Danger!

On Sunday, I became part of the Thai Witness Protection Program. I was sitting on the floor of my house (because I have no furniture and it's cooler that way anyways) reading the Bangkok Post and finishing my lunch. I had almost no warning before the attack came. My assailants were dressed in identical bright red uniforms and suddenly, at the stroke of 2:30pm precisely, my house was full of them. For a moment, I panicked. Then, I ran. I grabbed a bag that was near the door and hopped on my bike, slamming my door down behind me and locking it quickly. Several of them came out of the house after me, but I was on my bike speeding away.

In the bag I had grabbed was my bathing suit and towel, so I decided to spend the afternoon in hiding out at the reservoir. It was the hottest part of the day to be out on the highway on my bike, but the invasion of my house had left me no choice. I got changed in the bathroom of an Esso station along the way.

I had forgotten, however, about the drought. There was almost no water in the reservoir. The Thai news has been full of reports about the "cloud seeding" technology Thailand is using to try and increase rainfall in drought areas. Military planes have been diverted from whatever duties it is military planes perform in peacetime and now spread "rain inducing" chemicals into clouds at night. The Thai King has access to all of this technology from his home computer and receives nightly cloud reports on the situation.

While most of Thailand was waiting for rainy season to begin, Mae Sot had received its first big rain on Saturday. It was a fabulous storm full of lightening and thunder that took out the power grid along Main Street. I went out into the street to watch the lightning. It was incredible. The wind was so strong it had the palm trees bent almost in half. The bamboo trees were being whipped about, leaves flew through the air in wild whirlwinds. Some of the lightning was almost blinding, some of the thunder actually made the house shake. It felt like mountains were falling on us. The Burmese people peddling quickly through the rain to get home, must have thought I was crazy: a big white girl out in the mud dancing through the rain laughing, but they laughed with me. And the rain just kept coming down. After awhile, I went inside for a hot shower and to get dry. I curled up in my hammock near the front entrance with a steaming cup of coffee and a blanket and listened to the sound of the rain on the tin roof.

The rain the day before hadn't seemed to do much for the local reservoir, however. I pull up covered in sweat only to find the pitiful shores lines with fisherfolk and their multiple fishing rods propped up into the mud while they rocked away in their hammocks. I lay in the shade of the bamboo trees and looked at the leaves swaying in the bright blue sky and watched the endless parade of ants in the branches above and on the ground below. "At least," I thought, "they will not find me out here."

But you can't hide forever and since Thailand, for all I know, doesn't really have a Witness Protection Program and since, even if they did, it wouldn't help me anyways, I resigned myself to going home.

"How was your swim?" asked my neighbor as I pulled my bike up outside the house.

"I didn't actually get a chance to swim," I replied. "Are they gone?" I asked, looking nervously at my locked door.

My neighbor shrugged and then went back inside to his work.

I opened my door nervously, expecting and onslaught. Nothing. I parked my bike inside and entered the house, scanning the floor and watching carefully where I stepped. Nothing. They had all left.

I was describing the incident to a long time Mae Sot resident last night over dinner. "I think the rain might have flooded their den," I explained. "They looked too big to have just hatched."

I have heard about the hatching that happens after the rains, especially for those of us who live in teak houses. After a storm, the termites hatch in huge numbers. Termites, when they are first born, have wings. They fly around for a little while, then drop their wings and disappear, burrowing into wood, I would imagine. I have been told that one or two times a year, they hatch in such hordes that you need to sweep your floor of the huge pile of wings they leave in their wake. Someone I know described how they couldn't' get down their stairs, there were so many wings lying in drifts on their floor.

"Tell me what they looked like again?" my Thai friend asked.

"They were bright red and about two inches long."

"Round or flat?"

"Definitely flat."

My Thai friend had an expression on her face I had seen once before. It was in Taiwan when I had described a cute little green snake I had encountered once when hiking alone on a mountain trail. My Taiwanese friend had gone pale and then proceeded to tell me that I had made the acquaintance of one of the most poisonous snakes in the country. My Thai friend had the same look.

"You should be very careful," she said. "Those things are really poisonous. Even if they touch you I have heard you have to go to hospital and they will cause you a lot of pain."

In some ways, it almost made me feel better. When I saw the horde of them wriggling across my floor towards me, I felt like such a girly-girl. All I could think of was jumping up and down going, "Ewwww! Ewwwww!" So it turns out that I did the right thing after all in evacuating the premises and hiding out until they had all gone. I have since investigated every corner of my house and found no trace of them, but you never really know when those red devils will strike again. That is definitely one of the things that I hate about tropical countries: damned insects and frighteningly poisonous things.

On Mute

Have you ever heard of an English Speaking class being taught by someone who couldn't speak?

On Thursday I had a sore throat. I woke up Friday morning, up in Umphium camp, able to speak only in a whisper and feeling otherwise fine. I was two hours from any substitute teacher and faced with only four weeks of class to go and a lot of things left to cover. I couldn't afford to cancel class just because I couldn't speak. On with the show!

It was quite the hilarious day. I taught in a whisper, writing things on the board, having students speak for me. Actually, I didn't do a lot of teaching, I got my students to do it for me. Not being able to speak kept me incredibly student-centered, always our goal, and focused on my 80:20 (student talking : teacher talking) ratio. What struck me afterwards is how easily my students went along with me. They never seemed to question my ability to teach a class without a voice. We had a great time. Of course, by the end of my five hours of teaching on Friday, I was quite exhausted.

The weekend went by fairly well also. I slept and read a lot. But it was not any more frustrating trying to communicate with people than it normally is around here. I went to the market where I don't speak Burmese or Thai, so not being able to speak at all was no big loss.

Three days later, I am gradually getting my voice back, but it is still quiet. I went out to the bar on Saturday night armed with a pad and pen, scribbling little notes to people and communicating mostly through their lip-reading skills and my body language. It was less difficult that I had imagined.

I encountered only one annoyance: a Norwegian woman who couldn't believe that I didn't lose my voice regularly. "If I couldn't speak, I'd be freaking out! You're dealing with this so well, you MUST have done this before." She actually didn't say that to me, she wrote it down on my pad of paper. Perhaps she was under the impression that my hearing was temporarily out of service along with my speaking ability. Her writing was almost illegible though. She kept bringing the conversation back to how sick I must be right now. Wasn't I so miserable? I'm sure it wouldn't have been that annoying if people weren’t so frequently wanting to feel sorry for me about my variety of illnesses and heath issues. Do people want to be pitied? Is sickness some special state they are secretly aspiring to? What is up people?

As I need to return to work tomorrow, I am going to have my first adventure with the Thai medical system this afternoon, which should be fun, particularly as I can't speak. But this weeks little ranting blog has a point:

Take a minute out of your day right now and think about all the things that you have that you are thankful for. Don’t just sit there and nod at another gushy cliché that belongs in a chain-email, really think about it for a second. Because being silent for a few days has made me learn a lot of things: about listening and judging how important what I have to say is before I have said it. But I am really looking forward to going back to being the big noisy girl that I am. I am thankful not only to be living in a world of lush greenery but that I have the capacity to see and appreciate it. I work in a place where you need your feet to get you where you're going and I have two healthy feet to take me there.

Amen.

Y2K

I ended up at Y2K for the first time on my first Friday night in Mae Sot. Patrick and Brooke told me they were taking me out to meet people, but the only people I met were their significant others and a British girl named Mel. We had some beers and chatted. Someone said, "Lets go to Y2K!" Brooke got very excited and told me that girls wear fur bikinis there, and it was settled. We went.

People who have lived in Mae Sot for ten years or more have never been there. Last night was my third time.

The second time we went, it was an organized outing. Inspired by our first evening there, several people were persuaded to join in and we went en masse. Last night, it was just kind of spontaneous. There we were again, drinking beer and feeling like dancing, so off we went.

One of the funny things about Y2K is that I still don't know how to get there. It's the fault of the quantity of beer we have to drink in order to feel like going. There's a tricky turn involved and a small back road. I often don't have any recollection at all of even getting home, let alone how I got there.

Whiskey seems to be the only drink on the menu there and you have to order it by the bottle. I had never drunk whiskey before coming to Thailand. Actually, whiskey and soda is a surprisingly good drink. Or maybe I'm just used to it now, who knows?

Y2K is the local disco. The music is so loud that the building actually does shake. You can hear it rattling when you pull up out front. Men in white shirts and ties escort you to a table, if there is one left, then take your order. (Will it be whiskey or whiskey? Hmmmm....) There are stools but mostly people stand around their table. Unfortunately, there is no dancefloor and actually not a lot of people dance. I haven't figured out yet why they go really. The music is atrociously loud, so there is no chance of having a conversation. There is a DJ and a band with two female singers that alternate. One of them indeed wears skimpy outfits although she has been favoring huge boots and silver spacegirl clothes on all of the occasions I have been. I have yet to see the fur bikini I was originally enticed with.

I, of course, go to dance and my mission is to get the most number of Thai people dancing with me. Last night this included a table of ladyboys celebrating someone's birthday. I dont' know any of the people there and I doubt they know me so its a good place to go a little crazy dance around and be the big white fool that I am.

And that's what I do for a change of pace and a shot of fun on a Saturday night. Oh, small town life, look at what it does to you.

Itinerary

April 27th 8:25am Depart Bangkok (China Airlines flight 66 & 32)
April 27th 9:25am Arrive in Vancouver
May 5th 18:20pm Depart Victoria (Westjet flight 502)
May 5th 20:35pm Arrive Calgary
May 16th 13:00pm Depart Calgary (WestJet flight 668)
May 16th Arrive Montreal 19:00
May 21st Depart Montreal for Toronto (ride anyone? bus?)
May 23rd 11:40am Depart Toronto (Westjet flight 817)
May 23rd 13:50 Arrive Vancouver
May 24th 11:35am Depart Vancouver (China Airlines flight 31 and 65)
May 25th 01:00am Arrive Bangkok

It'll be a wild ride, but I'm looking forward to seeing you all!!

Valentine's Day

After three months of waking up smiling, bounding out of bed and biking off to work full of energy and general un-Jen like morning symptoms, I suffered a relapse this morning. Not that I woke up in a bad mood or growled at anyone or stomped around the house with a frown, but it was a slow morning to get started. I decided not to force things and after whipping up a mango lasse in my brand-new blender from the yogurt in my brand-new fridge, I spent a delightful hour in my bedroom hammock swinging in and out of sunlight.

Dressed and ready for action, I rolled into the internet café fully intending to get some work done, but no one obliged by emailing me the relevant documents so, alas, I had to work on email. I also contacted several travel agents for details on flights home and although I found several good deals, I also learned that there is a special of flights to Madagascar: 575$ CDN return from Bangkok! Now, really, when am I going to get a deal like that?? Ok, ok, so I forced myself to look into Canadian flights again, but can't help dreaming of what escapades I might get up to at this time next year when I have left the refugee camp behind.

By that time of the morning, I decide that I should pick up lunch right away rather than go into the office, get a little work done and then have to go out again. I mean, we wouldn't want to be inefficient, would we? So I opt for a business lunch with Bridget Jones and her second set of diaries, despite having done absolutely no business in my day to date. There is something about working in a refugee camp that makes you appreciate the fluffiest trash in a way that is just not otherwise possible.

So here we go: rolling into work just before lunch and there is a management meeting in full swing downstairs. I have to walk by all the head people in order to get upstairs to my "office," so clearly I am starting off my week by making good impressions.

Air conditioner on, cup of coffee in hand, I settle down to work. My first order of business is reading through an immense tome in French on elements of translation. I am aiming to finish the translation unit in class this week and want to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything important. I love teaching things I don't know much about. Translation is definitely easier than the time I got stuck teaching a kayaking class although less fun. Clearly I abandon the tome and opt for some blogging.

Oh and that's right, it's Valentine's Day. It was non-stop love songs in the Pad Thai shop, which made eating difficult because the urge was to constantly gag. There have been the tackiest red roses and plastic hearts decorating the wealthier areas of town and the price of red roses in the market place (usually dirt cheap) has skyrocketed overnight, but the exact day eluded me. I am going to show my love for my students by writing their final translation exam today, This evening, I have a hot date in the park with an aerobics instructor. I am going to join millions of Thai women all over the country in their daily public aerobics work out. At the very least, it will help me remember how to count in Thai and I will be getting hot and sweaty on Valentines one way or another!

Chinese New Year

Chinese New Year 
Last Monday I was awoken by the sounds of explosions going off at midnight. I smelled smoke and saw flashes of fire out my window. In my half-asleep daze, I was sure there was a gun battle raging in the Chinese factory next to the monastery. Machine guns rattled and retaliated. Someone threw a grenade. What to do? Sleepily I reproached myself, "Jen, you really should have thought up a plan for a situation like this." I did the only sensible thing when there is a gang war or military scheme unraveling across the street and rolled over and fell back asleep, dreaming that there were tanks rolling down the four lane highway near my house from the border.

The gun battles raged throughout Mae Sot all through the week and luckily I was in Umphiem most of the time so actually managed several nights of good sleep and preserved the integrity of my ear drums. There were no guns involved, obviously and no war going on, only unparalleled firecrackers of incredible power. They come on long strings and go off in clouds of smoke and fire, leaving behind shards of red paper which littered the streets all week. I got caught in a crowd and ended up next to one one morning. Even with my hands over my ears I was in pain. When the little explosions have gone off (the machine gun fire), there are two big ones at the end, (the grenade launchers I heard at midnight).

Chinese New Year was on Wednesday and the firecrackers have been going nonstop day and night from Monday until Saturday. In Bangkok, I am told there are over 3 million people gathered in the squares of China Town celebrating with the largest dragon dance outside of Beijing in the world. In Mae Sot the dragons dancing through town on Saturday morning were quite small but lively. Teams of young men wearing yellow danced through the streets wheeling huge drums, playing tambourines and cymbals and following the dragons. They left behind them clouds of smoke and perfumed incense. Shopkeepers were sweeping up the red papers for days. Every corner I turned yielded another dragon, another crowd of dancers. On a parallel street a parade passed with middle aged women in short skirts and a marching band. There was a sense of celebration and excitement and the thrill of the unexpected. Dragons entered shops, eating paper offerings and bestowing luck. One winked at me as it went by and the boys all capered before my camera. Everyone was out on the streets smiling in a blur of red and yellow and a swirl of smoke that tasted of gunpowder.

Happy New Year!

Food

I am hanging off the back of the line car staring up at the great blue sky and watching the bamboo leafs flutter, green, overhead. The car is very full. There are several families inside and a few people transporting big bags of goods to the market in Umphiem. And there is one big white girl hanging off the back with a big grin on her face and the cool breeze in her hair.

One of the bags of green mangoes gets jostled from its precarious perch as we rumble uphill in a cloud of exhaust. One rope holds it to the truck and it drags behind us as I try to motion to someone closer to pay attention and do something. By the time the closest man is aware of the problem, the plastic bag has a hole in it and green mangoes are tumbling out of the bag, rolling end over end down the hill and into the sunshine…

Green mangoes are almost more popular than ripened ones. You peel the mango and slice it up. You mix dried chilies with sugar and fish sauce, which in itself is quite the, um, flavorful, concoction. Then you dip the green mangoes into the sauce and eat. North Americans just don't have a taste sensation that is at all comparable. So sour it makes your eyes water, so spicy it makes your nose run, yet at the same time sweet and tasty. Strangely addictive.

There is one stall in the market that always fascinates me. There are tubs with fish that look like eels, still alive, squirming around in shallow, dirty water. There are small turtles doing turtle things amidst the market bustle with dead fish heads in their plastic containers (are turtles carnivores?) And there are bundles or fat frogs; still alive, jerking and tied in bunches. These must be special frogs because anyone who wanted the regular kind only has to sit out on a road at night. Biking outside of town in the dark, you have to drive slowly to avoid squashing the dark hunks slowly hopping across the road. In the morning, almost every road, including my own, is littered with the dead, flattened bodies of these nighttime creatures. Or perhaps they are toads. I can't claim to know the difference.

Frogs are good for several dishes. My favorite, however, is frog chili. For those of you who want to try this one at home, it is a fairly simple recipe, one that is sure to endear you with the neighbors and dinner guests:

Once the frogs have been prepared, (admittedly, I'm not sure how this is done. Do you have to remove the insides, or are they good to eat? Peel the skin off like potatoes?) Put the meat into a small pot of boiling water. (For extra flavor, add a bullion cube or use chicken stock.) Proceed to boil the crap out of that frog. In fact, the frog should be boiled to the point where its body has been reduced to a paste. This makes an excellent base for a chili, and it's full of protein too! (And who knows what else?) From this point on, your options are endless: boiled chilies, chili powder, fried chilies? Tomato and garlic frog chili? Fish paste and dried fish chili? I'll leave the additional ingredients up to your discretion.
Friday morning in the office, I am sipping Lipton's Yellow Label Tea and eating a store made loaf of banana bread. It's been a rough week on my stomach so I'm taking a break. Hmmmm…. I wonder why?

Buddhas in the Ruins

Buddhas in the ruins 


Buddhas 


feet 

UNESCO World Heritage Site

It was a fairly normal week in Mae Sot:

On Monday, I had food poisoning. On Tuesday, I had dinner with a private arms dealer. On Saturday, I rode in a truck with a sweat-shop owner and visited a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The World Heritage Site wasn't part of my normal week, actually. Despite being tired from the long trip back from camp, I have decided to do some traveling at least once a month and get out of Mae Sot and see some of Thailand. This weekend I took a minibus up to Sukhothai. Sukhothai is one of Thailand ancient capitals, a walled city full of temples and Wats. Today it is a tourist park with crumbling stone ruins and manicured lawns. It's the perfect place for a relaxing weekend getaway.

I rented a bicycle for the day and cycled through the ruins, taking over a hundred pictures of the stone Buddhas. I took off my sandals with the Thai Buddhists and walked on the hot stone, kneeling before the incense under the hot sun. Outside the old city walls, I found a route alongside a small canal where women waded, fishing with large nets and boys splashed about in the shade. The ruins outside the walls are emptier, overgrown with weeds. Buddhas sitting in lotus positions in niches are missing heads or parts of their legs. Pigeons rise from deserted stone towers. On the horizon, the mountains are clearly visible, getting hazier and more indistinct and fading into the sky in the distance. One of them is said to look like a reclining Buddha, but I can't tell which one.

To the West of the old city, I make what the Rough Guide describes as "a long haul" out to another ruin site. This long haul is well sign posted, entirely flat and amidst beautiful rice paddies and fields. It takes fifteen minutes of lazy cycling. I am alone at the site as I climb the stone slabs that lead to the top of this hill where an ancient Buddha is waiting. The view from the top is green, all green. In the distance things dissolve into smoke, but the towers from the ancient Wats are still visible.

I spend my evening quietly, reading on the teak porch of the guesthouse in the shade and wandering through the night market. It is nice not to have to talk to anyone, a reprieve from the usual intense conversations of Mae Sot. It's nice to by anonymous. I sip an Oreo milkshake in the night market with a smile … this is a beautiful life to be living.

Buddha on the hill 

The Decision is in

Sunday nights I usually dine at SP Kitchen with my neighbor, Tim, and an older couple who work at the refugee's medical clinic, Elisabetta and Jonathan. The restaurant is very close to our homes and serves Thai, Burmese and Western food. Elisabetta, who is Italian, has taught the kitchen how to make pasta and other Italian dishes from scratch. She is responsible for half the menu there. Between the four of us, we know all the people who work there and, excluding the odd tourist who wanders in, usually all of the clients as well. It's not the Sunday night Jones family dinner, but it's as close as I'm going to get.

Last night, I did not have dinner at SP. Instead, I met Brooke and Patrick for dinner at the Stone Table, a restaurant closer into town with more tourists and a pricier menu. I hadn't eaten there yet, partially because of its lukewarm review, partially because it makes me think of the dead lions of Narnia. Initially Tim wasn't going to join us. He spent the whole day waiting around for a car to take him over the border to a covert celebration of Karen Revolution Day.

This is Mae Sot: eating dinner with a bunch of people, mentioning the holiday on Monday for the Revolution Day, someone says that they are going to watch the boxing in Karen State, over the river, inside Burma, someone else asks if they have any room in the car, and suddenly we are all planning an illegal border crossing under the protection of an armed rebel group to attend illegal anti-government festivities in a totalitarian state. What else did I have to do with my Sunday afternoon?

I'm laughing as I write that because it sounds so grand and dangerous and shocking. But this is Mae Sot and it would be impossible to live and work here without dealing with the armed rebel group in question in some shape or form. The leader, now getting on to retiring age and going senile, whose birthday was the cause of another recent holiday, is my friend's landlord. The education branch of the group runs all of the schools in the refugee camps along the border. Nobody sets up a school without going through them and giving them final management control over their school. I work in a school in a refugee camp, what does that tell you?

When I say "armed rebel group" though, you mustn't picture CIA covert operations, black vests and face paint, highly trained, coordinated units with high tech weapons. There is a reason this civil war drags on for generations. Both sides are under funded, under trained, uncoordinated and rife with inner tension and disagreements. They haven't died out for a good reason either, so it wouldn't pay to underestimate them, but they are by no means terribly effective, particularly when it comes to non-military tasks like organization. It quickly became apparent to me that our escort into Burma was not likely to happen. In order for me to go, someone had to arrange a certain number of cars and in order for it to be interesting, these cars had to arrive at a certain time. My faith in their ability to achieve this, for a few foreigners to watch some boxing, was very slim, so I quickly bailed and spent my day hanging out, working, cleaning, the usual Sunday activities. Tim, on the other hand, really thought he would be able to go. He is doing a photographic series on boxing and wanted pictures of Thai/Burmese fights in Thailand, on the border and inside Burma. He woke up at 6am to pack and prepare. By 6pm, I had him sitting on the floor drinking beer and telling me stories about why his embassy had to get him out of the country the last time he was in Burma, illegally filming in Rangoon. By 7pm, he abandoned all hope of seeing any Karen Revolution Day boxing and joined me for dinner.

When the four of us get together, my two co-workers, my neighbor and myself, things get crazy very quickly. We don't even order for half an hour because we are so busy with the jokes and stories and the gut laughter and the flowing beer. It takes me forever to make my announcement, the reason why I have arranged the dinner for that evening.

"Here's to Mae Sot," I said, raising my glass. "Sign me up for another year of this!"

The occasion clearly called for a night of tequila and chili shots at Khun's, our favorite bar, where no one is surprised by the news, but everyone is happy. We drink our beer, we take our shots. We talk and talk and laugh and if I were even to repeat half of the stories it would make a book that no one would ever believe. Why am I staying in a small border town in the middle of nowhere? Where else on earth can I find this much color?

When I say that I am staying, it's actually a pretty nebulous concept at this point. We should be able to pull together funding, although that's a bit dicey. Because we have so little funding for teacher's salaries and the living conditions are, ahem, "not ideal," it will be difficult to find qualified, adaptable teachers. The organization that helps us with camp passes and logistics may go under this year. Blah, blah, blah. I signed myself up for a project that may not run at all but I signed myself up to try and keep it running. And lets be honest, I didn't "sign" anything. If I wanted to sign a contract, I would have to draw it up between myself and myself. "How much will you be getting paid?" someone asked, because they thought my decision would come down to money. The real question is, "Will I get paid?" Come on, if you knew all these answers, would it be nearly so interesting?

I think some people are worried that I am giving up my dreams to hang out here on the border. I'm not. I'm here for another year and while I'm here, I have a plan to make the school self sustaining, so I can walk away after graduation next year, and know it will stay alive. All my dreams, which are always changing anyways, will still be there for me. One of those dreams is picking up a few of these amazing journalists and photographers around here and heading to the India / Pakistan border, so if there are dreams out there of me coming home soon, I'm afraid its rather unlikely. Meanwhile, I am going to have one hell of an experience here, learning to manage a school, recruiting teachers, getting funding and taking a few shots of tequila and chili when the going gets rough. It's going to be great.

I'm looking at getting a cheap flight home for a bit in May to see friends and I will definitely be home at the end of July to see family, so I am not disappearing into the ether. Thailand is a great place to travel and if you are in my neighborhood, I have a house that is not in a refugee camp, which is open any time. The letters and packages and emails have been amazing. It's certainly not all rose here and every word from home helps me through.

Who would have thought? Wake up one morning with a cancelled plane ticket and mononucleosis, end up on the Thai border taking on a school.

You gotta love it!

Hanging Out

By the Resevoir 

Each weekend I come back from the refugee camp, I stuff my face with delicious Thai food. As a result, despite the constant rice diet up at camp, yours truly is finding herself a little chubbier as time goes on. Actually, I may not have even noticed if it hadn't been the topic of conversation everywhere I went last week, from my student's cheery comments on how curvey and lovely I look these days to the tailor remarking that she would have to remesure me soon. And if we are going to be honnest, it's true, my pants don't fit anymore.

Rather than stop eating (why on earth would I do that?) I just need to pick up a little exercise. As a result, last weekend found me on my mountain bike, cruising through the rice paddies on the way out to the Mae Paw resevoir, where you will find me hanging out in the above photograph. I rode out there, which took me about an hour on a nice, windy, flat road; then went for a fabulous swim in the cool, but slightly muddy water. The goal was to get out there once a week, but this weekend I have been biking along other paths. I discovered a wealth of migrant farm workers, hidden sweatshops and small factories not far from my home along the road I live on, along with a dump. I got some very surprised looks as I took the bike from paved roads to gravel to bumpy dirt tracks through the feilds. I saw chili plantations and cauliflowers and feilds and feilds of rice.



After the Crash 

This is a picture of the rail way tracks after the bus crash. Notice the severed traffic barrier lying on the road. It's wonderful to start the year off by being thankful for remaining unimpaled.

This week I am running out of internet time, but there are more photos online now and I invite you to look. Also, I invite you to use the COMMENTS section of this blog to let me know: Should I stay or should I go?

Next week I have to give my decision: do I stay in Mae Sot and take over the English Immersion Program school or do I move onto other missions, other countries, India perhaps, Canada maybe, travel, writing? What do you think? I could use some imput.

Elephants

Natasha, an American who coordinates the production of the Human Rights Book on Burma, arrived at our table at the Night Market to find an elephant at our table. Mel, a feisty friend of mine from the UK who travels to camps all along the border on an education project, had a scowl on her face. She was yelling at the man on top of the elephant in Thai. The woman who owns the food stall we were eating at came out and joined her in the yelling. A crowd of young children had condensed in the area (there is always a crowd of them in the Night Market running around throwing stones at the dogs, yelling, playing, watching Power Rangers on one of the restaurant's TV's. Perhaps Thailand has an all-Power-Rangers/ all-Mutant-Ninja-Turtles station, it always seems to be on.) There is a tiny, mangy, puppy asleep at my feet. It is terribly cute, but all the same, I hope it doesn't have fleas. This is the same place the man fired his gun into the air a month ago to avoid paying for his dinner and tonight's entertainment is the elephant, or, at least, that is what we are supposed to believe.

Elephants in Thailand are smaller than the African variety and fairly functional. They do not roam over romantic landscapes trumpeting and stampeding to make the ground shake, or, at least, not to my knowledge. They help with construction projects and farming and any labor that requires strong muscles that they can be harnessed to. So you can come across elephants in the strangest places: towing jeeps out of the mud deep in the jungle, for example. However, they are also used to get tourist dollars. So they can be found deep in the heart of Bangkok as well.

I am told that an elephant can hear an apple fall over eight kilometers away. Even if this is partially true, what it must be like for an elephant to walk along one of the busiest streets in Bangkok, where I saw an elephant last, must be unimaginable. Their feet, like humans, is tough flesh, not bone, so the heat of the sidewalk must be intense. Yet there they are, walking through the city with someone riding on their head, offering rides for a fee, and selling bags of bananas to feed to the elephant. And here is one such elephant, standing near our table in the Mae Sot Night Market.

This elephant has small, dark eyes and is extremely dirty. The children are half afraid of it and half in awe. It makes them excited. They dart up to it and race back. They are doing strange dances and screaming and laughing. Mel tells the man sitting on the elephant's head to take the elephant away and give it a wash. The restaurant owner sounds angry also.

So the elephant turns it's great head and ambles slowly through the traffic out of the Night Market and into the night. Natasha sits down, looking confused. We order food for our Friday night dinner. And it's just another night out in Mae Sot.

'Tis the Season

There are three seasons in this region on Thailand: cold season, hot season and rainy season.

"In other camps, this is the time of year when we put all of our things in a bag every night …"

It is in between cold season and hot season. In cold season, we have been waking up to ten degree mornings full of mist. The water in the buckets is too cold to wash with and we sleep with at least three blankets, the girls all huddled together in their room for warmth. In rainy season, all the roads turn into mudslides and no body leaves their house unless they have to. We live high on a hill, so it is almost guaranteed that you will slip and get covered in mud at some point. I am told that nothing every dries. Even clothes in a closet get covered in mold because of all the moisture in the air. In hot season, the road is a cloud of dust that sticks to your sweat. Even if you don't do anything but sit in your house, you will sweat. I think, ah, perhaps people in other camps put their things in a bag at night because it will get so dusty in hot season that everything will get dirty. Our camp, being high in the mountains, is cooler than all the other refugee camps, so perhaps this is why we do not need to make sure all of our things are in a bag.

"… We put all of our things in bags and we plan where we will run with them if the soldiers come to burn our camp."

There is hot season and cold season and rainy season and this is the season for soldiers to burn the camps down. This is the season that camps full of bamboo houses and thatch burn best.

Already there are reports of armed groups clashing with Burmese troops further North, but everything here is all rumor. Even those who have just returned from working in the North are unsure what is happening there.

Almost all of my students have survived one such camp burning and they remember it well. One night over dinner in casual voices, we discuss where we would run if the soldiers came to Umphiem. We are high on the hill with not many houses behind us. Then there is a field and the jungle. I say, "I would run uphill and hide in the jungle, that would be good, no?" My students laugh at me. "If the soldiers come, they will first surround the camp. You will run right into them." That evening, after dinner, I sit outside in front of the classroom and look down on the valley. Where would I run? Everywhere there are houses. If the houses burn, there is nowhere to run.

Umphiem Mai is high in the mountains, eight kilometers over extremely hilly terrain overland to the border with Burma. Along passable roads, which are windy, small and difficult, it is over two hours from the official border crossing and at least an hour from the nearest spot to cross by boat. We have very little to fear. I would not have Thai permission to live there if there were any danger. This season, we will probably not be burned, but we are the lucky ones.

Dead Head

Another Friday in the Mae Sot office sipping tea and eating sticky rice and fried bananas. I have a lot of work to do this weekend. On top of the usual marking and lesson planning, I have to write the final trimester exam for this week and make up a review sheet, as well as start planning the next units. So even though this week's blog will be short, it hardly means I am hard at work. Instead, I am distracting myself with the usual means available, journaling, talking with people in the office, waiting in line at the post office, taking a long lunch break for Pat Thai and iced lemon beverages…

I managed to upload three photographs from Lopburi, a town about three hours by train north of Bangkok. It's a small town with not a lot to it, however, the ancient Khmer ruins really are beautiful. I spent a great deal of time contemplating them as I waiting for the imaginary replacement bus to pick us up after the bus accident.


Dead Baby 

Also in this week's photos is "Dead Head," which, if left unexplained, may cause some confusion. "Dead Head," as you can imagine, really is someone's head. Since it is encased in a block of plastic and embalming fluid, clearly the person is dead. I'm not sure if you can tell from the photograph or not, but there is a bullet hole going through the brain. This is the result of one of Ilse's missions. Of all the sights and attractions in the wild city of Bangkok, she wanted to see the museum of dead people. There was a head with an axe in it, she claimed. This museum was not written up in her Lonely Planet, nor in my Rough Guide, so it took some sleuthing on both of our parts. Luckily, we are both good sleuths with a fair amount of luck. For those wanting to retrace our steps and in the vicinity of Bangkok, the Forsenic Museum is found in the Siriaj Hospital. Our trip there involved a pleasant boat taxi along the river, out of the head and stifling atmosphere of the Bangkok streets. Unfortunately, we arrived just as the museum was closing. But the poor lady at the desk was no match for this dynamic duo and we persuaded her with our pathetic looks and dashing charm (certainly not with our eloquent Thai that’s for sure) to let us in for a few minutes only. "We just want to see the head with the axe in it," Ilse explained earnestly. "You understand? Axe?" she said, miming it out for the lady.

Success. We were let in without having to pay the admission fee and we ran through the unlit museum looking for the axed head. I was quickly distracted from that particular object of our quest by a floating baby with a massive head wound and the desiccated corpses of murderers and rapists hanging in the gallery. The lights were turned off and we ran rampant through the unlit corridors among the dead bodies, flashing our cameras as we went. Actually, as the security guard came around to kick us out, we learned that photography is not permitted in the museum. "Please, the museum is closing," said the man in the uniform. "Please, no cameras."

"Yes, yes, we're coming," we replied, starting towards the exit. "Oooohh, look!" I exclaim. "A severed leg!" Click! Click!


Dead Head 

Ok so it sounds totally weird and it was. But there is something gruesomely fascinating about a leg completely out of context. How on earth did it get to be lying in a glass case? Whose leg is it? Where is the rest of their body? Ditto for that head in the glass case.

Gradually, we allowed ourselves to be shepherded out of the museum by the anxious guard, our cameras full of photographs, our mission complete and Ilse vowing to return one day and find the head with the axe in it. As for me, ten minutes running through the museum and I've had my fill.


Dead Guy 

New Years 2005

Question: Is being on an 8 hour bus to Bangkok with no toilet like being in the desert on a horse with no name?

Random note: I have uploaded more photos. There are some of camp and some of Christmas with my students. The photos from Bangkok are not yet available, but check these out when you have a moment if you are interested.

A Story: After three days in Bangkok of running around all day and getting up to all sorts of random trouble until late hours of the night, I was exhausted and needed to get away. I took a train three hours north to the town of Lopburi. Don't worry if you've never heard of it, it is a very small town, known for it's Khmer ruins and monkies. A great combination if ever there was one. I did very little in Lopburi except walk around, check out the ruins and sleep. I spent most of the afternoon on a park bench eating food, enjoying the shade and watching the monkies play in a monkey playground. The playground is in the middle of a large traffic circle near the train tracks and as I walked back to my quiet, cool hotel room for a nap, I watched the monkies naviagating traffic and wondered how many of them get killed and maimed that way every year.

This, although I could not have known it at the time, is what's known as foreshadowing...

The next morning, I got up early and went to the bus station two hours before the bus was scheduled to depart, in order to ensure myself a ticket. I had assumed that the bus from Bangkok to Mae Sot passed through Lopburi and it would be easy to travel home from there, but I was wrong. I had to go four hours further north to a town that sounds like "Piss-on-you-lock" and catch another bus from there. No one was really sure about this other bus, but assumed there would or could be one.

Despite being at the bus stop ridiculously early, I was told that there was standing room only on the bus. It was a windy morning, it was New Years Eve, I was homeward bound and feeling bright and alive and adventurous. I ate breakfast and watched people. There were two other foreigners in the bus station, studiously ignorning me. When the bus pulled up, I realized that not only was there no seats, there was no room at all. Not to be detered, I jumped up and pushed my way on board before the bus had even come to a halt. The two foreigners realized what was happening far too late and argued loudly with the bus driver for several minutes. I'm not sure what they hoped to accomplish. The bus driver clearly did not speak any English and there was clearly no room on the bus for two more people and their ridiculously large backpacks. The bus pulled out of the station and I waved goodbye to them rather cheekily. Something which I later, rather regretted.

The bus took the road back through town. I was standing up near the front, almost directly in front of the windsheild and quite comfortable. Someone hanging out the door made a fuss and we all shifted back. I ended up about a meter further down the bus, wedged a little uncomfortably next to an old man with the largest pair of plastic frames I have ever seen, worn upside down with a hunk of blue foam on his nose. "Happy New Year," he said. "America and Thailand, big friends!" We were approaching the traffic circle with the monkey playground. A train was approaching. "You Christian?" he asked.

The bus was moving very slowly. I could hear the sound of the train at the station. I looked through the front window. The bus showed no signs of stopping. I could see the traffic arm descending to stop traffic. It wasn't just that everything was moving in slow motion because it was horrible. The bus really wasn't going that fast, and we all know that traffic barriers are rather slow. It was with a sense of unreality then, that I watched the red and white traffic barrier smash it's way through the window of the bus.

The girl sitting at the very front up against the window saw it coming and was able to move away, as was the person standing right behind her. It was the man who had taken my spot who got impaled by it.

At least the traffic barrier did it's job. At the speed we were travelling, we would most certainly have been hit by the train had we continued. The barrier, in crashing through the front windscreen, halted the progress of the bus and the train passed us by at a safe distance. The man was not badly hurt. His arm was dripping blood and appeared to be broken. He walked unsteadily and looked as if he was in shock. An ambulance arrived. The traffic arm was removed from the window. The other traffic arm had hit the side of the bus and couldn't be moved. Someone had to saw it off with a handsaw.

All this time, I was filled with a sense of shocked horror. But as the accident scene cleared and the bus was taken away, I began to regain my calm. Confusion now reigned. What was going to happen? There was one man, who had sold me my ticket, who spoke some English, but he was too busy doing (what?) something to talk to me. The police officers on the scene pretended not to hear me and the passengers just smiled at me. Everyone had a calm expression on their face, so I was lulled into believing that everything was being taken care of and another bus would soon come. I sat in the shade and watched the monkies safely navigate the traffic. Damned monkies.

For the next two hours the confusion became a sense of growing frustration. Someone finally called the tourist police who promised to come and explain the situation for me, but never showed up. Soon, I knew, the next bus would leave for Phitsanulok and on it would be those two foreigners with the big backpacks, waving cheekily to me as they went merrily on their way. Meanwhile, I would be stuck in Lopburi counting down the new year with the smug monkies.

There was a train at noon and eventually, I cut my losses and got on the train. Before leaving, I tried talking to someone about my bus ticket, seeing about getting my money back. The man looked sadly at me. "There was an accident," he explained, looking wise.

The bus cost 100 baht and is said to take four hours. The train cost half the price and for some mysterious reason takes six. There was standing room only and I ended up wedged into the space between carriages with a bunch of Thai soldiers. From what I have observed, Thai soldiers rarely go anywhere in a group without beer. These soldiers were certainly no exception. They were quite happy to make my acquaintance and more than happy to share their cold beer and whiskey cocktails. I was wanting to regain my spirit of adventure and more than happy to drink with them. We passed a few hours that way and after a few beer, I relaxed and got about enjoying the day again.

The scenery in Thailand is spectacular. The rice paddy is a brilliant bright green, full of white herons rising up into the dusty blue sky. Palm trees and bananna trees litter the landscape. Golden temples flash in the sun. Water buffalo raise their sleepy heads to watch the train pass. Wooden houses on stilts with washing hanging on the line form small villages with raised walk ways over the water. Young children swim in the muddy pools.

The soldiers got off the train at some point and I eventually got myself a seat. I watched the sun set in a huge ball of dark red into the green feilds and was happy. Even if I spent New Years alone in some strange town, at least I had seen the last sun set of the old year.

I jumped off the train as it was still moving and ran for the exit. I jumped on the back of a taxi-moto and yelled in Thai: "to the bus station!" Catching my sense of urgency, the driver took me on the wildest ride of my motorcylcing career. We pulled up just as the national anthem was playing, at the stroke of 6pm. I had 6 hours to make it to Mae Sot.

There were no busses to Mae Sot, I was told. But in an hour and a half, I could get a bus to Tak. Now Tak is a hole if there ever was one, not even warrenting a map in the Rough Guide. Tak is also the name of an evil spirit in a Steven King book, but it was closer to my goal and so I bought a ticket and grabbed dinner.

By the time the bus departed, it was quite dark and the bus moved through the night with speed that satisfied my growing anxiety. Would I spend the new year alone in a dingy hotel in a town by the name of Tak? I felt sure this would be the case.

We arrived in Tak at 9:30pm, to an almost empty bus station. There were certainly no busses heading to Mae Sot at the time. I began asking around for a songthew - a truck with benches in the back and a common form of public transit. I met a man who would take me if we found enough people to go. He seemed sure that if we waited, these people would show up. Alternatively, I could pay him a ridiculous sum of money. I looked around at the deserted bus station. Where were we going to find these people?

At one time in my earlier travels, I had been in somewhat of a similar situation. I had been trying to get somewhere for a certain time and was a little desperate about it. At night time I had pulled into a town with one leg of my journey left and I had found someone who was willing to take me for a certain sum of money. I got into the taxi and started out on the most hellish ride of my life. It began with the driver telling me that although he was a taxi driver, he was also a police man. He then pulled out a gun and a bottle of whiskey.

There I was, in Tak, desperate to get to Mae Sot and I found someone willing to take me. As we are waiting for these non-existant people to appear from no where and join us for the trip, the driver starts telling me that although he is a songthew driver, he is also a military police man. I started to have a very bad feeling about the whole situation. How badly did I need to get to Mae Sot anyways? Was the world trying to tell me something? Maybe it was just the kind of day where you stay put. In Benin, West Africa, they believe that you should welcome in the New Years in your home for good luck, not go anywhere. I was beginning to come around to their way of thinking.

By 10pm, the people had, in fact, materialized and we had a full truck ready to set out for Mae Sot. The driver did not appear at all drunk, there was no whiskey to be seen and thankfully, no gun. We sped around winding corners through the night on an empty road. The driver let me off in front of the bar sixteen and a half hours after I had left my hotel room that morning. It was 11:30 and I had half an hour until midnight.

I was welcomed into the bar with cheers of delight and warm hugs. No one had been expecting me. I was more filthy that you can imagine and probably stunk, but I was quite happy to be home. Someone got me a cold beer and a shot of tequilla with crushed chilies. As the New Year approached, we made fire balloons and sent them off into the night, filling them with all our bad karma and good hopes for the new year.

It's good to be safe, among friends and back home.
Happy New Year everyone.

Not Under the Tidal Wave

I am sweating it out in Bangkok enjoying Christmas holidays and away from school. I want to let you all know, in case there were any lingering worries, that I am nowhere near the coast and am not at all physically affected by the current disaster. BBC is reporting the death toll to be at 23 000 right now, so we are all very much shocked. But I am still alive and kicking rather enthusiastically, getting up to trouble, having adventures and meeting interesting people. Right now I am writing from a free Israeli internet cafe with my new found side-kick, Ilse, from Holland, who is even crazier than I am. So you don't even know what we have been getting up to.
Much love and best wishes for your holidays to you all. Thanks for thinking of me and worrying.
Love
Jen

Cast of Degenerates

The office seems deserted today. Perhaps everyone is so used to having Friday off as an official holiday (which has been the case every Friday for the last month, it seems) that they all stayed home today. At any rate, I have actually been quite productive for a change. I have finally caught up on my marking and got a lot accomplished in terms of lesson planning. Although I won't have to work tomorrow (I often do), I do have to write my final exams for this trimester sometime soon, probably over Christmas break. Meanwhile, since life seems to be in a bit of a lull, and I wouldn't want to get TOO much accomplished today (that wouldn't be very Thai of me, would it?), I will take up some of my office internet time to describe in a little more detail the wacky cast of characters that make up life in Mae Sot.

Patrick


Patrick 

I probably spend more time with Patrick than any other foreigner around. I teach up in Umphiem Monday through Thursday and he teaches with my Tuesday through Friday. As you can imagine, there isn't a lot to do in a refugee camp in terms of serious entertainment. Once a week, we hook a TV and DVD up to a car battery and show a movie, but the rest of the time, we're on our own. There is one other school in camp with foreign teachers run by an illegal NGO that does not have permission to be in Thailand. Consequentially, their teachers don't have permission to live in the camp, although they do. But basically, if I want to speak English, it's just the students, Patrick and I.

We spend a lot of time sitting outside the classroom, drinking coffee and talking. Patrick is 28 (I think) and from Ohio, U.S.A. He has lived a lot of places and done a lot of things, including studying acting, painting and holding art exhibitions in Portland, Oregon, and working in a framing shop. My favorite stories from Patrick so far include the time he skipped school and ended up winning a t-shirt by singing "Ice, Ice Baby" on the Jenny Jones show. The New Years party he spent in the company of a bunch of wild, bisexual clowns is another one, as is the mad brawl he got into while exiting a bar one night in Mongolia.

Patrick first started teaching in Korea, where he met Brooke and made a lot of money by working crazy overtime hours, mostly with bratty kindergarten kids. He and Brooke once ate octopus so recently killed that the suckers from the tentacles sucked onto their tongues until they were properly dead.

Patrick comes from a fairly conservative family. His brother, for example, is a tax lawyer. He once dated a girl for five years who went absolutely manic, has tried to kill herself many times and is on countless meds. She recently spent two weeks in jail, although won't say for what. His current girlfriend is a wonderful Thai cosmetic salesgirl named Nok. She started out being his language teacher and now they are going to get married. The family is not so keen on this, but I am looking forward to a happy Thai wedding. Patrick's future plans: when he is finished with EIP, he and Nok are moving back to Ohio and starting a self-framing / Pad Thai shop. Good luck Patrick.

Brooke
Brooke is the other person who works for EIP. The program was her idea and she enlisted Patrick, who she had met in Korea, to come help her with it. Brooke is from America, but studied International Development at McGill. Small world eh? Brooke spends most of her time in Mae Sot doing the office work, keeping the funders happy, getting the funders, writing reports and doing our administrative work. She teaches up in Umphiem Fridays, so unfortunately, I don't get to see much of her.

My first weekend in Mae Sot, I spent a lot of time with Brooke. She and Patrick and I and a few people went out for beers. We were sitting around when someone came up with the idea of going to the local disco, Club Y2K. Brooke was very enthusiastic.

"It's great fun!" she said. "They have these bands and these girls come on stage in these crazy little furry red bikinis!"

What can I say? I like the girl. Actually, Brooke would be a hard person not to like. She has a warm smile and a warm heart. She's one of those people you just can't help but feel good to be around. On the weekends, we often get together for tea in one of the little Burmese tea shops in Mae Sot and talk about our life plans, where we are going from here, development issues and politics. We also go visit the Thai massage parlor that is near my house once in awhile for a relaxing and only sometimes uncomfortable Thai massage.

Brooke's significant other also causes her friction with her parents. She is dating a really nice Burmese guy named Ong Ja (I have no idea how to spell it actually and it doesn't really matter because that's not his real name). Ong Ja is a Burmese political activist working for an association for political prisoners here in Mae Sot. Although he himself was once a political prisoner in Burma, he is now a refugee, registered with the United Nations. He is hoping to be resettled to the United States and is waiting for an interview with the US resettlement team in January. Meanwhile, he is one of the most active members of his organization, writing excellent reports about the situation in Burma and hiding from spies. His brother, an activist working inside Burma, recently came to visit him and Brooke had dinner with them tucked away in a dark corner of a shady guest house. It all sounds rather dark and suspicious, but really, it's just every day life here and he is a wonderful man, with a smile warm enough to match Brooke's.

Tim


Tim and neighbour boy 

When I moved into my new house, Brooke said to me, "Ah, you will be living next to Tim, the crazy Aussie." So already, I was looking forward to meeting him. Tim is a tall, gangly guy with a thin face and a wiry frame. I rarely ever see him out of his singlet. He recently turned 36, which was the occasion for much of the drinking that happened a few weeks ago. He is from Melbourne, Australia and his girlfriend works at the Australian Consulate in Vietnam.

Tim was accepted directly into Australia's best law school and dropped out after two years. He came to Bangkok rather randomly and got a job there working as an assistant editor. In Melbourne, he ended up directing two advertisements for one of the universities, both of which were huge successes. He claims he was well on his way to becoming a film director.

Instead, he flew to Thailand, and sat on an island for the next three or four months, drinking, writing, smoking and preying on the female tourist population. He ended up in Burma on whim completely uninformed about life there, but spent most of the time in a hotel room suffering from Typhoid until a random stranger shipped him back to Bangkok for treatment. When he went back to Burma, he was better informed and on a mission. From his time there, he wrote and published a book, which I have yet to read. He returned again some time later to film for a documentary, which he is now editing. And that's what he does with most of his time, and that's what makes him such a great neighbor: he sits in front of his computer all day, not bothering anyone, but occasionally comes out at night and gets wild. We have had many an interesting dinner and breakfast conversation, many a good coffee and far too many cold beers.

There are, unfortunately, about five dogs that frequent Tim's house for food on a regular basis. They are the typical mangy mutts of Thailand and most of them are friendly and getting friendlier towards me all the time. He also has a crazy little cat that he rescued from the monastery across the street. It had a broken tail, so it's tail is all screwy but it's brain is pretty screwy too. It's name is Little Foot and I will be looking after it while Tim jets back to Melbourne for Christmas vacation.


Well that's enough for today. Sometime in the future, I will get along to describing Mel, Miles and Jack and then you will know the most interesting people I spend my time with around here. For now, Merry Christmas everyone and Happy New Year!

Meet my students...

WRITING EXERCISE

After a three-day workshop with an Australian journalist, Timothy Syrota, students were asked to write a detailed account of a significant experience in their lives. The stories are published here with permission from the students


Nickson
It was around 11 o'clock at night. There was a seriously dangerous sound from outside. One minute later, my mother woke me up and told me to run. The people who live next to our house were crying and in shock. Moreover, the bullets were coming around the camp beside my family and I.
A few minutes later, I heard a big voice from behind me. I looked behind me but nothing happened to me. Although I did see an old man who was around fourty years old who had been shot by the guns in his left leg. He said to his wife and children to run away quickly from the camp area to another. And you shouldn't take care of me, and you hadn't enough time, please run away.
This man's voice sounded like a pig being killed before it dies.
I thought that I was going to get my movies and things at my house. Although my mum said be quick so that my family and I could run away from our camp. Four or five minutes later, all of the houses, schools, hospitals, were burning and lighting.
At that time, some people with us sat on the field outside camp next to the Thai village called Hway Ko Loke. After that, we directly went to my grandmother's house who lives there. In the morning, I came back to our camp. What was burned had been changed. As a result, wood became charcoal and bamboo and thatch changed to ash. Everything was gone.



Cha Mu
Last year, on my summer holiday, I went to visit my parents, who live on the Thai/Myanmar borderline in a town called P'lu. In this place, we have Burmese soldiers, DKBA (Democratic Karen Buddhist Army) and KNU (Karen National Union). We're afraid of them.
After I had arrived and been there for two days, there was a problem in the house that is next to my house. This house was the home of a leader of the DKBA. In the evening around 6pm, my family and I watched karaoke and we laughed a lot. Suddenly we all heard a gunshot and my father switched off the electricity and the CD. Then we all went to the wall and peeked. We saw that there were more than twenty people who covered their faces with hats and surrounded the house. But they didn't care about us. I heard that they asked for jewelry from the wife. When they got it, they destroyed the television, car and drawers in the house.
At that time, my brother, who always visited this house, came back with his motorbike. He rode through the house and as for us, we didn't dare to stop him. We watched this situation nervously. When he arrived in front of the house, he was kicked by the army and his head hit by the edge of the gun. At the same time, one of the people sad, "Kill him now."
But the wife said, "Don’t' kill him. He is my son." So they didn't kill him.
But when they went back, they arrested my brother and the leader of DKBA. Before they left, they fired the house and they threatened us that we were not allowed to go in the house as they had left a bomb in there. But my uncle and my father went there and stopped the fire.


George
Last year, when I was sitting the entrance exam of ICFC (Intensive College Foundation Course), I was interviewed by the ICFC coordinators. They sat on a bench. The one who had a potbelly and was bald, was holding a microphone beside me. The one who had red-golden hair was with a tape-recorder. The other one was a woman. She looked like an Indian.
They all interviewed me but without a microphone and tape-recorder. As a resolute of this, I missed my words. I lost my self-confidence, I forgot how to answer. So, I lost my best chance. I mean that I failed and I didn't pass the entrance exam of ICFC because of the interview. I passed all the other subjects, but I couldn't attend that school because I failed the interview. So I realize myself that interviews are also important for further study. Although you are intelligent in other subjects, if you are not clever in the interview, you can't do anything that concerns the exam. So this is the big experience in my life.


Rose Gay Htoo
On May 29th, 2001, after I finished high school ten standards, I had to leave Laikaw and come to Thailand. It was the first time I was far away from my family. Moreover, I had to continue in my studies in a Karen refugee camp in Umphiem. It made me feel so upset when I arrived at Umpiem's bus stop. I had to take out my bag and arry it up to SEP (Special English Program). At that time, the weather in camp was very awful because it was slippery everywhere. It was cloudy and dark all day. Then I did not dare to take a bath. Furthermore, I was under the weather. I had to stay alone and study at SEP. Before I attended the school, I had to take the SEP exam and I had to stay at SEP dorms. I had no friends to talk to or go around with. People were friendly but I didn't understand what they were talking about in Karen because I couldn't speak their Karen language.
On the fifteenth of June, I told my aunt who took me to Thailand that I wanted to go back but she said, "you have o chance to go back." This sound hurt my heart a lot like and arrow that goes into your heart and draws blood. Everything was hanged in my life. I had never seen a school like SEP and houses like the houses in Umphiem camp. All of the houses are made by bamboo and thatch. There were no parks, no cinemas, no hotels and no restaurants. In my life, I had never heard that we had Karen refugees in Thailand. My parents never talked about Karen people and my aunt didn't tell me that Umphiem is a refugee camp. She told me that education in Umpheim is very good except the living standards are not, but you must try to live like them. I felt embarrassed that I am Karen but I couldn't speak Karen. Moreover, I didn't know about my people who had to be refugees in Thailand. Even if I ha never been in Umphiem, I wouldn't know about the Karen situation in Karen state. Now I know all about it. So I have to be proud of myself that now I become a real Karen. I thank my aunt. Because of her, I can study freely. Also I know my people so I am happy to stay in Umphiem camp.


Zaw Zaw Aung
When I was studying in the sixth standard in the high school of my village, I suffered from a serious pain I my lungs. It took a long time for it to be healed or recovered. I can recall the most specific time it troubled me.
It was a hot day. The crop fields, which are located on the right side of the school, had just been ripped. I could see several cowboys with their cattle from the second top floor of the school. It was lunchtime. Some students were running on the floor and grounds. Some were playing tops and some were playing football. Their white shirts and longies were full of dust and sweat. I was alone sitting at the corner of the second top floor, which was fenced by some intervals of wooden bars. The pain was increasingly more and more - eventually it was so much that I could not breathe. I closed y eyes and twisted and pummeled my belly. I guess I passed out for a while and when I woke up, I felt n o pain.
After the moment had passed, I was thinking, " do cowboys and other students have something of the same disease or pain like me? If yes, what time does it appear to them?" My head was full of those kinds of questions.
At that moment, the bell rang and I attended the rest of my classes that day.


Bway Kho Wah
When I as studying in tenth standard, I was a school group leader. Even though I as the student's group leader, my job was empty.
I heard some o y friends drank alcohol and took bad medicine, which gave them a good feeling. I wanted to taste and I copied my friends. I started skipping school with some of my friends. I did not dare to buy the bad medicine, but I asked some of my friends, who were my best friends, and they bought it for me. After that, I took five bad medicines at the same time and I felt dizzy and I wanted to sleep. But I could not sleep. I went to Zone B with my classmates and I spent the whole day o the road. We walked around Zone B. We didn't go to school the whole day. Even though I didn't go to school, my parents didn't know about me.
The second day, I went to school for one period and I started skipping school again. We went out and bought alcohol. We went to one of my friend's houses and we drank alcohol and smoked cigarettes. We spent the whole day like this. When I came back home, I thought my parents still didn't know about me, but they already knew. They asked me where I had been and I said that I had been at school. I tried to lie but they didn't believe me. My bother beat me and I wanted to cry but my tears didn't fall on my cheeks. I hated myself. To this day I have never skipped school or drunk alcohol again.


Dah Wah
In the year 1990-1991, I came to Thailand with my family. Because the SPDC (State Peace and Development Council) had come to my village, every family had to leave their poverty. They could take only a few things with them. By the time I came to Thailand, I was only six years old. I couldn’t take notice of everything exactly. My parents came to a Karen refugee camp, which was called Mor Ker, with me. When we arrived, many houses were already set up. I started studying. I was enjoying my studying.
In 1997, the DKBA came to the camp and burned the camp. At that time, I was a sixth-stander. I saw the burning. The bullets were shining dangerously. My family and I went down to the house and hid in a hole. The bullets came above my head. They nearly hurt my head. My legs were shaking, also my heart.
In the morning, I saw many people didn't want to eat, not even me. For the next two or three days everything was fine.
In the summer, my family and I went back to my village to visit. At that time, people could travel on the borderline. When I was again at my village, I saw the SPDC and DKBA. One of the DKBA visited my family. I also talked ot him, but I hated him a little bit. We spent only a few weeks there and we came back. For the next three years, all the people of Mor Ker had to move to a new refugee camp called Umphiem.


Poe Kler Htoo
I was born in Karen State in Pa Tu village. But I great up in a refugee camp. When I was living in Mor Ker refugee camp, I had a serious problem for the first time in my life. It put me in a fix. It was when the DKBA came and burnt the refugee camp. As a result, many houses were burned. Moreover, they shot guns. So a lot of people were running and shooting in the dark on the road. Because it was nighttime. That is the reason why I had to leave my house without knowing anything. So I was very depressed living in the refugee camp. It was five years ago, before we had moved to Umphiem Mai camp.
Secondly, on the twentieth of November 2004, it was nighttime when I was talking with my friends at ARC (American Refugee Committee) in Zone B. Suddenly, I heard Thai soldiers and my friends fighting each other on the main road in section one. Immediately, I went down and looked for my friends on the road. At that time, many soldiers were coming and beat my stomach and my head without any reason. Even though I wanted to explain the situation to them, they didn't listen to me and took me to the camp office in Zone A. Then, I had a conversation with the camp leader who works for the security of the refugee camp. However, I had no worries, because I knew myself that I was an innocent person. Also the leader understood me and let me free to go back home. But I have never forgotten being hurt by soldiers. It was the second sojourn in my beautiful life.
Thirdly, even though I am a refugee, I have a dream that one day Karen people will get back their homeland because our Karen people will be emancipated from the Burmese government. Our Karen people will abolish the SPDC in Burma. For this reason, the SPDC will be done and our Karen people will have freedom. Our Karen people will have a good education. Our Karen people will have a good relationship with the other ethnic groups. Also other ethnic groups will be free like the Karen in Burma. But I have never been satisfied being a refugee with less opportunities than other people. I have never been satisfied leaving our homeland and living in another country. I have never been satisfied with the killing of innocent people that is happening in Karen State. However, we are not wallow people in future. Therefore, one day, I have a dream: Karen people will get back their beautiful homeland and develop their lives. Moreover the world will know that the Karen people are one of the ethnic groups of Burma.


Say Say Lah
In 1986, I stayed in jail for six months in Burma. Because my father is a KNU soldier and the SPDC soldiers caught me. At that time, I was five years old. After they had freed me from the jail, I got a disease and nearly died. Even though they had freed me, I have to be afraid all the time because they knew me. I am worried that they will catch me again.
When I studied in tenth standard in 1998, they burned my house in my village. At that time, my mother did not stay in the house. If she had stayed there, they would have killed my mother.
Even though I have a chance to study, I am never happy because I am afraid all the time. On the other hand, I am lucky because my parents send me to school. If I compare my life with the other people, I am very lucky because other people don't have a chance to study.
In 2001, I went to the Thai/Burma border because the SPDC were aroused. They could catch us again, so my sister and I came to the borderline. When I arrived at the borderline, I was very surprised because I hadn't known that a lot of Karen people stayed in the border.
Now I live in a refugee camp and I know more about our Karen situation. I'm happy with them also. On the other hand, I knew why my father became a soldier. When I stayed in Burma, I never knew about our Karen situation. I know that the SPDC soldiers said that the KNU are not good.
In my life, happy and worried go together. All these stories, I will never forget, especially the experience in my life since I was a child, until this day.


Kler Paw
When I was in the eighth standard in 1999, I had an unforgettable picnic in my life. At that time, I was in Mawlamyine and I studied at Number Eleven High School. During December holidays, we decided to go somewhere with our friends together happily. We meant that we would go after we finished our second trimester examinations. As we know, boys and girls like a picnic very much. They always welcome it. Even older people like to have a picnic. As soon as one of my friends invited me to join a picnic party, I accepted it quickly. The picnic I went to was a happy occasion for me.
The picnic site was Kan Daw Kyi, which is located in Mu Don, Mon State. We went there by hired bus. After three hours driving from Mawlamyine, we arrived there. We chose a fine shady spot as our picnic ground. There were a few trees nearby. When we arrived at the picnic ground, we put down the things under some trees. We had pots of rice and curry, packets of some fruits, sweets and chocolates. While some were preparing for our lunch, a few boys and girls walked around the area. After a while, we gathered at the main spot to have a picnic lunch.
Though there were only a few boys and girls at the picnic ground, the place was alive with talking, laughing and clapping hands. When we finished our lunch, we played a parcel game. A parcel game was very popular for picnic parties in Myanmar. No one had to refuse to participate in it. The three boys of the picnic party played on an organ and the two hollow guitars. Some girls were good at singing. Some could dance very well. The occasion made the picnic party more friendly. Then, every partner became my close friend when we came back to our own place. How fine the picnic I went to was!


Naing Lin
The twenty-seventh of November 2004, was a snowing day. All the SEP students were tired, in view of the fact that they had carried rations from the ration store. I looked at my friend, called Rita's, face. She was sweating. I invited her to drink beer with me and she nodded.
We four, two girls and two boys, were sitting around the table. The time was nearly 11:00am. We put beer on the table but had no cups. We looked at each other, waiting for someone to start drinking it. But within five minutes, nobody had started. So I had to start. We only had one beer. It was gone within ten minutes.
After I drunk beer with my friends, I remembered something that my friend Rita had told me. She said that she had no more money to buy a coat. All I wanted was to share some of my money with her. However I did not dare to give her my money because she might think that I had fallen in love with her. I couldn't make a decision if I should give her the money or not. I continued talking to her. The two of my friends left from the table. So I made a decision that I would give her some money.
I went inside to my bed and took out 200 baht from my wallet and put it inside a diary book that I hadn't written anything in and gave it to her. First, she was surprised and refused to take the money. But when I said, "Don’t worry," she took it. I looked at her. She smiled at me. I was really happy.
This was what I have never done I my life. The day was the twenty-seventh of November, 2004, in the SEP dorm in section 6, Zone B. I will never forget this day that I had made someone happy.


Pho Kyaw Kyaw
I have many experiences in my life. But I clearly recognize only one in my high school life in 1999, in Nu Poe high school. It made me very upset at that time and also I found it difficult to solve. But later on I found a good way to pass it.
In June, 1999, when I was in grade 10 in Nu Poe high school, KT Taw, the mistress of high school in Nu Poe, treated me very badly and teased me every tie that she saw me.
One day, the second week of the school year, she taught in a grade nine class and I sat in grade ten class in the back row. She scolded her students and said that you, boys, did not respect the teachers like the students from grade ten. I then thought, it was not just and belonged to our class. So, I stood up and yelled at the mistress.
I said to her, "It is not a good example to the students, and makes the students upset by hurting other people that you don't know." Then she started crying at the time. I took my bag and left the school. I did not want to study any more with her.
When I left the school, I decided that as long as she taught in the school, I would never attend that school. After I had argued with her, she sent a letter to my parents that evening.
But I didn't go back home for two days. I spent time with my friends and drank a lot of alcohol. After two days had passed, I went back home.
My parents asked me, "What happened to you in the school? Here is a letter that came from the head mistress." The teacher and my parents had a meeting. But it was not successful because I didn't want to attend the school in Nu Poe, so they decided to send me to Mae Sot.
They sent me to a mission school, called True Life in God. This, I remember forever. It was the first time I had seen a partial teacher in my life. Also I didn't want to study in a school like that. But later, I heard that the teacher had resigned from her position and she had regretted that she had treated her students like that.


Johnny Htoo
During 1996 and 1997, I was attending the Kawthoolei High School in Karen State, which was located on the KNU Brigade Number (6). The high school was in a village called Kyite Don, where many resistance families were staying. Other business people were also staying there. I was in seventh standard and there were about seven hundred students in the school. Most of the students were from business families. A few people at school were from normal and resistance families.
On March 17th of 1996, there was an arrangement from the brigade general to provide military training to the students. The demand was for one hundred students who would be required to attend the training, including about thirty percent o the schoolgirls. Thus, on March 24th, 1996, I reenrolled my name to attend the training and many friends of mine did also. Then the training started.
The hatred of carrying guns, behaving actively and obeying rules were lost in my mind. There were three trainers at that time. I had to be in the training every day although I didn't want to. Uplift of dynamism of patriot spirit, uplift of fitness and obedience were given to me in my mind. The second step was to be involved in warfare, which the other people joined, not only me. At the military section, we had to follow all the things or orders that our officer asked of us. WE had to obey all the things, which we chose to be before. Combat, shooting, killing and learning about initial discipline were included in the training.
However, my true past experience is not only for the memories of learning these aggressive skills of warriors, but my actual dream is to remember the heart of the capacity to be active and to show our spirit of patriotism.


K'Shaw Paw
When I was in the seventh standard, I liked to ride my bicycle very much. but one day, I played with my friends, then I said that I will ride a bicycle down from the mountain. One of my friends asked me for a to ride a bicycle behind me. So I told her that I would try one time, then, if it is ok, I will bet you to ride behind me. I rode a bicycle down the mountain, then I couldn't control my bicycle. At that time, I was so scare, like I couldn't do anything, then I didn't see anything in front of me.
At the same time, I heard a loud sound calling me, "K'Shaw Paw! … 9 …10…"
My whole body was shaking and my face became red. In my heart I thought where the bicycle would go, never mind, I will let it be like that. I gave up, so my bicycle hit the tree that is in front of my house. Later, I fell down from the bicycle. My bum and my legs were very painful. Moreover, my legs got a wound.
Starting that day, until today, I have never ridden a bicycle, because it got me into a lot of trouble. The most important thing that I am afraid of is that I will lose my body.


Cho Cho Aung
Every year, there is a big festival for the students of Burma. In 1997, the festival was held in K'Chen State and I was chosen to go there as my school's representative. At that time, I was in sixth standard and thirteen years old. I knew that I had to go to K'Chen State and I felt very happy and excited. My aunt and cousin also prepared things for me such as clothes and pocket money for my trip.
Before I went to K'Chen State, I had to stay in P'Ahn for one month. I had to learn about dancing in P'Ahn for one month. From my village to P'Ahn, I had to go on a ship.
Two of the teachers from my school had to go also and went with my to P'Ahn. When I arrived in P'Ahn, my two teachers went and went on a bicycle to the place where I had to stay. We rode the bicycles for thirty minutes and arrived at the big building. I thought that it might be a government service's apartment. We went up to second floor and entered into a room. There was a woman there who was about fifty years old and she smiled at us. We also smiled at her. Then she told us to sit and gave us some water to drink. After that she said, "I'm sorry that I sent to message to you too late. The students who had to go to K'Chen State are too many. We are full. Yesterday I tried to send the message to your school but I couldn't find any messengers. I am really sorry that you and your students had to come here."
As soon as I heard that speech, I felt very sad. Then me and my teachers said goodbye to that teacher, took our bags and went to one of the teacher's friend's houses who lived in P'Ahn.


Bathsheba
On Friday, December 3rd 2004, at night time< I was in bed an going to sleep. Three of us were staying in the dorm and I was sleeping in the middle. AT about 11pm, one of my friends was shocked because she couldn't find her tape recorder when she wanted to listen to it. She called us to help find her. I was also shocked and awoke, wanting to know what had happened to us. We were afraid and I almost cried. WE all knew that the tape recorder was lost. Why our things were lost again and again? Some said that it was outside people who took them. "Is it really?" I asked and was shaken and afraid. Even though we locked the room with a key when we went outside, some kind of person stole our things. It made us afraid and worried that we dared not to sleep in our own dorms anymore. Lately one of my friends old me, "Don't worry, sleep well." We talked about funny things to try and forget the worry then about 12:30, I fell asleep.


Ler Lah Say
The scariest experience that remains with me always happened when I was six years old. I went to watch a football game with my father at the football ground. Before we got to the football ground, we had to cross the main road in order to reach the grounds. After we finished watching the football game, I came back before my father. Then, when I arrived at the main road, I saw a car coming at very fast speed. Before the car crossed in front of me, I tried to cross the road with a quick movement first. When other people beside me on the road saw this, they were very scared for me, because they worried that I would die in that accident. However, luckily, I was saved from that scare. When I got home, my parents scolded me and I cried. Then I went to bed and fell asleep. But I remember this memory all the time.

Jingle Bells!

I only just began writing Christmas cards this week. Not because I am lazy, although I am, but because it didn't really occur to me that Christmas was coming. Even though these cards have been posted, I wouldn't recommend that anyone hold their breath. The way things are going; the cards won't reach anyone until February. The weird thing is, mail from your end seems to be reaching me at the normal rate. Perhaps I need to bribe someone at the post office. As it is, I think I am annoying them. We had a long "discussion" today about where on earth Colombia is. I think we established that it was not in Europe, although I don't think we got much further than that. To my friends in Colombia: as of today, there is a Christmas card floating around the world somewhere with probably inadequate postage and your name on it.

As I was huddled in my blankets in the frosty ten-degree night, writing these Christmas cards in the last moments before the generator went off for the night, I heard singing from outside. A group of students from one of the other schools in camp were outside the dorm, holding candles and guitars and singing a mix of Karen and English Christmas carols. They have beautiful voices and sing lovely harmonies. The insects were calling softly from the banana trees and I stood with a few of the girls from the dorm, hugging each other for warmth, smiling at the candlelight and looking up at the stars.

The next day, our students sprang into action. Last year, they had gone caroling in the camp for three nights, six hours each night and raised the equivalent of about $100. That's a serious wad of cash around here. Although they loved the singing and found it very lovely, they were suddenly worried that they would be cut out of the game. An emergency meeting was called. The singing practice begun. I spent the next two evenings correcting papers in the classroom at night, while the students tried to figure out the words and tune to such classics as "Jingle Bells," "Silver Bells," and, of all things, "Feliz Navidad." They sound very lovely so it hardly seems fair to bother them about pronounciation, the correct tune or any such trifles. There were lots of laughs though, particularly as several students routinely mix up Jingle Bells and Silver Bells and sing the words from on to the tune of the other. I will miss the actual caroling, which is not too upsetting. Six hours of singing is a little much. But combined with this, there are six hours of walking in the dark and six hours of scaling and descending steep, muscle breaking hills. Thankfully, I am safely back in Mae Sot for the evenings in question. Otherwise, there could be no hope for me.

Meanwhile, we are all singing "Jingle Bells" under our breath, almost all the time. There's nothing that says it's the holiday season more than the endless repetition of the same old songs.

Suddenly it feels like Christmas.

The King's Birthday

I fully realize that I have not yet provided you with the description of the Loy Kathong festivities, which did, indeed involve drunkenness and fire in large quantities. However, last week was the King's Birthday which involved a whole new set of festivities, and life is sweeping me along so quickly, that there hardly seems time for me to keep my head above the water, let alone write everything down.

Khun, the young eccentric owner of the most popular ex-pat's bar in town said, "Tabasco sauce is so Western. We will drink chilies." It was Tim's birthday, the Australian author/ documentary film maker who lives in the house next to mine and I was ordering him the typical Albertan birthday drink: the Prairie Fire. A Prairie Fire is a tequila shot with Tabasco sauce.

So Khun brought out the shot glasses and found some chili peppers, the small green ones known as "mouse droppings." The smaller the chili, the more intense the flavor. He dropped a chili into each glass and crushed it in the bottom, then topped up the glass with tequila, stirred it up and let it sit for awhile. When the four of us at the bar got to drinking those tasty little shots of fire, that's when the drinking started to get serious.

I can't even remember now what it was that made me laugh, but I was in the middle of shooting another round and the tequila was already going down my throat when I started laughing. Rather then spit all over everyone I tried to restrain myself and predictably, ended up getting a great deal of tequila up my nose. If it had just been tequila, I wouldn't have any complaint, but this round had been sitting on the bar for quite some time, soaking up the chilies and getting feistier by the moment.

Let me tell you something folks: chilies are not something you want going up your nose.

For the next few moments, I couldn't even tell you what was going on in the bar. I'm told that I squeaked. I couldn't talk for a few minutes. My head was a tingling mass of fire. My nose was in serious pain. SERIOUS pain. And of course, everyone was laughing. And, of course, there were more chili tequila shots to be drunk.

Unlike Tim, the King gets a huge party to celebrate his birthday. It is a national holiday. The center of town is transformed into a huge market fair complete with Ferris wheels, dodgem cars, Thai dancing and boxing matches every night. I thought it would be a quiet night, restricted myself to only a few beers and went down with my friends to check out the scene and see my first boxing match.

The crowds down in the market were intense. The crowds around the boxing ring were even more so. It brought back memories of my mosh-pit days, pressed up against the crowd, amoung the steaming sweat of bodies, swaying together with the press of people. We got there early and had places right up close to the ring. The wait before the fight started was entertained by strange conversation with drunken Thai and Burmese men, who are always fascinated by my height, what I am doing in the crowd and my ability to drink shots (in this case, most of the men were drinking concoctions of Red Bull mixed with Whiskey). I have no idea what they are saying, they cant understand me, we just stand there gesturing and laughing and generally having a good time. It's a bit like watching a movie with the sound off, trying to guess what the characters might be saying.

The boxing was interesting, but we didn't see the best fighting in Thailand. Although there is good fighting here in Mae Sot, the night we went down was mostly younger boys in the ring. That's good because they fight with big gloves, shorter and fewer rounds and less intensely. There are rarely any knock outs. The older men fight five long rounds, sometimes bare knuckled. They either get knocked out and usually there is some blood being spilled or spat out with some teeth. There is music being played while they fight: a drum and a high pitched horn and sometimes the fighters look like they are dancing, swaying and dodging and moving to the music.

When the fighting was over, most people had already left the fair. We wandered around as people shut down their stalls and wandered home. One of the guys I was with wandered past one of the fried bug stands and popped a medium sized beetle in his mouth, crunching on it loudly. "Come here and kiss me," he said with a beetle leg stuck between his teeth. We ended up buying a bag of grubs and yes, I did pop one of them into my mouth. They are a kind of worm that lives in bamboo trees and my students talked about them with relish when I described the escapade to them. They make a light, crunchy snack, a bit like a rice crisp.

Bars were closed in respect for the King and conversation among the people I was with was interesting and nowhere near winding down, so we stopped in the only place still open and serving beer: a brothel. We stayed there talking for several hours then decided to head home for the night. We were one bike short because Tim had gotten a ride down to the fair so I gave him my bike and said that I would walk home. I wanted to clear my head from all the craziness of the weekend.

Walking home at night in Canada is, indeed, an excellent way to clear one's head. But I live in Mae Sot now and walking home at night is not something I will ever do again. I had forgotten about the Pariah Dogs.

If you are riding a speedy bicycle, motorcycle, going about in a car or walking during the day, you hardly notice the Pariah Dogs. If you do, you may think they are merely someone's pets. They sleep during the day and hide from cars and people. But at night, the Pariah Dogs rule the streets.

Almost as soon as my friend's bikes were out of sight, a few came into view and I realized what a bad decision I had made. I stepped into someone's garden and relieved them of a couple of bricks making up a flower border. Then I stepped into action. I can't even remember the number of confrontations I had with the dogs, only that I can't remember the last time I felt so scared. At one point, I made the mistake of letting one circle behind me so that they were coming at me from all sides. Where I would have been without my bricks, I do not know. Tim said he could hear me coming down the street ten minutes before I arrived. The dogs were howling all around me. I dared not run, but walked calmly and strongly among them, often growling at them, threatening to hit them with my bricks, even getting up the courage to walk towards them in confrontation. By the last three blocks though, I was swearing at the mangy mutts loudly and profusely.

I haven’t been so happy to see my bed in a long long time.

And that's just a normal night in Mae Sot: a little boxing, some grub eating, chilling in the brothel and a walk home through packs of wild dogs.

And that's not even the half of it.