For a short time, all I could do was stare up at the ceiling fan, spinning wildly, the motor wobbling on its mount. I couldn’t decide on anything other than continuing to ponder the hypnotic thrashing of the dusty machinery hanging above my face.

 I suppose I was having a bit of an existential dilemma at this point, considering I just woke up for what was, in all intents and purposes, the beginning of my real trip, and I didn’t know how to proceed… These feelings were all exacerbated (and probably caused) by Henry Miller’s chaotic, disparaging anti-narrative. His semi-autobiographical account of his life in New York in the 1920s had gotten to me on the bus and before I went to sleep, and now I wasn’t really sure about anything. For a moment I felt like I was paralyzed in my bed, listening to a somewhat far off conversation in a foreign language.

The cobwebs cleared and I looked over at the other bed, and my pack, which had fallen over when I was asleep, and it kind of reminded me of a sleeping dog, and I remembered why I was here in the first place and that I needed to get up and do something. I was in Chiang Mai. In Thailand. So I had to do stuff.

I had looked at a map earlier, and while I didn’t know it at the time, I was outside of the “old city,” and not inside the part of downtown Chiang Mai surrounded by a moat in the shape of a large square.

It turned out I was in the labyrinth of lovely alleys about three blocks from the Old City, which turned out to be pretty advantageous, considering the noise factor inside the moat.

I went downstairs and found Sarah, sitting alone reading a Thai newspaper. I asked her which direction would take me on a good walk and there I went. The labyrinthian alleys inside and out of the Old City are wonderful on foot or on a bicycle, and reveal hidden treasures of restaurants and historical temples and houses. The alleys were quiet, save for an occasional motorbike, being casually manipulated around the corners by Thais who could probably navigate them by muscle memory alone. Dogs lay in the street, lazily moving from the cool pavement under shade to the warm pavement in the sun. Who ever said “workin’ like a dog” did not have Thailand in mind.

Walking along, I’d see residents in the neighborhood going about their chores, hanging laundry, cleaning odds and ends, sitting around a table with friends eating and drinking or playing with children. I have a theory that Thai people are so relaxed and mindful in everything they do because of the heat. In the pursuit of dry comfort, I think Thais have adopted the mentality that there are truly few things worth breaking a sweat over: work and football. Everything else will just make you uncomfortable, so …just… relax.

sabai sabai. Calm your heart. Relax. Be comfortable. Smile.

I walked until I found a major street, and while I thought I was inside the Old City (but wasn’t) I took a right, thinking that was the direction toward Tha Pae Gate, the famous “gate” into the Old City.

However, considering the blunder I’d made earlier, and was still following, I was walking in the direction away from the gate. And looking back, I’m grateful for it, because it lead me to one of those beautiful moments when I disappeared into the everyday lives and goings-on of the Chiang Mai residents. There weren’t any attractions, there weren’t any temples, there was just alley after alley of busy Thais going about lives. Trucks and motorcycles glutted the alleys and throngs of people shuffled along sidewalks turned into narrow market-lanes, underneath plastic tarps that poorly shielded anything from the fine drizzle that was falling. As an average-sized foreigner, I towered over the majority of the Thais pressing their way along the sidewalks, and the best I could do in this human torrent was apologize for being so clumsy. So I moved to the street and walked side-by-side with the vehicles that weren’t moving much faster. The falling mist was comfortable and when I saw bewildered expressions that, through their eyes, asked “Why are you walking in the street… in the rain?!” I took self-centered satisfaction that I had made the more comfortable decision and that I should be asking them why they’re subjecting themselves to that warm, sticky surge of human bodies.

Eventually I found an outdoor food and small goods market near the bridge of the river I hadn’t intended on walking to, but I took the opportunity to browse the selections and I settled on deep fried (and chewy) strips of pork skin with the sub-dermal fat still attached, a huge grilled chicken leg and a sludgy dip of cilantro, lime, chiles, garlic and onions.

By now I’d realized I’d made a mistake and taken a wrong turn, but I was happy with the results and I knew how to get back, so I just went the way I came, munching the deep fried, grilled and savory tartness of the goodies in my bag, in the rain, in the street. On the way back, I was attracted to a temple by an elderly lady with a tray of birds.

On this latticed tray, made from strips of bamboo, were dozens of small hollow orbs, also made from strips of bamboo, and inside each one of these orbs was a tiny bird flapping about and singing. They didn’t seem happy (obviously) but they weren’t in too much distress… She asked if I wanted to feed them. I thought to myself, “like… toss some feed into their little cages?” but I figured out that she was asking me to make a monetary contribution toward their bird feed. Considering I just paid 30 baht for a huge meal of awesome pork and chicken, I fished around in my pocket for a five baht coin that would be more than enough for an entire fistful of bird feed. I handed her the coin and she laughed and asked for 100 baht. I bawked and declined, realizing she’d commandeered these birds as bait. Of all the people constantly walking by on the sidewalk out front, it was pretty clear that if she’d been successful with at least 10 of the thousands of passersby every day, she was making more money than I was and well into the upper-middle class among her peers. I smiled, declined and walked on toward the temple.

If pictures are worth a thousand words, than pictures of true Thai craftsmanship are worth a million words. The devotion to the craft, the devotion to the repetitive carving and chiseling, and the meditative mindfulness needed to produce all these works is legendary, and rightfully so.

These gargoyles were displayed at many railing intersections and at the bases of banisters.

You may disagree with this, but I find the temple statues in Thailand to be much more expressive than those in Europe, which I find more passive and emotionally inaccessible. A main cornerstone in Buddhism is that suffering is the essence of all life, and that seems to be reflected in the expressions of the statues.

The rest of the day I spent wandering around, taking in the otherness of the city and the culture, until my friends Kerry and Emmy got back from Pai, a small, eclectic town nestled in a valley in the mountain ranges to the west.

After they settled in to the room next to mine, we struck out for the night, walking the streets of the real Old City, drinking beers and wandering through the night markets, before joining a group of travelers waiting for a pickup truck to a hilltop full moon party.

We decided to join the group and, waiting for the pickup truck, Kerry and I whipped up one of our lethal 7-11 cocktails…

The color of the Fall foliage still falls in that infinite range of deep, rich green hues. It’s still mostly hot as hell but it doesn’t rain as much.

The death throes of Autumn and the birth cries of Winter are begging to be heard over the seemingly relentless commotion of Bangkok. Only when the heat and noise quiet in the dead of night does the temperature dip.

Even the dogs are asleep when the temperature creeps below 80 degrees, and as the city awakens, so does the heat and the haze. As it always does.

Late Autumn is still raging in Southern China and occasionally it spares a southerly breeze for this country in the south. After the northern Thai mountain ranges have their fill, the scrap winds sweep down the plains of central Thailand and creep into Bangkok.

By the time the wind reaches my eighth-floor apartment on the northern outskirts of this metropolis, it’s just enough to send a flutter through the damp laundry drying on its metal rack.

Winter is coming though. So they say.

My first term ended October 1st. After a marathon, week-long grading session at school, I submitted grades, left school and began thinking about what I’d do for the whole month.

I’d been looking forward to having the entire month of October off, but when it began, I couldn’t decide what I’d do. I had notions about where to go, but I hadn’t even settled on a cardinal direction.

Go south? Lounge around the islands and while away in hammocks and bungalows? Go north? What does that mean? The ancient city of Ayutthaya is an hour train ride north of Bangkok and costs only pennies to get there. Chiang Mai is part of the northern-most section of the country and is famous for its mountain ranges, cool climates and ancient cultural heritage.

Go northeast into Isaan? That conglomeration of provinces famous for its culinary contributions to traditional Thai foodways and for the hospitality of the proud Thais that call the unique area home?

Leave the country? Go where? I had friends with plans for Bali, Malaysia and Australia to the south, and Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam to the east.

A chance phone call from some friends who were already in Chiang Mai (and Pai to the northwest) settled it for me.

“What are you still doing there?” asked Kerry. “We’ll be back in Chiang Mai in two days, we’re in Pai now. We have a room there already. Leave tomorrow.”

After a short pause, I agreed, and there it was. I spent the next day with my girlfriend Paeng before boarding a bus north. We’ve grown considerably close and it wasn’t easy seperating for what would be nearly a month.

The day I left for Chiang Mai was hectic, divided between spending time with Paeng and wrapping up a few things in my apartment. But when I boarded the bus, I realized that despite having moved to Thailand, I’d actually begun my first real independent traveling experience… and there was considerable anxiety involved, although now a laughable sensation.

The majority of white faces in this country are experienced travelers, mostly of the backpacker type, who use Thailand as a starting point before heading off to other places. It’s relatively convienent for the world traveler. It’s training wheels for the novice backpackers, like me.

And there I was, wobbling off to my first destination.

The bus ride itself was pretty uneventful, as it should’ve been, but I knew it was a 10-hour trip and I knew I’d be arriving at about 6 a.m., with no reservations or much direction. Only a text message from my friends describing how to tell a tuk-tuk driver how to get to Sarah Guesthouse on Soi 4 off Tanon Tha Phae.

The bus was on time and I arrived in Chiang Mai under a blanket of thick, cool, misty air; the sky a rich, pre-dawn deep blue. A fleet of cigarette smoking tuk-tuk drivers were waiting for the mothership to deliver its precious white cargo.

They descended, and I was snatched up by a nice enough fellow who charged me a reasonable 60 baht fare to take me to this guesthouse I knew nothing about.

Tuk-Tuks are funny contraptions. The idea makes a lot of sense, and they are convienent, but you take them when you have to. They’re uncomfortable, noisy and open, so you’re more than likely to sit at a traffic light staring down the barrel of a city bus’ chugging exhaust pipe:

Peering from the sides, I was seeing this famous city for the first time, and liked what I saw. Framed by beautiful mountain ranges, the city was waking up, and people were buying food mostly. We zipped through several narrow alley streets before reaching the guesthouse.

Dawn was growing brighter but the sun hadn’t appeared over the mountain ranges. The guesthouse, with it’s main brick house, and adjacent concrete-block hotel, were quiet as a graveyard. There was no one around, so I sat at a nearby table and continued reading Henry Miller’s Tropic of Capricorn, until Sarah the owner came down to open the office.

I told her I came here to meet up with some friends who had been staying here but were, at the moment, spending a few days in Pai. She knew of them and rented me a room at 150 Baht ($4.50) a night, payable whenever.

I went up stairs to my room: a nice, simple room with double twin beds, a powerful ceiling-mounted fan and a nice bathroom. A great deal. I laid my pack down on one bed, stretched out on the other and fell asleep reading Tropic of Capricorn in this new place…

His hands firmly grasping his crotch, he shuffles toward the door with a sheepish, embarrassed, hurried and pleading look. He needs to the use the restroom right now.

::sigh:: I’m mid-sentence.

“Yes, you may use the restroom.”

He releases his grip on himself and rushes to the door, his wood-soled shoes sliding the last three feet or so against the polished-stone tile. The door swings open and before he closes it I hear a whisper from the ranks in my class. My eyes dart from the source to the doorway.

The gesture is universal, and communicates only one action…

…I’m gonna go have a smoke… he gestures to his friend, bringing the familiar V-sign up to his mouth.

“Get back in your seat! What are you thinking? I can see you…!”

My head hangs… Another sigh.

I exhale, look up and point to him, and then I point to his seat. His gesture was clear, and so is mine.

Get your ass back in your seat, communicates my gesture.

These are my students. And this gentleman, the crotch-grabber, is deep in his thirties. It’s the thirteenth week of school and I don’t know what his name is. He’s come to class a handful of times.

With another sheepish grin, he sulks back to his seat, unable to make eye-contact with me.

We’re in my English III class, and the day’s lesson is the second conditional clause, using the base + modal form.

Ninety percent of my students can not ask to use the restroom in English. One hundred percent have no clue what I’m talking about.

That’s pretty much how it goes for me everyday. Some lessons sink in, but the gaps are too wide to do any good. They’re supposed to be learning the nuances of conversational English grammar, advanced for many secondary-school-aged native English speakers and my students don’t have the grammar capacity to learn through context by reading around the problem. They’ve forgotten  basic sentence structure but I’m trying to teach them when to use an infinitive and when to use a gerund, and when either is acceptable.

My boss, Joe, tells me it may be the first time in their academic careers they were actually presented a challenge from a course, and they’re unable to cope with what that means. The deeply-ingrained culture of group-harmony  here has produced the ultimate no-student-left-behind phenomenon.  Homework? Four whole pages of multiple choice based on reading a 100-hundred-word article? And I only have one week to do it? Come on! You’re killing us!

Exasperation.

I’m a new teacher, and I haven’t found out the best way to deliver a lesson suited to their learning habits. Our language barrier is miles tall and meters thick. They signed up (they were given clearance to sign up) for a class they were wholly unprepared for, but I slog on. There are only a few more weeks left, and then I’ll regroup and re-arm. Maybe this time I’ll get a say in what books are taught. Student advisers? Course prerequisites? I’m just as clueless to their educational system as they are to the course material, and my understanding of the system is vital for lesson planning and delivery…

I’m learning on the job, and at least I get to laugh, joke and have fun with my students in between these futile gestures of actual pedagogy.

I’m thinking about seeing more of Thailand, but I’m also interested in checking out some other countries… maybe southern China, Cambodia, Laos, Vietnam, Malaysia or even the Philipines or Indonesia… not sure yet, but until then, I have to shutter myself in and save money.

To that end, I’m just sticking to teaching, water polo and occasionally basketball on Sundays at my school.

But who knows what’ll happen in the mean time. I’ll keep you updated when something goes down!

__________

Right now I’m laying on my bed, writing. It’s just after six in the afternoon. I opened the panes of glass facing out and I rolled back the small window to the hall, and now a nice breeze drifts though.

From eight floors up I smell the cooking from the street. While the fragrant smell of frying oil, garlic and the aromatic sweetness of stir-fried fish oil and lime juice drift up, so too do the shrieks of laughter and adventure from the dozens of Thai children playing below.  Just as many dogs are barking and everything’s punctuated by bells on carts and the bits and pieces of a conversation between two Thai ladies washing dishes and clothes on their porches, sometimes they laugh and it’s one of the most beautiful things you can hear.

It’s a perfect afternoon and my belly’s full. I ate some five-spice pork from a local vendor and I love flirting with her. I usually eat alone and I prefer it, I think. I chew on a raw, fresh spring onion stalk, ladle sweet chile paste over the perfectly braised pork and ponder this beautiful community I’m priviledged to be a part of.

Buses, cars, motorbikes, bicycles, carts and pedestrians race or drift along. The current is complex but there’s a place for everyone and everyone’s happy. No one yells, everyone smiles and patience and compassion are as abundant as the afternoon rain showers.

and I’m falling in love with this place.

__________

The day after our tour we debated heading home or staying one more day. This was a Tuesday and we all had to be back to Bangkok by Wednesday, but the question was whether or not we were going to stay or try to meet up in Bangkok with the other group who went to Ko Chang.

We decided to stay after a short discussion and I’m glad we did, but we ended up running through our various plans with no leads…

Plan A: Rent motorbike – go to Erawan Falls again, this time all day, bring a cooler and beers.

Plan A failure: No bikes available – drinking and riding not an option – too late in the day.

Plan B: Get another tour, this time only for rafting and Erawan.

Plan B failure: No ‘abbreviated’ tours available – too late in the day.

Plan C: I guess just drink on the porch?

Plan C failure: Buddhist Lent holiday = no alcohol sales.

Plan D: we got nothing… maybe we should have gone home.

At that point, we started walking up the road, just because we didn’t know what else to do. On the way back to the raft house I stopped in a book store and began browsing, not really knowing what else to do. Ryan and Ian went ahead and stumbled into a Thai house/business just up the way from our raft house because he had a motorbike-for-rent sign.

I turned out he also had some fishing poles he’d lend us and he also offered to go and pick up some live worms for catfish bait.

Well there you go… Day, our Thai host for the day, was so kind and so much fun, and meeting him was definitely a high point of the trip. In his 20s, he runs a small guest house on the second floor of his house and rents motorbikes, sets up tours or transportation and has a small “Internet cafe” setup as well. He has an intermittent British girlfriend and speaks amazing English and has a fine grasp of modern slang, which is quite difficult for non-native speakers to pick up, interestingly.

So we spent the whole day fishing, catching a few measly ones, not enough for dinner, so we gave the batch to Day, who said he’d eat them the next day:

The quiet, easy solitude was perfect and it turned out to be a perfect day…

The national park features a seven-tiered waterfall that you can swim around, jump off of or just lounge around in, plus the hiking trail used to access the different tiers:

That photo is from the second tier, and the pool in front of the water fall is a great place to swim in, or you can climb up like our life-jacket-wearing Japanese friends are doing here.

So, of course, we had to show ‘em how we roll:

From there we just wandered up to the different tiers.

The fourth:

The fifth tier was the highest we made it to, because the last two were several hundred meters up the moutain and we didn’t have enough time unfortunately, but the fifth tier was pretty great as a place to sit in a small pool or dangle your feet into a pool with the little fish that eat the dead skin off your feet…

Unfortunately, we only had about two and a half hours there, so we had to hit the road, and after a decent meal at a nearby restaurant, we went elephant trekking… which was neat… but it was pretty obvious this trek was basically around someone’s back yard, and you could see all the ruts created from the paths these elephants must walk several times every day.

From there it was on to the Death Railway and then the Bridge over the River Kwae.

According to an article from the Singapore Ministry of Defense, the 415-kilometer Burma/Thai Railway, known as the Death Railway, was built by the Japanese in 1942, by more than 60,000 allied prisoners of war and 270,000 asian laborers from Japanese-occupied territory.

The construction became a paramount project after the Japanese Naval defeat at Midway, and while the allied victory at Midway was a crucial turning point during the war for the allies, the construction of the railway contribted to the deaths of nearly 13,000 POWs and approximately 70,000 to 90,000 asian laborers. Many were buried along the track where they fell.

Today, it’s a peaceful and beautiful route that meanders along the Kwae Noi (small Kwae). The poignancy of the railway’s tragic history was not lost on me, however, and the short trip we took along the track provided a nice chance for reflection.

Perhaps she was having a moment of reflection as well:

From there, we went to a small boat ramp and had a nice drift down the river on large bamboo rafts:

A few days before I left for Kanchanaburi, I finished Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and along this stretch of the river, I couldn’t help fantasize about taking one of these rafts for a month’s long journey down the river…

Our last stop on the tour was the Bridge over the River Kwae, about five kilometers north of Kanchanaburi.

According to an article from the Commonwealth War Graves Commission:

“The notorious Burma-Siam railway, built by Commonwealth, Dutch and American prisoners of war, was a Japanese project driven by the need for improved communications to support the large Japanese army in Burma. During its construction, approximately 13,000 prisoners of war died and were buried along the railway. An estimated 80,000 to 100,000 civilians also died in the course of the project, chiefly forced labour brought from Malaya and the Dutch East Indies, or conscripted in Siam (Thailand) and Burma (Myanmar). Two labour forces, one based in Siam and the other in Burma worked from opposite ends of the line towards the centre.”

After the tour, we spent the rest of the afternoon on the porch at our raft house, soaking in once more the beautiful scenery and serenity of the river…

With plans to catch the 9 a.m. bus to Kanchanaburi from the Southern Bus Terminal, I’m surprised and pleased to report that we did, indeed, make it to the bus on time.

This, however, despite our insane taxi driver who offered us a discount on the taxi fare, provided we went without the meter. Well, I’m weary by now of these ‘discounts’ and when he offered to take us there for 250 baht, I simply replied “meter” and got in the car. He was definitely upset that we didn’t jump at the opportunity.

The entire way he repeatedly asked us where we were going, for how long and that he’d drive us there, which I responded to each time. If we tried speaking amongst each other, he’d start singing over us and jerking the wheel/accelerator in rhythm to his songs to keep the attention on him. While I was trying to keep it together in the front seat, Ryan and Ian were convulsing with laughter in the back as a means of keeping their sanity.

Our fare to the bus station was 83 baht.

On to Kanchanaburi…

Famous as the location of the Bridge over the River Kwae, Kanchanaburi has been described by local guide books as having an abundance of bucolic charm and a place where travelers come for a day and stay for a week or longer. I definitely agree with that.

The river meanders through the medium-sized town, and near the bridge there are an abundance of small, quaint bungalows and raft houses – houses literally built on timber logs or large pontoons that are tied off to the shore.

We were taken by rickshaw from the bus station about two kilometers to the Sugar Cane Guesthouse:

Right away we knew we hit on a winner… For this holiday, I was desperately in need of something quiet and low key. A place to unwind and wash the grime from my soul I’d accumulated in Bangkok.

Our front porch:

I sat down and exhaled a deep breath, and I looked out and realized this place is just like many parts of old Florida that I’d seen and enjoyed growing up. Hot, muggy, flowing river, beautiful scenery, peaceful.

Of course minus the mountains:

In that photo, taken by Ryan, the river is so calm that the sky is almost perfectly reflected. A cool breeze blew nearly the entire time and bugs were kept to a minimum, thanks to hundreds of bats that would clean house every evening starting around 7 p.m.

The rest of that day, we just hung out, drank beer and gazed out over the river, incredulous we were actually here viewing this perfect scene and enjoying this perfect setting.

Until Ian tossed the room key to Ryan, where it hit his left shoulder, fell to the deck and slid into the river…

An eruption of blame followed, punctuated by my gasping laughter as I realized that for once, I didn’t have any part of such a blunderous event.

I sensed the beginning of what would surely blossom into an epic story possibly capped off by one or both having to get in and swim for the key (the guest house didn’t have a spare), so I grabbed Ryan’s DSLR and started shooting pictures.

When several attempts to snag the key and it’s long plastic key chain were failed, the realization that someone was getting wet for this damn thing sunk in. In between bouts of wild laughter at their expense, I stepped in and raised the point that it’s only fair that both go in… and somehow they agreed.

Take notice of the sweet resignation on each guy’s face. Ian’s dumb ass forgot to pack swim trunks, so he’s the one in the Halloween boxers:

They were able to fish around the bottom with their feet, hoping to feel the plastic strip attached to the key among all the goo, silt and hydra branches.

After a short search, Ryan’s foot stumbled onto the key, and well… Ian had to go for it:

Subversive jokes aside, Ian manned up and went down for the key.

Sweet victory was had:

After that fiasco, we got more beer and proceeded to take full advantage of the peaceful afternoon, now enhanced by the overwhelming sense of victory in the face of adversity.

Everything was just right that afternoon, and the next day we’d be following everything up with a tour to Erawan Falls, an elephant trek, some bamboo rafting down the river and a trip along the Death Railway…

I ended up drinking too much and almost missed my first of three three-hour classes, but I made it on time with one minute to spare.

The rest of the day was an uphill struggle against time and my dehydrated brain.

That was until my last class when a group of my oldest students (30s) invited me to a ceremony after class, honoring the incoming freshmen into the law program here.

Of all the things I’ve done in Thailand, this was one of the most spectacular, almost solely because of the company and the interaction with their culture. Afterwards, we were all treated to an insanely fun and delicious banquet.

In this picture, we’re all holding part of a white string that’s passed around and held as a gesture of connection and solidarity.  

The Buddhist culture here places much importance on group unity and group happiness, which really contributes to the overall well-being of Thais in general, I suspect. Ceremonies and gatherings always place focus on the group and making sure the group is satisfied and happy, and if a member isn’t, the rest of the group intervenes to take care of it. It’s warming and is missed in America.

Here, a monk presided next to an ornate religious bouquet, and was the focus of the proceedings. Behind him, an emcee led a long Buddhist chant. At this point I felt rather exposed and vulnerable in my otherness, but still happy and overwhelmingly honored to be a part of this experience.

Back in Bangkok, Ryan and Ian were getting their plans ready for the night, but I was happy to be there, experiencing the amazing ceremony.

After the ceremony, lockes of white string that are barely seen drapped over different branches of the bouquet were given to the teachers and administrators, including myself. At this point, students walked around and chose teachers and administrators to have bracelets tied, as a show of appreciation.

During this part of the ceremony the student kneels before the teacher and holds out his or her wrist. The teacher then takes one of the strings, which has a small knot tied in the middle, and gently rolls the knot along the arm of the student three times, one each for health, success and good luck, and then ties the bracelet. They’re worn until they fall off and I still have my one bracelet a teacher tied to my right wrist. Again, it’s an honor for me and I wear it proudly.

After the bracelet is tied, the student deeply weis the teacher, who responds with a wei.

From there we walked over to the banquet section and took our seats.

I was invited to sit with my English 3 students and before long, the food came out. I was baffled by the quality and size of the fresh fish and noodles brought out. This had to be a two or three pound fish, fried whole and swaddled in a stir-fried aromatic mixture of garlic, chilies, cilantro, lime juice, lime pulp, mint and bean sprouts.

We also had a whole steamed fish that recieved a similar treatment.

After dinner, one of my students gestured over and showed me a full bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label he’d been hiding in his back pack, and I could tell by his probing expression that he was more looking for recognition that I knew my whiskey and understood how luxurious this display was. It was rather amusing and when he asked me if I wanted some, it was all I could do to contain my excitement by casually accepting the small amount he poured over the ice in my glass.

Not to be out done, another student across the table produced a bottle of Hennessey V.S.O.P. and before long, everyone was enjoying some fine brown liquor with their Pepsi.

During the meal, I was struck with one of those now familiar and awe-inspiring moments where I grasped everything around me in the context of where I am and what I’m doing, but I just can’t believe it. It’s a moment where nothing makes sense and everything makes sense.

Am I really here? Is this really happening? Of course it is! Look around, that which you’ve been fantasizing about for almost two years is happening right in front of your eyes!

It’s always dramatic and profound, and I love it. When the feeling strikes, It lets me know I haven’t taken any of this for granted.

The karaoke machine cranked up and nearly everyone there had a crack at it. I’ve developed a confidence for public speaking and crowds don’t bother me, but the thought of singing in public produces mind-boggling anxiety and I just couldn’t accept the offer to get up on stage, and to this day I regret it and feel somehow like I let down my hosts and students, but I won’t disappoint again.

Before long, when the crowd had dissapated substantially, I said goodbye, gave a deep wei around the table and left in a taxi back home.

The next day we left for Kanchanaburi.

6:00 a.m. -the alarm on my phone goes off. At this point, when looking at the snooze ‘menu’ on my phone, should I select the up-and-at-’em 5 minute snooze? The semi-responsible 10 minute snooze? The slightly gluttenous 15 minute snooze or the I-might-get-fired-if-I-select-this 1 hour snooze?

Usually it’s three rounds of 10 minute snoozes.

6:30 a.m. -I throw my pillow to the side and do about 30-40 push ups on my hard-as-concrete mattress to get the blood flowing, which makes for a more alert morning.

6: 35 a.m. - I hobble to my shower closet. I turn on the spigot and cold water limps out of the shower head. I close the toilet lid because it’s right under the shower’s meager tragectory and I begin the daily chore of cleaning myself under cold water with little pressure.

7:15 a.m. or 7:25 a.m. - I’m dressed, I’ve packed my little briefcase (I have a camera bag that can hold my computer, my notebook, all my electronic plugs, my camera, pens and a few folded up paper towels for use during meals) and I’m heading down to the street to meet my coworker Laura, who no doubt has been waiting for me an x amount of minutes and will give me some bitchy, ” ’bout time!” remark.

7:20 a.m. - I walk down my street to a Chinese husband and wife vendor team who make delicious and fluffy fried bread goodies, which traditionally are dipped in a very hot bag of soy milk sweetened with raw sugar.

They met in an English class some odd years ago and the husband speaks English very well and is always interested in practicing his English with us, and I suspect the wife may be proficient, but she seems too nervous to carry on a conversation.

    “Oh! Hello! Good morning, and how are you?” he always says, with minimal Chinese ‘Ingrish’ accent.

    “I’m doing very well, and you?” Is always my response, which I say slowly and clearly for he and his wife.

    “I’m doing very well, thank you,” he’ll always say. A pretty typical formal English greeting for Speakers of English as a second language. From there he’ll ask Laura and I how our students are doing, when we teach, what we’re doing for the weekend, or when we’ll visit China.

During this exchange, Thais are ravenously piling loads of the couple’s delicious donut-like fried bread into baggies and dumping baht coins in the tray before skirting off. He’s always separating, stretching or cutting dough for the bread in precise motions while the wife mans a large wok, expertly rotating the different bread chunks with large, thick chopsticks in the hot palm oil. The pieces shaped like an”X” have more of a salty flavor while the fried dough balls are sweet. I always get five. Two of the sweet donuts and three of the X donuts, but I rarely get the soy milk. I’ve grown to love soy milk, but hot soy milk heavily sweetened with sugar puts me to sleep no matter what time of day, so I stay away from it.

7:25 a.m. - We thank the Chinese couple and walk to the curb, watching for available taxis coming down Khun Thep Nontaburi. Instead of lit or unlit signs on the top of the taxis, the cars here have little signs in the windshield in front of the driver, and if they’re on, they’re available, and if they’re unlit, you get the picture…

I usually flag one down and get in the front seat, which is the American driver’s seat. I tell the driver, “Sawatdee kap, bai mon Latchapluek kap,” which means, “Hello, to Ratchaphruek College please.” Inevitably, my pronunciation is incorrect, or confusing. The driver looks at me while computing what I just said, then asks me again where I’m going. I repeat what I said before exactly the same way, and always the second time he says, “ahhhhh oookkaaaaay, mon LATchaPLUk…” emphasizing the flat and high tones of the phrase, which sound exactly like what I originally said, but that’s how it always goes down.

7:45 a.m. – 7:55 a.m. - We arrive at school. Only a 15 minute ride with no traffic, it can be much longer depending on the time of day and when we hit traffic lights. The cost of the taxi ride costs anywhere from 80 baht to as much as 115 baht ($2.34 – $3.37)

8 a.m. to 8:50 a.m. - I’m at my desk, soaking up the A/C from our ceiling-mounted blast chillers, checking my email, facebook or playing baseball.

*8:50 a.m. - I browse my class schedule, determine where I’m going and for what class, prepare my materials, gather up my books, CD player for listening excersises, whiteboard markers and the roll sheet and head down to class.

*All of my classes are three-hour classes, and start at either 9 a.m., 1 p.m. or 6 p.m., so sometimes I sit at my desk until about 12:45 p.m.

11:45 a.m. - I head down to the canteen (what they call the cafeteria) and choose one of several amazing meals for only 20 baht. $1 = 34 baht.

1 p.m. to 4:30 p.m. - I’m in either in class or at my desk until 4:30 when it’s time to leave. At 4:30, Laura and I walk to the entrance of the college and catch a cab home, which is always more expensive because we have to drive about a kilometer before making a u-turn to get back on the Rama V Bridge.

5 p.m. - I hurriedly change out of my work clothes, carefully fold and hang them up in my armoir and change for water polo practice. It’s about a 25-minute walk to the Bang Sue MRT (subway) station, which is across from the train station. If I take the MRT to the Phahon Yothin stop (three stops away) I walk up Khun Thep Phahon Yothin about three miles to the pool where I practice. If I take the train, I have to wait an hour for the train, but it drops me off closer to the university, so lately I’ve been doing that.

6:30 p.m. - 8:30 p.m. – I repeatedly get my ass kicked by the Thailand National water polo team and members of the Australian National team for two hours. I didn’t even have to train that hard when I was playing every day in high school, but here it’s brutal, but I’m grateful for the excercise and the privilege of playing with such skilled athletes.

8:30 p.m. – 9:30 p.m. - I make my way home by various means available: Either I walk back to the Bang Khen train station and catch the train to Bang Sue and walk home from there, or my coach Ben will drive me to a local BTS (Skytrain) station, which takes me back to the Bang Sue MRT station (same place as the train station) and I walk home.

9:30ish p.m. - I eat dinner outside of my building, usually Chinese Five-Spice Pork, which is a favorite of mine.

After dinner I walk up the eight flights to my apartment for more leg conditioning, then I unlock my door, brush my teeth and pass out…