A Sopping Wet Songkran

For the past four days, every time we left the house, whether for a simple chore or to go eat a meal, we came home in sopping wet clothes. Now, it is not monsoon season and we aren’t being hit with freak thunderstorms. Our inability to return home in dry clothes is due to the Thai New Year celebration of Songkran.

For Thailand, and much of Southeast Asia, this is their New Year.Held every year from April 13-15, Songkran is a time to wash away negative influences from the past year and start anew. And what began as a small ritual practice of pour water on family members to represent this cleansing has become a massive, nationwide, three-day water fight. 

As our first year actually being present in Thailand during April, we weren’t quite sure what to expect. This was particularly true of being in Chiang Rai, which has far less gigantic, public, tourist-attracting Songkran festivities. We were ready for anything. But then, we went out for lunch on the 12th and I returned as a soggy, dripping mess. Had I known that they start a day early here I may have reconsidered the ankle-length skirt and purse full of electronics.  

See, here in Chiang Rai, it’s not so much of a water fight in the sense of a huge crowd gathered somewhere armed with waterguns and buckets. It’s more that the whole city is a war zone; there is nowhere to hide; there isn’t an option of non-participation. It's as though those crowds seen in Bangkok and Chiang Mai are instead deployed to roadside stands and the backs of roving pickup trucks, positioned alongside massive barrels full of water, constantly at the ready. Defenseless, those on motorbikes get the brunt of it, as water is thrown on them from both the streetside soldiers and the roaming pickup truck gangs. 

That being said, everyone is respectful of both the elderly and the smartphone held up as a shield.

Everyone is drenched. And, the whole thing is fueled by massive injections of blasting music, whiskey, dancing, and beer (though obviously there are age limits on a couple of those). I’m amazed that that many of the Thais can make it through four days of this intense partying. We made it through one day, complete with plenty of whisky shots and a brief baby elephant cameo, and left the rest up to the Thais.

Songkran is clearly a beloved holiday here in Thailand, and it was quite fun to participate and to see how much the Thais enjoy themselves for those three or four days. But I have to admit, it was nice to go get lunch today and not get a surprise bucket of water to the face. 

*Pictures courtesy of google image search, as we do not own a waterproof camera and we love our camera too much to break it just before a new round of travel begins.

Open Water

  

I wanted to be able to share a harrowing story about conquering fear. I wanted to tell everyone my aquatic rags to riches story, the story of going from a non-swimmer to a scuba diver over the course of several years. I had truly wanted that to be how the story played out. But, just because something makes a beautiful narrative doesn’t mean it will come perfectly to fruition. Life’s not like that.

This is instead a story of surrender for some and triumph for others.

In 2010, lifejacket cinched and snorkel in place, I went into the ocean off Koh Tao knowing full well that I’d never really learned to swim and came out moments later in complete panic. Several attempts in calmer water later and I was, well not happy and content in the water, but more capable of being less panicked and enjoying the view of fish.

After several years, I have grown far more comfortable in water. Sure I still hold my nose if I go underwater, but wearing fins doesn’t feel quite so much like some sea monster is trying to drag me to a watery grave and breathing through a snorkel was moderately less claustrophobic.

Surely that’s a good enough base to go for a SCUBA diving course.

Armed with the knowledge of how far I’d come, I was ready to give it a go. I assumed that, even if I wasn’t a perfectly strong swimmer, at least the knowledge and know-how of taking a course, the technical information about the equipment, and the guiding hand of a competent instructor in a small group setting would readily combine to make for an easy, fun diving experience.

And it did. In the classroom.

We then went out on a boat, got all SCUBA suited up, leapt into the water, and I learned several things about myself.  The most relevant of which was this: I hate being underwater. Everything about it felt unnatural.

After swimming into the shallow cove for our confined introductory session, we started with some basics. But even the most basic of the basics, such as breathing through the regulator facedown or sitting underwater with no more than a foot of water overhead, were absolutely, excruciatingly panic-inducing for me. Try as I might, and I did try, repeatedly, I just could not force myself to stay underwater.

I don’t know if you’ve ever felt the slow, suffocating grip of panic winding its way around our ribcage, twisting its fingers around your throat, but I’ll tell you this it’s not pleasant. Our instructor was kind and encouraging. Win was patient and helpful. But it just wasn’t happening. Much like my first time snorkeling, the day ended with me in tears, stress smoking on a boat.

Now, to the dive school’s credit, they then offered to do a one-on-one session to try again. Of course, to me this sounded like torture. Especially because once you get past the being fine breathing underwater part, you get to practice things like losing your breathy bit and taking off your mask. It’s like a course that was built to make me cry.

So, I quit. As much as I hate to admit defeat, and as far as I try to push my boundaries, I had reached my limit. I know I missed out on seeing some beautiful things, and I hear that feeling weightless is incredible. But a 4-day learning curve just wasn’t going to get me to that level of comfort with being underwater.

And that is the story of how Win got SCUBA certified and I spent two days reading on the beach.

Khantoke Dinner

Celebrating and embracing the Lanna culture of Northern Thailand, a Khantoke dinner is a fantastic experience. Dinner is accompanied by traditional Lanna music and dance, with all performers wearing the customary garb.

 The final song even includes audience participation, during which time women are invited to dance around the restaurant in a sort of Thai conga line while moving their hands in intricate patterns. And, while all Thais have learned these hand gestures from a young age, watching foreign women try to replicate it must be a laughable sight.

The highlight, of course, is the food. A handful of different dishes are served on a pedestal in the center of the table. The selections include traditional fare like lemongrass sausages, Henglay pork curry, fried chicken, pork tomato-chili paste, pork rinds, and Thai green chile paste with fresh streamed veggies. Sticky rice is a useful and delicious tool for eating from communal plates, as everything is shared. The best part, all the dishes are endlessly refillable.

Delicious food, interesting cultural performances, and nice pillows to lounge on once you’ve stuffed yourself so full you think you might never move again, who could ask for more? 

Golden Triangle

Historically known for its rampant growing of opium, these days the Golden Triangle is primarily a massive tourist attraction. Located at the intersection of the Mekong and Ruak Rivers, the Golden Triangle itself provides little other than the view of Myanmar (left in above photo) and Laos (right), endless options to pay for kitschy souvenirs or river boat rides, and an odd assortment of statues that range from a giant Buddha on a ship and elaborate shrines to massive elephant statues and dozens of signs and maps indicating that you are, in fact, at the Golden Triangle.

However odd the glittery bauble of Golden Triangle Park may be, its original intent was to educate. As part of the late Princess Mother’s efforts to empower the impoverished hill tribe regions and to end the hold of opium in Thailand, the Golden Triangle Park was encouraged to blossom into a huge tourist attraction. The hope was to turn curious tourists into drug opponents.

In this same vein, the Royal Doi Tung Foundation established the Hall of Opium. Costing $10 million and taking 10 years of research and planning, the museum first opened its doors in 2005. From ancient uses, through the East India Company, to the Opium Wars, and straight on up through present day, the multimedia experience outlines opium use and production throughout 4,000 years of history, as well as documenting the tragedy of drug addiction, its societal implications, and modern attempts to battle illegal drugs.

Though a bit campy at times, the museum attempts to look honestly at the history of opium production, including the drug’s history in Thailand. Impressively enough, this includes a timeline of things within Thai history like the establishment of opium taxation, legal/licensed opium production, and a breakdown of how much government revenue came from opium (quite a bit), even during times of concerted worldwide efforts to end the opium trade.

Though still burdened by its past as part of the infamous Golden Triangle, Thailand has demonstrated enormous progress in ridding itself of the influence of opium. Thailand’s crop replacement programs, spearheaded by the Doi Tung Foundation and the Royal Project, have been particularly successful. Fields that once grew poppies, now yield tea, coffee, and macadamia nuts. Farmers who may have once been drawn to the income of opium have been taught to cultivate cash crops like decorative flowers, lettuce, apples, peaches, and herbs.

Obviously, Thailand’s production isn’t at complete zero and many opium farmers may have simply moved farther afield, pushed into Myanmar and Laos, historically much more active members of the Golden Triangle opium trade. The Golden Triangle countries may have given way in global opium production to Afghanistan, Mexico, and Colombia, but production within SE Asia is still a major concern. So, while the education about the opium trade may be less relevant within the borders of Thailand (though by no means irrelevant), the gaudy, tacky, tourist trap that is Golden Triangle Park holds merit in its attempts to educate.

*To give credit where credit is due, all photos from inside museum are borrowed, as they do not allow photography inside the Hall of Opium. 

Low Grade Failure, High Grade Success

Whenever we travel, we tend to try to optimize every opportunity, to see and do as many things as possible in one go. We don’t fly to the Thai embassy in Denver or LA, we make a roadtrip loop through the Southwestern US. If we are leaving a region, we fly out of a different country than the one we entered through. Having a layover, why not make it a three-day mini-vacation? 

So when we go on day and weekend excursions in and around Chiang Rai province, of course we do the same thing. Why drive to Phu Chi Fah on any old weekend when you can go there during their annual flower festival?

Phu Chi Fah Forest Park is renowned for its stunning morning and evening views across Thailand and into Laos, offering hikers the chance to witness sunrise from high above a sea of mist and cloud. Once a year, the Dok Sieo Flower Festival takes place within the park. Boasting blooming trees of white and pink flowers, hill tribe handicrafts and beauty pageants, and the general Thai carnival assortment of food and music, this seemed like an ideal way to make the most of a five-hour roundtrip drive.

After two and a half hours on our motorbike, from the low-lying lands around Chiang Rai, over hills and valleys, finally climbing up one of Thailand’s highest mountains, we hit the turnoff to the Forest Park. And ran smack into the flower festival traffic.

Filling a two-lane mountain road with three lanes of traffic, cars were trying to move in both directions simultaneously. All the while, motorbikes weaved and snaked between the cars, narrowly missing bumpers and mirrors. The car-packed road wound around and off into the distance, disappearing around a curve, assuring us that this was not a mere bottleneck but a gridlock lasting for miles.

All this over some flowers.

Defeated and deflated, sore and tired, we turned around to head home. After refueling our poor bodies on soup, applying more sunscreen, and consulting our handy roadmap, we were on our way to loop back to Chiang Rai. Rather than simply doubling back, we figured a nice jaunt through some Thai countryside was in order.

Now, if you ever find yourself driving through the mountains and think to yourself, “boy, isn’t that mountain in our way?” one of two outcomes will probably come about. Option one, the road you are following will ascend gently back and forth to summit the mountain, possibly even circumnavigating it entirely. Option two, the road will go straight up and over said mountain. As an American, I tend to assume the first option will come to fruition.

But in Thailand, up and over you go. So up we went. And up. And up.

 

Interesting thing about Thailand: apparently, if you ascend at such a steep angle, hairpin-turning in first gear consistently for what feels like ages, you might end up at high enough elevation to be driving through a pine forest along the crest of said mountain. Didn't see that one coming.

Of course, the post-pine descent was just as abrupt, straight down the other side, back to the familiar terrain of completely flat corn fields, billowing banana leaves, towering palms, and blindingly-green rice paddies dotted with jutting limestone monoliths.

Very odd feeling, that is. To do something so brief, surreal, and intense, so unlike what you had initially intended to do at all, only to find yourself suddenly back in your regular environs. A bit like waking from a dream. 

Though not quite the optimized two days in the mountains at a flower festival I envisioned, such an experience, so out-of-the-blue, is never for naught. I suppose that sometimes optimization is for fools and the universe will remind you that it's the journey that counts more than the destination. And every now and then, your destination ends up being purely journey, followed by some intense napping. 

Mae Salong: Chinese and Cherry Blossoms

Northern Thailand is full of tiny, out-of-the-way towns and villages, sprinkled with various minority groups and hilltribes. Among these groups of not-quite-Thai Thais, the mountain-top town of Mae Salong, tucked away on winding, hilly roads, has its own unique story.

In addition to the standard fare, Mae Salong is home to a population of former soldiers from the Yunnan area of China. As Nationalists refusing to surrender to the Communist Chinese, these soldiers fled overland through Burma. Various shifts in politics led to thousands entering Thailand in the early 1960s. Eventually, as they stood at the ready to defend themselves against a potential attack by Chinese communists, the soldiers were granted Thai citizenship in exchange for agreeing to fight Thailand’s communist insurgencies of the 1970s and to forego opium production for growing oolong tea.  

These days, the remaining population of resettled Yunnanese is small, certainly smaller than the population of Thais and Akha. Most of the Chinese influence can be seen in the numerous shops peddling tea and various herbs, the restaurants claiming authentic Yunnanese cuisine, and the Chinese Martyrs’ Museum on the outskirts of town.  

The town hosts a Cherry Blossom Festival each winter, with flowers blooming during late December and early January. Unfortunately, we managed to miss the majority of the blooms by about a week, finding only sprinklings of pink and white still clinging to some trees.

Like much of the world, what was once unique is now mostly a tourist trap. Vendors all sell similar wares – teas, jewelry, paintings, handbags, shoes, herbs – each stall mirroring the previous. The Yunnanese food was overpriced by Thai standards (and similar dishes can be found sold in many Chinese-run restaurants within Chiang Rai city).

There were several redeeming factors, of course. The drive, though a grueling three and a half hours roundtrip on a motorbike, was made up of breathtaking views. And the town itself, despite any flaws, sits on top of the world, serene. 

Outside Learning

I remember my elementary school days being full of creative projects and hands-on experiments. We watched butterflies emerge from cocoons, constructed geometric kites, listened to stories read in character voices. We turned the room into a paper Amazon jungle (surely a fire hazard), held silent auctions of our old toys, feasted as Robin Hood and his Merry Men, made our own story books. Of course, we also memorized multiplication tables, practiced writing in cursive, learned all those basics. But it wasn’t only sitting and listening to the teacher; it was learning through discovery and experience.

As an elementary and kindergarten teacher in a foreign country, I am witnessing firsthand just how varied the approaches to education can be from culture to culture. As young as first grade, Thai students are expected to spend a great portion of their school day sitting in a desk and being taught lecture-style. From the age of three up through high school graduation, copying and repeating are the standard methods for information transfer. Math, science, English, students copy the answers off the board. It is assumed that they have then learned said information. There will be a test. I hope you were listening.

Of course, the enjoyable part of school for most students is all the extras – art, dance, gym, swimming – and the Thai school system has those in spades. In this department, the Thais go far beyond, holding special events, activities, camps, and holiday celebrations on a regular basis.

Over the course of the past semester, the classroom sitting has been interspersed with more holidays than you would think could fit into four months. Before Christmas, not a single week passed without some special event or activity to prepare for a special event; since Christmas, we have had two undisrupted weeks of class (though I, personally, have had at least three classes per week cancelled to rehearse for a play for next week’s special event); through the remainder of the school year, only one week has nothing special or cancelled.

Between Thai holidays, American holidays, and school events, the activities list is pretty impressive. So far we have had:

•  A Halloween party -- a wonderful way to have first graders come up, hold out their hand, and say “Teacher, candy” or “Trick-or-treat” for months to come
•  Sports Days – from football to chair ball to tug of war, plus a fairly impressive parade
• Three weeks of shortened days to prep for the Sports Days
•  A field trip to the local science discovery center, complete with a busload of students dancing to Thai pop songs
• Loy Kratong
•  The King’s birthday, which doubles as Father's Day
•  Constitution Day – tinted with irony this year, as parliament was dissolved just days prior
• An open house for the kindergarten
• Christmas – literally weeks of activities and parties

• New Year’s Eve/Day – huge holiday in Thai culture
• Midterms – okay, not really an event, but definitely an interruption to regular classes
• Children’s Day – let’s dance, eat free ice cream, and drink free Fanta
• Boy and Girl Scout Camp – walking field trip, camping at school (for the 6^th grade), lessons in knot-tying, first aid, crawling through tunnels, and generally getting prepared
• Teachers’ Day – One of multiple days to honor teachers, for this one school is closed. Best way to reward teachers for their hard work

Which brings us to this week, during which time everyone is preparing for next week’s Open House. My January has been packed with rehearsals of Snow White and Little Red Riding Hood, which my 63 first graders will perform for the evening portion of the Open House.

The only remaining activities are:

• The aforementioned Open House and evening Khantoke dinner for parents (traditional Northern Thai Lanna dishes in endless portions, shared among the table, while watching performances)
• Promotional Drive for CVK – literally a drive, as we foreign teachers join other faculty members in driving to other districts to hand out pamphlets and try to increase enrollment
• Valentine’s Day – the Thais love love. And they love giving gifts. It’s the perfect storm of a holiday
• Makha Bucha (Magha Puja) – Theravada Buddhist holiday celebrating the arrival of 1250 monks to listen to the teachings of the Buddha.
• Final Exams – the end.

Between all of the reasons to cancel class and the fact that class is mostly spent zoning out while the teacher talks (even the best student can only listen for so long), the difference between Thai school and American school is stark.

Through the activities they learn how to become members of a team, how to dance, how to do craft projects, how to be a member of Thai society, but they do not necessarily learn how to be good students. After all, we were all, in some manner, taught how to learn and how to work hard. I have greatly enjoyed being a part of the Thai school system, but I think they could bring some of that spice and variety, seen so heavily in their activities, into the classroom.

That being said, fault them for what you will, but the Thais sure do know how to throw one helluva party.

Skin and Bones

Chiang Rai’s Baan Dum Museum, alternately known as the Black House or Black Temple, falls well outside the norm of Thai beauty and art. Though often touted as the counterpoint to the White Temple, typically while citing a heaven-hell motif, the connection between the two is based more on color and the student-teacher relationship of the artists behind the two structures than it is on any intentional artistic correlation.

Baan Dum is a fairly unique project. Black House creator Thawan Duchanee has painted black numerous houses of varying sizes and filled them with a hodgepodge of religious paraphernalia from different Southeast Asian cultures. These adopted images and architecture -- which come from as Far afield as Sri Lanka and Bali, as well as from neighboring Burma and Cambodia -- are interspersed with the artist’s own creations, crafted from animal bones, shells, and skins.

The presence of massive throne-style chairs made from animal hides and horns, rows of skulls and shells arranged in geometric patterns, the black-painted roofs and buddhas, the strange and uncomfortable rocks sculptures and odd buildings, all contribute to the Black House’s ability to give an eerie, unsettling, or downright disturbing impression.