The organization is throwing me a goodbye party some time this week. They wanted to have it on Friday night, and I felt badly telling them I had a train to catch that evening.

Tomorrow night, I am finally going to the cabaret. I couldn’t find it last weekend, so I ended up eating tom yom soup at a restaurant and drinking Singha beer.

I have visited every temple I wanted to see. I got to the Grand Palace last week and felt oddly frustrated by the procedure of ticket-buying and being surrounded by other tourists who come to Bangkok to see this place. It was just my mood, because I was in the same physical circumstance at Wat Pho a month ago, and absolutely loved the experience. But this time and place was just too much. I knew it was my negative energy, but just the same, I didn’t feel like walking inside and dealing with it all.

So I left, and some teenagers on the bus started laughing and saying “farang” in the middle of their sentences, and all I could think of doing was refuting their statement, whatever it was. So I say, “farang, mai,” – for “westerner, no,” even though of course I am. It was more about asserting that they are wrong to collapse a label and assumptions on me and my body, and for that I was angry. But I don’t have the language for that. They couldn’t help but laugh out of discomfort, and I just wanted to step on all of their feet. I went home and took a long, cold shower. Then I went out to dinner in Chinatown and sipped on pomegranate juice until I felt better.

I have a kilo of mangosteen back at the Cozy, my last produce purchase here. I will miss this fruit like nothing else.

I am down to my last 1000 baht, and pinching every bill. I’m trying to find restaurants that take Visa.

I still have to buy a bathing suit and a flashlight and a towel to trek in Chiang Mai.

I have more to say, but I’m not in the right mood to write it out.

Winding down

It was literally a stroke of psychic coincidence yesterday that I met the neighbors who live around the Cozy.

I was walking down the narrow residential street I always walk down to get home, coming back from work/dinner on Sukhumvit Road. It wasn’t dark out yet, so kids were running and biking up and down the long stretch as usual, and people were outside talking to each other. Sometimes there is an old man who sits outside with his dog and just people-watches. He never says hello to me though or acknowledges my nods or smiles. But I was thinking to myself: Man, it’s so different here how everyone just knows each other and cooks for each other and shares meals and talks together. In suburban America, we are white picket fenced off from one another – not to say there is no community or neighborly love, but do we hang out on each other’s patios every night and shoot the shit? I didn’t think so.

So I was pondering this in my head as I am approaching the Cozy, and I pass a table full of men sitting outside – all but one I recognize as people who live on that block – drinking Johnny Walker whisky.

Before I process this, one of them, who I learn is a visitor from the island of Ko Somui, says “Hey – come sit! Have a drink!” I decline the alcohol, once, twice, and probably three or four more times, but take the offer to chat and meet the people who I see everyday but have never gotten to interact with on a human level. Sooner or later a Thai taxi shows up and drops women with kids off at the house. They say they have seen me before on my way to and from work; we exchange hello’s. I saw one of them again this morning and she smiled at me and I said hello. It makes me feel like I am somebody in the community. Still foreign, still so different.

But I have had the chance to interact with and observe people here as they are. Just by watching my friend Umm gracefully wai – to bow as a sign of respect – I have picked up on particular social cues and the respect I should give other people.

Listening to Pee Fah tell a story or even comment on something – although I can’t understand a WORD she is saying – illuminates how tone and eye contact command a presence, create a force and generate power.

In other news, I still have to go to the cabaret and I am so excited. The cabaret is marketed here as a show of “ladyboys” or in Thai, katoey – men who look and perform as women. There is no physical in between, here. They get their adam’s apples shaved off, have beautiful breasts, the whole deal. In one flier for a performance, there is an audience review where a woman raves something like, “This show made me question my own womanhood!” Bingo, jackpot. Again, though, this goes back to the notion of tourism industry revenue. Why are these bodies being commercialized and produced, literally surgically produced, in this performance space? What does it say about gender if it can be manufactured and set on stage for a night, played with like this? I will probably be scribbling notes throughout the entire show. It’s going to be too deep to be enjoyable, I feel.

It’s hard to believe what bodies go through here. And how tourism plays such a role in perpetuating and producing the spaces for bodies to be what they are. For instance, Patpong Road. The road where all the sex shows are. I accidentally walked on a road perched in between Patpong Road, on a wonderful adventure to a sushi restaurant. When I walked out of the restaurant, it was dark, and the road I was on had transformed to a market of sex. There were women sitting outside of bars, with numbered signs pinned to their dresses. Men and women stood outside of the bars holding glossy menus filled with pictures of women, with corresponding numbers.

In all honesty, I am all for legalized sex work. I consider sex work to be just that – real work, in which a person may use different combinations of their mind, body, and soul. I try to consider the benefits these people are hopefully getting – access to different languages, to culture, to social experiences, and of course the economic capital to take care of their families back home.

I just can’t get past what fuels the sex work here. The history beginning with the Vietnam War, when the American military “flocked” to Thailand for R&R – rest and recreation, which was actually called I&I- intoxication and intercourse (see Patpong Sisters by Cleo Odzer, pg 2).

Since the government approves the VISAs of so many western men coming here for they-know-what, I wish they would provide their citizens with regular STD testing and legal backup and not just mama- and papasans (supervisors) to take care of their business.

I wish katoey weren’t confined to the cabaret to express their gender. I wish katoey wasn’t the only alternate way for a man to be a woman, and that there could be multiple – infinite – ways to define your womanhood or manhood. Not just a person who must embody the image of a “perfect” lady. And don’t get me started on what beauty is.. A transgender woman here at the office – that is to say, a woman who was born a man – told me she would never, ever date a woman, that it is just wrong and gross to think of transgender women dating other women and being lesbians. She is visually an acceptable woman – ski slope nose, beautiful body, long flowing hair. But why she rationalizes her sexuality like that, I don’t know. I don’t know why and how these limits come up.

What startles me just the same is the emphasis on whiteness as the pinnacle of beauty. I see commercials here for Nivea acne products, and each product includes the word Whiten. A man washes his face with the scrub and the water smooths his skin and brightens it to a lighter shade. The office building is selling lotions, and each one contains turmeric, an ingredient to lighten the skin.

I finish work next Friday. This Friday, I have a Ladies’ Group meeting at the Rainbow Sky office. Then on Saturday, I am going to go the Grand Palace, at long last. Sunday, I will shop until I drop from heat-exhaustion at Chatuchak Market getting the last of the goods I want. Note: I did not say need. There is nothing more I need from that market. It is now strictly greed-fueled.

I have decided that unless my nose runs – okay, I have got it down to the sniffles at this point – I have not had an authentic meal. Food here is meant to be spicy – to be doused in chili pepper and spices. It is unheard of to eat an omelet plain – at least splash some sweet and sour sauce on it, for all we care. I love the complex tastes of spiciness here, and how mountains of rice accompany every dish.

For my last week of work I am going to bring the office a thank-you cake from my favorite bakery on Silom. She makes a killer white chocolate mousse cake so I guess that means I have to get a slice as a goodbye treat for myself.

Next Friday I will be on my way to Chiang Mai – after a ten hour train ride, I get in to the city and start backpacking through the mountains for three days. I’m really excited to be cut off from the chaos, the frenzy, the corruption. And just be!

I leave Chiang Mai on Monday night and get into Bangkok on Tuesday morning. That day I check into the President Solitaire, a five-star hotel on Sukhumvit Road (you would take advantage of the exchange rate, too). I will take a hot bubble bath, watch cable tv, and probably order room service. Then I leave for the airport the next night. I’m pretty excited for next week, actually.

It’s time to start winding down.

“Spots”

I was in the elevator with Ovie, who speaks English, and another coworker who doesn’t, and we had just finished lunch. The two are talking, and Ovie turns to me and says: “She asks if you are lonely.” I say: “Sometimes.” He says: “She says she can talk but not listen.” I say: “I can listen but not talk.”

It is a dilemma, one that silences me more than I would otherwise choose. Maybe this is practice in reading people, as I pick up on tones, energies, body languages throughout the day. Pee Sao has said I can always tell when people are talking about me. It’s something about the way they look at me in between words, their glances becoming stickier. I can tell when a conversation gets tense – when two people are debating something at lunch. Not only are they saying “mai, mai” for “no, no,” but their eye contact becomes forceful, a stern energy bounces around.

Smiles mean everything to me around here. I got two this morning from people on the street, and I felt like I had just won over the whole town. I was wearing my Rainbow Sky official tshirt, so I thought maybe they approved of the Thai text. But I was pretty far away. Maybe I was just radiating some kind of energy that said, “Accept me, I want to belong.”

Amanda, my friend from Bryn Mawr, is currently blogging about her experiences living in South Africa. Among her thought-provoking posts, one of them in particular made me reflect on life here in Bangkok. She wrote about finding her spot – the place she can always go to enjoy a cup of coffee, unwind, observe, and reflect.

I thought about what a “spot” means to me here in Bangkok. Because of the nonstop-intensity of the city, I concluded it doesn’t – it physically can’t – involve sitting back and relaxing. As nice as it is to tuck myself inside the glass walls of a Starbucks here – remove myself from the traffic, noise and bustle – I feel like I am in hiding, escaping the authentic elements of the city. So, as much as I love coffee and the atmosphere of the coffee shops, it can’t be my Bangkok spot. I keep thinking.

My Bangkok spot appears on every street you walk on, and sometimes it will be on the corner of the block, sometimes it will pop up in the middle. Chances are it is up at 6 am and gone by midnight. Sometimes you expect it and it doesn’t show up. When it rains, it may disappear. My Bangkok spot has to be the street vendors, the endless variety of food and beverages available on the sidewalks. No one makes an iced coffee better than the woman on the street, and never have I tried seafood salad as unique and amazing as a few blocks from the Cozy. No one can season shrimp better than the woman by the train station, who adds spoonfuls of ingredients methodologically while taking someone else’s order. Coconut puddings, fried bananas, pad thai, shrimp fried rice, omelets, grilled squid, these portable kitchens are a stationary aspect of Bangkok, the realest experience of culture here. Sitting at the table, eating food by freelance chefs with their own recipes, I am part of the city life one street cart at a time.

This weekend, Rainbow Sky is having the 6th Rainbow Sky Games. I think it will involve a bunch of activities, like a potato sack race. If I may say so, I think it will be a shitshow watching me try to follow instructions in Thai and win at competitive sports at the same time. But I will not underestimate myself just yet. Maybe my mind- and energy-reading will really help me out. It is taking place inside the gym of Chandrakasem Rajabhat University. That night I booked tickets for the cabaret. At 8:15. The games go until around 6. I am going to try to reorganize the cabaret because I would rather not rush to get there.

The theme of loneliness seems threaded throughout my day. I was enjoying an Indian dinner at a place called Mrs. Balbir’s Restaurant, and facing outside the window. During my meal, a man stops and waves. I smile, a little untrusting, and don’t look up again. As I am paying my check, he is heading in the opposite direction and turns to me again. He gestures if he can come inside, and I nod. He says, “Why are you eating alone? It is a totally different experience to eat alone rather than with somebody.” Yea, tell me about it. When I’m alone during this dinner I get a chance to listen to every word of the Michael Jackson CD the restaurant is playing. He is from France, we exchange some friendly words, and off he goes. Oh, and a man in the elevator today was incredibly excited to meet someone English-speaking, from Florida. When he spoke to me in Thai, and I said hesitantly, “Again?” he said “You speak English?!!!” I nod, and he says, “Where you from!?” I answer. “Floreedah!! Ahh!!” He gets off the elevator at his stop, almost reluctantly, and turns around to look at me while the elevator door closes.

Just another Tuesday. Three more weeks? Weird.

Farang

When you put something off for a while – like going to the gym, let’s say – getting yourself back into the routine can be excruciating. I would say taking the initial step – putting on your workout clothes – is sometimes the hardest part. That’s what I’ve felt like as of late in terms of blogging. I’ve had plenty of news, and even more feelings to express, but nothing made me want to load this page and actually type all that up. Even during the day I would write little lines in my head, storing moments up – but never to be transcribed. I think after last night that needs to change. I’ll explain why.

I’ve been enjoying little moments. I have bought delicious fruit from a street vendor by the Cozy – it is called mangosteen and costs 50 baht per kilo. I have visited lots of sacred temples, and today I went to a mansion that Jim Thompson – the innovator of the Thai silk industry – built before his disappearance. I discover/eat new street foods almost every day, my latest favorite being these grilled coconut puddings that I can/do inhale by the 2-dozen. I am booking a trip to Chiang Mai for Aug. 31- July 4, and I can’t wait. Writing a grant and doing outreach work for Rainbow Sky connects me to different people who contribute their ideas and experiences, and I always meet interesting people at that office.

Despite the countless friendly people I have met here – really, there have been so many helpful, chatty, genuine strangers who hail taxis for me and send me on a day of adventures, or who tell me where I still have a piece of fruit on my face, and we laugh as I try to get it off – I am farang. Pronounced fah-rah-ng. It sticks in your mouth, and contorts your lips in such a way that it’s easy to see when people are saying it a few tables over in the restaurant in Chinatown. A few nights ago I stopped at a street stall intending to pick up some seafood – this street stall was emitting the most delicious aromas, and before me were all sorts of seadwelling creatures. The chef looks at me and gestures a “what do you want to eat?” and I say the word for seafood in Thai, but nothing else. As I wait for him to prepare someone else’s meal, I stand there sort of helplessly, not knowing how or what to order – what is it that he is making? What is that even called? Half a dozen passerbys say “farang” at the chef, and the woman next to me finally says, “No, no seafood.” I leave semi-disappointed, but go home with a box of coconut puddings and eat the whole damn thing.

The racial disparities here made me especially angry last night. I visited this website that day about the Thai sex industry. Except, this was a website written by a western man who frequents Bangkok for its sexual services – to hire a woman for the “girlfriend experience,” the massages, the whole deal. He describes and maps every location for fellow tourists looking to get some, including prices and reviews of the services. When I finished my dinner on Sukhumvit Rd, the sun had set and it was like my eyes were sharpened to a fine point. I noticed women on the street with hungry eyes, lined up. I saw old men, young men, middle-aged men linked by the arms to Thai women. The first western man to pass me with his arm around a Thai woman’s waist, I ran into shoulder-first. The idiot turned around and apologized to me, as if it were his fault I wanted to wring his neck like a washcloth.

I am not sure why such angry emotions were whirlwinding through me and decomposing my rationality. I have seen homeless people before, I have seen prostitutes before. I grew up in Miami, after all; I am desensitized to this! I don’t know why I wanted to throttle these men and ground them to a pulp, send them back home.

My mind would flash to the young girl who sits in front of the crowded Skytran station, playing  “Mary Had a Little Lamb” over and over and over on her recorder for spare change. The sex industry is, for many women, the best opportunity out there – an economic and social ceiling. It is the most money they will make, and they know it. That makes me very, very, angry at governments for advertising Thai women as sexual objects, allknowingly perpetuating the global sex economy. It disgusts me that the United States and the west station their military troops here for rest and relaxation, sending rowdy soldiers to bars and neon-signed sex shops.

No wonder I’m a lousy farang here.

Life lately

I should start with what is on my mind.

People here are obsessed with aromatic inhalers.

I see them everywhere, on everyone; everyone sniffing these chapstick-shaped inhalers, sometimes letting them dangle out of each nostril while walking down the street. Coworkers have pulled them out at the lunch table, sniffing constantly. Friends take them out at dinner, sniffing and giggling at the same time. At first I thought, Jesus Christ. Are they getting high off these things? What is in them? What is making them DO this all the time? It was starting to baffle me, quite frankly. While waiting for a friend to meet me and Pee Fah (coworker) for Thai BBQ, a bus passed by with an image of a smiling, beautiful – whitewashed – woman holding an “aromatic inhaler,” according to the ad. She looks so refreshed, it’s mindblowing. Loaded with a Google search-term, I type “aromatic inhaler + Thailand” into the engine of knowledge. I get this article that discusses the culture of ya dom – the Thai nasal inhaler. The conclusion – no, they aren’t getting high, but quite possibly physiologically addicted to clearing out their nasal passages, since scent is important in this culture.

Okay, now that that is cleared up – pun well intended – I can talk about what has been going on regarding life in the east.

Did I mention Thai BBQ? Yea, that was crazy. Imagine an entire buffet line of raw meats – whole crabs, shrimps, pork, chicken, et al… all for the taking, right? Stowing it on a plate, and heading back to your table where you cook it all on a coal barbeque grill. During dinner, two elephants came up to our table. I wasn’t expecting this. They were being ridden by men exploiting them for money, obviously. I strongly oppose this practice. Yet, the market of tourism perpetuates this industry. Come ride an exotic elephant, whitefolk. After initially feeling disgust towards the men choking the elephants, it occurred to me it wasn’t just the elephants who were being exploited. It was obviously also the men towing them around – the capitalist market forces Thailand to compete,  plunging them into whatever industry earns them a living. It’s a cycle of exploiting each other, starting with the most powerful government on the earth. Cue music: “Proud to be an American.”

I went to this bar last week with a few of the ladies from Rainbow Sky. We passed out condoms to patrons and then rewarded ourselves with whiskey icees for all of our hard work. Blueberry, strawberry, and grape – and obviously snacks like tom yum soup to go with it when we got hungry. Oh dear god, and I also met an icon in Thai sexuality research – Megan Sinnot!!! She was just SITTING at the table with her research assistant when we got there, waiting to interview my Rainbow Sky associate friends. She asked me why I was here, and I asked her the same – she said she was here doing research. I go: You’re not Megan Sinnot ARE YOU? And her face turns red, and she is blushing at my recognition of her. It was sort of cute. She is here doing research on ghosts now. Oh, academic rockstars. Sooooo cool.

This past weekend, rather than shopping day in and day out I decided to journey to a temple on Saturday. It was spiritual and interesting. At first I had no idea what was going on, being that it was crowded and disorderly with tents on every side of me and people lined up and seated all around. So I strolled around the side of the temple, which is just lovely – comprised of rivers and bridges and statues. I even stood by a man who had huge sunglasses and a track jacket, and was smoking hand-rolled cigarettes. We had to be friends, despite a language barrier, I decided. You will find his picture below. He even looked at me through hand-binoculars. After staring at the huge fish in the river for a really long time, I took off my shoes and wandered inside the temple. I’m not sure if I was actually allowed to take photos, but others were filming and snapping pictures so I considered it okay, but it felt strange and taboo, so I tried to limit it.

That day it also poured like I have never experienced rain before. Maybe because I have never been outside in such dire conditions, but the rainy season gave it to me hard and wet when I was on my way to Kaloang Home Kitchen, a restaurant on the Chao Phraya River. What made it worse were the filters on the roofs of buildings, which would pour the rain on me in buckets as if I weren’t soaking enough. The rain dropped lightly at first – “Ah, how refreshing, on this warm day,” I think to myself, or even say out loud. (I have been talking and singing to myself a lot lately.) Then, within a minute, or block and a half of walking, it is war between the sky and me – rain is thrashing on the sidewalk, and I am shelterless. I stand under a phonebooth to look at the address of the restaurant in my Bangkok city guide book, hail a tuk tuk, and the rest is frustration after frustration, until I finally get to the restaurant with the help of a taxi. The day I forget my umbrella..

And work has been going really well. Coworkers and I have lunch everyday, and they know I only eat seafood and they are always really accommodating. On Wednesday I am meeting a volunteer’s sister who works at the hospital to hear her experiences working with people.. Apparently it is also a long weekend and my boss invited me to her home in Chiang Mai, so if that’s still a go – I’m so there.

I am still in the process of working on the Global Fund for Women grant, which has been an interesting one. It involves communicating with the staff here in meetings through Pee Pat, who speaks both English and Thai. I like grant-writing. Which is good, because that seems to be what my job is. Oh, and today, a staff member/volunteer whose name I don’t know says to me: Can you tell me about pride? And although I think she means gay pride, I’m not sure. So I ask her, what kind of pride? She tells me she is coordinating Bangkok Pride, and we sit and brainstorm ideas about what she can do. I show her images from my friend Nikki’s Facebook of San Francisco Pride, and suggest she add marching to the agenda. She shows me images from last year’s event where everyone got a rainbow umbrella. I google-imaged Pride parades, and found an image of people marching with rainbow umbrellas. She loved it. Sometimes you just don’t need words!

Also, without being in the company of other people much of the time, and if and when I am in the company of people, they don’t speak English, I notice my internal monologue beginning to define itself. It is a little hard to explain, and I’m not sure what I fully mean either, but my own thoughts and voice in my head have taken a shape of their own. I mentioned how I talk to myself but that is only part of it; that is sort of keeping myself company when I am bored walking on the street (on my way back from Dusit Park, I sang songs from Franki Valli to Usher.) But the other part has to do with my thought process – it is sort of like I am trapped alone in my own head, but not in a bad way, and so my own head has gotten to know its thoughts without someone influencing it. I went to the market with Umm and Nana, and I was looking at a shirt, and Umm said “I don’t think so.” I appreciated her opinion but at the same time, I like my own voice to tell me what to do. I think that’s the best example I can give at this time, shallow and superficial as it is.

I can’t believe this is already my fourth week! Where..does..time…….go?

Here are some pictures of Wat Benchamabophit, a marble temple, Abhishek Dusit Throne Hall, and other miscellaneous items..

Chatuchak Park

The view from the Rainbow Sky Office

Wat Benchamabophit

Shrine

Beautiful table, perhaps very holy

Prayer

More prayer

The cool guy

Sign outside of a coffee store

Dusit Park

Abhisek Dusit Throne Hall

King Rama V statue

Chao Phraya River

I know all I seem to write about is food, but the past three nights I have been avidly searching for hummus and falafel. I have been craving something other than noodles and rice, and that something has been chickpeas, ground up and/or fried. I failed miserably 2/3 times, and for some reason these failures have resonated in me as demonstrations of my outsider-ness. It seems minute, silly almost, to view it as such. But feeling lost along the streets for hours on end, choking on a voice that doesn’t speak the language, grasping for words that won’t come out… looking into the eyes of a stranger who doesn’t seem to trust you. It has made me feel very alone.

Three nights ago, or Attempt #1, I wound up on a horribly sketchy street in the dark that made my stomach do flips. I thought that the more I stayed on it, the more I would lose my appetite and that was not the purpose of this adventure. So I settled on a noodle restaurant that served me pork, so I had to send it back. They were not too happy.

Attempt #2 didn’t go so well either. After heading out earlier to avoid the darkness and be able to clearly read the street signs, I ended up walking miles and miles, hours upon hours, getting ripped off by a tuk tuk driver — only to wind up on the street the restaurant is supposedly on and find out I had to walk more. A tuk tuk is a three-wheeled motorized carriage-type vehicle. It’s not the safest way to get around; it feels like you are in Mario Cart. But it’s certainly cheap and fun, the breeze blowing past you as you zoom by cars and other tuk tuks. I wound up walking back to my neighborhood and getting tons of food to make me feel better at Hong Kong Noodle, an obviously westernized restaurant. It’s still good though.

After failing to find what I am looking for, these past few days were immensely frustrating for me. I feel like more of an outsider than ever, more incapable of communicating with those around me, and more and more like I don’t belong. Only my second week, but my fruitless food conquests prove that I can’t get by just yet.

Attempt #3. Last night. I take the subway to Sukhumvit, six stops from my residency, armed with clear directions from a different restaurant’s webpage. They are working! I find myself amongst a mecca of restaurants on Sukhumvit Rd. There are vendors on the sidewalk selling fake Rolex’s, Viagra, porn DVDs, clothing… I glance past each one as I walk in the right direction, the soi (street) numbers getting smaller as they should. I am smiling to myself, looking around and noticing tons of options for food, noting trattorias I want to visit, vegetarians restaurants across the street.. I even pass a bunch of Lebanese restaurants that serve hummus and falafel, but no, I have a destination and I will find it.

I get to the restaurant, indulge in my brick-oven nan, perfectly-seasoned hummus and falafel (which were shaped like little donuts). I am so happy, content, and pleased to have found this area that is full of people and restaurants and business. I don’t even mind the crowds. On my way home I stop at McDonalds and pick up an ice cream cone, hop on the subway and watch Weeds and half of True Blood before falling asleep.

It is so incredibly difficult to communicate with people, and I just feel like a tool sometimes. I can only sit, listen to tones and try to pick up the mood of the conversation when my coworkers and I are having lunch. I can usually tell when they are joking, and I appreciate that people joke – so I may laugh with them.

It will be interesting today during a meeting with Pee Pat, Pee Fa and Pee Sao to see how communicating about work items goes. Pee Pat, the director, speaks excellent English. Pee Fa and Pee Sao, not so much. They are who I have to collaborate with and get ideas from about the grant for the Global Fund for Women. So it may be that Pee Pat will have to serve as a translator, while also adding her own ideas in the mix. It’s just weird.

We will see how today goes. Good news is I am staying at the Cozy all summer except my last night, when I will make my way to a 5-star hotel called the President Solitaire. Because with the exchange rate, I mean… why not? So that’s something to look forward to.

Also, this past weekend I went to a 35-acre market that has 6,000 stalls. I wanted to hit people on the head with my shopping bags after the first 45 minutes, it was so crowded and maze-like. I will probably go back, only with less clothing and a hat.

That’s all for now.

Varying dinner experiences

I had dinner tonight with the nicest man ever.

I was going to check out an Indian restaurant down the block from the Cozy, called Little India, but when I got there it was closed. Which just so happened to be my luck. I’ve been having an odd streak of luck with dinner restaurants these past two days. Last night, I couldn’t find the place I wanted to go to, a Middle Eastern restaurant off the Sukhumvit subway station. I got off the subway, it was dark and crowded, and looking around at street signs would only make me 200 times more vulnerable than I already am as a solo woman, American nonetheless. So I had to scrap the idea of Al Ferdoss, and I ended up at a hotel restaurant that I could somewhat afford. I got through the meal, but didn’t feel very welcome (at all) by the staff and waitresses.

So tonight I walked a few blocks looking for a backup, and decided to just eat some noodles from a food stand on the sidewalk. The way they are set up is like a dining area with seating. It is literally like a little kitchen (the cart), and tables around it. The tables of course have all sorts of spices set up for your dish. I stopped at one where I saw a man eating some appetizing noodles. I decided, “That’s what I want.” When I approached the lady behind the counter, she told me to talk to the man eating at the table. I thought then that maybe he was her husband. Turns out he was just a restaurant patron who spoke a little bit of English.

After I got my huge bowl of noodles (for 20 baht.. that’s less than a dollar), the woman sat me down at the same table as the man. He struck up a conversation with me, after I said “sawatdee ka,” or hello. We talked about our family, exercising (he does boxing, I believe, down the street).. Then he bought us both a water. He asked me if I could eat chili, and I said yes. He shared with me a pok bol, which is indescribable and I can’t spell it, but delicious. It is a soft white round ball, and it was covered in chili. He bought it for 5 baht in a stand a few feet away. He goes boxing, then does some shopping for his family (he had a few bags of goods like that), and gets dinner, then goes home a few blocks away. He is of the 10% of the Thai population that is of Chinese descent.

I am so happy to have met and talked with him. I thanked him for the water (“nevermind,” he said) and for talking with me. Mostly for talking with me.

On my way home I bought a bunch of desserts from a little shop. The woman who owned it kept getting me to buy more, but I didn’t mind. I was really craving sweetness after the meal.

Tonight was great.

The ashtray is in the shape of a penis

I think things are going pretty well. Other than owing a Japanese restaurant 37 baht and getting lost for an hour in the 93 degree heat looking for the office after I got off the subway – other than those teensy traumas, and the fact that I thought my A/C in my room was broken last night (it wasn’t – I just couldn’t figure out the settings), it’s been smooth sailing.

The subway is wonderful. I took a coworker’s suggestion and sprung for the 30-day metro pass, and now I can get on and off the subway as I please. It’s very exciting. So with that freedom, last night I took myself to get sushi at a Japanese restaurant at the Thailand Cultural Center station. Not realizing that I only had about 385 baht left in my pocket, I sprung for four rolls, and my bill was 423 baht. Halfway through the meal I realized I might be short on cash, but I tried to suppress my fears so that I could still enjoy my delicious sushi. Alack, the bill came and I was screwed. Luckily the manager spoke some English and told me I could return that night before 10 to pay. But after getting home around 8:30, I didn’t want to go back out again. I didn’t want to be out after dark alone on only my third day. Or ever, really. So I resigned to paying them back today. I feel really bad and woke up around 4 am this morning thinking about it. But also –

My dreams have been so, so random since getting here, and seem to feature everyone and anyone I have ever met. I had a dream last night that Liz D. (from high school) and I made macaroni and cheese casserole at my grandparents’ house. Yet as I was preparing it, I was cutting up bananas. Probably because street vendors sell chocolate coated bananas here, and a few people at the office gave me bananas covered in coconut sauce yesterday.

After repaying the Japanese restaurant, I am going to stop at Sukhumvit station and walk ten minutes to an Indian restaurant called Mrs. Balbir’s Indian restaurant. She seems to be acclaimed here in Thailand, as I found out after a quick search in Google Maps. I love Google Maps. I type in Bangkok MRT and I get all the subway stops, then I click on one that I want, hit “search nearby” and type in whatever I want!!! It’s so genius.

Work is going well. I have projects concerning grant-writing and fundraising for the Astraea Foundation and Global Fund for Women. I’m excited to hone in on all of it.

Almost time to leave the office..

Here I am: day 1!

I slept all day. I got into the airport last night at 11, got a legit cab (the airport service taxis rip you off by not using the meter), and got to the Cozy Hostel at midnight. The first thing I did was take a shower. This place is really sweet – not in the “dude that’s sweet” sense, but in the “aw, you’re adorable” way. There are lots of couches and decorations, an eating area outside the kitchen.. and they give you a set of house shoes because they don’t want the place to get dirty.
So I set my alarm for 11 am, just to see if I could get myself in a normal sleeping schedule. But that was a joke. I was in this foggy dream like state, and went right back to sleep, until 6 pm. Then I decided food would be a good idea, so I set out looking for some. There are lots of street vendors. It was overwhelming seeing everything in Thai, being that I don’t know the language and certainly can’t read it. So I decided 7-11 would be my best bet, and I got strawberry yogurt, sunflower seeds, and a frozen shrimp wonton bowl. I came back here and heated up the shrimp wonton. Eating it made me sweat even more. Shower #2 of the day will be taking place as soon as I am done with this post.
Tomorrow I start work. I am meeting with the president of the organization at 11:30 am. I’m pretty nervous, but I am going to take a taxi there around 9 just to get there and hang out. That’s when their office opens, anyway. I hope the language barrier won’t be much of a problem, but I am going to try to learn as much of Thai as I can. So far I know thanon is road. That’s about it.
I’m nervous, man.
This place is so big and busy. Mostly big. The busy part I can probably handle. But it’s huge.
I’ll feel better once I have a handle on my work routine. I only have 30 minutes of Internet (per 10 baht, which is about 50 cents maybe? Idk, 35 baht is about a dollar, so people who enjoy ratios can figure that one out) and I am not sure when it runs out, so best to end this early before the computer shuts down like it did last night during my conversation with Sam and Mollie. Sorry about that.
Yogurt + shower = cooler body temperature??? Let’s see!!

Almost…there………….

I can already tell sleep is going to feel soooo good. I’m here in Tokyo, waiting another hour to depart for Bangkok. The time on my computer (4:05 A.M) is now irrelevant; it is currently 5 pm here. 13 hours of time zapped away into space. We landed in Tokyo, and the first thing that happened when the plane hit the ground was people in blue robes, goggles and masks came aboard. They gave out health surveys to people who felt sick, and took their temperatures. It was a little unnerving, especially when the person sitting next to me raised his hand to be evaluated.

I am sort of embarrassed at my perception of what I thought this airport would be like. I thought it would be more hustle and bustle than I had ever seen, but it’s pretty much like any other airport. There are really cool stores – they sell lots of packaged food like a market would, and tons of other stuff. Needless to say I did some shopping in my spare time. But even better was the cafe I found. I was kind of worried about finding food after realizing there were no sushi vendors like I thought there would be (another embarrassing presumption). But I stumbled upon a wonderful snack/cafe shop and got shrimp tempura udon and edamame. The edamame was served cold, which I’m not used to, so it wasn’t my favorite, but the udon was — let me pause for a moment to relive it —- SO GOOD. The bowl was the size of my head and scallions decorated the broth. If you don’t believe me check it out:

But now the real fun begins. After a 6.5 hour flight, I’ll be getting into Bangkok around midnight. Then I’ll take a cab to the Cozy and CRASH. I hope I can stay awake until then.