This time last Thursday, I was hovering somewhere over Siberia, tightly packed into the window seat of row 41 on an American Airlines flight bound for Tokyo. Now, I sit in a much more comfortable seat, still by a window, in my small room in Krik Thai Mansion (or "The Mansion" as we've come to affectionally call it) deep in the pit of Bangkok.
Outside my window, the air hangs thick with humidity. It is gray from days of rain. Here there are no sunsets, just the stark transition from light smog to dark smog, accompanied by the buzz of whistles directing rush-hour traffic as it snakes its way along the curves of the Sky Rail. Soon, the sky will be inky with darkness, pocked by the thousands of small illuminations that make it possible to still walk the streets: the fluttering light bulb of sausage carts, the fluorescence of a 7/11, the vacant sign of a Taxi.
I'm beginning to grow accustomed to the rhythm of this city, or at least the small slice of a life I've carved out for myself here. In the morning, it's grabbing a 20 baht cup of coconut water on the way to Chulalongkorn University (called Chula by BKK locals), filing into line behind uniformed University kids as they walk to class. Then classes on Thai culture and language that are sometimes useful, oftentimes reductive and frustrating. Then lunch, in which I point at colorful dishes without knowing their names. I eat almost everything and sometimes even know what I'm eating, though most of the time it's a flood of unrecognizable textures and flavors. I'm trying to be open to things that I find scary or weird and I feel like food is a good place to start. As they say in Thailand, sabai sabai, which translates sort-of-kind-of to "go with the flow, don't worry too much about things you cannot change." So I eat what I think is pork mixed with strands of something orange in a broth that is pale purple and I try not to question it too much. If there is any key to learning how to navigate this place, it is to be open to everything and to not get so caught up in over-thinking (AKA over-americaning) the small details.
Most of this philosophy I picked up from the old batch of Thailand ETAs who just a few days ago wrapped up their grant periods. Before flying back to the states, they stopped in Bangkok to give panels and lectures on everything from sexual assault to travel in South East Asia to how to protect one's self against the rabid dogs that lurk in the rice paddies of the rural east. Apparently, the answer is to carry a large bamboo stick with you everywhere you go, which sounds about as ridiculous to me as someone telling me that it's possible to disarm a robber with a Q-tip and a good knock-knock joke.
But in all seriousness, it was a revelation to see and meet the people who were just as shaky and scared as we are now. And even if their answers to our numerous questions seemed to conflict one another or just generally irrelevant given our lack of context, they still had answers, which was more reassuring than any of the classes or advice we've received thus far. They made it through. And not weathered or beaten, but smiling and already longing for a place they never could have imagined would become a home. If nothing else, they gave us the gift of perspective, a small glimpse into a future that is bright and transformative.
As far as the less distant future is concerned, a group of us are planning to trek to two famous temples tomorrow (Wat Pho & Wat Aroun) as well as the Great Palace and JJ Market, an open-air market in the north of the city.
Life here is exciting and vibrant and new. And at least for now, that's more than enough for me.
Cody
Outside my window, the air hangs thick with humidity. It is gray from days of rain. Here there are no sunsets, just the stark transition from light smog to dark smog, accompanied by the buzz of whistles directing rush-hour traffic as it snakes its way along the curves of the Sky Rail. Soon, the sky will be inky with darkness, pocked by the thousands of small illuminations that make it possible to still walk the streets: the fluttering light bulb of sausage carts, the fluorescence of a 7/11, the vacant sign of a Taxi.
I'm beginning to grow accustomed to the rhythm of this city, or at least the small slice of a life I've carved out for myself here. In the morning, it's grabbing a 20 baht cup of coconut water on the way to Chulalongkorn University (called Chula by BKK locals), filing into line behind uniformed University kids as they walk to class. Then classes on Thai culture and language that are sometimes useful, oftentimes reductive and frustrating. Then lunch, in which I point at colorful dishes without knowing their names. I eat almost everything and sometimes even know what I'm eating, though most of the time it's a flood of unrecognizable textures and flavors. I'm trying to be open to things that I find scary or weird and I feel like food is a good place to start. As they say in Thailand, sabai sabai, which translates sort-of-kind-of to "go with the flow, don't worry too much about things you cannot change." So I eat what I think is pork mixed with strands of something orange in a broth that is pale purple and I try not to question it too much. If there is any key to learning how to navigate this place, it is to be open to everything and to not get so caught up in over-thinking (AKA over-americaning) the small details.
Most of this philosophy I picked up from the old batch of Thailand ETAs who just a few days ago wrapped up their grant periods. Before flying back to the states, they stopped in Bangkok to give panels and lectures on everything from sexual assault to travel in South East Asia to how to protect one's self against the rabid dogs that lurk in the rice paddies of the rural east. Apparently, the answer is to carry a large bamboo stick with you everywhere you go, which sounds about as ridiculous to me as someone telling me that it's possible to disarm a robber with a Q-tip and a good knock-knock joke.
But in all seriousness, it was a revelation to see and meet the people who were just as shaky and scared as we are now. And even if their answers to our numerous questions seemed to conflict one another or just generally irrelevant given our lack of context, they still had answers, which was more reassuring than any of the classes or advice we've received thus far. They made it through. And not weathered or beaten, but smiling and already longing for a place they never could have imagined would become a home. If nothing else, they gave us the gift of perspective, a small glimpse into a future that is bright and transformative.
As far as the less distant future is concerned, a group of us are planning to trek to two famous temples tomorrow (Wat Pho & Wat Aroun) as well as the Great Palace and JJ Market, an open-air market in the north of the city.
Life here is exciting and vibrant and new. And at least for now, that's more than enough for me.
Cody
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