I recently decided to move houses. I had been living across the street from a monastery in the middle flat of a triplex. It was hard to keep clean because it was so big and I am not around very often. There was a large tiled area downstairs and two bedrooms made of wood upstairs. There was a total of two windows in the entire place, which got my place known as The Cave. On a bright, sunny day, I had to have lights on. All the plants I bought soon died. My house opened directly onto a somewhat busy street where Burmese factory workers would stroll by, peering curiously into my house. I had finally had enough.
Unfortunately, my move came at a rather bad time. I gave the landlady notice (not because I had to but because I thought it was a nice thing to do) and arranged a truck to help me move. But then a million things came up, all at the same time, as they do. For one, I was supposed to attend the launch of my organization’s new project: a large five-year grant from the United States Agency for International Development. We are partnering with the International Rescue Committee and a small organization called PATH to implement the project and so we had our first big meeting to plan and get to know each other in Bangkok at the end of the week. Before I left for that, I needed to get everything organized and ready to roll back at the homestead. In addition, some issues came up at the school which needed to be dealt with, so that had me running around consulting people, getting advice and making plans. The usual school business took more time than usual as we are coming into exam time soon, so we need to review and prepare exams. And at the last minute, it seemed everyone’s plans changed and nobody seemed to know what was going on.
I came back from the refugee camp on Friday night and still had nothing in my house packed. I packed all morning until the mover came. The two of us struggled with my massive mattress (Thai mattresses are made of stone) and my table and all the various other detritus I seemed to have picked up in my year here. Then we drove them to the new place and wrestled them up the stairs.
My new house is on the other side of town. Thankfully, there is no monastery nearby to wake me up in the morning with the loud chanting of monks on loudspeakers. It is a traditional Thai-style wooden house on very high stilts. I am high above everyone with a view of everything. My front balcony looks out over an empty field to a cemetery. Just beyond the cemetery is the main highway and the infamous Country Pub (but that’s another story). Behind my house is a little canal system where Burmese people, I am told, wander and meet for romantic trysts at night. The Northern Market is just down the street where you can buy fresh vegetables, meat, fruit, flowers and freshly baked goods.
I have seven windows in my house, so it is always full of light and breeze. And bugs. The bugs aren’t such a big deal as I sleep under a mosquito net at night anyways. When the windows are closed, however, as they must be while I am traveling, the house becomes a sauna of heat and steam. Not very pleasant to come home to. And although I have lost my monks, I have a neighbor now who, although he lives in a wooden shack with lots of cracks and holes, has a wicked stereo system that rivals the monks and their loudspeaker any day.
My fridge is being delivered on Monday and with that, my move into the Treehouse is complete. When I don’t wake up to Thai music from next door, I wake up to the sun in my face and the call of birds and insects from outside (and only sometimes inside). From my bed, I can see the green leaves swaying outside in the breeze and hear my wind chimes chiming for the first time since I bought them. It’s a nice way to wake up in the morning.
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