up in their own lives. People need to be together and talk, not bury their heads in the sand.<br /><br />Despite the current craziness in Turkey, one aspect of life there that I'll never forget is tea time. Any time you want to have a real conversation, you slow down long enough to drink tea in tiny glass cups without handles. You sit together and sip slowly. You talk about your families first. Then you talk about what's on your mind. More tea, more talking. Maybe a few bites of baklava. More tea, more talking.<br /><br />I don't believe we solve the world's problems by kicking people in the back, and we certainly don't solve problems by destroying each other's homes and families. My Grandma used to have a book called "Everything I Really Needed to Know, I learned in Kindergarten." Of course, the Syrian conflict and endemic racism are infinitely complex issues, but even a kindergartener would understand that what they see in these videos is wrong, hurtful, and scary. What's more, any teacher will tell you that crushing the voice of descent does nothing to solve a problem. In a conflict, you need to understand why people are not satisfied with the current situation and create a plan to move forward together.<br /><br />I believe everyone needs to take time to have tea with those they are in conflict with. Taking time to understand one another with compassion and an open mind is the most important step to compromise.<br /><br />If we can have compassion going forward, I believe we can create a world we all want to live in.<br /><br />Being compassionate can look many ways. One way to show your commitment to a better world right now is to make a $10 donation to a charity (or $100 or $1000 if you can afford it). It's harmless to you, but your kindness helps these organizations do their work. This year, I've donated to <a href="http://www.savethechildren.org/site/apps/nlnet/content2.aspx?c=8rKLIXMGIpI4E&b=9357115&ct=14967425&notoc=1" target="_blank">Save the Children</a> and the <a href="https://www.aspca.org/" target="_blank">ASPCA</a> (for all the fur-babies). Longer-term, think about supporting teachers in any way you can. Teachers are crucial to building a compassionate and open-minded society; but they often face low salaries, limited resources, or government policies that put artificial constraints on our classroom. If you've got the time, volunteer for an organization that supports people who are different from yourself. You'll help the community and I know you'll learn something about yourself and you world.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-72929020939640148872016-12-13T08:27:00.003+03:002016-12-13T08:33:28.807+03:00Bangkok: Two Days was EnoughThere are plenty of reasons that I had not been to Bangkok since moving to Chiang Rai in 2015. For one, I'm not generally a fan of big cities. Bangkok is a mega city of 8-10 million people. Second, it costs a fair amount of money to do a weekend in Bangkok when you count airfare, ground transport, lodging, and food. Finally, and perhaps most surprisingly, I don't really like being a tourist. It often means a lot of walking while dealing with weather and varying stages of stomach ailment in a strange place. I'm down for walking, but not with a giant backpack on busy streets in the heat of the day.<br />
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There was, though, a very good reason for Alan and I to spend the weekend in Bangkok. Our good friend from Russia, who we met while teaching in Turkey, was visiting her sister in Thailand. We agreed to meet in Bangkok for a day to catch up and do the tourist thing together.<br />
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So, just a little backstory about our friend. The past couple of months in her life seem straight out of a thriller movie. She had been working at the same university in Turkey where Alan and I worked in 2014-2015. She was still working there when Turkey experienced a failed coup attempted in July, which was blamed on <a href="https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fethullah_G%C3%BClen" target="_blank">Fethullah Gulen</a>, an Islamic preacher and education advocate who has been living in exile in Pennsylvania, USA. Our former university, it so happens, was a Gulen-funded school, which didn't really cause us any problems while we were there, but in July, immediately following the coup attempt, the university was shut down and those who weren't able to resign fast enough faced serious consequences like prison. Our friend was lucky to be the last person to resign. Meanwhile, school officials were taken away in handcuffs and detained in front of news media cameras. It seemed like the worst was over for our friend until October when foreign teachers began getting detained and deported. This is the spy thriller part. My friend is an excellent writer, and you can read her harrowing experience <a href="https://mikeandyulia.wordpress.com/2016/11/23/goodbye-turkey/" target="_blank">here</a>. I made her retell it like 50 times during our stay in Bangkok because it just seemed so unbelievable, even though I knew it was all true. My former students have all had to find new universities and try to put the pieces back together in a country that remains totally unstable.<br />
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Back to Thailand...<br />
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Bangkok kinda grosses me out, to be honest. Let's face it, even the name of the place isn't even something you really want to say in polite company. The Thai name is much less embarrassing: "Krung Thep Maha Nakhon." Past the name, though, I mean this city is super-densely populated with nearly 10 million people. My hometown has 225,000, and my home state has only a million all together. The Bangkok crowds leave me breathless and claustrophobic, tired of jockeying for position and squeezing past people at every step. In the touristy parts of Bangkok, weary travelers, grungy backpackers, and wealthy ex-pats mingle in droves of thousands. Dreadlocks, ugly tank-tops, fresh tattoos, cigarette and weed smoke, fried food, and way too much alcohol create a sensory scene common to many a tourist destination. Bangkok though, seems to cater particularly well to the some of the most hideous desires of visitors. Massage parlors, both legit and perhaps otherwise (happy ending is extra), fill the gaps between tacky dive bars blasting hits from 2007. Middle-eastern immigrants sell tailoring services every 25 feet, fleshing signs for custom suiting and occasionally making physical contact with passers by. Tuk tuk drivers verbally accost passing tourists "Where you going? Floating Market? Palace? I take you, sir! Good price." After midnight, the tuk tuk drivers pull out small signs advertising ping pong shows. Having been to Thailand on a study abroad for women's studies back when I was an undergraduate, I know exactly what happens at a ping pong show, and it has very little to do with ping pong.<br />
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While the sex tourism industry happens mostly underground, the scantily-clad drunken tourist scene happens all over. Young women tanned from the beaches of Koh Phi Phi and Phuket stumble through the streets in crocheted bikini tops and short short, leaving little to the imagination. I fear for their safety in that condition, as there are plenty of predatory people who wouldn't think twice about taking advantage of women in this situation. I want to tell them that they are beautiful and they don't need to get this kind of attention from men, but everyone has to find their own path to self-acceptance. To be clear, being drunk or dressing in a sexy way are in no way invitations or justifications for rape or any other crime, but not being vigilant and drawing a lot of attention to oneself in a strange place at night is risky anywhere. Promoting your physical assets ahead of your intellect and respect for the place you are visiting (Thais normally dress very conservatively) is something that a lot of young tourists do, and it's hard to see pieces of myself at a younger age in them.<br />
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My after midnight activities, though, pretty much never include anything except for sleeping, but if I'm still awake, there's a good bet I'm eating. This trip, my post beer snack was a kebab, the Turkish specialty that has infiltrated everywhere in Thailand. It was awesome. My dinner had been awesome as well, a mild curry accompanied by an entertaining magic show. A few beers with friends later, I was ready for a snack and a lot of sleep.<br />
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Our hostel room was exactly what one might expect to get for $15 per night. The room itself was barely bigger than the twin bed, and the bathroom, well, I've certainly seen worse, but my extensive experience with foreign bathrooms has set an unbelievably low bar. Let describe this one as teeny, moldy, and only semi-functional. The toilet didn't really flush right, so you had to open the tank and plunge your hand in to press on the seal so it would stop running. Although that seems terrible, it wasn't a big problem because, due to the seemingly ever-present jackhammers digging up a pipe outside outside of our window, they had to shut the water off in the hostel for many of the hours that we were there. <br />
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So, $15, right? The desk staff also reflected the price, as they were terribly bothered to interrupt their phone chatting to assist my friend with check in. Customer service goes a really long way. They also insisted on having conversations at top volume in the hallways before 7 AM. I don't understand Thai well, but at that volume, it *must have* been something important for all of us. Oh, and I had booked a room with air con, because nothing is worse than a very hot day followed by a sticky night. That was a good intention, but due to the unadjustable nature of the arctic air conditioner apparatus rigging and the seriously micro-sized blanket, it was very hard to sleep comfortably. The hard as a rock pillows didn't help, and the jackhammers were just icing on a rotten "cake."<br />
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Thailand is famous for food, and with good reason. Even the street food is usually cooked fresh to order and delicious. It doesn't even make me sick anymore (knock on wood). Pad Thai is always a good order, and everyone puts their own twist on it. Alan and I grabbed a few plates of the stuff from a street vendor, as well as some super yummy deep fried spring rolls. Oily? Yes. Good? You bet. We also ordered pad Thai the next day with our friend. Our Breakfast on the last morning we particularly good though. Chicken green curry served with fried pancakes similar to nan bread for dipping. Delicious. There as even a cat at the breakfast place, which automatically improves a place if you ask me. I thought the cat was being really sweet and rubbing on me, but just as I went to snap a photo, it shook its leg and sprayed pee all over the back of my calf and shoe. Damn. Egg (our cat) was curious about that smell on my shoe when we got home.<br />
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On the up side, Bangkok, in its effort to please tourists has soap in almost every bathroom. This is decidedly NOT the case in Chiang Rai. Soap is a good thing in a country where diarrhea is one of the most common ailments. I used a little soap on my cat pee leg.<br />
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I bravely asked a Thai friend for directions on which busses to take from the airport to our hotel, in an effort to save money. True to a Jena adventure, the bus trip was absolutely epic, a three-hour journey through the city at night amidst so much humanity. <br />
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On our last day, after bidding our friend goodbye, Alan and I took a boat taxi from our where we were staying to another area of the city. The boat ride was a highlight of the trip. Shaded and with a nice breeze, the boats move quickly through the river, avoiding all of Bangkok's hideous traffic. We were absolutely crammed onto the boat at the beginning, but after a few stops, we were able to sit. The kid next to me was adorable in a hat with floppy wings coming out the top. I offered his mother my seat, and she was pleasantly surprised at my gesture. People do not give up seats in Bangkok. <br />
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After the boat, Alan and I dove into the side streets of the district where we landed, and somehow stumbled upon Siloam Road, a busy area of the city where I had stayed on my first visit to Thailand. The shops sell Hindu and Halal foods, and the call to prayer wafts from the minarets over the traffic noise every few hours. We found a Turkish restaurant selling our favorite Turkish cuisine, and enjoyed a hearty meal. We even spoke a little Turkish with the waiter. Boy, was that confusing!<br />
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A few hours of walking later, we took the Sky Train to Jatujak park, one of only a few green spaces in Bangkok. We did a lap around the park and then stopped for some fried noodles at a food stall before boarding a bus to the airport. We were exhausted from carrying our heavy backpacks all day in the heat and noise of Bangkok.<br />
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All in all, I'm glad to have visited Bangkok again to make some new memories with an old friend, and to experience this strange and huge city with my husband as part of our adventure in Thailand.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-44850263447092510312016-11-19T15:38:00.003+03:002016-11-19T15:38:53.943+03:00My Profession, My SelfFor all his focus on bringing back our American jobs, President-elect Donald Trump is <i>not</i> considering my job.<br />
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Or the job of tens of thousands of English language teachers who are needed to meet the needs of literally millions of kids, teens, and adults in our communities.<br />
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Of course, I'm not on board with most of what Donald Trump says, does, or claims to stand for. Yet, I thought we would at least agree that jobs are important.<br />
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They are.<br />
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Nevertheless, Trump's inflammatory anti-immigrant rhetoric, not to mention his proposed wall, immigration bans, changes to work/study visa programs, and promise to deport millions create a very real problem for <i>my </i>job.<br />
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I'm an English as a Second Language teacher. I serve my country (and my world) by teaching language skills and representing America as a place where freedom and equality are our guiding lights--not fear and intolerance.<br />
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If there are no immigrants, international students, or refugees, I'm out of the job, and that sucks. But I'm not looking for sympathy here. I want to keep <i>my</i> job not because it pays my bills, but because it represents my values and the society I want to live in. I could definitely do other types of work (it would sure pay better!), but I don't want to. I love my job, and I love the people I get to meet by being an English teacher. I value a diverse population of people, and I take pride in the America that welcomes people from other nations to work, study, and live in our country without feeling persecuted because of their passport, holy book, or skin color.<br />
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Students at the university in Thailand where I currently teach are worried that they won't be able to go on their work/study programs in the US next year, or they fear going to the US for any reason due to Trump's rhetoric about non-white, non-Christian, non-Americans. I'm embarrassed that my country is now associated with such hypocrisy. Outside of native peoples, in America, we are all descendants of immigrants, and in my family, my own step-father only recently attained American citizenship. He was born and raised in Germany, but moved to the US for an opportunity for the lifestyle he wanted. Immigrants are integral to what makes America great and competitive on the world stage in the first place.<br />
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I may not be saying anything new today, but what I'm saying is that English teachers must not stand for the growing movement of intolerance and hate in our country. We must be advocates for our students now more than ever. Politically, we must take action at the first signs of changes to visas that will limit bright scholars from joining the conversations at our universities. We must push for the US to do its part in the resettlement of refugees. The America that was once the most desirable place for foreign students to come is getting an unworthy reputation as a bullying, hateful place where foreigners are in danger.<br />
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That's not my America. My America values the contributions of people from around the world and welcomes people who believe America is still a land of opportunity.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-74946369808901431582016-11-10T08:49:00.005+03:002016-11-10T10:55:47.301+03:00Hold your head high and represent YOURSELF well (a pseudo-expat's reaction to the 2016 election)To my friends and family in the US and, especially, those living abroad:<br />
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Perhaps like many of you, I spent yesterday in disbelief about the results of the presidential election. At my desk, staring in to my computer screen searching for an alternative outcome, I watched the votes pass the 270 mark, and I watched a new President-Elect take the stage. I feared for the future of my country. I felt defeated. I felt ashamed.<br />
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But today I realize that now, more than ever, is the time for me (and you!) to represent America with dignity and pride--to live as examples of educated, free people who are neither so fragile as to be broken by disappointment, nor so stubborn to put our heads in the sand until we get our way--but instead as people who make choices out of hope and not fear (shout out to Nelson Mandela).<br />
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Living abroad, in many ways, puts the spotlight on my Americanness. People know I’m an American. Everywhere I go, I represent my home country, and I choose to represent what I see as the best of America. If people don’t like the president, maybe they will at least like me and see that Americans are not defined by our president. Just because the President of my country says something, doesn’t mean it’s my view. People from around the world can relate to that sentiment.<br />
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When I studied abroad during the Bush administration, I was often asked about why I supported him. I didn’t, and I hadn’t been old enough to vote in that election. I was frustrated by that prejudice and assumption that because of my citizenship, I could be summarized in terms of George Bush’s policies. Looking back, I understand that coming from a powerful country with the privileges of democracy has a few down-sides. That I did support Obama on other experiences abroad brought me greater comfort, as he was generally well-liked by people I met in other countries. Now, facing a Trump presidency, I am preparing myself to handle those conversations gracefully; but more important, to show by example that Americans are good people who have hope for the future.<br />
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Don’t misunderstand me. The President-Elect ran on a platform of things I do not support, and the comments he has made about virtually every group outside of white males have been abhorrent and reprehensible. He has chosen to present himself this way, I believe, in order to strike a nerve with the American people--to get attention. Now he’s got it, and I hope he won’t feel the need to lash out anymore. His administration will probably want to change a lot of things from the way they are now. I can’t necessarily stop that, but I can be involved in my own community to create the world I want to live in.<br />
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I will not support laws or measures that deny US citizens equal rights or anyone’s right to make choices about their own body and how they present it to the world, nor will I support laws or measures that degrade human rights of people from other countries. The United States stand as a symbol of hope in the world, and as a symbol of democracy, reason, and progress. While the future under a new leader seems uncertain, we, the people, remain in control of our approach to the world. We can be stubborn, bitter, and disengaged, or we can be optimistic, resourceful, and participatory. Every day, we each have the chance (and responsibility) to represent our country as a place where diversity of people and ideas can be respected.<br />
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All is not lost. We, as Americans, are not summed up in one person. We are a nation of people who must continue to live together and work for our common goals.<br />
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Some are saying this is the end of America. And, if you believe that, and you disengage from our society, it IS the end of the most valuable parts of America: our freedom to voice differing opinions. Until you've lived in places where that freedom does NOT exist, where issues like sexism, racism, and homophobia are not even part of the discussion, you may not realize what a remarkable system we are part of.<br />
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If we don't give up, this is not the end. Hold your head high and represent YOURSELF well. That's your duty to your country.<br />
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Note: To be frank, I'm a straight, white person, so while I am utterly disgusted by his remarks about race, religion, disability, etc., I admit that I have so much less to lose from this election than many of my peers who are non-white, non-Christian, non-straight, non-traditionally gendered, or any other factor that may make ignorant people in our society see you as less than. You are not less than. I support and respect you as a whole human worthy of every right I have. I want to help you gain and maintain those rights. To my fellow women (and men! and others!), we have a battle on our hands. We might not be able to change our leader for four years, but we can demand women be seen as equal counterparts.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-40745117725343366162016-10-10T07:27:00.001+03:002016-10-10T07:27:24.686+03:00Egg-Venture: HILLtribe DrivingOur weekend adventures in Northern Thailand are rarely dull, especially the Egg-ventures.<br /><br />Egg the cat causes quite a stir when he walks on his leash with us in national parks and near Buddhist temples. As if a couple of foreigners weren’t being weird enough already, here they come with a cat on a leash.<br /><br />Egg missed out on Saturday’s adventure because we couldn’t find him when it was time to leave, but he got quite an adventure on Sunday.<br /><br />Our goal was fairly simple, Chiang Rai beach, which is a sandy spot at the edge of the Maekok River just outside of the city center. We had been there before. However, we saw some intriguing signs for a forest park and waterfall, so we decided to pass on the beach and explore a little deeper. The winding roads led us up into the hilly backcountry inhabited by Thais and members of various Hilltribes. These areas are rural and quite poor. The shoulderless roads are made of concrete, no more than about 12 feet wide, with about a 12 inch drop on either side into a drainage ditch to keep the rain under control. The densely forested hills require the already treacherous roads to be set at incredibly steep grades (30% maybe) with blind corners.<br /><br />Ever the queasy stomach, I was hoping we would give up on the waterfall search after struggling up a steep hill, but we kept going, edging over the crest onto an even steeper downhill. To our right, thick bamboo and forest grew on the hill’s angle, while to our left, an ominous forest slope continued downward to the bottom of the valley. Egg was asleep in his cat carrier, a.k.a. “safety box” while I struggled to manage my nausea and the tight grip of my engaged seatbelt. About halfway down the hill, we stopped, realizing that the further we went, the further we’d have to claw our way back up in our 220,000 km manual transmission Isuzu truck. The emergency brake wasn’t even enough to keep us still on that gradient, so Alan found a tiny cut out of jungle that looked big enough to get turned around. He got us backed into the cut out, but the back wheels couldn’t get enough traction on the slippery forest floor to push the heavy front end. The intense whirr of spinning tires is always a stressful sound, and it reminded me instantly of long winters in Nebraska, getting stuck spinning on ice at the corner of 84th and Leighton. Or sliding through an intersection on Highway 2. Or a Sisyphean climb and slide to the bottom of the hill on Yaqui drive in Flagstaff. <br /><br />The difference this time was that it was about 95 degrees and we were several miles from civilization in a country where neither of really speak the language (especially not the Hilltribe languages) on the steepest slope I’ve ever been on in a vehicle, with our cat now awake and worried.<br /><br />I’ve seen Alan do some of the most amazing driving, especially in bad weather, tough roads, in traffic, and with a manual, but this was no easy task. But after a few unsuccessful tries to get the truck going, I could see he was worried.<br /><br />Maybe I could help us get more traction. Some rocks perhaps. I got out of the truck. With no rocks in sight, I carefully unearthed a fallen bamboo branch and lodged it in front of the left rear tire. Trucks are rear-wheel drive apparently. Things you should know about your car before driving it...<br /><br />With a surprisingly loud crack, the truck smashed the bamboo and rolled forward, but with so little road to work with in front of the truck due to the steep drop on the other side, the truck rolled back to its perpendicular predicament before it could make any useful progress. Stuck. Half on the concrete, half in the jungle mud.<br /><br />While we were stopped there, a man on an old and rickety motorbike chugged by, with a load of freshly-cut green onion strapped to the back of his bike. He seemed unmoved by the farang in the truck. Putt putt putt up the hill with his onions.<br /><br />Although I often have nightmares about having to drive backwards, I suggested to Alan that rather than fight with gravity in a manual trying to get turned around at this ridiculous point in the road, why not just do the hill in reverse?<br /><br />Had I been alone in the car or if I were the one who had to get out of the situation, I might have just either (a) kept going on the hill and try to turn around at some point when the ground flattened out and hope that my first gear would be enough to get up the hill, or (b) thrown in the towel and taken up residence with the local hilltribe.<br /><br />Alan though, a tough native Utah guy with lots of experience driving in the mountains, took the challenge. Egg and I clutched each other, eyes closed as Alan used incredible coordination to get us moving backward on a narrow road with little margin for error on either side. Despite the precarious road, we had to get speed to keep the engine from stalling. Each time we slowed too much, the kunk kunk kunk of the engine jerked the entire vehicle and Alan pressed hard on the brake to keep us from losing ground. Letting up the brake and flooring the gas as the he carefully let out the clutch, the diesel engine roared. Due to the incline, the view out the back of the truck was pretty much only sky, so Alan had to rely on side mirrors and expert coordination of which way to turn the wheel, lest we careen off the road into the jungly cliffs. Knowing that my anxiety would not be helpful, I held Egg tightly and thought about making it safely, trying to ignore Alan’s flip-flop wearing feet, just hoping they’d do the right thing at the right time. The idyllic lush green forest and late afternoon sunshine betrayed the very stressful situation we faced just to get us back to the crest of the hill, where a mercifully reasonable place to turn around awaited us. It took five laborious minutes of stalling and restarting to get about 300 meters. <br /><br /><div>
Amazingly, we made it. Driving forward again seemed like a hard-won privilege, and we were all shaken up. Egg buried his face in my hands and clung to my lap. I think he wished he had taken Saturday’s adventure trip instead.<br /><br />In the backcountry of Northern Thailand, adventure awaits on every concrete road, around every corner, and (midway) down every hill. I feel really lucky that, at least for now, I get to experience an adventurer’s life in such a beautiful place with my two favorite boys.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-66433617086175710582016-08-12T15:44:00.002+03:002016-08-12T15:44:55.110+03:00Once again living the (evolving) dreamWhen I set out to be a language teacher living abroad, I had some pretty grand ideas about what it would be like--exotic locations, strange fruits, some fame (though not much fortune). Throughout my master’s program, I developed what I thought were some impressive academic credentials in methodology, assessment, curriculum design, and even sociolinguistics. The professors told us that one day we’d probably be asked to give some workshops to train other teachers, local teachers. <br /><br />Last night, pausing to savor the cool evening air, I stood barefoot on a bamboo bridge in the middle of Lake Phayao. The lake water lapped between the bamboo, gently wetting my feet with lukewarm water. The sun had set behind green hills far in the distance, casting a periwinkle glow in the sky and on the water. The bridge from the shore to the mid-lake island temple was lit by small white lights, a beautifully festive scene all around. Lilypads dotted the water nearer to the shore and light Thai music floated on the air from a nearby exercise court. I had to stop and try to absorb the incredible atmosphere that seemed to be straight out of my grand ideas of what teaching abroad would be like. I was, once again, living the dream. <br /><br />I managed to ignore my preoccupation that I’d either contract a horrible parasite through some imperceptible opening in my foot, or that I’d flat out step on a nail on the delightfully ramshackle bridge. I had taken off my nearly brand new athletic shoes to prevent them from getting soaked by the murky lake water. The trade off of nail stepping for preserving new shoes seems pretty silly, but feeling the bamboo creak under my bare feet added to my experience, so the risk was tolerable.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSQtbo9duBkWCIg5FLL-Et5lUETOyuFwMbKpra8eENPlgMr4jlb3063SkymzcblL6yeoH1j8nmWVn1_a-mKOPooniLHZd3fwYsC7pif0WNksIyL-jp-d5Zuss6qS2S5fYINWwFOj3Pxw/s1600/13827325_1035906376508377_2022978585_n%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSQtbo9duBkWCIg5FLL-Et5lUETOyuFwMbKpra8eENPlgMr4jlb3063SkymzcblL6yeoH1j8nmWVn1_a-mKOPooniLHZd3fwYsC7pif0WNksIyL-jp-d5Zuss6qS2S5fYINWwFOj3Pxw/s320/13827325_1035906376508377_2022978585_n%25281%2529.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from the bridge</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBAytdeu8LFzTSe_AjQ7U_g_eIZFhBD18QfFuph79M0CywhduQ1bSeiZGrgkK8yEvrZ_84_-0tAhurv3iF3JoOftTLrdUUGYL9jEa97SKmIGEBVlVDnaEn63hgzDzRjp3PqhTV1NSQz_c/s1600/13900257_10100531439992559_2345565490627559915_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBAytdeu8LFzTSe_AjQ7U_g_eIZFhBD18QfFuph79M0CywhduQ1bSeiZGrgkK8yEvrZ_84_-0tAhurv3iF3JoOftTLrdUUGYL9jEa97SKmIGEBVlVDnaEn63hgzDzRjp3PqhTV1NSQz_c/s320/13900257_10100531439992559_2345565490627559915_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teachers from Phayao and Phrae</td></tr>
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<br />On the tiny island, subtle lights illuminated a tree covered in strips of orange cloth, each symbolizing the wish of someone who had tied it on. Some people knelt to pray nearby, while others reached for their selfie sticks to snap some photos overlooking the lake. The sound of a delicate gong divided moments between people’s prayers and others’ selfies. Children dropped coins into an old canoe filled with water and floating flower candles. High school students wandered onto the island clad in their uniforms with the unattractive shoes. Women in sparkling sandals had made the trip across the bridge unscathed. Men, ever protective of new sneakers, appeared from the bridge like me, barefoot and carrying their footwear. <br /><br />Lacing my shoes back up after returning to dry land, I contemplated the choices I had made to get myself to this very interesting place in time. I also wondered where I could get some ice cream, or maybe some more of that sour mango with sugar and chili (strange fruit is everywhere here). <br /><br />Although the bridge event in itself was worth the trip to Phayao, in the past three days, I can say that I got to live another one of my dreams. A doctoral candidate where I teach asked me to be a teacher trainer as part of her dissertation research. My task was to deliver a 12.5-hour workshop on pragmatics over the course of three days. I traveled with her to Phayao, Thailand to give the workshop at the university there. I instructed the teachers about some nuances of English use regarding speech acts such as compliments, refusals, and criticisms. We watched movie clips and did activities to practice what they were learning. It was intensely academic and a bit of a stretch for me, as I have been out of school for a few years. However, it was also very intellectually stimulating and invigorating for me. Teaching other teachers means that I can potentially impact hundreds of students' education. I hope that something I mentioned at the workshop helps a student somewhere down the line. <br /><br />The teacher-trainer lifestyle has seemed very appealing for a long time because it includes the pleasant parts of teaching (e.g., motivated students and reward of students’ progress) without the drain (e.g., grading). Maybe it's worth investigating how I can do more cool stuff like this! <br /><br />Teacher by day, bridge-goer by night. Seems like a good lifestyle to me. <br /><br /> <br /><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-50588857869243643512016-07-17T18:15:00.001+03:002016-07-17T18:15:17.576+03:00Getting HealthyI guess I haven't written in a while.<br />
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After indulging in too much curry and too much alcohol six weeks ago on Koh Lanta, I decided that it was time to make a few changes.<br />
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Alan and I gave up alcohol for Ramadan, which was surprisingly easy, and we saved a lot of money. A lot of calories, too.<br />
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I gave up coffee, which was actually quite hard. I substitute green tea, but it's not the same as a ritual. I loved making a french press of coffee first thing in the morning. And getting a pick-me-up iced Americano mid-morning. However, I think the caffeine was contributing to my general levels of stress, and I often felt a crash in the afternoon. It's harder to wake up without coffee, but the day, in general, goes more smoothly. I think it's worth it.<br />
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Alan challenged me to start running. His exact challenge was to start by running for three consecutive minutes and add one minute each day until you reach 20 minutes. Challenge accepted, met, and exceeded. In fact, today I ran for 34 minutes, which IF YOU'VE EVER KNOWN ME AT ALL you know is something I would never have done in the past. I have always hated running, and I literally had panic attacks about running-related gym classes or volleyball training from elementary school until high school (and beyond, kind of).<br />
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Now, I actually *look forward* to lacing up my shoes and sweating it out on the hills behind campus. I never thought I'd say that. I'm not fast, but I don't give up. My mantra is "you can go slowly, just don't stop," and it works. The best part about the running is that I get to feel a huge sense of accomplishment when I reach my goal every day. I feel a lot stronger mentally, knowing that I can persevere through times when I would have normally given up. Life metaphor much?<br />
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So, a lighter, less-caffeinated, jogger-ish person has emerged from my once-jittery shell. I've lost about 10 pounds and my resting heart rate has gone from 90 beats per minute to 50. Actually 46, which kind of freaked out the doctor. He said I have an "athlete's heart." Nice.<br />
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My stress level is more manageable with these lifestyle changes, and I feel like they are sustainable. Drink less alcohol and caffeine, do more cardio. Now, if I could just find time and energy to learn Thai...<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-27597200794101106292016-06-07T06:00:00.001+03:002016-06-07T06:00:25.299+03:00Bread, Finally.I’m sitting in a French-style café called Faim de Loup (hunger of the wolf, I guess) on Koh Lanta (Lanta Island). It’s a large island off the coast of Southern Thailand. It’s considered the laid-back island by comparison to other islands that prioritize partying. I’m not much of a partier, so this seemed like the right choice for an anniversary trip with my husband. The café serves freshly baked bread, croissants, cinnamon rolls, and baguettes. I feel like I’m getting a really special treat after my rice-based diet of the past year. Living in a somewhat un-touristy area of Thailand like Chiang Rai means that you don’t get much (good) bread. Vacationing in a tourist area offers a lot more variation in food, and wow did that ham and cheese sandwich go down easily!<br /><br />From where I sit, I can see a line of motorbikes and motor-scooters. If you’ve never seen a motor-scooter like the ones that are absolutely everywhere in Thailand, it’s a fairly small machine that has a motor, two wheels, and a seat big enough for two (sometimes three) adults. The Thai motorbikes and scooters are often very gendered. The guys bikes, which I guess are motorcycles, are big, usually black or a very loud color, and have very angular shapes which seem to imitate muscles. The girl bikes, on the other hand are a little childish looking for my taste. They are often pink or pastel and decorated with cartoon characters and have weird slogans like “jeans lover” on them. The speedometer is often huge and in the center of the handlebars. The gauge goes up to 180 kilometer per hour, but I’ve never gone more than 80, and I don’t like going much over 40 on these rickety machines. Alan and I own one in Chiang Rai, a 135 cc Yamaha boy bike, so we are very used to riding motorbikes. The scooter we rented here is girly and only 115 cc, so it feels tiny and toy-ish by comparison. Especially on the steep island roads, it feels like we’ll never get to the top. We do of course.<br /><br />Back at the café, I’m nearly finished with my “Americano” coffee. In less touristy places, I have to be very specific about my order. Americano, no sugar, no brown sugar, and please add a little milk. Thais love to make coffee super sweet using sugars, syrups, and even sweetened condensed milk. The result is a desert-like drink. Of course it’s delicious, but my teeth and waistline can’t handle it. However, in places frequented by westerners, like this café, my Americano automatically came out unsweetened and with a little carafe of milk to add as I please. It’s a luxury to be catered to in this way.<br /><br /><div>
I’m nursing a shoulder sunburn, which has be sitting in the shade of the café, wearing a sports bra (and regular shirt, of course!) that doesn’t interfere with the burn. I’ve got bare feet under the table, because many businesses in Thailand ask you to leave your shoes at the door. It helps keep them cleaner, I suppose.<br /></div>
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The bathroom at this café is good, though today the sink isn’t working--par for the course in Thailand. If the basic requirements for a restaurant bathroom in the US were: toilet paper, toilet seat, working sink, soap, and a hand dryer; in Thailand, you can pretty much count on having maybe two of those. If more of those requirements are met, you’ve found yourself a good bathroom. If I could change one thing about Thailand that I thought would make it a safer place, I would add soap to every bathroom. In a land where diarrhea is super common among locals and tourists, at least a thorough hand wash (especially by food prep workers) might prevent some transmission. <br /><br />Bathrooms not withstanding, vacationing on a tropical Thai island is a pretty cool experience. Having a breakfast in Thailand that consists of unsweetened coffee and fresh bread—what a treat!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-77966454504592808512016-04-30T14:42:00.001+03:002016-04-30T14:42:10.833+03:00The Dream, Chiang Rai, and Store CreditToday, headed North on the so-called superhighway that runs from Bangkok to Burma, I remembered that I'm living the dream. My dream. Living abroad (and doing it like a boss). When I'm buried in paperwork and grading, I sometimes forget to zoom out and see the bigger picture.<br />
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I might have only been going to the big grocery store for weekly errands, but I was casually commanding a rumbling diesel-fueled manual pick-up truck through weekend traffic, dodging errant motorbikes and speed-hungry lorries (semi-trucks for my fellow Americans), all while singing along to tunes on my iPad. Pretty badass.<br />
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The drug and human-trafficking checkpoint no longer seems so foreign, though I'm still a little relieved every time I don't get pulled over. Not that they should or have any reason to, just that I've seen enough episodes of Locked Up Abroad to know that not all justice systems are created equally. All that to say, I have to pass a checkpoint on my way to the grocery store. Then, I turn down a narrow country road lined with palm trees and rice paddies, before parking in an otherwise unnotable lot.<br />
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Alan and I spent the morning, hangovers and all, in the fancy customer room at the Isuzu dealership while our truck was serviced. Alan took a nap in a recliner (seriously) and I graded papers at a nearby table while a giant TV blared Thai soaps and talk shows. We took a mid-morning break to get some food.<br />
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Our lunch was about as Thai as it gets. A roadside noodle shop selling mysterious pork bits in a salty broth with glass noodles and green onions. Cars roared past, kicking up dust as we sucked down our noodles. For about 2 bucks, we both filled our bellies.<br />
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We spent a few more hours waiting for our truck, settled the bill, and rolled off the lot a little safer and a lot cleaner than we had come in. I learned it is possible to get through a car tune-up with knowledge of about 10 Thai words and a lot of patience.<br />
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The past few weeks have been like living inside my parents' Traeger smoker. If the traeger had roaches and lizards. And maybe if it were a few degrees hotter. Kidding.<br />
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The smoke problem in Chaing Rai seems indicative of the general attitude toward rules here. It is illegal to burn your fields, and there are signs all over the place, but yet, one can look out and see fields on fire. No one is being held accountable. Thus, the air is a nasty gray soup, most days completely obscuring the normally beautiful views of the foothills of Chiang Rai. April's outstanding heatwave hasn't done much to improve the situation. Apparently we are breaking heat records that were set 65 years ago.<br />
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You don't have to tell me that it's hot. I wear these beautiful, if absolutely suffocating, wool pencil skirts to work every day. Luckily, our offices and classrooms are air-conditioned, but by the time I trek across campus to my classroom, my face and hair look like I've just been at the gym.<br />
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We don't have any air-conditioning at our apartment. It's not that bad with a couple of fans going, but yeah, it's not that great either. Egg likes to lay belly-up under the fan. I don't blame him.<br />
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I actually bought what I thought was an air-conditioner the other week, but neither Alan nor I felt that the evaporation cooler did anything to help our hot house, so I tried to take it back to the store.<br />
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One person spoke English. I speak just enough Thai to really get myself into trouble. Imagine dealing with a customer service person and having about 20-30 words in common between the two of you. Imagine that the customer service person doesn't want to accept the return, but it cost you more than you wanted to spend anyway. I patiently negotiated for about 30 minutes before finally getting store credit. They wanted nothing to do with the cooler that I had used for an hour before deciding I didn't like it. On one hand, I get it. On the other hand, I think that making sure the customer is satisfied is really important, and that a few returns won't have that big of an impact on profit, but that losing customers and customer networks might. Anyway, in the end, I was somewhat ok with the outcome and left the store feeling pretty defeated and hot.<br />
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So, living the dream also includes dealing with strange things and frighteningly familiar things, like customer service counters.<br />
<br />
There are only a few weeks left in the semester, so I'm very much looking forward to our short but sweet vacation time in early June. We are thinking islands. Talk about living the dream!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-9743230250572703142016-04-15T05:13:00.002+03:002016-04-15T05:13:38.834+03:00Visiting Southern Thailand for the Songkran HolidayIn Thailand, they celebrate the new year in April. It's the hottest time of the year, and people splash each other with water to celebrate.<br />
<br />
Alan and I decided to take a new AirAsia route from Chiang Rai to Hat Yai, Thailand. It is the only direct flight out of Chiang Rai, other than Bangkok.<br />
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Hat Yai is a huge city in the deep South of Thailand, not far from the Malaysian border. Where we live is just a short drive from the Northern border with Myanmar, so basically, it's as far as we could go and not have to deal with getting visas.<br />
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Alan chose the flight, and I was in charge of the accommodation, so I chose a small, German-managed beach resort in Songkhla, about an hour from Hat Yai. The beach always helps me relax.<br />
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The scene here is serene and tropical. The flower blooms are absolutely technicolor bold, and many buildings and fences are painted to match. My favorite are these big bushes with super-bright magenta flowers. The sea air is warm and clear, which is even more enjoyable because we've been living in crop-burning smoke for the past month. The water is turquoise blue and clear as can be. There are millions of beautiful seashells and lots of tumbled sea glass. The water is the temperature of a warm bath. There is a reason that Thai beaches are famous.<br />
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Interestingly, we are way off of the beaten path (still) for foreign tourists. The beaches are empty save for the occasional fishing boat. Most foreign tourists don't come this far south. Most Thai adults don't do the beach the same way that Western people do. Westerners put on their bikinis and sunscreen and lay out in the sun or go swimming, maybe stopping for a drink now and then. In my observation, the Thai way to have a beach holiday involves lots of beach-side picnicking. If you swim, you wear gym clothes for modesty.<br />
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The past two days, Alan and I have borrowed bicycles from the resort to ride down the beach road. It was a highlight of my trip for sure. Our purpose was to get to the grocery store in town to buy a few big bottles of drinking water, but the journey was wonderful. We cruised the road with blue-green sea to one side, and lush tropical plants to the other. It was downright hot and the sun was relentless, but occasionally we would get festively splashed by Songkran celebrators.<br />
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We picked up green mango salad for lunch both days, a light and cheap option for hot days.<br />
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A few people wanted to take selfies with us. We usually oblige, despite how weird it is. It makes me feel like a celebrity, sort of.<br />
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We're headed into Hat Yai City today for our last vacation day. I'll miss the tranquility of this resort, and the easy vibe that beach towns usually have. It has helped me unwind and slow down. I guess I can't stay forever.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-515791752060626742016-02-23T17:56:00.001+03:002016-02-23T17:56:17.166+03:00Going Back to Phnom Penh after Six Years.<div class="MsoNormal">
Six years ago, I flew to Phnom Penh on a one-way ticket with plans to teach as a volunteer until I figured <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">life</i> out. I had just finished my undergraduate degree, and the US economy had just experienced the great recession. <o:p></o:p></div>
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On the flight from Seoul to Phnom Penh in 2010, I sat between a middle-aged Cambodian woman and a 50-something government agent from America. The man's job was to conduct stings on child sex operations in Cambodia. He was supposed to solicit sex with a child from the brothel owner, and once inside the brothel, signal a raid to get all the kids out safely. Or something totally scary like that. I had known that child exploitation is a problem in Cambodia, but to be confronted with it on the flight in was unsettling to say the least. The woman on my other side was somehow connected to the Cambodian Institute of Technology, a university in Phnom Penh. She was flying in to help hand out diplomas to graduates. Possibly due to my charm and intellect, though more likely for my blond hair, she insisted that I come to help her with the ceremony. She was somewhat transparent about the fact that having an American present would add a sense of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ethos</i> to the university. She gave me her phone number.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A few days later, on one of my very first excursions in Phnom Penh, I somehow found my way across town to the <i>Institute de Technologie du Cambodge</i> (remnants of a former French occupation linger in Phnom Penh). I dutifully sat through a multi-hour ceremony conducted in Khmer, and then did my best to graciously hand out the diplomas and pose for photos.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This weekend, I returned to Phnom Penh for the first time since 2010. Oddly enough, I found myself sitting in the very same room at the ITC, listening to a presentation about English teaching. Alan and I were attending a language teacher conference. The conference was held in the aging buildings of the ITC, and the experience of being back in that particular room was profound for me. I had returned to the source of something that has been so important in my adult life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My stint in Cambodia six years ago has lingered in my mind as one of my biggest perceived failures. A <i>failure</i> because I didn’t thrive in the exotic environment. I was too hot, dirty and miserable for most of my time there. I was counting the days until I could leave. I left with a sense of giving up, of defeat. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Coming back to Cambodia with a lot more life experience, including a year in the middle of Turkey, and an ongoing experience in rural-ish Thailand, I was able to see just how difficult the context was in Cambodia.<br />
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Phnom Penh is damn hot during the dry season. It is super dusty. The air quality is quite bad—enough to give me a headache almost immediately. There are people and cars and motorbikes and goods everywhere, all jammed together in tiny spaces. It's too hot to sleep. Floors are wet. There is a hair in every dish you order. Windows have bars on them. The traffic is incessant and disturbing. There are barely any sidewalks in the city. Getting around means bargaining with hired drivers who want to squeeze every last dollar out of you. Back then, it was so far from what I was used to. It was so uncomfortable.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Desk graffiti at the ITC</td></tr>
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Now, in comparison to living in Turkey and Thailand, I understand Cambodia a lot better. I can accept the sidewalk situation and the air quality. I have a much stronger support system now because Alan is with me. More important, I realize that I was incredibly brave (though also possibly reckless and stupid) to jump into life in Cambodia. Over the weekend, I felt a strong sense of self-confidence re-seeing places I had been so long ago. I took my husband and one of our friends from graduate school who was also attending the conference to a concert that I knew about because of a local paper that I sometimes check. I recommended foods to try. I enjoyed telling people about my previous experiences as a teacher in Phnom Penh.<br />
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Revisiting the ITC reminded me of the Cambodia that I knew six years ago. Aging buildings showing their wear-and-tear. Ancient-looking desks. Concrete walls with angled slats to let in the "breeze." The whir of ceiling fans overhead. Palm trees and lush vegetation growing in the courtyard. Bathrooms that make “holding it” seem like the better idea.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dust and air pollution still plague the city that I remember, and in my opinion, the air quality is actually far worse than six years ago. The tuk tuk ride from the airport to our guesthouse was a gritty introduction to the city due to the swirling dirt clouds and heavy traffic. The din of karaoke bars, engines, and streetside construction also hangs heavily in the hot air.<o:p></o:p></div>
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What’s bothering me a little is that I liked the new and improved Phnom Penh. The influx of western comforts and additional attention to the desires of tourists (cafes, fresh coffee, and better lighting at night), have made the city more accessible. I can’t help but wonder if I would have liked the place more if it had been this way six years ago--if I wouldn't have <i>failed</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I know that on some level, I chose Cambodia in 2010 because it is a developing country, in every sense of the word, and a place where I literally knew no one. That last part was a big criteria, because I wanted to be unique. <i>Cambodia, </i>in all its mystique, was dirty, corrupt, and probably dangerous (and still is). From the perspective of a privileged American 20-something, living in a developing country is perhaps a rite of passage, an entrance to an elite group, something that your peers will admire you for. Ultimately though, the characteristics that gave Phnom Penh its exotic appeal are the same that made it such a difficult place for me to live six years ago.<o:p></o:p></div>
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After five months of struggling through life in Phnom Penh, I packed up and returned to my hometown where I spent the next year living with my parents and struggling with part-time work at a licorice store (yes, really) and at a Home Depot (yes, unfortunately). Decidedly NOT the outcome I had hoped for with that one-way ticket.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Coming back to Cambodia was important to me. Phnom Penh challenged six years ago with its oppressive heat, chaos, and pollution. But this city also gave me my first taste of teaching English—the very thing that would become my career and my passion in life.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Phnom Penh has matured since 2010. There are now many high-rise buildings in the skyline, and so many under construction. So many things look new and cleaner. There are better street signs. However, some things never change. The traffic is still incomprehensible and seemingly lawless. Cars and motorbikes jostle for position in intersections, and it seems like an accident is possible at every second. We even got into a tuk-tuk fender bender on the way to the conference before our presentation.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Riverside view</td></tr>
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The Riverside area of Phnom Penh still feels like a breath of fresh-ish air, overlooking the confluence of the Mekong and a smaller river. Monks in their bright orange robes walk the broad sidewalks in sharp contrast to the grey-blue skies. Boats of all sizes cruise by, disappearing in the smoggy distance.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When I was here six years ago, I lived in an area of town quite far from the Riverside. Most nights, we stayed near our house, treating ourselves to brownie sundaes at the few Western cafes in the neighborhood. Every few weeks, we would go downtown, to the swanky Riverside area to get drinks and go dancing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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On this trip, I booked a guesthouse very near to the Riverside area so that Alan and I could explore and enjoy the foreigner-friendliest area of town in the evenings.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tuk tuk ride to the conference venue</td></tr>
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After our presentationat the conference, I felt a great sense of relief. The stressful project was over. The husband-wife research team could disband and just be husband and wife again. Phnom Penh could now be a place where I found inspiration for a career in teaching, and another place on the globe that Alan and I have experienced together.</div>
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I went back to Cambodia a better version of myself, and I feel that Cambodia greeted me with its own new and improved self.<br />
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I hope that my sense of failure about Cambodia will continue to fade. Seeing the Phnom Penh again, I realize that six years ago I was up against the most formidable of opponents--myself. In Nebraska or In Cambodia, it's the same Jena. The search for meaning in life isn't found at the end of a one-way ticket.<br />
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On my second trip to Phnom Penh, with my husband by my side and hundreds of like-minded teachers talking about how to serve our students better, I think I've found what I was looking for.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7zJPPJxsbELyoH3qXu_US9QBsHsmrIJTt-yG_to_rhy2ZvWgMrImAXz8pu4bN73zwnd97mrGHN1RRPr-yKpvFQTegCxcmXYere75x18_0jPwDzB4NrsIBXZai4G2gNVm-BMjYoJ6uNb8/s1600/12771912_10100440207074059_3372122997002960219_o.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-24556282403635093362016-02-11T16:31:00.002+03:002016-02-11T16:31:10.026+03:00An Egg, two Greeks, a slackline and a tree<br />An Egg, two Greeks, a slackline and a tree. It's not the set up for a joke or MacGuyver episode, but the components of a strange Wednesday evening.<br /><br />Alan and I came home after work, expecting Egg to come greet us as he usually does. When we didn’t see him, we thought maybe he was relaxing indoors, thanks to the new wooden plank system we’ve rigged up to let him get in and out of our apartment. <br /><br />Then we heard a distinct meow. My cat mom instincts cause me to run down to the backyard of our apartment complex still in my work clothes. <br /><br />It turned out that Egg was perched about 35 feet off the ground in a big tree. He was stuck and in distress because he couldn’t get down.<br /><br />Alan and I called to him a few times, but it was clear that he wouldn’t be able to get himself out easily, so Alan went back upstairs to change into clothes appropriate for climbing a tree.<br /><br />Before he went up the tree, I reminded him that cats handle falls pretty well, but humans don’t.<br /><br />Mercifully, Alan wasn’t able to climb more than 10 or 15 feet up, so I didn’t have to worry.<br /><br />The next plan involved a rope. Alan’s nylon slackline, to be exact. I’m not sure what our plan was, exactly.<br /><br />Around the time when we started hurtling the slackline into the tree with a few metal carabiners on the end for weights, our Greek neighbor showed up. He’s a mechanic by trade, and also a cat lover. During the day, I gather that he and Egg spend a lot of time working on his motorbike together.<br /><br />He immediately jumped into our plan, and brought down a cushion from his couch as a crash pad for a falling Egg.<br /><br />Based on YouTube videos I’ve seen, I figured that jumping out of the tree was Egg’s best shot at a safe return to Earth. But how to make him jump.<br /><br />The three of us decided to hook the slackline around a tree branch and try to shake Egg out. Although I didn’t get in on the rope-pulling action until the very end, I can attest to how exhausting it is to exert that much force on a rope, pulling and pulling.<br /><br />The shaking tree made Egg howl out of fear. He clung so tightly to the branch so far above the ground.<br /><br />One of our Thai neighbors and his daughters came to see what all the fuss was about.<br /><br />Egg was still in the tree tops.<br /><br />Our Greek neighbor’s wife, a science professor at the university, came home to the confusion. She’s also Greek. They are the people who we recruit to care for Egg when we’re gone because they love cats. <br /><br />The three of us continues our shake strategy until yet another Thai neighbor showed up, offering to call the campus security. She called, but it took a long time for them to show up. They didn’t have any equipment, so they tried to call their friend, who is apparently a great tree climber.<br /><br />Around this time, I got in on the rope action, and gave the cushion to our mechanic neighbor. Alan and I pulled with all of our weight to shake poor Egg off that branch.<br /><br />Eventually, he did slip off and plummet down, right onto the cushion in the neighbor’s arms. Egg immediately darted off. The science professor went to find him as we helped disperse the crowd that had gathered. <br /><br />She came back with a shaking cat, still fluffed from fear.<br /><br />I gave some Nebraska souvenirs to the woman who helped us as a small thank-you for going out of her way to help.<div>
<br />I snuggled Egg in my fleece Huskers jacket, and I invited our neighbors in for a beer. It had been such a stressful situation, but we enjoyed our drinks, and later, dinner together.<br /><br />Egg survived the incident with only a few painful claws, and hopefully a new fear of heights. I think he might be down to eight lives.<br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-67574463867605301112016-01-29T12:55:00.001+03:002016-01-29T12:55:19.648+03:00Getting out of the waySometimes, the best thing we can do as teachers (and maybe as human beings) is get out of the way.<br />
<br />
This afternoon, one of my colleagues mentioned "getting out of the way" as the final step of his strategy for teaching. Something like teach, test, and get out of the way.<br />
<br />
I had just spent the morning groping for the reigns of one of my classes as I tried to plan out everything for the next two weeks. Control everything. Make sure everything was exactly right. Make sure that I was teaching everything that students need to know. Make sure. Make sure. Make sure.<br />
<br />
I was feeling pretty desperate. My plans weren't lining up and I couldn't keep anything straight in my mind.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Get out of the way.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Get out of the way.<br />
<br />
Part of my course load this semester is a group of very motivated and advanced English majors. The course is about the foundations of rhetoric, critical thinking, and academic writing. This type of class has come to be my specialty in a way. I've taught it on three different continents. Teaching a fun subject to motivated students is exhilarating. A well-planned lesson will bring out the best in these students and they will surprise you will insight, depth, and curiosity.<br />
<br />
The first week's lesson for this class was all about me getting out of the way, actually. I didn't think about it that way when I was planning it, but I basically nixed lecture in favor of guiding questions for small group discussion interspersed with me articulating main points that were naturally coming out of their discussions. At the end of the lesson, I asked them to write something that they found interesting during the class, and many of them commented specifically that they liked how I had used small group discussions, and in essence, gotten out of the way. They said they had enjoyed hearing what their group-mates had to say, and that they were able to pay attention to the content more easily.<br />
<br />
For my other classes (the other 66% of my teaching), the curriculum is more basic and more rigid. The students are different too. They aren't English majors, and many of them still face a lot of challenges understanding and using spoken (and written, in some cases) English. Moreover, the class size is bigger. The classrooms are too small. Students arrive late. Students have so much work for their other classes. Students aren't invested in learning English. There seem to be a million things to cover in 15 weeks. There are a lot of obstacles to recreating the magical atmosphere of the other class.<br />
<br />
What my frustration boils down to is that I want to control (and eliminate) all of these obstacles.<br />
<br />
I can't.<br />
<br />
In fact, maybe I <i>shouldn't</i>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I'm working on integrating the "get out of the way" mantra into my planning for the course that is so challenging to teach. Don't try to control everything. Get out of the way. Step back. Listen. Don't answer for them. Let them have time to think. Let them ask the questions. I don't know how well it will work, but that's another thing I can't control.<br />
<br />
So, here's to a new semester and getting out of the way.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-78079403499667039462016-01-23T06:56:00.002+03:002016-01-23T06:59:11.740+03:00Happy Fatty'sLast night Alan and I went shopping for a guitar in downtown Chiang Rai. Among the rows of ukeles and guitars, I sat and listened while Alan tried out a few guitars. I got a little bored of listening and tired of monitoring where the cockroaches on the floor were running, so I stepped outside for a breather.<br />
<br />
Across the street from the music shop, I saw the brightly lit purple sign for "Happy Fatty's: Big Size for Women."<br />
<br />
HAPPY FATTY'S? Are you kidding??<br />
<br />
Kind of offensive, but possibly just what I need! How could I resist? Big sizes in Chiang Rai are normal sizes for Americans. <i>Farang</i> size, as I happily told the shop keeper.<br />
<br />
The clothing was mostly from one brand, "Be Proud" and a little matronly in style. However, it was the first time in months that I've seen clothes that would actually fit me. I almost bought the dip-dyed watermelon-themed shorts, but the hems didn't look like they'd stand up to my lifestyle, so I passed.<br />
<br />
There was a roach on the floor there too (I really can't handle roaches), so I didn't hang out too long. I did, however, note that if I need a new shirt or pants, this might well be the best place. Maybe not a place to build self-esteem--Fatty--but I'd rather be reminded of my size by a silly sign than by a pinching waistband.<br />
<br />
We did end up with a guitar, and we also bought the Thai equivalent of Navajo fry-bread from a street vendor, followed later by burgers and beer. Speaking of happy fatty...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-77585232818572292122016-01-01T14:41:00.002+03:002016-01-01T14:41:30.806+03:00Memories from 2015 and looking aheadI love how January 1 gives so many people pause for reflection on the year that was, and for what they want in the next year. It's easy to catch the wave of self-assessment and goal-setting--two things I really enjoy.<br />
<br />
2015 will be a hard year to top. I only spent 10 days in the US; essentially, I spent the entire year abroad, which has always been a goal for me.<br />
<br />
I swam in the Mediterranean and in the Black Sea.<br />
<br />
I completed my contract in Turkey.<br />
<br />
I watched my best friend get married.<br />
<br />
I spent time with my German Grandparents in Germany.<br />
<br />
I cooked a Turkish meal for my American grandparents.<br />
<br />
I moved to Thailand and survived a semester (so far) at a new university.<br />
<br />
I got a kitten.<br />
<br />
2015 was a successful year for me. I made a lot of progress in terms of making decisions with my happiness in mind. That's important to me.<br />
<br />
There were plenty of hard times in 2015 too. Very few things about living abroad (especially within the first year) are easy. Basic errands can feel like heavy burdens because of language barriers and unfamiliar systems. I cried a lot in 2015. I often questioned my life choices and sometimes cursed myself for choosing a lifestyle that puts me so far away from family and the comforts of home. 2015 was also part of the first year of my marriage to Alan. Adjusting to life together in a strange country wasn't always a picnic. It was downright hard sometimes.<br />
<br />
But here I am. Still standing. Still abroad. Still married. Happily on all accounts.<br />
<br />
2016 is off to an adventurous start already, as we partied Chiang Rai style last night downtown with the rest of the city. We counted down the last seconds of the year near the famous Clocktower with thousands of Chiang Rai people and tourists from around the world.<br />
<br />
My New Year's resolution is to learn as much Thai as I knew in Turkish. I didn't invest in learning Thai at all last semester. It was so easy to get by with a few phrases and do the rest in English. However, I believe that I will not only enjoy learning Thai, but I will also be able to be more independent if I can handle the basics. I started taking this goal seriously last week, so I've already got some momentum.<br />
<br />
I'm a good exerciser already, so I want to continue that, and make sure I don't forget to stretch after my workouts. Also, choose veggies when possible.<br />
<br />
Finally, I want to continue reading for pleasure. Much of my job as a writing teacher is reading student work, which sometimes leaves me super drained. I found in 2015 though, that reading for pleasure counteracts some of the burnout from reading hundreds of essays written by language learners. I just finished "The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini and I really liked it, especially his use of Afghani words that were similar to Turkish words I knew. A while back, I read "Burmese Days" by George Orwell. I also read "Cat Sense" by John Bradshaw recently, to understand Egg better. I think the book helped me see Egg as a cat with cat-needs (as opposed to a cute little creature whose primary interest must be being my pseudo-child). Interestingly, the more I do to treat Egg as a cat, the more he seems to appreciate human interaction. All that to say, let's keep reading in 2016.<br />
<br />
2015 was a great year, and basically, I want to continue what I've been doing and have another interesting, adventurous, and educational year in 2016.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-80710635267918655472015-12-28T07:32:00.000+03:002015-12-28T07:36:55.088+03:00Thoughts on Christmas Past and PresentI've survived my second Christmas away from home. My family does a big Christmas, and I really really really missed it this year.<br />
<br />
During one of the last teaching days of the semester, I received by mail an invitation to my parent's annual Christmas party. Many of you readers are probably attendees of this party, and you know why missing it is a big deal.<br />
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Every year, my parents throw a huge party sometime in the week before Christmas and it's pretty amazing. They set up a Christmas wonderland in our house. The real tree is at least 10 feet tall and covered in glittering ornaments and strand after strand of tiny lights. My mom sets up her "village pieces"--miniature, winter-themed ceramic buildings lit from within--around the house. She pulls out huge strings of garland that we store in giant Rubbermaid cans. She hangs them on window sills, on banisters, and basically in any free space that needs a dose of holiday. From the garland, she hangs ornaments, bells, glittery snowflakes, lights, and so on. Once my mom is finished decorating, the house looks like something from a magazine. Seriously. She's that good. The decor is only part of the party though.<br />
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My stepdad is from Germany, so one of the party traditions started because he wanted to share some German food with our neighbors. From it's modest beginnings nearly 20 years ago, the food has become bigger and tastier every year. The party has grown so much that about 150 people come to eat and drink throughout the night. On party morning, he (and maybe my mom, too) cuts open huge bags of sauerkraut and empty them into two large electric roasters--the kind some people use to cook turkeys. After the kraut is in, they add pink ham shanks and plug the roasters in. We learned in the first years of the party ythat the roasters have to go in the garage because otherwise the pungent sauerkraut smell is way too strong in the house.<br />
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One of my jobs, when I lived at home, was to make the Glühwein, a sweet, hot, mulled wine that is often served at German Christmas markets. It starts with a simple syrup on the stove top, then oranges, cinnamon, and cloves are added. The fragrant syrup is then mixed with cheap red wine and served from a slower cooker to keep it warm. It's one of my favorite winter drinks.<br />
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The Glühwein is one of many drink options available from the open bar that my parents splurge on every year. One of their good friends runs a wine shop in town, and his business offers bar service. When my parents built their new house, they built a huge bar in the basement that is perfect for this party.<br />
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Upstairs, all sorts of snacks are spread on the dining table: traditional German cookies (made with Oma Elfriede's recipes!), a variety of cheeses, crackers, chips and dip, licorice, and maybe a veggie tray or two. As guests arrive, many bring Christmas cookie and fudge platters to add to the table.<br />
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The sauerkraut and ham roasters come inside at party time, as well as grilled bratwurst and fresh rolls. If you go hungry at this party, it's your own fault!<br />
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Guests wander in and out throughout the evening. It's an open-house style party. At the peak of party time, it's a packed house, full of merry people with plates of German food in hand. Most guests who come to the party come every year, and some of the guests only know each other from the party. It's fun to share this tradition with so many people.<br />
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Because my parents love to drink wine, most guests bring a bottle as a gift. When there are over 100 guests, you can imagine that my parents can practically restock their wine cellar by the end of the night.<br />
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What I love the most about the party is seeing how happy the event makes my parents. They are loved by so many people, and amidst all of their friends, they seem to glow. I can't rule out that the Glühwein isn't part of the glow, but the party epitomizes my parents and the Christmas spirit to me.<br />
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After the party, the festivities only continue. My mom's birthday is December 22, so there's always something fun happening that day.<br />
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On Christmas eve, our family tradition is again from my stepdad's German recipes. It's seared pork tenderloin and white asparagus served in a creamy, Cheese-Whiz-based sauce. Cheese-Whiz, yes. Don't ask, just believe. It's so good. My grandparents and my mom's brother and sister, plus their families join us for the meal. After dinner, it's time for presents and dessert for those who still have room.<br />
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Christmas morning with my parents is among my most favorite things. Still full from the night before, we pour cups of coffee or cocoa and open our stockings. My brother is 13 years younger than me, so I got to experience the magic of Christmas morning through his eyes for most of high school and college. He would wake me up really early because he couldn't open his presents until I was up. It was darn cute. My parents are really good at giving gifts. They are very generous. Our stockings always had fun things, like make-up for me, or a new video game for my brother. There was also usually chocolate and maybe a gift card to our favorite store. Santa also brought presents to open Christmas morning. In recent years, cool sportswear for my brother and nice sweaters and jewelry for me. We eat leftovers from the party and usually a few pieces of Christmas chocolate. The cats play in the wrapping paper and the dog eats the treats from his stocking. We go for a walk in the cold Nebraska air, and later we have drinks with my parents' good friends.<br />
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This year I spent time reflecting on some of the materialistic ways that I value Christmas. Yes, I like presents. I like giving and receiving them. But this year, I realized that what I like about presents is feeling remembered. That is, someone thought about me and wanted to represent that thought somehow. Small gifts or nice gestures mean a lot to me. I made Alan a memory map--a list of some of my favorite memories with him from our travels. Alan made me breakfast and coffee on Christmas morning. He also made a tiny Christmas tree and presents out of paper. He wrote me a note on a paper snowflake. I definitely cried. Not out of sadness, but out of something like joy. A small reminder that I'm valued and loved.<br />
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On Christmas day, we finally bought a couch and a Japanese screen to make our apartment feel less like a dorm room. That was our Christmas present to each other. Having a comfortable place to sit and relax together made me feel a lot better.<br />
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I'll be honest. I was a mess this Christmas. I was missing home. Most of my few friends here had taken off for the holidays, and I was feeling lonely and forgotten (though not for lack of Christmas messages on email and Facebook--thank you to those who sent them! I REALLY appreciated them). Welcome to my pity party. The box my mom sent to Thailand nearly two months ago is MIA in the Thai postal system right now, and that feels like a huge blow me. I'm just craving a little piece of home. Alan and Egg are a great comfort to me though. They sit and listen without judgment when I am upset. Alan makes jokes to make me smile, and Egg suckles on my ear to let me know that he needs me.<br />
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I'm grateful for Alan and Egg, and for my family, and for my memories of Christmas traditions. It was hard to miss Christmas with my family again this year, but I had Christmas with my new family. We did different things, and it was good, too.<br />
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As for next year, I'm already planning to go home for Christmas. I hope I can be home in time for the party!<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-18337333866474288102015-12-19T10:33:00.000+03:002015-12-19T10:33:16.319+03:00Post on ProctoringSo I'm probably setting myself up for a pretty lame entry. My topic is test proctoring at a large university. Big rooms, lots of students, no talking, lots of sitting and waiting.<br />
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But the nuances of proctoring at MFU and the scrupulousness with which test supplies are distributed are somehow fascinating to me. Let me explain the procedure.<br />
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1) University faculty and staff receive a schedule of which exams they'll be proctoring about 2 weeks prior to the exams.<br />
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2) On the day of the test, proctors are expected to sign in at the Academic Services building 45 minutes prior to the exam. There is a long counter with big signs labeling the classroom and subject of the test, and under the signs, there are individual sign-in sheets. All exams have at least 2 proctors, and some of the larger exams have 3.<br />
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3) Teachers sign in and sign to receive a large envelope (or 5, depending on the test) containing tests and answer sheets.<br />
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4) Teachers then proceed to the far end of this same room to check out the "Stationaries" box. Let me just say that I'm not too satisfied with the use of stationaries in plural, nor to mean anything other than fancy paper. However, here at MFU, the stationaries box looks like something I would have had at home as a sixth grader. It's a clear plastic tote, about 10x5X5, with a laminated plastic card attached to the front listing its contents in English and Thai. The scrupulousness is amazing.<br />
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Inside the box, there is: a small pencil bag of freshly sharpened No. 2B pencils, 2 blue pens, 3 erasers, a pencil sharpener, white-out, a small ruler, a stapler, extra staples, a white board marker, a white board eraser, a red stamp pad, a stamp of the word "MISSING", and probably a few other things that aren't coming to me now. I was too self-conscious to take a photo during the exams in front of my co-proctors.<br />
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5) After all materials have been officially checked out, proctors can go to their rooms to set up. The rooms aren't that close to the check-out center, so if you are unlucky (or stubborn) enough to being carrying all 5 huge envelopes (rather than show your weakness and wait for help), your arms may be legit sore the next day. Personal experience.<br />
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6) Once in the room, proctors carry out the end of a very anal chain of organization. The desks have been lined up and labeled with seat numbers. These numbers correspond with numbers that have been stamped on each test and answer sheet. Proctors carefully place the test materials on each desk according to number. If some of the biggest rooms, two test run concurrently, and students from the different sections sit in alternating rows, labeled A and B. The test preparation committee has printed the "A" section on pink paper so that it's clear which rows get those papers. The desk labels for the A group are also pink. I'm pretty impressed by this attention to detail.<br />
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7) After the tests have been distributed, the proctors usually have about 30 minutes to wait before students are allowed in. It's a good time to do some of your own grading, or maybe introduce yourself to the other proctors, assuming that you've got enough proficiency in a common language.<br />
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8) When the students come in, years of practice in such a scrupulous system are evident. They drop their bags near the door, and bring only bring their pencil cases to their assigned desk. For the most part, they are silent, and dive into the tests immediately. One area of the test administration process that is not very scrupulous is the late policy. As far as I can tell, THERE ISN'T ONE. Students are allowed to just roll in whenever, I guess. I'm not a fan.<br />
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9) Once the students are settled, proctors bring around the attendance sheet, and check each student's ID as they sign next to their names. Thai names are extraordinarily long when written out with English letters, so many of the names on official IDs are abbreviated. That seems weird, but when your first name has 13 letters, and your last name has 15, what are you gonna do?<br />
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Interestingly, after I offered the sign-in sheet to the students, many of them "wai" me, which is how Thais show respect for older or more prestigious people. It's a small bow with hands in a prayer position. When they do it, it strikes me as oddly religious, and I imagine the western equivalent as crossing oneself as a Catholic. <i>Please let me pass this test! </i>In reality, though, it's more like a very formal "thank you."<br />
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Students who do not come to the test (yikes) get the red "MISSING" stamp on the attendance sheet, and on all of their test materials. That's the funnest part of proctoring. Stamp, stamp, stamp!<br />
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10) After attendance has been taken, the arduous 3-hour wait sets in. Every test is allotted 3 hours, and in general, at least one student will take the ENTIRE time.<br />
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So, proctoring. The idea is to prevent cheating, I guess. Ideally, proctors should stand in various locations around the classroom to monitor students. At MFU, sitting is acceptable. The proctoring directions indicate that we should not eat, drink, *smoke*, or work during proctoring. By the way, smoking on campus is punished with a 2000 Baht fine, so I'm not sure why that even made it into the directions. Although, after staring at students for 2 and half hours, even I could go for a cigarette! (Kidding, mostly).<br />
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What actually happens during proctoring depends greatly on who your proctor buddies are. I know that many people grade or work while proctoring. There is a lot to do during finals week, so I get it.<br />
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Other faculty take proctoring uber-seriously and pace the aisles.<br />
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I was a sociology major, but I don't remember if I know a word for the phenomenon where we police ourselves based on what we see others doing. When I proctored with more lax people, I was more lax. However, when my co-proctors were serious, I was serious, which I think reinforced their seriousness, and made it uncomfortable fo any of us to check our phones, or pull out reading material. If you know the name of this phenomenon, please comment.<br />
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Time passes incredibly slowly when you sit and stare at people taking tests. Especially when you're thinking about all the work that you could be doing. I took to counting the number of students with dyed hair, the number with bangs, the number with glasses, etc. just to stay conscious. I sipped water and ate mints periodically to stimulate my brain.<br />
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11) Eventually, some students begin to finish the test, and a glimmer of hope shines that at some point, each of them will finish, and maybe before the 3-hour limit. When students finish the test, they leave their testing materials on the desk, pick up their bags, and often "wai" (bow with hands folded) the teacher. Once several students in a row have finished, some proctors begin to collect the papers in small stacks, leave spaces for students who are still working. It's torturous to watch students sit and stare at their papers for literally minutes without making any progress. Minutes turn into hours very slowly when you're watching the clock, waiting for the last few to finish, or at least give up on their test.<br />
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12) After all students are finished, proctors reorganize the test materials, file them back into the big envelopes in order and then walk back to the Academic Services building together, relieved, but disoriented from the experience.<br />
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13) The materials are turned in at the check-out center, proctors sign out, and the stationaries box is checked back in.<br />
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So, those are the 13 steps of proctoring I guess. Step 14 is obviously getting a glass of wine as soon as possible.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8766569510452985740.post-64926167896918617982015-12-13T16:13:00.004+03:002015-12-13T16:13:52.414+03:00I went to Myanmar!It's not every day that you get to cross off a major life goal.<br />
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Today, I went to Myanmar. I walked across a bridge from Mae Sai, Thailand to Tachilek, Myanmar. I paid 500 Baht to the Myanmar government, and then, there I was--in Myanmar.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Life dream, check.</td></tr>
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My post requires a short backstory of the job in Mandalay (that's in Myanmar) that I almost took in 2013. I didn't exactly chicken out, as there were legit reasons not to take the job, but I think I made a good choice to stay in Flagstaff that year to develop my relationship with Alan--the guys who would later become my husband. However, the allure of Myanmar had only grown in my mind since then, and today I got to experience it firsthand!<br />
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Tachilek, all things considered, is pretty similar to Chiang Rai, and really similar to Phnom Penh; however, there are plenty of distinctly Myanmar things. The Burmese script is full of circles and boxes. I loved seeing it on signs to remind me of the foreign place I was visiting. Many of the women were sporting a traditional, canary yellow paste on their cheeks to keep the sun off. They wore their hair in long ponytails dangling down their backs. The men had darker skin than Thais, more like Bengali or Indians. They wore flip flops and t-shirts at the tea shops and in market stalls.<br />
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I was once again a highly conspicuous foreigner worthy of a stare. In Chiang Rai, there are plenty of foreigners, so people are used to seeing tall blonds roaming the streets. Much less so in Tachilek. The cigarette dealers tried to get my attention, as did the counterfeit handbag sellers, and the watch peddlers.<br />
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The strangely familiar scent of roasted chestnuts and charcoal filled the market from the vendors churning the nuts in piles of blacked coal bits. Wares and goods of all sorts line the walkways of most Southeast Asian markets, so that wasn't new, but it was overwhelming as usual. I didn't buy much, except a couple of bottles of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc from a vendor who is friends with one of my colleagues. Wine is expensive in Thailand, and I got two bottles for less than the price I'd expect to pay in America. I passed on the counterfeit goods because I don't care about brands, I like high-quality things (and I'm willing to pay for them), and I'm scared of being caught at the wrong border with the wrong pirated DVD.<br />
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After round one of navigating the market, our group (consisting of me, Alan, a few Thai colleagues and the colleague's friends who run the liquor store) went for tea and a snack. Based on the number of different dishes that came to our table, it seemed like our host (liquor store owner) had said, "bring us one of everything." I can't tell you the name of anything I ate, but it was really distinctive cuisine. Among many things, we had a bread with bean spread that I'd expect in a Middle-Eastern country, a tea-leaf based salad, thick noodles famous in the region, and some fried tofu chips. I sipped a Myanmar milk tea and Alan tried the local Myanmar beer.<br />
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We took a second round of the market and then ventured out into the city to see a few temples and a golden Pagoda. I loved it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6okKYnykOXzUYo017zbGyCg2v93yiIhOQ7VdkaQGmlM9LbMYRuteeYtbHVuCI2BOGVzrgvoblGVJf0RyYVn5-cqGEWYBt6mQuEi4lPI3Sz2hrRUjP3pNyKWiVmKiQyhCowlSwlqxqdoM/s1600/12341597_10100411468361669_2776483643117181881_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6okKYnykOXzUYo017zbGyCg2v93yiIhOQ7VdkaQGmlM9LbMYRuteeYtbHVuCI2BOGVzrgvoblGVJf0RyYVn5-cqGEWYBt6mQuEi4lPI3Sz2hrRUjP3pNyKWiVmKiQyhCowlSwlqxqdoM/s200/12341597_10100411468361669_2776483643117181881_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>The sidewalks were what I would describe as "developing country" in that they were uneven and full of gaps that dropped 3 feet into knee-deep water/sewage. I remember these somewhat fondly from Cambodia, though I am still paranoid of falling into a hole. The temples weren't different from Thailand, at least to my untrained eye, but the Pagoda was pretty cool. We had to take our shoes off to enter the complex. It contained a huge golden pagoda, probably 30 feet tall, overlooking the city from a hill. I found the statues corresponding with my birth day, Thursday, and my friends helped me perform the expected ritual of pouring water over the Buddha. The view of the city was excellent from that vantage point. Interestingly, the cross of a nearby Catholic church could be seen from the pagoda.<br />
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After the pagoda, I was pretty tired. A full day of market shopping, foreign-food eating, and group dynamics is enough to do me in. We went for one more snack. I'd like to front this story with my friend's words, "It's like wet pizza."<br />
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I don't really "go for" wet pizza, so I wasn't looking forward to the dish much.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wet pizza...</td></tr>
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I do enjoy trying new foods, but this one looked like someone had stacked a bunch of paper towels and gotten them wet. The rice-flour sheets were stuck together in a way that we had to kind of use chopsticks and fingers (dirty from a day out) to pull them apart for the group. There was a peanut-based sauce for dipping. My bite was too big, and I swear it was like eating lukewarm wet kleenex with peanuts. It was all I could do o get it down without seriously gagging in front of my friends. After that bite, I was ruined. I began to notice how dirty the shop was, how tiny my seat was; basically, I was ready to bolt. When asked, I confessed to my hosts that the dish just wasn't for me. I kind od wanted to disappear. I never want to disappoint a host.<br />
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More food came.<br />
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A hot version of the previous dish. Slightly more tolerable.<br />
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Eggs that had been punctured with a syringe (not a word you ever want to hear in SE Asia), the contents sucked out mixed with spices and then replaced back in the shells and boiled. Our host peeled one for me. It was ok. I ate it, wishing it had a yolk, because that's the best part!<br />
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Luckily, that was the end of the food, as my appetite was totally gone and we started back for the market. We had left our car on the Thai side of the border to avoid paying the car fees. The market was just steps from the bridge anyway.<br />
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I'd like to end this post by saying that our visit to Myanmar was wonderful, exotic, and refreshing. Our weird little dormy-apartment in Chiang Rai felt like home for maybe the first time today.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271954704427877927noreply@blogger.com0