The Days We Love Best

The great thing about Friday, the thing that everyone loves, the thing that makes Fridays such wonderful days, is that they are generally, with very few exceptions to the rule, followed by Saturdays. And even if you are like me, with far too much work to take the whole day off, Saturdays are by and large better days than, let's say, Mondays, this being wholly due to the fact that they are part of the weekend.

As grumpy as I was on Friday, then, Saturday more than made up for it.

For one thing, I listened to music for most of the day. I spent a large amount of time outdoors and I cycled everywhere at a high speed. The combination of music and fast biking, plus the fact that my hair is now long enough for pigtails, made me feel playful, purposeful and all around like the super spy chick we all know and love.

I undertook a raid of the Burmese market and came out with muddy feet and a basketful of red pepper and asparagus. I even managed to find a deliciously marinated grilled pork steak in a little known barbecue shop on the side of the road.

I bicycled the six kilometers out to the border with my music on high volume to drown out the sound of my own singing. Why was I singing, you ask? Simply because I felt like it and could see no reason why not. The highway is a wide, empty road with cars and motorcycles going by so fast, none of them, and certainly not me, can hear my horrible voice. The sky was the usual mass of gray/purple clouds shot through with glimpses of blue and rays of sunshine. I was speeding towards the ever elusive mountains of Burma – beautiful green hills wreathed in mist where my feet are never allowed to legally walk, where I will never explore or stare down from one of their high peaks. To either side of the road, the rice paddies spread out before me, full of muddy water, gray buffalo, men with straw hats and large nets fishing.

That's why I'm here. Not to get lost in the books, the budgets and the financial statements, but to get lost in the green, green, wonder of the world full of sunlight and the soft sound of rain.

On Sunday I sip iced coffee in an air conditioned café near the highway and write. I spend hours in my hammock peeling fruit and drinking in cool sweetness.

My house is a mess. I haven't swept the floor all week. I decide not to care. I would rather wear dirty feet and a smile.

On Monday, my desk is full but I get through most of my "TO DO" list. This includes meeting with a funder, with the finance team and a phone call to the UN. It also includes buying charcoal and staples. I interview a potential job candidate. I read a book about teaching. I mark papers, photocopy stories, plan lessons.

I am preparing to hunker down for a long evening when I get a phone call from the satellite phone in Umphium. "Don't come to school tomorrow, Jen. School is cancelled. It's KNLA Day!!"

Thailand has more national holidays than any other country in the world. Coupled with this, the Karen people have an equal, if not larger number. These holidays include Karen Revolution Day, Karen National Union Day, Karen National Liberation Army Day, Karen Liberation Day …

You know I have gotten into this teaching thing when I am actually frustrated by the obscene number of holidays in the school year. It's almost impossible to get anything done. This week, however, it means that for once, I am leaving the office at a reasonable hour (before 6pm, can it be?) and enjoying my evening. The rest of the work on my desk can wait until tomorrow.

Tonight, the sunshine is turning that mellow gold that signals the end of the day and I am going to watch the sun set through the leaves of the monastery from my view in my hammock. Happy KNLA Day, everyone!

Another week gone by

I came back into town Friday night ready to bite someone's head off.

It wasn't a particularly bad week, I was just tired.

When you are tired, you notice all the million tiny things going wrong with the world and they get under your skin.

For example:

1) Someone took the bungee cord I strap my bad onto the back of my bike with off of my bike. I look around the office parking space. It is nowhere to be seen. Bungee cords cost a measly 5 baht, but now I have two backpacks and a shoulder bag to carry on the bike ride home.

2) I have to stop at an internet cafe to check and see if anyone has emailed me about job interviews this weekend. I get the snootiest one-line email imaginable from someone I have never heard from. "I am quite surprised you have not contacted me regarding teaching at Umphium Mai refugee camp."

3) I get home and find out that my keys have fallen out of my pocket somewhere along the road. Turn around and go back, bags and all, looking for them.

4) Get home. Notice the mould growing all over my bamboo chair. It's rainy season. Everything is wet all the time, even when it's dry. Therefor, everything must be cleaned all the time. Throw a bunch of clothes that haven't even been worn into the bag to go to the laundry. Covered in mould.

5) See my computer on the desk. It is not covered in mould but it is equally useless. I have used it for all of three weeks. The battery is dead (cost to replace: $300 approximately). And recently, I have come to realize that the hard drive is also dead (cost to replace: several hundred dollars). The whole thing is a total loss and I have used it for about three weeks. All the information I have compiled on it over this time, however, including funding proposals and reports, is lost.

So I shower, sit down in my hammock and listen to jazz for awhile, starting to feel human again. The rain starts coming down. I watch a rather large lizard on the other side of a dripping window pane as it sneaks up behind an incredibly large moth and devours it.

And that's Friday night in Mae Sot.