Blog 11 - Goodbyes

Today (19/02/11) I said goodbye to two of the volunteers. Emily and Eva. Both will be sorely missed, mainly because with Emily's absence, I'm the only white non-German left in the vicinity. Represent!
It was also Matthias' 19th birthday, so happy birthday Matthias.
Thailand will be much quieter without them, and without Eva definately much dirtier. She likes a clean kitchen, I like to see how many plates I can stack in the sink. Eva is much scarier than I am. Sink gets cleaned. It worked perefectly.

They couldn't leave without saying goodbye to Henry

Emily continues her travels

Travelling "light"

Happy 19th Matthias

Possibly one of my favourite shots

Blog 10 - Clothes and Anthems

Well, I officially give up trying to buy Thai men’s clothes.  Thai women’s clothes – pretty easy to find. I’ve got some lovely shorts and scarves for people back home. However, most Thai men will wear western clothes - jeans, t-shirts and button down shirts with American flags. I’m not travelling 11,000 miles to buy cheap jeans – that’s what TK Max is for. Most men only wear shorts for work and the only people here wearing loose and flowing parachute pants are foreigners trying to blend in. The traditional (I assume) be-toggled jackets and shirts are for women, again not perfect. So, I give up, even if I found the most perfect long shorts I’ve seen woven by the king himself, it’ll pale in comparison to the knowledge I bring back. I know I sound like a twatty student who “found themselves” in the bars of Bangkok, but then again I am a twatty soon-to-be student who got lost in the bars of Bangkok.

To rope this wandering point back on track, I’m spending a week in March/April doing a government-accredited course in massage (I get a certificate and everything!) and in May I have my five day cookery course by the Thai version of Jamie Oliver. Honestly, men’s clothes can go take a ride on a comet, bring on Pad Thai and acupressure. Still, there is one look here I’m dragging back. The triangle “Bandito” scarf look. I’ve brought five thus far, three thick for winter and two silk ones for summer. A.K.A the rest of my trip. They’re really handy when cycling, especially with the flies and dust in Nong Khai. They also cover up my unsightly... well... face. Plus, they keep your neck warm.

I’m also putting this down to more than 30 hours straight of Red Dead Redemption last June. I gain no notoriety when wearing them.

Last Monday marked my final week of teaching. Thai schools break up for their summer holiday in March, and come back in mid May, by which point I’ll be gone and setting fire to a kitchen somewhere. So from March until infinity, well, three months from now, I will be going to the orphanage every weekday to spread the healing power of hugs and allowing my camera to be abused. It’s an 8 o’clock wake up every day, which will be a shock from my spoiled existence of 10am starts for three days a week. A hard day of back breaking toil will... oh wait, we come home at about 1pm. I have time for an afternoon nap. Then maybe I’ll write to the Daily Mail about how much I hate immigrants and take my incontinence medicine.

As well as fashion trends that died out in 1910 (if Red Dead is to be believed) I’m searching for cheap snacks that won’t give me heart disease. My normal diet of budget brand Oreos is delicious, but more self destructive than writing a blog filled with self-deprecating humour. Bread is also good, but I can polish off half a loaf and lick the plate clean of crumbs before having the leftovers. Then buy more biscuits

Finally, very embarrassing moment whilst at school. I was asked about the English National Anthem, I said I’d think about it, but whilst I did, could they sing the Thai version? So a boy proudly sang in a beautiful voice the entire Anthem with a smile on his face. Then, I stumbled through the first verse before admitting I knew only “God save our gracious queen” – try it at home, can you sing all the verses? Thought not.

Although, I like to think my lack of national pride is something that defines me, along with a borderline pathological hatred of tobacco and tendency to trip over nothing. However, I have nothing against the National Anthem, it’s pretty good. And naught against the Queen, she’s a sterling lady. So, I’ve just downloaded the lyrics and plan to sing it in class on Thursday. As any true red-blooded Englishman should.

Wait... isn’t the name Toynbee actually French?

And finally :

*Giggles*

Blog 9 - English Camp

I’m right now on the minibus taking us to English camp. We number me, the Germans – Mattias, Sabine and Eva, James an American ex-pat and some Thai officials from the school. Apparently the driver is a professional. That means he’s allowed to watch music videos whilst driving. There’s a screen built into the dash board. We’re in a triple carriage way. Eep.

I’m probably going to narrate this day by day and post the whole thing up when I get back to Nong Khai so:

Day 1 – I don’t know what to think. They contacted Sabine for volunteer slightly more than a fortnight ago and have changed the dates twice since. And added an extra day when we boarded the minibus. I don’t know the accommodation yet, we could be in separate rooms, we could be in tents. We could be fed free every meal, we might get breakfast. We might have internet connection I might be forced to find an internet cafe to send my mum updates that I’m still alive and haven’t contracted hyper-maleria or turbo-dengue-fever. We’re cramped in a minibus, with about 2 hours ahead of us. Time to crank up the Spektor and watch the Tesco Lotus’, Seven Elevens and KFCs flash by. 

A few hours later, we arrived at Sriboonruangwittayakarn School. Where they got confused over where we were eating.

Second Day – I’m in two minds. The teachers and students are impossible to dislike. They seem like a very tight community. The teachers are friendly, very interested in who we are and where we come from. Many of them just wanted to chat about a very different culture to their own. It started with a giant sing song and dance – rarely a good idea in my books, however the sheer enthusiasm helped stop me smacking my head against the brick work.

We were assigned groups, me with Ratana and the unfortunately named Jureeporn, Ratana having been teaching for over a decade and Juree having only been out of university for a few years. Both were very friendly and I found myself with the best activity available – the treasure hunt. Basically I sat on my arse for 10 minutes and told students “yes that is a stick” or “no, that isn’t a straw”. However, there was almost no time for actually questions from students and they only had to repeat words they were told – hardly teaching. 

Another daily grind...

After a lunch, described in the least as hearty, afternoon activities continued. More sitting in the shade answering questions about how dull Kent is. Then we all congregated in the hall, for that horror that has persisted since childhood. Group dances. There were these silly songs about finding your group, marching and shooing flies. Each one had a little dance to do, which we did as a group. Still, to quote Darwin’s Theory of Evolution, a twat looking like a twat in a vast group of people looking like twats blends in more than the loner twat. What was more horrific was “vegetable swing”. You dangle a large unripe banana between your legs and use it to bat a lime across the hall.

Pictured: Sport

The trick I found was to bend low and use the banana to skid rather than swing, you get more control and a cleaner hit. Honestly, I think I’ve stumbled across the best drinking game of all time. Six people stumbling about with a green banana tied to their nether regions as they attempt to hit a small object on the floor? Add a kitten and you have a YouTube sensation. Hell, up the stakes. Each participant carries with them a bottle of their choice, each time you hit the lime, take a swig.

Then we danced with the teachers, not quite sure why. I offered a more sedate waltz with Ratana and Juree, sweeping them off their feet. Though that could have been the slippery floor and high heels.

We left at around 4, being driven home and warned not to walk alone, as there were no tuk-tuks around for when it got dark. We assumed the school were trying to scare the ignorant farangs and walked the kilometre or two to find dinner. We were then arrested. A man in shorts and a sports shirt driving a pick-up with his girlfriend demanded to see our Thai ID cards – something foreigners don’t get even if they marry a Thai girl. We refused of course, many of these people will look, mention how it’s invalid and demand a few hundred baht to “solve” the problem. He called someone on his phone and eventually (20 minutes on the side of a road) two patrolmen arrived, checked our passports and left. Apparently they were looking for someone. We then returned to the oldest of man’s rituals... well, one of the oldest, and foraged for food. And kind of failed, but we stumbled across a pork and rice shop for a decent dinner. Then, we found no tuk-tuks. We walked to the market, nothing. Looked up and down the road, nothing. Normally a white person can’t cross the road without a tuk-tuk driver offering a lift, but five of us walking down the motorway didn’t attract any taxi-esque attention. We also made the decision not to go on the bus tour. Each of us felt “meh” about the whole situation, and twenty hours with five coach loads of children, and having to be ready by 2am deserved rather more than a “meh”. So, we retire for the night, and prepare for our last day of teaching. Dibs not singing.

Day 3 – more singing!

But I had gone to bed at around 8pm so I could actually maintain coherent thought processes. On the accommodation; we assume it’s a sex hotel. In a country where whole families can share a couple of rooms it can be tricky to get some alone time, but of course there’s the good old fashioned “hire a room by the hour and get jiggy with the nearest prostitute” that civilisation was built on.

James first raised a warning sign – there was a large curtain over the parking garage, in small towns it’s easy to recognise your co-worker’s car – and that’s not his wife! He also gave some sage advice – hotels with numbers for names will be a sex hotel. I’m trying to remember the hotels from all my school trips, see if any long repressed memories surface. Still, Eva left her room locked, and returned to find a condom wrapper in her bin, which she swears isn’t hers. I found a pink wrapper under the bed, which is apparently colour coded for small. Made me giggle. Then weep openly and without shame about where I was. But hey, free internet. Which I of course abused by downloading the entire back catalogue of “The Bugle”.

We told the teachers we weren’t staying for the bus journey, which was well received. They get a day off. I passed another day managing the treasure hunt and took a few photos with Henry, with mixed reactions. We also had appalling breakfast; it’s called congee and is a kind of rice porridge with pork bits. Yum! Our first morning was cheap doughnuts and more shredded bloody pork sandwiches, next morning we had a traditional breakfast. Some traditions should just die out, like witch ducking and poking the village idiot for entertainment.

Because my students were the last sitting down, me and Ismo were punished – we were forced to have dance off. Kind of like Step Up, but with less twatty clothes, less twatty people and more twatty dancing. I did my usual “beautiful tree in the wind” routine, lots of arm waving and swaying but little in the way of actual movement. When I ran dry of ideas, I copied the group dancers in some very uncoordinated 70s style moves. I think I won, though Ismo got many cheers. Something about a rotund man in a tight T-shirt doing the hot potato stirs something primal in the human mind. 

Dance Dance Revolution!

With more bloody singing out the way and more bloody dancing, by this point Eva broke down from exhaustion and a heavy overdose on forced happiness, Matthias was physically sick of papaya salad and Sabine looked like she would punch the next child who asked to sing a song about marching. The day ended with more bloody vegetable swinging, where I lost patience and kicked the lime after a minute of fruitless swinging. Eva declined for moral reasons and Matthias struggled bravely to the end. Egged on by the announcer grunting like a woman in the throes of... tennis... whilst swinging a vegetable from her crotch.

That dragged on for the best part of an hour, where we said goodbye. Matthias and I were besieged by girls wanting photographs (I got 50+, but who’s counting?) and Eva heroically rallied to smile with some of the braver boys. We were presented with a large shawl of fabric, which I swear is a rug, unless it’s a shawl created for Jabba the Hut, and a fold out tissue paper holder. They’re big in Asia. I’m keeping them for my uni room, will be more original than an anarchy symbol and an empty Kingfisher bottle. Actually took me a minute of thinking to remember the name of a beer brand.

We had a long journey back, with a much more lacklustre minibus that before. We were spoilt by efficient air con, LCD screens and adequate legroom. We abandoned James at the Udon Thani Tesco Lotus, I really hope his friend picked him up and he isn’t still there living off a diet of own brand Cola and crisps.

Here follows my summing up of this eclectic three days:

The Staff – were amazing.

Banrith (Rich) was an amazing woman of 35, speaking very good English and being generally funny and a joy to work with. She always smiled and always tried to force food upon us, which is one of the best ways to get on my good side.

Ratana (Nina) fell in love with me, no joke. A woman of middle years who’s been teaching for nearly 20 years. She presented me with a fabulously camp purple and green bag her daughter made, it is right now replaced my unfortunate Plain Lazy bag for day to day travels. She was brilliant, funny and spoke great English. She wants me to come back next year, I had to explain I had uni. She then replied that it’s only two days. I told her I’d think about it.

Jureeporn (Juree) – was a very polite and well mannered young woman who assisted Ratana. I always got the feeling she wanted to be a bit more chatty and open, but felt restricted by her position as a teacher. I would have liked to talk to her more, but never got the chance between her issuing orders, being generally efficient and the very model of Thai organisation. She opened up a lot more on the last day, though I had to beckon for her to get a photo with us, I don’t think she’d have felt it appropriate to join uninvited. 

The Students – were also great. The vast majority (70%) were girls, and all were hard workers and very eager to learn. However, I think it was dulled by most of the “teaching” being boring repetition and hands on activities – fun, but not educational. Still, a few dozen girls now have new Facebook profile pictures, so I consider my job well done. One more thing me and Robert Pattinson have in common, both of us are loved by teenage girls, both of us make very unconvincing vampires and neither of us can act. Mixed in were a few very unconvincing ladyboys – it’s not the Adam’s Apple that gives them away, it’s the hairy legs.

The Associates – Lawrence, James (English, not American) and Ismo, a very portly Finnish gentleman. Ismo was a very loud and proud guy who was constantly eating but was happy to have a dance off with me and James seemed like me in 50 years, or so I hope. Unbowed by age, quiet on the border of anti-social and with a certain dry wit and sarcasm about him that I found refreshing. All he needed was a Trilby hat and I could be looking into the future. A silver fox in all but bushy tail. Still, all were a little obsessed with how I got a three month Visa.

The Actual Teaching – diddly squat. To put it politely. All English commands were followed by a Thai translation, all teaching was limited to the point of non-existence and the songs were mindless drivel like if Willow Smith joined forces with Beiber to create the most mind-numbing and vapid music since S Club 7. “Shoo Fly”, “English Camp go marching in” and “I am happy, you are happy” with too many “friends found” for my misanthropic tendencies. 

Pictured: Education

It was a fun couple of days, but I don’t know how much we actually taught them, or if they’ll remember anything of what we said. Maybe we will fade in to lore, that tall twat with bad dance moves and a silly accent no one understood. Merely a face in a photograph or the object of a middle aged woman’s fantasy.

Hey! Another connection with Pattinson!

I have no idea what I am doing. Or why they keep talking to us

Blog 8 - Feasts and something else that rhymes with feasts. And isn't beasts

Celebrated Chinese new year in proper Thai style... don’t think to hard about that statement. With an early start we turned up to the minibus park with mixed feelings. We had no idea what was happening and how the day would turn out.

Not a great start to be honest, the minibus left without us, forcing us to walk up a busy motorway to try and catch a bus. Luckily, the hosts were driving past and picked us up, saving a heck of a long walk. This is where I was introduced to Lun and Sam – the couple that were running the show. We arrived to their house slightly crushed, Mattias and I are both of a height – I know for a fact my knees seized up. Still, great first impressions – a beautiful house, a fusion of Thai and Western style. I know that sounds like a wankey architecture student bullshitting his way through finals, but it was a stunning place. A traditional Thai entrance, with a minimalist approach that was a contrast to the marble counter-top, mugs of coffee and plush sofa adjoining a lavish study. I had my first taste of “Cereal”. Breakfast in a mug!! Well, in theory.

It tasted decent, I could see myself living off it in uni. Then again I can see myself living off moisture licked from park benches at uni if it pays for a train to Kent. Imagine own brand porridge, watered down significantly and with roughly a plantation’s worth of sugar added, another of Thailand’s running list of “FUCK YOU’S!!!” to diabetics. I could compile a month’s worth of blogs with those.

Still, filled the hole where a stale bread roll and crappy butter didn’t quite satisfy. When I arrived, we were greeted by a traditional Chinese celebration, kinda like something out of Mulan. Four shrines to the ancestors, one for each direction and each laden with food. And whisky, as Sabine attended to.

And when I say laden, I mean buckerroo just before he kicks. Whole chickens and ducks, bowls of rice, peanut brittles, sweets and a mix of soft drinks for the non-alcoholic ancient spirit. Ironic really. We then proceeded to each one, lighting and planting incense as we went. As well as instructing the ancestors on what to eat. Personal recommendation – the duck was fantastic. But more on that later.

We then retired to the house for a while to let the incense burn down completely – then the fun began. Lun is Thai-Chinese – a relatively common mix in this part of Thailand. So we go by Chinese rules. And that means fire, lots and lots of fire. They burn symbolic wealth for the ancestors, in return for it to come back to them in the real world. So, we burned gold boats, paper clothes and a metric fuckton of fake money. £10,000,000,000 notes were the staple, with a few paltry $10,000s thrown in with a smattering of fake gold coins. Apparently Lun’s brother burns a brand new Mercedes Benz every year. For you doubters – he’s able to buy a new sports car every year – he can’t be doing badly. If I become a multi-trillionaire in the next few months, I can thank the Asian ancestors I never knew I had. That was fun, anything with fire is fun. Well, except for the Vietnam war.

Then, we settled down to feast. All the food must be eaten, so I grudgingly complied. Roasted ducks, boiled chickens, stir fries by the wok, buckets of rice and bowls of fresh fruit. The duck was cooked to perfection, the chicken was succulent, the stir fry full of flavour and crunch and the sauce was the best I’ve ever had. And I’ve had a lot of sweet chilli sauce. We settled down to honour the ancestors. And I did seven platefuls of honouring. Then the fruit had to be eaten, half a melon, a handful of lychees and three bananas later I considered the ancestors honoured to the brim. Though, Lun loaded us down with bags of peanut brittles and couple of portions of poultry and a selection of fresh fruit.

 This was only about half of it

My pathetic attempt to justify the marathon gorge now follows. In many Asian cultures – Thailand included – the best guest is one who clears a plate and asks for more. Ergo, I was the greatest guest, I cleared probably half the table. Also Thai food is impossible to get fat on. I didn’t get the disgusted bloaty feeling one gets from Western food.

However, what eclipsed the food was Lun herself. She was a truly amazing woman. A UN care worker for roughly 27 years, she’s one of the most talented in Thailand. She spent her early years helping Laos residents out of their war torn country. Considering Laos had a Socialist uprising that remains to this day, that’s quite a feat. She’s spent time in Africa founding healthcare camps and refugee sanctuaries. Then, she told us of her mother. Diagnosed with bronchitis and lung cancer, she was given a week to live. Lun prayed to Buddha, got an answer and stayed with her mother, sacrificing a $70,000 job in Africa. Practically living in the hospital, her mother lasted three years, dying near the day she was first diagnosed.

As after dinner speakers go, she outranks Tony Blair any day. Also, she liked my Trilby hat. What a woman.

So, we left, and it wasn’t even lunch time. Who’s up for a pad-Thai?

Blog 7 - Idioms and Idiots

Well, today was weird. I had to explain a list of English idioms for Jack. I never thought how weird idioms were before I had to teach someone using limited language with next to no knowledge of British culture.

“Break a leg” – I attempted to make stories about the Globe theatre and Shakespearean actors. He didn’t know what a Globe theatre was had only a rudimentary grasp of what a Shakespeare was. Therefore the seating arrangements of the theatre, about poor people drooling onto the stage and making actors fall over was replied with a blank look and a polite smile. When he failed to understand – quite rightly – my frankly shite explanation, I spun a web of bullshit – one of the worst webs I find – about how people at a theatre would put their arms onstage and people would fall over them. That seemed to work.

“Gets to me” I started with chalk stick figures, always a last resort and it looked like someone firing a comically oversized bow and arrow. Jack nodded, but he’s probably just being sympathetic. “Face it” began my tale of masculinity, power and the fight to defeat everything you run away from. After more bullshit spinning, he got the right end of the stick.

“Bless you” was particularly difficult to describe, primarily of what the Black Death was and why people should be blessed, but with over-exaggerated miming on a par with a drunk Englishman on a beach holiday in Spain trying to tell the bartender to go back to his own country and sheer dogged determination, this one was understood. “Blue blood” turned slightly racist, “blood from a stone” was tricky for people as logical, smart and literally minded as the Thais and don’t get me started on “raining cats and dogs”.

Then began one of the most surreal moments of my life. He wanted a list of English slang, and it was difficult trying to think of slang that did not concern the human genitalia, sexual preference or offensive names for people from Manchester or Liverpool. I realised how sordid much of the English language is. I had to resort to slang that was “in” before I was even born. “Wassup”, “wicked” and “guv” deigned to show their faces, and by extension disco medallions and wafros worn without irony. Still, “mate” “cool” “bezzies” and “awesome” made the list, and Jack diligently began use of these in conversation, I left school today to the call of “see ya mate”. I feel kind of bad, a few days ago I met a mild mannered and impeccably polite Thai man, who now sounds like an American caricature in a shitty sit-com. Paradise lost and all that.

Another break down of communication happened today. I went to buy a few days worth of bread, I said “see” (four) to the stand owner. She misheard me and assumed “sib”. When I looked back she was stuffing 10 bread rolls into my bike basket and I didn’t have the heart to tell her to put 6 of them back. She’d barely sold any and it was getting on for 3pm. It serves me right for trying to flash my new found language skills when they’re not needed. She speaks perfect English when it comes to numbers. My accent and mangled Thai just confused her. My fridge is now dominated by bread rolls, rapidly growing stale. Guess that's breakfast sorted for the next week and a bit.

Blog 6 - Teaching and Campness

My schedule:

Monday – 8am-12pm lessons – 1 hour lunch break – 1pm-4pm lessons

Tuesday – 8am-12pm lessons – lunch – 1pm-3pm lessons – sport

Wednesday – 10am-12pm lessons – lunch

Thursday – 10am-12pm lessons – lunch – 1pm-3pm lessons

Friday – 11-12pm lessons – lunch – 1pm-2pm lessons

Overall, I’m happy with the schedule. I spend maybe 30mins at the end helping the teacher with some extra work and English skills, and the lunch is amazing. My choice of noodle soup, various rice dishes or pad Thai, all cooked right in front of you, with fresh ingredients for only 20 baht. (Pronounced “bah”, as I found out only this morning).

The teacher I am helping is called Jack, he’s an ex-Buddhist monk. Many monks only serve as full monks, orange robes, collecting alms for the poor, praying for hours at a time e.t.c. for a few years, in return for education and free bed and board for much of their life. It’s often a way for less financially affluent families to unload a spare son onto the church, and have them educated. Jack graduated from teacher’s university recently and has landed a place as a full English teacher at the college. He’s a great guy, very neat and organised, as one would expect from someone used to restrictive lifestyle for a decade and eager to learn from me. It’s kind of odd, he’s a 26 year old graduate who asks questions like a toddler when faced with a long car journey. Only instead of “are we there yet?” or “when can I go to the bathroom?” it’s “can you give me the story of Jesus and his teachings?”, can you list many famous European scientists and their achievements?” and “what is the state of Buddhism in England?”

He seems genuinely interested in a range of subjects that frequently keep me on my toes, and lunch breaks are really enjoyable as I spend most of them lecturing him and a gaggle of students about life, the universe and everything. They didn’t get my “42” joke. I think a young Thai boy wants to be a scientist when he grows up, so I spent today answering questions about how scientists are regarded in British society, the various stages of university you need to do as well as bursaries, loans and foreign students.

There are a variety of classes, as I’ve mentioned. I must say I enjoy the class made up of girls the most. This isn’t me being a perv, misogynistic or bias. I can justify myself! The girls seem a lot more eager to learn than many of the boys, or at least more open about their enjoyment. Many male students are very self-conscious or even shy if you try to ask questions or ask them directly to stand up and speak. The girls however, ask a lot of questions, always read confidently and respond well to corrections and constructive criticism. Amongst them is also my favourite student, Mikey. He is without doubt the campest Asian since Gok Wan. Like Thai Chris Colfer. All I need now is an Asian Rachel and I can begin filming Thai Glee(!). Nevertheless, he is also very eager to pick up English and always very hard to pronounce difficult words correctly.

It’s not just my teaching though. I’ve picked up a lot of Thai off my students. I can now count up to 10 fluently, up to 100 sort of, make conversation and say “I love you”. Now all I need to learn is the Thai for “It’s not you, it’s me” “we should see other people” and “you may want to get tested, turns out a banana skin is not adequate contraception”.

Blog 5 - Excel and Mosquitoes

I’m writing this blog to avoid smashing my face repeatedly against the nearest hard object.

Forgive me if I make a “that’s what she said joke” to alleviate the suicidal tendency.

What could have brought on this mood? Lack of faith in the idea that humanity will ever dredge themselves up from this pit of shite we live in? The fact I whacked my head on a low doorway recently? The cold and empty vacuum of space that lurks scant miles away as we sit protected in a flimsy layer of cloud and physics?

No. The answer can only be: Microsoft Excel. I’ve spent the last half hour doing my budget. Filling in details of food I’m buying, gift allowance and transport for the next 15 weeks. That’s a lot of scrolling up and down, typing in letters and numbers followed by * (how the fuck does that mean multiply anyway?) and incomprehensible formulae that screw themselves up for no apparent reason. If any of you are nosy/intrigued/born to be accountants I’ll upload a screenshot after I pick my teeth from the desk and stem the blood flow. Still, it’s all done, and roughly I will have 4,164ish Baht left at the end of my stint in Nong Khai without plundering my ISA or current account. 

Following up on what could be the most depressing blog intro so far since Linkin Park announced “Crawling” back when the Millennium was young and exciting, I want to point out something that still makes me laugh.

Thai Ferrero Rocher is called “Success Chocolate”.

This marks the end of my second day of teaching. I teach at a college literally 10 minutes cycle from my house. It’s a mixed school in the same way that Bethany School was mixed. It’s a vocational college, historically for boat building, but now for a variety of craft work, traditionally in Thai culture, this is a male – dominated area. However, there is a great department of language and general smart-arsery that attracts more than a few girls as well.

Apparently they’re well known for their high quality of English teaching, but my place there is very important to them. Many Thais learn English, but only reading and writing skills. When it comes to speaking, they have little idea of how to pronounce much of the language, and therefore is slight use in modern industry. Having an actual native English speaker – accent and all – gives the student body a great advantage. Even English teachers, who have a degree from a “Rajabhat” university have only some idea of how words should be pronounced.

So, even some English twat can become very useful. And I consider myself very English, and very much a twat. I’ve spent the past two days helping a variety of students, 14 to 20, to accurately speak English. I feel like I’ve made some impact on this community, and therefore the world, and can go to bed happy.

That is until I wake up to find mosquitoes have used every spare ounce of my body as a buffet. An all you can eat buffet, with free entry, neon lights and scantily clad mosquito hookers seductively waving in patrons.

And by patrons I mean creatures of pure hate winging their way straight from the noxious fumes of Satan’s most unclean orifices.

Enjoy the mental image!

As far as I can tell, this is a crude drawing

of a penis, in tipex, on the desk of the classroom.

Different continent, country and culture.

Still a penis

Blog 4 - Orphanage and Market

Thursday and Friday mark my first introduction to the government run orphanage for young boys. Getting a “minibus” – essentially a tuk-tuk on steroids across the motorway, me sticking my head out the side enjoying the view. Kind of like a 6ft 3, trilby-hatted Labrador. Without the adorable ears and tail. Still pretty fluffy though.

We arrived and were greeted by a veritable hoard of Thai children running towards us. Put them in pointy helmets and arm them with swords and you have the battle of Stanford Bridge all over again. Except with only one Englishman. And an Australian and an American. And a distinct lack of sea, and a bridge for that matter. Fuck knows where Stanford is anyway. But apart from that, identical.

Where was I? Oh yes, Thai child hoard. We had our hands taken and were dragged towards a large, open building surrounded by fields and buildings. I was eagerly shown the turkeys and chicks, wild pigs and ducks that were kept and tended by the boys and staff. My camera was swiftly relieved from me and was returned after an hour or two. Some very odd photos, and odder videos. I’ll upload one when I get the chance. The kids love anything technical, my camera amused a group of them for most of the afternoon, they changed most of the settings and used programs I’d never even touched. I only use auto-focus, the photographical Philistine I am. Basketball was fun, as Kevin and I were soundly trounced by some unnaturally good 8 year olds. Still, I scored a few by virtue of being able to slam dunk and block most shots with merely a swipe of my arm. The rest of the afternoon was taken by being hugged by a mob of children, and having them hold my hand. Many of the children lived on the streets, more have some sort of mental disorder, so personal contact and reassurance is very important to them. Emily, the American girl, was in high demand for hugs. Can’t imagine why.

The kids were real posers. Moment a camera was shown, they immediately got in the shot. Fingers almost instinctively making peace signs, smiles appearing and heroic poses struck. It was a really fun couple of days, and I like to think we made a difference to them. I’ll probably be seeing them many times over the next few months.

I examined the market for a few hours today, and barely scratched the surface, as I’d guessed. Still, there were a few things that attracted my notice. Not always a good thing. For example, full suits of SWAT body armour, a T-shirt proclaiming “Always watching you” with a picture of a stick man drilling a hole in a wall and looking at a stick woman, and an anime Hitler t-shirt. Re-read that again. Take it in.

It was Adolf Hitler, in the 1940’s most fashionable Nazi attire, in anime style, big, round eyes, smile on his face, standing making the peace sign and leaning in the way all the cool kids do whilst “Adolf Hitler” was emblazoned in a big “funky” font beneath it. I was stunned, was this an example of irony, the fallback of many racists? A misunderstanding on a colossal scale? A tasteless joke? I considered buying one for my dad. He owns the documentaries; he owns the books, now he can own the t-shirt.

Plenty was going on in the market, I was wondering if I could wear a full SWAT gear and carry a 4ft Katana through customs. My next thought was that I could put fluid over 100ml in my hand luggage, and that would probably distract them long enough to sneak through. Would a sword fit in the overhead compartment? The next was the sheer amount of stuff for sale, gift shopping will take the same amount of thought and effort as a PhD in theoretical physics. Well, nearly. The compromise is finding something that is in the Thai style, but will still be worn and not gather dust in the cupboard. There were schools of Thai students wandering through the market. I frequently got the feeling I was being stared at, looked up and made eye contact with a blushing teenager, who then looked away. I do bang on about how attractive I am to Thai people. Not that I’m covering up some sort of deep seated insecurity or anything.

I’ll be uploading photos when I can, hope the weekend is good for all you.

Blog 2 - Nong Khai

I’ve finally reached Nong Khai. This is where I’ll spend the next four months teaching and living. It’s a beautiful place. Situated on a river bank, it borders the Communist... sorry, “socialist party” Laos. You can see Laos life from Nong Khai, I’ll have to cross over to renew my Visa once mine runs out. I’ve heard it’s an amazing place to spend a day or two, but I’m keeping my options open. Border hopping for Visa is a common enough practice that many travel sites and books have ideas of how to spend a day taking in the sites.

I pretty much fell off the train from Bangkok, having had the bright idea to stay awake the whole ten hour duration. Still, wrote the first blog and listened to a good amount of a twenty-two hour audiobook (Brent Weeks – the Black Prism, available now). I’m living in a relatively spacious typical Thai home, kitchen, bathroom, few bedrooms and a large living room. There was still some work going on when I moved in, but most of the lights seem to be working, power is consistent and the water is now working properly.

This is particularly important due to my love for showers. But also, the government is creating water defences to protect the shrinking Thai beaches and damaged roads. This means the dust thrown up by lorries and concrete mixers is nothing short of choking. Plenty of my clothes and shoes are covered in a muddy red dust that seems to be everywhere. I’m getting around mostly by bike, the main three transports seem to be bikes, mopeds and pick-up trucks. Of course, bikes are at the bottom, and pulling out into a junction can be terrifying. The bikes are fixed gear, which is a change for me, but with the landscape being completely flat with no hills I can see, it’s not much of an issue.

Nong Khai is a peculiarly shaped place. It consists of three main streets running parallel, but stretched very thin. It’s very narrow, but continues for miles, so navigating your way around is simple, just head left and you’ll eventually find your street, and keep one direction until you see the turning for the house. I’m having a couple of problems finding my way around, especially finding a decent German Bakery for breakfast but I’m sure I’ll start recognising some of the landmarks soon and be able to have a Danish pastry before long.

The street I’m on is relatively busy, mostly cafes but a few pubs and shops mixed in. Including the wonderful ex-pat bar Mut Maa’s, a place I’m writing now due to the free wi-fi and pleasant atmosphere. The owner is Julian, originally of South Hampton, who lives here with his Thai wife and two children. It’s mostly populated by tourists, backpackers and other ex-pats, all in search of a cold beer and a good hearty meal. Thai food is delicious, but doesn’t fill you up like a warm English breakfast. They also run boat tours down the river, which I’m interested in on a day off, apparently the views are dazzling.

I had one new experience that is completely unknown to me. Whilst in the market (more on that when I’ve explored more, you could spend a day wandering around and still scrape the surface) I was spotted by a group of excitable Chinese girls, who all wanted a photograph with me. The excuse was they had an art project on foreigners, but I think we all know the real reason. Somewhere on Facebook right now there’s probably a picture of me looking awkward surrounded by smiling girls all about as tall as my shoulder. Still, they all seemed happy and gave me a happy and respectful “swai” (traditional Thai greeting) when they left me, looking confused and a little amused. People seem amazed by my height,  they seemed particularly proud to have snagged this giant foreigner roaming free around Nong Khai market.

This afternoon I have my first visit to the orphanage, which I’m honestly apprehensive about. It’s going to be a pretty steep learning curve, but I hope I’ll be some hope to the whole affair. Best regards to those of you in England, I should have some interesting yarn to spin once I start teaching at my college, on Monday.

First Post - Journey To Nong Khai

Note to all wannabe travellers out there – travelling more than 24 hours at once is not a smart move. In the same way trying to break down a door with your face is a bad idea. Still, if you succeed it’ll be quite an accomplishment. The fact I’m not snoozing in a ditch somewhere show’s Man’s determination to survive. And not knowing when to give up.

Things began well on Sunday morning, as well as waking up a 6am and saying goodbye to your loved ones can be “well”. I escaped security without being groped, and the scanner didn’t find the corpse wrapped Dexter-style in my hand luggage. All’s well that ends well. The 13 hour flight to Hong Kong was surprisingly enjoyable, caught a few pretty good films (including Splice – an awesome new psychological horror), and the seat next to me was empty. Woo leg room! 

Safely landed in a confusing sprawl of an airport claiming to be Hong Kong. For all I know it was Slough with a pretty convincing facade – but hey. Duty free rubbish is duty free rubbish. After having to take a metro ride to my gate, and contemplating how many gates are too many, I arrived in the departure lounge. Chinese news – the economic stability of the country and a scientific breakthrough. English news – the nominations for a film award. Read into that what you will.

After a short hop to Bangkok – barely enough time for a decent nap, I emerged blinking, bemused and in desperate need of a shower into the nightmare that is customs and immigration. Following the airport’s frantic attempts to sell me cheap whisky, I stumbled onto a shuttle bus bound for Huamlompong (I think) Station. A startling realisation hit me; the drivers of Bangkok drive like fucking lunatics. From the chaos, one rule prevailed. Bigger vehicle means right of way. However, try telling that to the driver of the myriad scooters weaving between the tyres of buses. I’m pretty sure most of the pedestrians are infact Ninjas, crossing the road requires at least two eyes in the back of your head and senses six – nine. Red light means nothing if not speed up to the hapless walkers navigating the side streets, I’m pretty sure foreigners are worth extra points.

Forgive me if this sounds a little negative, I’ve loved my two days, or one day, depending on time difference, in Thailand. Reminiscent of my spree in India, but with less dead dogs and misogyny. The sights have been great, the people very friendly and the food fantastic. Seriously, noodles with hoi sin duck cooked fresh in front of you, served with stir fry and very well seasoned. For roughly the price of olives in a UK restaurant. Still, avoid “Chinese Nektar”. I’m pretty sure they simply dumped a tub of golden syrup in a cup, added a dash of fruit juice and topped with sugar for shits and giggles. Taking more than a sip was pretty much a tongue overload and a mouthful left you wincing as your teeth visibly decayed.

At time of writing I am on the train for Nong Khai, sharing a seat with a Thai lady, of a certain age, who is settling in and shows no sign of climbing to her bunk and vacating MY sleeping nook. Oh yes, and my ticket is for “Woman”. Maybe the ticket officer saw my iTunes most played list.

I’m attempting to keep this post under two pages (of Microsoft Word anyway) to avoid people losing interest. Maybe I should write BOOBS or SEX every so often to keep them entertained. In essence, Thailand has left a good first impression on me. Great people, relatively simple to use transport, food beyond compare and freakishly scary school kids playing Counter Strike. They were lke pwning every n00b out there. However, with roughly eight of them playing with sound on, the phrases “Throwing a grenade” and “reloading” are probably going to be imprinted on my mind for weeks. The voice actress for a female character was even more annoying. Her shrill voice will haunt my dreams for decades.

Ok, that’s me thus far. I’m going stay awake for another ten hours and abuse my iPod battery life some more, before arriving at my destination. Two audiobooks down, roughly a month’s worth left to go.