Once again living the (evolving) dream

When 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.

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.

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.

The view from the bridge

Teachers from Phayao and Phrae

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.

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).

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.

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!

Teacher by day, bridge-goer by night. Seems like a good lifestyle to me.

Getting Healthy

I guess I haven't written in a while.

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.

Alan and I gave up alcohol for Ramadan, which was surprisingly easy, and we saved a lot of money. A lot of calories, too.

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.

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).

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?

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.

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...

Bread, 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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

The Dream, Chiang Rai, and Store Credit

Today, 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

So, living the dream also includes dealing with strange things and frighteningly familiar things, like customer service counters.

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!

Visiting Southern Thailand for the Songkran Holiday

In 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

We picked up green mango salad for lunch both days, a light and cheap option for hot days.

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.

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.

Going Back to Phnom Penh after Six Years.

Six years ago, I flew to Phnom Penh on a one-way ticket with plans to teach as a volunteer until I figured life out. I had just finished my undergraduate degree, and the US economy had just experienced the great recession.

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 ethos to the university. She gave me her phone number.

A few days later, on one of my very first excursions in Phnom Penh, I somehow found my way across town to the Institute de Technologie du Cambodge (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.

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. 

My stint in Cambodia six years ago has lingered in my mind as one of my biggest perceived failures. A failure 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.

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.

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.

Desk graffiti at the ITC

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.

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.

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.

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 failed.

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. Cambodia, 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.

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.

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.

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.

The Riverside view

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.

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. 

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.

Tuk tuk ride to the conference venue

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.

I went back to Cambodia a better version of myself, and I feel that Cambodia greeted me with its own new and improved self.

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.

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.

An Egg, two Greeks, a slackline and a tree

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Before he went up the tree, I reminded him that cats handle falls pretty well, but humans don’t.

Mercifully, Alan wasn’t able to climb more than 10 or 15 feet up, so I didn’t have to worry.

The next plan involved a rope. Alan’s nylon slackline, to be exact. I’m not sure what our plan was, exactly.

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.

He immediately jumped into our plan, and brought down a cushion from his couch as a crash pad for a falling Egg.

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.

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.

The shaking tree made Egg howl out of fear. He clung so tightly to the branch so far above the ground.

One of our Thai neighbors and his daughters came to see what all the fuss was about.

Egg was still in the tree tops.

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.

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.

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.

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.

She came back with a shaking cat, still fluffed from fear.

I gave some Nebraska souvenirs to the woman who helped us as a small thank-you for going out of her way to help.

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.

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.

Getting out of the way

Sometimes, the best thing we can do as teachers (and maybe as human beings) is get out of the way.

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.

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.

I was feeling pretty desperate. My plans weren't lining up and I couldn't keep anything straight in my mind.




Get out of the way.




Get out of the way.

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.

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.

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.

What my frustration boils down to is that I want to control (and eliminate) all of these obstacles.

I can't.

In fact, maybe I shouldn't.




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.

So, here's to a new semester and getting out of the way.

Happy Fatty's

Last 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.

Across the street from the music shop, I saw the brightly lit purple sign for "Happy Fatty's: Big Size for Women."

HAPPY FATTY'S? Are you kidding??

Kind of offensive, but possibly just what I need! How could I resist? Big sizes in Chiang Rai are normal sizes for Americans. Farang size, as I happily told the shop keeper.

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.

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.

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...

Memories from 2015 and looking ahead

I 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.

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.

I swam in the Mediterranean and in the Black Sea.

I completed my contract in Turkey.

I watched my best friend get married.

I spent time with my German Grandparents in Germany.

I cooked a Turkish meal for my American grandparents.

I moved to Thailand and survived a semester (so far) at a new university.

I got a kitten.

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.

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.

But here I am. Still standing. Still abroad. Still married. Happily on all accounts.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Thoughts on Christmas Past and Present

I've survived my second Christmas away from home. My family does a big Christmas, and I really really really missed it this year.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

After the party, the festivities only continue. My mom's birthday is December 22, so there's always something fun happening that day.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

As for next year, I'm already planning to go home for Christmas. I hope I can be home in time for the party!

Post on Proctoring

So 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.

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.

1) University faculty and staff receive a schedule of which exams they'll be proctoring about 2 weeks prior to the exams.

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.

3) Teachers sign in and sign to receive a large envelope (or 5, depending on the test) containing tests and answer sheets.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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. Please let me pass this test! In reality, though, it's more like a very formal "thank you."

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!

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.

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).

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.

Other faculty take proctoring uber-seriously and pace the aisles.

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.

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.

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.

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.

13) The materials are turned in at the check-out center, proctors sign out, and the stationaries box is checked back in.

So, those are the 13 steps of proctoring I guess. Step 14 is obviously getting a glass of wine as soon as possible.

I went to Myanmar!

It's not every day that you get to cross off a major life goal.

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.

Life dream, check.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

I don't really "go for" wet pizza, so I wasn't looking forward to the dish much.

Wet pizza...

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.

More food came.

A hot version of the previous dish. Slightly more tolerable.

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!

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.

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.

My Top Three Must-Have Items for Female Travelers

 I've been a very lucky person to have the time and opportunity to travel and live abroad. If any out there is looking for advice of what to pack, here are my top three must-have items.

1. MoonCup. It's an alternative to pads and tampons. It's a reusable "cup" made from silicone. Buy it once, use it for years. It's major selling points are that it is healthier, cleaner, and more eco-friendly because you aren't throwing away tons of paper and plastic. You keep it in a small cotton pouch in your bag, and it's always ready when you need it. You put it in at the start of your period and check it (dump, rinse, and put it back) in the morning and at night--that's it! It's by far the most convenient way I've ever dealt with a period. A friend introduced it to me in Turkey, and it has solved several problems for me, including (a) trying to buy tampons and pads abroad, (b) always needing a place to dispose of used pads and tampons (not always available abroad or on adventures in the wilderness), and (c) the discomfort of pads and tampons. It also saves me money, probably at least $10 a month. It's important to me that I not be too embarrassed or grossed out by writing this. In general, our society assigns a lot of shame to menstruation, and I disagree with that. Most women experience this totally natural phenomenon every month, and it's ok to talk about it. Even better, organizations like Femme International provide menstrual cups to girls in rural Africa so that they don't have to miss school during their periods. I strongly recommend that all women try this product, even if you aren't abroad.

2. Undersummers. If you have thighs and you wear skirts, you've probably experienced thigh rub or sweaty and uncomfortable thighs. With the slogan "Thigh Love," the Undersummers' creator developed what are called "slip-shorts;" essentially,  the material of a traditional slip, but made into shorts. These aren't your granny's bloomers, and they are definitely NOT Spanx, a product I do not like because they are uncomfortable and in my opinion, body-shaming. On the other hand, Undersummers don't squeeze or pinch your legs, but instead skim over them lightly. They stay where they are supposed to be all day, and they keep your thighs from rubbing together. They are easy to wash, and they are surprisingly durable considering the feminine lace detailing. I won't wear a skirt without them.

3. iPad. I have raved about my iPad Mini before, and I'm still raving about it. It's the right size and light enough to be easy tucked into your bag. It's super functional as an internet accessing device and e-reader. However, the function I get the most use from is definitely the camera. I carry my iPad everywhere, and when I need to take a photo, I just whip out the iPad, snap, and carry on with my life. It's been a handy teaching tool, for taking pictures of my whiteboard notes and posting them online when necessary. Admittedly, the quality of the photos isn't as good as a "real" camera, but then again, I'm not a "real" photographer, so that's ok. Quick editing apps and internet access make it really easy for me to post photos to Facebook or Instagram on the spot. I love that. None of these features are new or extraordinary, but they are super useful as a traveler. Speaking of traveling, my iPad also functions as a GPS, language dictionary, calculator, and--on occasion--flashlight. Note: make sure you've got a sturdy case with a cover. If you use your iPad as often as I do, you'll have lots of chances to drop, spill on, or otherwise damage your iPad. My case from Targus is resistant to the mold that grows on absolutely everything in Thailand, which is a huge plus.

Well travelers, I hope that these three items make it into your suitcase, and bon voyage to you!

A great day and the challenge of loneliness

Today, Alan and I drove our truck to the river that runs through Chiang Rai province. We also brought Egg, the kitten who has at least doubled in size since we got her.

We put Egg in her little harness and walked along the sandy edge of the river.

We stopped to get out of the sun and order a round of beer and chicken wings from a riverside restaurant. Egg sat comfortably on Alan's lap as we lounged in a little cabana overlooking the river.

The experience was surreal for me. It was exactly what I've always wanted, but rarely achieved, from life abroad. It was easy, exotic, and it involved people and a cat that I really care about.

One of the greatest challenges of living abroad is loneliness. At times, it's a self-created challenge--in that I seek out alone time to recharge, but in the process miss out on opportunities to spend time with others. As a teacher, I'm surrounded by people all day; yet, loneliness and a longing for deeper interactions is something that I definitely struggle with.

Not being able to speak the local language plays into loneliness too. I often feel alienated by menus I can't read or interactions I can't have because of the language barrier. Sometimes it's hard to play it cool when you just want to communicate something simple, but can't.

Moving to new places year after year also creates a lonely dynamic. Most friendships don't continue after a change of location. When it comes to friendships, I feel like I've had to pretty much start over three times in the past four years. It's hard to maintain the deep friendships I crave when I don't share a location or cast of characters with my friends from past locations.

Anyway, I just wanted to commiserate with anyone who has felt lonely this week, or this year. Loneliness is a formidable challenge, but I believe it is only temporary.

Bathroom stuff that's weird in Thailand

A student reaching into a friend's purse, pulling out a full roll of toilet paper and scurrying over to me to ask to go to the toilet.

Two friends running out of the room at the same time with toilet paper in hand.

Silently cheering whenever there is toilet paper, soap, or paper towels in a public restroom. If there are all three, it might not be a silent cheer.

Using the butt sprayer. Yes, the butt sprayer.

Wishing for the butt sprayer when there is only a bucket (Turkish style).

The excuse of "I have diarrhea" being a perfectly acceptable and public reason to miss almost anything. Post it on Facebook.

Watching people walk past the sink and out of the restroom without washing their hands.

Being really happy about hand sanitizer.

Cautiously inspecting ALL restrooms for bugs with bodies larger than my thumbnail before sitting or squatting.

Deciding after inspection, "you know what? I can definitely hold it."

November Updates

I haven't written for a while. I've been getting to know Egg (our kitten), reading Orwell's "Burmese Days," and learning how to be myself in this new Northern Thai context. I also haven't had Internet access at home for nearly a week.

Egg is growing so fast. She has probably doubled in size (weight at least) since we picked her up nearly a month ago. She's been getting her kitten vaccinations every other weekend and seems to be in very good health. According to the internet, she will be losing her kitten teeth soon, and that means she'll be gnawing on everything and have bad breath. Not a huge change from the usual, but I'm glad there is a purpose for the gnawing. She is probably one of the most spoiled kittens I've ever known. Two parents to pay attention to everything she does, a big cat tower to climb, and lots of toys to scatter around the apartment. She even gets to play on the iPad. She likes the cat app ok, but her favorite is the photo rolls, where she can use her digging instincts to scroll at lightning speed through all of her best selfies. It's darn cute. She has also learned about sleeping preferences. She's not allowed to sleep on the bed because it causes us too many allergic reactions, so she has learned to put herself to bed in the bed on her cat tower when we go to sleep. It's awesome. She doesn't even wake us up in the night. All the cat parents out there--are you jealous?

While Egg is no match for a child, I do appreciate the grounding effect of a being under my care. I want to be at home to be with her, and she gives me a very strong sense of purpose. It's nice, especially for someone like me who tends to be a workaholic (or binge-TV watcher) unless I have another outlet for my energy. Another amazing Egg fact is that she goes on walks! She's got a leash and harness, and we take her to nice walking spots and let her explore. We are still working on pace, and sometimes it feel more like dragging, but she's getting better every day.

Alan and I are learning which adventures we do together and which we do separately. The big-ass scary caves--separate. I get about three steps in and panic, mainly due to the stories that some friends told us about scooting through a pitch-black narrow tunnel into a tiny cave room only to come face-to-face is a spider the size of a grown man's hand. That combination of tiny spaces and big arachnoids is my idea of a nightmare, not a Saturday afternoon. I'll be in the parking lot with my book, thanks.

I do like the drives we go on, and I can handle most of what's involved with getting to waterfalls. Sometimes the hikes freak me out because I'm always worried about snakes and bugs (they are plentiful, though mercifully, mostly they hide from humans). I guess I could also worry about leopards, but I don't...yet.

Caves and the outdoors, in general, may be Alan's spot, but grocery shopping? That's my arena. It may not seem like an adventure, but shopping in a language you don't speak is always interesting, and usually exhausting.

I also managed to arrange the fixing of our motorbike's flat tire. It involved an in-person conversation (in Thai) at the shop about the bike and how it was at our house. I also had to talk on the phone briefly. That wasn't very successful, but somehow it was still ok. They found me and the bike, loaded the bike into their truck and took me and the bike back to the shop where, for just about 5 bucks, we got a new tire and a full hour's labor. Prices for services here are very different. 

We successfully got our license plates for the truck too. Whatever perceptions you have of your local DMV, just thank your lucky stars that things are in a language you know well and are mostly digital. Even with our Thai colleague, the process was super complicated. It involved about 17 different employees, and 3 hours of signing, copying, inspecting, stamping, and resigning various documents and official record books. We get to do a similar process for our motorbike soon.

The shower water heater and clothes washer are making life a lot more pleasant. Doing laundry no longer takes 5 hours, and I don't have to cringe when I think about taking a cold shower at night. Modern creature comforts help this modern creature a lot!

My classes are nearing the end. We've got about four weeks left in the semester, and I'm looking forward to getting the first one under my belt. Once you know the system, things get so much easier.

So I guess that's the overview from here. Mostly Egg, a little adventure, and I also work.