Team Spirit

After a month of preparation – practice, tournaments, sweat, injuries, construction, choreography, and three weeks of half-days of class – C.V.K. was ready for Sports Day. And they were gonna do it right. The students were split into five color-specific teams, spread over the entire age range of the school: red, blue, green, white, and yellow, representing pre-K through high school seniors. And, Sports “Day” was really two days made up of all sorts of (very) different events.

Day One:

The full-sized football (yes, I do mean soccer) field was divided widthwise, allowing four games to be played simultaneously. In one game, the sixth graders, decked out in fancy gear, played an intense game of soccer. They played like their legos depended on it, the whole weight of their color resting on their shoulders.

At the same time, three games of handball were occurring. As an American, I had never seen handball before; seemingly handball is just soccer for those who prefer throwing and bouncing instead of kicking (with a little bit of monkey-in-the-middle mixed in for good measure). It also uses basketball rules, preventing players from simply grabbing the ball and running. With three games being played at once, balls were flying into other games, evoking a sense of pure chaos for spectators.

Practiced during the class-less, lawless afternoons preceding Sports Day, but seemingly absent from the festivities (and surely deserving of mention) was Chairball. Resembling short-range basketball, chairball has one big twist. The traditional basketball hoop is replaced by a team member standing on a chair, holding a laundry basket over his or her head. Clearly, they can do their best to assist their team by moving to catch the ball, but they face much more pressure than a stoic, metal basketball hoop has ever known. Popular with the elementary school kids, chairball is far more entertaining than your typical basketball game.

Not to be left out, the kindergarten carried on Sports Day activities of its own. The main event: tug-of-war! There might be nothing cuter than eighty toddlers, donning hats made from recycled milk cartons, flower headbands, sequins and makeup, playing a massive game of tug-of-war. Unless of course, after so many games, all that tension and tugging, the rope, pulled taut, snaps directly in the middle, sending each side’s tiny tuggers flying into a flat, domino-ed pile. The way they all bounced up, made of rubber, brushed off their knees and ran to the canteen for lunch, was equally adorable.

Day Two:

Friday was the real deal: official Sports Day. Cheer stands had been constructed. The band and junior band were prepped and ready to play. A parade had been planned: floats built, costumes rented, faces painted, and hair elaborately styled.

The parade was painstakingly elaborate, the student-powered floats massive. Each team color had come up with their own individual theme, ranging from Victorian Era, to traditional Thai, to something showcasing a massive, red demon. Confusing, delightful and bizarre, the students mixed in costumes and props as they saw fit. There were costumes including what I can only assume were colorful condoms, Thai slaves, some gender-swapping prince/princess combos, and hill tribe-themed dancers.

Each team had not only its own parade section, but a cheer stand, with color-coordinated decorations and two sets of cheerleaders, one elementary and one senior high. The choreography, with crowd participation, was impressively mastered, the costumes flashy and loud. It seemed to be more about team spirit, screaming, shouting, glittery team spirit, than about the sporting events themselves.

The events leading up to the grand finale football game were mostly toddler-oriented. There was a relay race in which adults ran while carrying pre-schoolers, a three-legged race where adults were tied to small children, and a big-wheel race that mostly ended with the little kids riding around in circles.

Despite the oddity of all the sporting events, Sports Day was a huge success. Win and I, both on the blue team, represented our color proudly. Blue sunglasses, bubble necklace, dragon crocs, skirt, shoes, earrings, and hats. We rocked blue hard.

Blue vs. Green. Red vs. White. Yellow vs. Blue. Red vs. Yellow. White vs. Green. The whole thing was a chaotic jumble of running, screaming, and pom-poms. It was a high-energy, high-excitement day, but I have absolutely no idea who won any of the games.

Exploring Ella

Surrounded by tea plantations, waterfalls, and mountainous countryside, the quaint town of Ella is a quiet place to spend a couple of days. We took the train from Hatton to Ella, climbing over and under mountains, clacking our way between tea plantations. Mountains layered in various shades of green-blue, it was picturesque as a postcard.

After overexerting myself at Adam’s Peak, I knew I had shot a hole in the plan to walk around Ella. Walking in stiff, awkward limps, the first day I did little more than get an Ayurvedic massage and read a book. The massage helped less than I had hoped, but the steam bath and herbal sauna helped warm the perpetual misty Hill Country chill from my bones.

Win was doing better than I was, so on the second day I pushed myself and we climbed what has been dubbed as Little Adam’s Peak. We passed through several small villages full of life and energy, cheering and rallying as they watched their local teens play sports.

Where the trail split from the main road, a local artisan was selling jewelry made by his wife. Instead of stones, beads, or gems, the necklaces and bracelets were made from the seeds of the trees in the area. He claimed that the seeds were also ground into powder to make medicines. Lovely in blue-grays to slate white and ashy black, the seeds had been strung together as simple string necklaces. He was even kind enough to tell us the best way to get to the top, which involved taking a path instead of the stairs (hallelujah!).

Four or five kilometers roundtrip, it didn’t kill me. The view from the top was all the more impressive for the fact that there wasn’t anyone else around. We stopped on our way back to purchase some seed jewelry and watch the volleyball game in progress. We arrived back just as the evening rain and fog was rolling in, just in time to rescue our dry laundry.

White Temple

After spending a year in a Buddhist country, we are used to seeing temples everywhere, with very little variation in appearance. They come in different sizes, some with a chedi, some are perched atop a hill, they feature Buddha-themed murals or statues in a variety of positions. But, for the most part, the variations are slight. The White Temple, however, is in a category of its own.

Designed and built by Thai artist Chaloemchai Khositphiphat, Chiang Rai’s White Temple (Wat Rong Khun) is a standout in a city, and a country, saturated with Buddhist temples. A quick motorbike ride outside of town, only thirteen kilometers or so, the White Temple is easy to see on a weekend afternoon. Not to mention, easy to spot.

Construction on the White Temple began in 1998, and is expected to continue for the next fifty or so years in order to complete Khositphiphat’s vision. Donations to the temple help to fund further construction.

The temple design is based on the artist’s interpretation of Buddhist Enlightenment, hence its pure white façade. Covered top to bottom in stark white stucco and glittering mirror fragments, the temple was stunning, in the early evening sunlight.

Surrounding the temple is a pit filled with writhing, demonic-looking figures reaching up toward visitors, also all white. These statues are meant to depict the struggles and trials involved in reaching Enlightenment. It’s hard to be a Buddhist.

A white Naga-topped bridge arches over the pool of misery and anguish, leading to the main hall. 

While foreigners are forbidden to enter the temple without a Thai guide present, we went in anyhow. In typical Thai fashion, the walls were floor to ceiling murals of scenes of the Buddha’s life (one of which inexplicably had a little painted Doraemon whizzing by with a jet pack on).

Thus far, the main hall is all that has been constructed, aside from a gift shop/art gallery and an extremely elaborate bathroom, decked out in glittering gold mirrors, rather than white. Wouldn’t want to confuse the temple and the toilet. Even incomplete, the White Temple is majestic and dazzling. 

Slug Bug!

Throughout our travels, Win has been playing Slug Bug, with me as the unwilling loser. Granted, the occasions to actually call ‘Slug Bug’ are pretty rare in the land of motorbikes and Hondas, but they do happen.

Every time I see one of the Beetles cruising around town I can’t help but wonder how difficult it must be to drive a 60s or 70s Volkswagon in a country where they drive on the left. If memory serves, I believe that the shifting isn’t the same as in most cars (something with the placement of reverse?). Put that on top of driving on the left hand side and having to shift with you left hand, all while anticipating the antics of Thai drivers. It’s mindboggling.

I haven’t seen so many VW Bugs in one place as I have since we arrived in Chiang Rai. There are so many here that occasionally (when Win is distracted or driving) I actually manage to win. In reality, we are probably dealing with a max of a dozen, just seen in different locations. But in a country where the motorbikes vastly outnumber the cars, this is still a bizarrely high proportion. There’s a wide variety of colors, and they all seem to be in pristine condition. How did they end up with so many Beetles in Thailand?  

Thai Fruit: Dragonfruit

With a name like dragonfruit, how could you go wrong? Holy crap, it’s hot pink with what appear to be solidified neon green flames coming off of it! This has to be the coolest fruit ever.

Inside, either white or violet with tiny black seeds, similar to those in a kiwi. Delight. Excitement. Anticipation at what this wondrous fruit of dragons will taste like.

Oh…

 It tastes like nothing. It’s the texture of kiwi, but without any flavor.  Just the color white with seeds. I feel lied to. Betrayed. Dragonfruit? With a name like that it should taste rich, sweet, tangy, like fruit made from tropical fire. How can something with such potential fall so short?

Oh, How Things Grow

One of the most delightful aspects of living in southeast Asia is the greenery. Although the word greenery is far too monochromatic to be apt. Flowering trees and tropical plants are everywhere. And moving to northern Thailand has only increased my delight. It even smells better up here.

Half of the trees are dotted with orange, white or pink, raining petals on pedestrians. Walking down the street, the scent of one flamboyant tropical flower after another ambushes your senses, light and ephemeral. 

Even when surrounded by city pavement, the Thais go out of their way to fill their lives with plants. Hanging, potted, and nurtured, they fill every bare space unreachable by nature alone.

And, in no way lacking for water, the plants are ruthless in their growth. Vines spiral and climb. Leaves reach out, soaking up life-giving sun. Water lilies awake to greet the sun. Banana leaves tower over fences, stretching their massive leafy limbs. Morning glories embroider themselves over heaps of garbage, a living camouflage.

In a tropical climate, variety and creativity have no bounds. Flowers bigger than my outstretched hand and as delicate as tissue paper abound. Magenta, yellow, and ruby as bright as if they were dyed, synthetic. Others, more solid, erupt in orange and scarlet, announcing their presence. The versatility, colors and complexities nature creates constantly amaze me.

Creativity Nurtured

At the end of our Cambodia excursion, we decided to go to Battambang. Cambodia’s second largest city, though by no means actually a large city, Battambang isn’t exactly jam-packed with sights and activities. But, our aim was mostly to relax and spend as little money as possible before heading back into Thailand. However, fliers for the local circus certainly caught our eye; knowing that the circus was also a school for children made the money worth spending. 

Phare Ponleu Selpak, meaning “the brightness of art,” is a Cambodian NGO aimed at helping the children of Cambodia with education, life skills, as well as creative and performance skills through their art centers. Originally opened at a refugee camp near the Thai border in the 80s, PPS began as a way to help children deal with the psychological impact of war. They then moved to their current locale in Battambang and continued their efforts, as well as opened a public school, a circus school, and housing for children who were victims of child trafficking, poverty, street begging and the like. The organization helps to renew Cambodian culture through its children, and to foster learning on an individual level. 

We opted to go during their Community Day, a showcase of all things PPS, rather than simply paying to see only the circus. The event was promoting a coffee table book published by one of their circus troupes that was about to go on a European tour. The books, while beautiful, were expensive by Southeast Asian standards. At $1 a glass, the beer was more reasonable, so we did our part to contribute financially. 

Scattered about the grounds, children worked on drawings and watercolors, set up easels for paintings, and paper-maché’d masks. The public school got out of session around 4 pm and throngs of elementary children flooded the area around the arts buildings. As the only foreigners, we stood out from, as well as towered over, everyone there. This distinction also meant we were the proud recipients of limitless high fives and hellos.

There was a toddler fashion show, a live painting, and a break dance performance. The circus school was open for spectators, red, yellow, and blue mats lining the floors. We took off our shoes and watched them flip, spin and fly, contort and bend, juggle and climb. They balanced, lifted, and actrobatted. It was more diverse than an entire circus, and all happening simultaneously.

Before the actual circus performance, they had live ice painting, pretty much the last medium you would expect to see in Cambodia. By layering color after color of paint across the tops of large blocks of ice, the blocks began to slowly melt away. Very slowly. As it did, the paint seeped into cracks, gaps, and little tunnels in the ice, slowly causing elaborate designs to spider through the clear white ice. 

Eventually it was time for the circus, and we filed into the tent. Seats were full, so we stood off to the side, children seated around our feet, perched and leaning for a better view. The performers clowned, tightrope walked and unicycled to the delight of the audience. But in the late afternoon, the heat under the big top became stifling, driving us out before the performance was over. Having seen the full showcase of the day, the circus wasn’t the main event anymore. Missing a little of it was okay. Not only did we feel good about where our money was going, but we were excited to get back to teaching and spending all of our time playing with kids.

Like Painted Lace

The Angkor Butterfly Center is a tiny place just near the ever more popular Landmine Museum. After seeing numerous war-based museums all over Vietnam and Cambodia, the choice was easy. I wanted to see pretty things, dammit. 

For a $4 entrance fee, we were given a personal tour by one of the staff, as well as peace of mind. The center functions not only as a way for tourists to see the local butterfly varieties, but also as a way to give supplemental money to local farmers. For each cocoon or caterpillar they bring in, they receive between 600 and 2,000 riel (about 15 to 50 cents), depending on the species. The center also ships some cocoons to Holland (apparently they love their butterflies like they love their tulips), for which the farmers are paid a higher rate. Not surprisingly, cocoons come in by the dozens. 

Caterpillar to cocoon to butterfly – all stages were represented in a multitude of colors and sizes. A month-old giant moth hid inside the caterpillar room, tattered and torn. Fragile like antique lace. An individual butterfly lives between one and two weeks; a lifespan that makes them seem all the more delicate. 

Throughout the year, our tour guide told us, they house a total of around 40 species, running the color spectrum – oranges, yellows, neon blues, lime greens. Stripes and spots of limitless detail covered wings. On the day we were there around 15 varieties were flitting about, landing on flowering reds and magentas. Spindly legs gripped leaves. Black, red, white, they drifted by on the breeze, lazy in the midday heat. 

A Colorful Calm

While in Saigon, we joined a trip to Tay Ninh in order to see the Cao Dai temple and watch their midday mass. Officially established in 1926, Caodaiism is a colorful mixture of religions. The religion combines elements of Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism, Christianity, and animism, and one of their three main saints is Victor Hugo, whose picture occupies a prestigious place in the temple. 

The temple itself is equally colorful in every sense. From the outside, the windows are made of the All-Seeing Eye surrounded by flowers. While inside, a massive orb with the Divine Eye sits center stage. Green dragons spiral around pink pillars, sporting colorful faces and displaying striped tongues. And the ceiling is covered in stars and clouds. 

Mass is led by a handful of musicians and practitioners singing hymns. The men and women sit separately, cross-legged on the floor in evenly spaced rows, their traditional robes always seeming to make perfect rectangles about them. The higher-ups don red, yellow, and blue, each representing one of the three main belief systems, while the women and those lower on the totem pole dress in all white. 

The music reigns, all else is silent save for the occasional bell, which reverberates throughout the temple, causing those gathered to cascade into bows. The bells resonate rich and pure, bouncing from the walls, tumbling over the room. You can feel it in your chest. It drowns out the murmur of the tourists watching from the balcony. The onlookers cease to matter; they are enveloped in prayer, overtaken by the music.  The scene becomes nearly hypnotic as a sense of tranquility settles over the temple.