A Thai Boon

December 5th, 2009

From my understanding, Buddhists believe that if you are born with great privilege, then you are deserving because you have earned it through much merit in past lives. Not being Buddhist myself, I don't have such conviction and therefore often spend time contemplating this concept.

Last year, I spent some time living with a family and volunteering in the school of a hilltribe village in Thailand called Ban La Oop. Upon return last week, the family again warmly welcomed me into their modest home without a moment of hesitation. I brought with me armloads of groceries, but even if I hadn't the seven of them would have gladly shared their meals with me.

I learned that the school had recently been closed for a month due to a "government inspection". Even now there are not many classes in session because the teachers need to catch up on missing paperwork. The children have a couple of classes throughout the day but spend a greater amount of time playing in the yard or doing independent study.

I imagined back to my days in school and how excited I would have been, as many of the children in La Oop are, to not have to go to class. Janjira, the eldest daughter of the family I stay with, is perhaps a bit wiser than I was and feels differently about the situation. Education is something that she greatly desires and she is willing to sacrifice for it. This year, at the age of thirteen she will graduate from the highest grade at the La Oop school. At this point, her family must decide if she will go on with school or not. Janjira, unlike some children, has a great desire to go on with school. However it is not so easy for her as it was for my classmates and I in the US.

To continue her education she must commute one hour each-way in the back of a pick-up to a private school in the nearest town. Being the eldest child of five, she is expected to help with the expenses of the family. Although the monthly tuition is not much by western standards, it is not an easy thing for the family to pay for.

Even after spending much of her day studying, doing chores and watching the baby, Janjira musters enough energy to practice her already beautiful English. Always pausing over the words she doesn't know and asking me to spell them out. She has encouraged her whole family to do the same and now they all have by far the best English in the village.

The night before I left, the second eldest, Om shyly admitted that her and her mom share one pair of sandals. The type of sandals they wear literally cost less than I spend on a beer, so I spoiled her a bit with paying an extra dollar to get the cute ones with the flowers.

Despite all this, the family is far from a charity case. They are grateful for all that they have, a healthy loving family, rich soil to grow their food, plenty of clean water, a solid hut and a lovely simple hilltribe village filled with their family, friends and rich traditions.

Not all in this region are so privileged. The road south from La Oop traverses the western rim of Thailand, bordering Burma.

Yesterday, I traveled for nine hours down to and along this road in a songthaew (a pick-up with benches in the back that serves as a taxi.) There are no other public transportation options from La Oop to Mae Sot and the ride can at times be slightly miserable but is always an intriguing one.

I know this ride well from doing it several times last year in order to renew my visa in Mae Sot. There is a constant fluctuation in the number of passengers. I have been the only one and I have been one of 28. Only once have I seen any other foreigners aboard this particular route.

Just being born in the US has given me the privilege to cross almost any border I choose. It is easy to become frustrated with visas but it is so small an inconvenience in comparison with that of so many. As I become too familiar with in San Diego, people sacrifice life savings and jeopardize their lives and freedom to cross a border. If they make it, there is often no chance to make it back to visit the loved ones they left behind. Honestly that's enough for me to really question how it came to be that I was handed so much. The scales are so far tipped that it can become something that I forget to even feel grateful for.

I was reminded as I saw a nervous family being pulled across the border river in a large innertube as I stayed dry and worry free walking across the bridge, American passport in hand.

Aside from just the legal aspects, I have been allotted much more in order to travel. Technically in the US, I am considered to fall just about at the poverty line. This of course I could change at any time and is only because of decisions I have made and my freedom to choose my own lifestyle. I have lived mostly out of my truck for the past year and a half to allow for mobility and to save my limited income for adventure and a little volunteering.

Many people even in the US find this strange. They perhaps feel I have my values out of order, not striving for money and stability for myself. Most Thais feel that it is strange for someone without much money to travel simply because they've never been free of the pressure and desire to provide for their families.

For myself, I have been granted with the stability of a family that does not need to rely on me for financial support and that is lovingly supportive of me leading my adventure filled positive life. If the Buddhists are right, I can't even imagine the merit I must have done to deserve so much privilege.

I passed one of the poorest sections of the region on my songthaew ride. It is filled with refugee camps that some Burmese families have lived in for generations. The simple flimsy bamboo huts seem to fill every available space in some areas. Many of the people that board the songthaew have only dirty and tattered clothes clinging to their skinny frames. Despite the efforts of many NGOs, the refugees from Burma's brutal regime don't have adequate food, healthcare or education.

One mother boarded with her two small children in one of the hardest hit areas. The beautiful little girl and her toddler brother stared at me with curious but unsmiling faces. I'm sure it was as difficult for them to imagine what my life is like as it is for me to comprehend what they must go through.

I tried smiling at them, but I was returned with only heart-breakingly sad eyes and slight, yet solid frowns.

They rode for awhile before ringing the buzzer to get off. A man was standing on the other side of the two lane highway. The children called out excitedly for him as they disboarded. The mother struggled with a rice sack.

Suddenly the woman across from me let out a bloodcurdling scream. Then I heard the squealing of tires. I looked up to the road to see the little boy being narrowly missed by a truck that then began careening out of control. It was up on two wheels now, sideways across the road. A motorbike with two men were unable to stop on time and were forced into a ditch, the man in the back getting knocked off by a branch.

The father ran across the road, scooping up his son and bringing him back to safety. Miraculously, the truck stayed upright, the men from the motorbike hopped right up and the family remained intact. Despite all their hardships and perhaps lack of privilege I saw at that moment the faces of people whom were unmistakably happy to be alive. I hope I never forget that.

American Whirlwind

Nov. 8th, 2009

Three weeks, 3,000 miles in my truck, one flight to the east coast and back, one ride to Vegas and one blown out tire. That is the basic summation of my time spent between finishing work in Washington and flying out to Thailand. It's no wonder I ended up sick as a dog the day before I was supposed to leave the country.

I finished my last Outward Bound course for the season at the end of September. It was a sea kayaking course in the San Juan Islands that was specifically designed for veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan.

The course was a great success, very rewarding and a lot of fun. Afterwards I took a day off to get my Myanmar visa in order (which is not an easy feat when you are living in a "2 stop sign town"). I then spent my remaining couple of weeks in Washington working every day as a logistics coordinator.

The evening of my last day of work was spent locating all of my stuff that I had stashed in various locations around basecamp over the last five months and then stuffing it all back into my truck.

The day before, my friend asked me what I wanted to have for my last dinner on base. I was super tired and trying to take a nap so all that I had answered was "pie....pumpkin pie...." "And..." she pried. "and.... whipcream" was my only response. From this my few co-workers left on base, created an early Thanksgiving celebration. This was really lovely for me because I will be in Asia over the real holiday.

I then began my whirlwind visit of friends and family all over the country. (If I didn't see you, hopefully you will understand the reason after reading my itinerary.)

I spent a night in Seattle, a lunch date in Olympia, a night in Portland, a night on the McKenzie River, a lunch date in Brownsville, a night in Eugene, back to the McKenzie, a night in Chico, a lunch date in Sonoma, a night in Halfmoon Bay, a couple nights in San Diego. I then flew to the East coast to spend a few nights in Baltimore, a night in New York City, and one more night in Baltimore before flying back west. I spent my birthday in San Diego before catching a ride from Barstow to Vegas where I spent two nights with some friends from Texas. I caught a ride back to Barstow, then blew out my tire (luckily within cell phone range this time) on I-5 on my way back to Halfmoon Bay. I stayed there for a couple of nights where I became ill, battled it and willed myself to recover before flying from San Francisco to Bangkok.

Phew, I am currently swaying in a hammock, under a palm tree, along the river Kwai in Thailand and a new wave of exhaustion hit me just thinking about it.

Oh well, I wouldn't have changed a thing, it was so amazing to see everyone that I was able to see, and hopefully I'll be able to see the rest of you on my next adventure in the States.

Until then, I plan to travel at a much more leisurely pace.

Immediately following the Outward Bound Lead Instructor training I jumped into the end of Logistic Coordinator training. This summer I am filling in my time between instructing courses with logistics work. It is a great set up for me. I can be an active member of the Outward Bound community for the entire summer and hopefully save up enough money to spend my winter traveling and volunteering in South East Asia again.

The last night of logistics training we decided to throw a little celebration. We played lots of games that outdoor educators are famous for and then settled around a bon fire. Around midnight, my new coworker Lilita, announced that she had decided to drive down to Chico for the long weekend to visit her boyfriend and attend her friend's graduation party.

For months I had been wanting to go to Eugene that weekend to see the Michael Franti and Spearhead concert. I had reluctantly given up the idea because I didn't want to waste so much money driving there alone.

"I would love to give you a ride! ... uhh, I'm leaving at 4:30 tomorrow morning though."

A few short hours later, I was in Lilita's car with two other new co-workers, Joe Bob from Texas and Rolando from Chile, whom had also elected to come along for the adventure. She dropped us off at the bus station in downtown Eugene later that afternoon.

My uncle Don happened to be giving a slide show of Burma that night in Eugene. It was a benefit to promote Close Up Expeditions and a non-profit organization called Thirst Aid that starts factories in Burma to make clay water filters.

My friends and I walked across town with our packs and made it just in time. I even had the opportunity to meet the founder of Thirst Aid. She generously offered me her card and invited me to contact her while I am in Burma. That was one business card I made sure to put directly in my wallet. I have a feeling it will come into play in a future adventure.

The next few days I spent playing the tour guide for my home town, staying at my Uncle's house in Brownsville, dancing at a concert at the Cuthbert Amphitheater and visiting with a few loved ones. We made it back to basecamp with 10 minutes to spare before work on Monday morning.

With a month to go before I instruct my first course of the summer, I have been living the life of a "logistician". I have already made four trips back and forth between basecamp in Mazama and the San Juan Islands and I will head back there again tomorrow.


My last trip out was to provide training to the new logistics coordinators, Lilita and Paul. I was to show them the ropes of supporting an Outward Bound course and to run a recon mission on other course areas in the San Juans.

This mission took us from Lopez island to Shaw where we easily hitched a ride with a woman that drove out of her way to drop us at the campground. While there we met an old woman that had been peacefully walking down the beach picking things up and putting them into a bucket. Lilita asked what she was hunting for.

"Oh, me? I'm just picking up trash. I used to collect shells, but then I was noticing a lot of trash. So, several years ago I switched over. They leave a trashcan out for me year round." She humbly admitted.

"Thanks a lot! No wonder it always looks so good here." I told her.

"Oh, no thanks necessary." She giggled. "I enjoy it anyhow."

On our trek back to the ferry we discovered bushes filled with ripe Salmon berries. That did it, I was ready to move to the islands. Great people, great scenery, you can take off at any moment in a kayak, and salmon berries. It's almost too much.

We made our way down the road one salmon berry bush to the next until we caught another ride. They took is right to the ferry heading to Orcas Island where we planned to spend the night. Although I have circumnavigated Orcas Island many times, I have not spent much time on it's shores. Paul was the only one of us that had been to the mountain on the island.

"Hmm..." Paul said. "This might make for an interesting night if we don't catch a ride to the park. It's really far to walk."

"Well, that's alright." I responded. "These things have a way of working out, or they don't, and we'll deal."

Both Paul and Lilita full heartedly agreed.

Knowing quite well, the stress that comment would cause for most people, I had to smile to myself when I saw how they responded. I knew I had the perfect two people with me for this mission.

Unbelievably are luck was about to get even better. Our driver picked us up and literally went the extra mile. He took us quite a bit out of his way and into the campground. He then proceeded to call in a personal favor with the park ranger to get us the best available spot. The ranger then takes it upon himself to encourage our driver, Norm, to also drive us all the way up to the top of Mt. Constitution.

"Ah, what the hell!" Norm said. "I'm supposed to meet some guys about work, but what are they gonna do? I'm the one that signs the checks."


He drove us up to the top to show us the world class view of the San Juan Islands. I was a little concerned that he would feel entitled to something from us. I was put at ease when he admitted that he drives by the mountain all the time but hadn't allowed himself an excuse to come up for over two years. He was just as excited about it as we were.

I could have spent all day up there looking down at all the islands and reminiscing over past adventures in the San Juans. Eventually Norm decided his workers had probably waited long enough for him, and so he drove us down and dropped us at our lovely little campsite.

As we were about to snuggle into our sleeping bags under the stars Lilita realized that it might not be a good idea keep the food inside of her borrowed backpack. We didn't have a car or tent to put it into and we had failed to bring rope to do a proper food hang. So, we settled on stuffing it into a bag and hanging it from a tree branch. I know, I know, I'm still embarrassed about it.

About 4 am I was brought out of a deep sleep by the sound of something crunching. Our granola!

I let out a loud "HEY!" and clapped my hands hard. Once I got my headlamp on I saw the culprit. There was a raccoon poised above the bag on the scrawny tree. It didn't want to give the granola up. It stood for a moment then returned to crunch some more of our breakfast.

"HEY!" I yelled again. I have a long held great fear of raccoons from a traumatic experience as a young girl, so there was no way I was going to go over there. Lilita on the other hand, apparently has nerves of steel and stepped in on my losing battle. She just walked right over, grabbed the bag only feet away from the raccoon and kept it safely with her for the rest of the night. I think that I was more scared from watching the scenario then she was walking up there.

The trip back to the truck was accented with more easy ride catching and a fare share more of characters. After such an awesome time, it was difficult for me to leave the islands and go back to the mountains. Although the mountains are beautiful and I love many aspects of living at the Outward Bound basecamp, my heart and soul are with the sea. Most of my favorite activities involve the water. I was comforted knowing that I will be spending more time there again this summer. I suppose things could be worse.

Plunging back into Outward Bound

Heading east on the scenic Cascade Highway, with my new co-worker Rolando, I could feel the distance between the sea and myself growing. However, driving down a road where I know well the beautiful twists and dips provided me the reassuring beckoning of a home I hadn't been to in seven months.

Smiling faces and big hugs abounded as I walked into the Outward Bound basecamp. It was overwhelming to be back with so many people that I care deeply for.

Being an outdoor educator provides for many opportunities to create strong bonds with coworkers and students. Many of whom, I will never see again. The rest, I often don't see for long stretches and have only limited contact with. This has taught me to appreciate each moment with the special people in my life.


The lead instructor training had a much different feeling than I had been expecting. I had imagined the cold unrelenting rain that is common in the San Juan Islands this time of year. Instead I experienced what it is like to flip over into the cold waters for rescue practices and then actually be able to warm up under the blue skies and shining sun. I was only in shivering pain for a few minutes at a time instead of half of a day. It was great!

Near the end of the training we were practicing rescues in Deception Pass, which is known for its strong currents. Just as I was in the crux move of a paddle float self rescue, my friend Chris exclaimed, "Oh! There's a whale right there!"

"Yeah, right." I didn't even consider believing her as I was quickly getting pushed downstream and trying to maintain my balance in a difficult move.

"No! I'm serious, it's right behind you!"

With one leg still stretched out in the water I glanced behind me just in time to see the spout of a whale. Oh my! I scrambled the rest of the way into my boat in time to see its back bridge out of the water.

We just looked at each other with disbelieving smiles. Despite my constant surveillance of the water and 60 days spent paddling in the San Juans the year prior, I had only seen one pod of whales in the area.

Ah, it's going to be a good summer.

The Lone Star State

I've finally done it! I have stayed in one city, without leaving, for over a month. I can't even remember the last time I did that. It's been at least a couple of years. So, you may be wondering, where is this amazing place that has lured me in to cool my heals. Would you believe I am in Texas?!

I flew from Thailand to Arizona, spent a few days relaxing and hiking with my parents, then started up my little truck and drove through the wide open spaces of the South-west. I was warned by many that this is a markedly dull drive, but I enjoyed it thoroughly. After not driving anything much more powerful than a moped for several months, it felt great to be back behind the wheel.

I blasted my stereo and took a calling from the landscape, cleared my mind, then let it roam freely. The wind ripping across the prairies filled me with energy and made me feel intensely alive.

I drove until it was dark and the drove some more. I was less in a hurry to get to Austin than I was intoxicated by driving. The road at night was densely populated by deer and so I slowed my speed drastically. I putted along under 50 while some others raced past me. I saw one car later smashed on the side of the road with a deer laying in front of it. An ambulance had just shown up. I had my own encounter shortly after.

A song played by a native american flute randomly began playing on my ipod. I saw a flash out of the corner of my eye. The light illuminated the body of a buck galloping alongside of me on the otherwise empty road. I could see clearly the eyes of the deer shining at me as it's graceful, powerful body ran alongside me. Seemingly suspended in slow motion, I had only to move my wheel slightly and we both continued on our paths, unharmed, but certainly affected.

Once my eyes finally grew weary I found a safe place to park and crawled into the back of my truck.

The next morning I found a truckstop cafe and realized that I was truly in Texas. It was everything I could have hoped for, from the extra grease heaped on my eggs and biscuit to the watery coffee served by the sweet yet exhausted waitress.

Once I arrived in Austin I had a few days to adjust and move my belongings into one of the six bedrooms of this giant house. However, since then I have been working almost non-stop. Even up to 15 hours in a day on one occasion.

A few of my good friends that I met six years ago, during my first year living in San Diego, moved out to Austin a few years back. They all still live together in one of the homes that my friend Jose owns. They had been trying to talk me into moving here as well for some time, so I finally gave in. I am staying for a couple of months at the house and working for my friend at a plant nursery.

I arrived just in time. Soon after I got here the South by Southwest music festival started. I was excited to see all the free shows , but was predicting that I would probably have to see most of the hip hop on my own. My friends here mostly have different music tastes from myself.

But nope, I should have known it would work out. My good friend from Oregon randomly heard that I was in Austin and got ahold of me. He was perfoming some shows at the festival.

On the Thursday of the festival I got off work early (only six hours of work) and headed downtown. I ended up having a super fun time with my friends from Oregon and stayed downtown until Saturday afternoon when I had to be at work again. It's so funny how these things work out sometimes. I really couldn't have asked for a better scenario. It brought me full circle to celebrate with people from my past in a city I had just moved to.

Between my work hours I have also been able to fit in some of my favorite activities. I joined a Bikram Yoga gym and have been working, for 1 1/2 hours at a time, on the 26 poses in a room set at 105 degrees with high humidity. I also have been able to do little paddling.

When I first arrived in Austin I posted an add on craigslist looking for access to a surfski. When I lived in San Diego I joined a boat club where I could borrow a surfski, which is similar to a sea kayak but even longer and thinner (aka tippier). I also started racing in competitions and got really hooked. I was hoping to find a similar arrangment here.

My first reply was not exactly promising. It went something like this:

"Hey bro, you should get a jet ski instead. But if you do, make sure to get the standup kind, that is unless you like to sit while you pee too."

Yeah... he really hit that one on the head.

My second reply, while still assuming I was male, was much more lucrative. He informed me of a local online paddling forum and invited me paddle his extra boat. We met up and I got to take his "Texas Safari Boat" for a spin. It is a boat specifically made for a marathon race here in Texas. It is similar to a surfski, but is a lot tougher and has space to store food and water for the 48+ hour race.

I also met another guy on the forum that has an extra surfski, so I have also been paddling with him. It is a beautiful place for day paddles. Town Lake goes right through the highrises of downtown and then weaves along natural cliffs. There are lots of birds and in some spots, the water is like turtle soup. They make a disheartening thump against the bottom of my boat when I see them too late.

It has been nice to live more like a typical american with a job where I have my evenings free, making over minimum wage, and sleeping in a bed that isn't on the ground or legal to drive down the freeway. But, at the same time I haven't been able to get my other way of life out of my head. I have stayed in touch with some people from the hilltribe village where I volunteered and want to get back there to help some more. I have also been looking into volunteering in Burma for a month or two. I can't wait for my summer that I will spend instructing Outward Bound courses for adults and young adults. And I'm trying to figure out a way to sponsor a very deserving little girl so that she can continue her education.

For now, I plan to enjoy my next couple of weeks with my friends and working hard at the nursery. Then I will start the drive up to Washington state so that I can start another season as an instructor for Outward Bound. Hopefully between the money I am making at the plant nursery and instructing courses I will be able to afford returning to South East Asia next fall to wander and do some more volunteering.

Don Det - hammocks and coconuts

As it turned out, I did have another day of riding the bus. The day did end with a boat ride though and I am now on the island of Don Det in the 4000 Islands region of Laos. I can say now, the trip was definitely worth it.

While I was in Pakse, as chance would have it, some french friends that I had met on my journey down were staying in the same guest house as me. They were also headed on to the 4000 islands the next day and had gotten an insiders tip on the best place to stay there. So, I shared the last leg of my journey in the back of a truck overcrowded with pigs, chickens, random belongings and Laotian families to the beach and then on a longboat to Don Det island.

The boat took us to a less populated section of the island and dropped us off at the guesthouse. The island pace of life immediatly overtook me. I forgot about the discomfort of the past five days and grew a huge smile. Despite my heavy pack, I felt as those I was floating along the dirt path along the river as I saw the scattered bungalows each with a direct view of the river from their porch equiped with hammocks.

Other than kayaking, I barely ventured farther than a few hundred feet from my hammock. The guest house had a restraunt with an amazing view of the river and several more hammocks on their deck. I really enjoyed the family that ran it and the incredibly laid back vibe of the place. When I wanted to order one of their world class fresh coconut shakes or an order of banana chocolate pancakes I would have to find one of the girls and patiently wait for them to get around to it. Everything ordered or taken from the cooler was self-recorded in a little notebook to be self-tallied and settled at the end of the stay. With food and drinks and my own bungalow I only spent about US$10 a day.

I was still feeling pretty weak from my illness and long journey. So, for that price I didn't feel too guilty wallowing away my days studying the river, reading in my hammock, sitting on the bridge watching the sunset, ordering yet another coconut shake and laughing with my french friends, the owners and other few patrons of the guesthouse.

The only thing that got me out of there was the possibility of kayaking. I set out one morning with my friend Freddy to explore by boat. We found a kayaking outfit that mostly does tours but agreed to rent us some boats if we promised not to go downstream of the landing. This wasn't much of a problem since the river is more like a large lake there and the current wasn't too strong.

So, we headed upriver and began paddling alongside another island. Very soon, we noticed children calling to us. They were so excited to see a couple of foreigners. They would stop their play in the water or along the shore to jump up and down, wave and call out to us. Some would run along the shore trying to keep us in their sites. Another couple of miles up the river we found a little beach and stopped to relax. We had barely been there a minute when I got the feeling that I was being watched. I turned around to see five little heads duck behind a tree across the beach. When they shyly tried to take another peak I called hello to them and waved.

They burst out with nervous giggling and reluctantly began to approach us as a pack. Each one didn't want to be in the front and tried to hide behind the others. With a few panicked back tracks they finally came close enough to get a good view of us.

Freddy and I joked around with them a bit and shared our snacks. I stood up to play a game with them, but as they saw me at full height, they got so scared they all took off screaming and running. I laughed out loud and then did a cartwheel. That stopped them from their retreat and they started attempting cartwheels themselves, but still left some distance until I sat down again.

Freddy handed me a beautiful little shell that he found in the sand. As the children saw that I was interested in it, they began collecting shells for me as well. "Oh, thank you, it's beautiful." I told each child as they handed me a shell. They would giggle then run off to find me another. Soon my whole hat was filled with shells and they still didn't want to end the game. I had no intentions of removing any shell from the beach that they belonged, so I eventually had to stop them and rescatter the shells.

We tried paddling upriver further but the current got really fast between some of the islands, so we just explored some of the farming islands checked out the water buffalos cooling themselves on the muddy banks, then headed back to our island.

Three books, countless coconut shakes, and one week after arriving I finally decided that it was time to get back to Thailand so that I could do a few things before my flight back to the US. I arranged the boat ride back to the mainland and said my goodbyes to all my new friends at the guesthouse. Just before I left, "mama" and the three girls that ran the place called me over to give me blessings for my trip. This is a tradition in South East Asia to protect people on journeys, however it is very offensive to the spirits to cut off any of the strings. They each took a string and carefully brushed it up in down my arm while chanting, they tied the strings to my wrist. One was specific to help me regain my full strength, and mama chanted for my safe journey and for me to one day return to Don Det. With that she gave me a surprisingly strong squeeze on my shoulders and set me off in the little boat.

The Length of Laos

Feb. 8th, 2009

I didn't realize that I wanted to be in the southern-most part of Laos until I was just about as far north as you can get. From Huay Xay I headed north to Luong Nam Tha. According to the Lonely Planet the trekking is really good here and fairly cheap. What I found were prices about triple the cost from what was quoted.

I just couldn't justify spending over twice my daily budget to do some walking and stay at yet another hilltribe village, so I rented a bike for a couple of bucks and explored on my own.

I had been riding for several miles, up a dirt road through some villages, when the chain of my bike popped off and jammed up. This hadn't happened to me since I was in grade school so I was a little concerned that I would have to walk the bike all the way back. Fortunately a grade school aged boy, that I had stopped and talked with earlier, came up the road with his friends. We all inspected the problem and I tried to tug the chain free. No luck. Each boy responded by whipping out their trusty machete and taking turns jabbing at the chain. Hmm, maybe I should have got the insurance, I thought to myself. But eventually with their jabbing and my pulling, we were able to free the chain and returned it to the spokes. The boys continued down the road with newly puffed out chests. I happily peddled off and found a waterfall to explore and made it back with out too much more trouble.

While I was poking around the various trekking offices I happened upon a brochure for kayaking in the 4000 Islands area in South Laos.

I couldn't seem to stop thinking about kayaking after that, so I embarked on one serious bus journey. It really didn't look that far on the map. Four days of bus rides later I have a different impression.

There are essentially two types of buses in Laos. The tourist bus and the local bus. Which is not to say that there are no locals on the tourist bus or tourist on the local. Often times the line will be strict, but sometimes there is a small handful of one type on the other.

In my opinion there are benefits and drawbacks of each. So, my stance is to leave it up to fate, show up at the bus station and go on whichever is available first. Generally this lands me on the local bus.

The local bus is usually quite a bit slower, a lot more rickety (aka frequent break downs) and a lot more crowded. However on the local bus I never get forced into a conversation with someone wondering about "the party scene" in Burma. (I'm tempted to tell them Burma is a "dry" country.) The local bus is also a lot more interesting. There are always people getting on and off with all sorts of interesting belongings and a fair share of farm animals. When the bus stops it is often overtaken with people selling various types of food and drink. My favorite is the sticky rice with coconut cooked inside bamboo. The most popular are they mystery meats cooked on sticks that are usually sold with a bag of rice.

Occasionally I'll meet some locals that speak a bit of english that I can chat with. All the other Westerners I have met on these buses have been really chill people. Well, with the exception of one couple that rode on my bus for a couple of hours last night. It almost seemed like they were smuggling something, the way they were so nervous and shifty-eyed. They clutched their locked backpacks tightly on their laps. The only look they flashed to me was one of horrified shock. I guess they couldn't believe I would ride alone with them. I wondered if I should tell them that I actually feel safer riding with people that are part of the local community, then some of the party-boy types on the tourist buses.

My days on the bus have all been over ten hours each, so I have had to learn how to take care of all my needs without a real break. For instance, I learned on my first day to always wear a skirt. The "restroom" breaks are often just stops on the side of the road where everyone scatters into a fairly open field. If you aren't wearing a skirt, you better thoroughly dehydrate yourself or be willing to flash the moon to everyone around.

I am now on my last bus, hopefully, before I make it to my destination. I say hopefully because yesterday was also supposed to be my last. I paid all the way through Pakse yesterday morning and headed off on what was supposed to be a ten hour ride on a local bus. After eleven hours I asked my new Lao friend about how much longer. "Oh, maybe four hours." I realized then that we wouldn't be there until past 2am. I knew all the guest houses would be closed by then. "It's ok" he told me. "The bus stops there. You just spend night on bus." The next town we pulled into was Savanaket. I looked on my map and realized we were only half way. Now it was past a personal discomfort concern. I had serious doubts about the safe driving abilities of the bus drivers whom were surely exhausted. I decided to end my day there and got off to find a bed.

You know, maybe I will book the tourist bus on the way back.

Huay Xai, Laos - antibiotics & b-boys

February 4th, 2009

Now I am just over the border in the small, boring town of Huay Xay. I am diligently taking my antibiotics, resting and eating rice soup. Basically just trying my best to get better. If I don't feel better soon I will need to go seek better health care in Chiang Mai, Thailand. However, if I can manage to recover I can go trekking all over Laos like I want to.

It has been kind of a blessing this is such a dull town. There isn't much to tempt me. My only entertainment has been from a couple of the people I have met. My friend Lotan from Israel and MC Loke, straight outta Laos. What this town lacks, MC Loke makes up for. This kid is hillarious!

My second night at the guest house I was surprised to hear hip hop bumping on the stereo. I have barely heard any hip hop since I've been in Asia, so I went to check it out.

Up on the roof of the guest house I could see the sun setting over the Mekong river and the first b-boy I'd seen in a long time.

"You like hip hop?" he asked me.

"I love it!"

"Cool. Where you from by the way?"

I told him and returned the question. Usually I just do this to locals as a joke, but this time I was genuinely curious about this young kid with a Laotian face and West Coast hip hop style and speech.

"Me? I'm from Laos. You can call me MC Loke!" he gave me a dap and a friendship was born.

He played me Laotian hip hop and I introduced him to some of my favorites from the US. Apparently the kid has been influenced by his brother that lives in California. He has been rapping for 5 years, since he was 12. My favorite song that he wrote was one about riding a bike with no handle bars. "It tells you if you try enough, you can do anything." he explained. "But I also rap the dirty shit. Like Tupac!" He told me, but then was too embarrassed to perform any of that in front of me. I know it is not what he is going for, but it was really adorable. (In a little brother kind of way. Don't worry, I haven't been interested in 17 year olds since I was about 16.)


I have finally gone through all of my antibiotics and I'm finally feeling better... I think. So, tomorrow I will head out and start exploring Laos.

Stuck in Pai

Even as I headed to Pai I had a feeling that I would end up staying past the date that my visa expired. However, I certainly could not have predicted that I would overstay by 5 days and be forced to pay the inordinate fee, by Thai standards, of 2500 baht.

It started out innocently enough, after leaving Ban La Up I said goodbye to my friends in Mae Sariang and made my way up to Pai. I surprised my friends there and had a great time reconnecting. All the guesthouses in town were full because of the festival, but some friends offered to let me stay in the extra room of their home.

That night we all went to the Reggae festival. That was where I received my first clue that something drastic must be wrong with my body. I had been starving to just let go and dance all night to live reggae. However, at midnight, many hours before the party was to end, I went home.

The next morning, I just didn't feel right. Now, I know what many of you are suspecting with the reputation of reggae festivals and all, but let me set the record straight. The only things that I ingested were a couple of Sang Som rum and sodas.

A couple of days later, when I was still not feeling better, I decided it was time to pay my first visit to a foreign hospital.

They didn't seem as concerned about a high level of privacy or quite the same level of sanitation, but I was pleasantly surprised that the small town Thai hospital was much more efficient than any I have been to in the US. Within a couple of hours I had been screened, lab tested, counseled by a doctor, injected, charged a small fee, and was walking away free with my prescription meds.

A couple of days later the sharp stabbing sensation in my stomach had subsided and my bathroom habits seemed to be heading back to normal.

My friend had been waiting for me to feel better so that he could take me to a Lisu hilltribe village to celebrate their New Year. Although I was still taking the medications and I really should have been exiting the country on account of my visa, I really didn't want to miss out on the celebration. I convinced myself that I was ready and compromised with the visa by booking a direct bus ticket for the next evening.

I threw together some warm clothes, my toothbrush and meds and took off on the motorbike. After a couple of hours weaving through the jungle we arrived at the Lisu village. We were welcomed by what sounded to be gunshots. I was only partially relieved when I learned they were firecrackers.

The party had already been going for a couple of days. Each family had built an offering platform out of bamboo and filled it with glasses of homebrew, rice, bits of meat, candies, money and whatever else they had to offer to the spirits to ensure a good new year. At the center of the village the people put together a dance floor with a large bamboo offering shrine that held the head of a large pig.

As we explored the village, several families invited us in to join in on their feasting. The stabbing feeling in my stomach may have been gone, but it was now being replaced by a terrible sinking feeling that I would not yet be able to handle all these exotic "delicacies" that I didn't have the heart to turn down. Many of the foods I don't bother to ask about.

There was no mistaking the cow tongue. I watched as they scraped away its taste buds, placed it directly on the coals, chopped it into smaller pieces, barbequed it and proudly placed it in a bowl in front of me.

I tried to keep an openmind, but honestly it was the weirdest thing I have ever eaten. Fried crickets and blood soup don't have a thing on tongue. I swear I could feel the thing licking me back as I worked it around my mouth. It was slightly sensual and absolutely revolting.

In another hut I quickly hit it off with one little girl. We played a clapping game and traded some words in English and Thai. Her mom took off her traditional Lisu jacket and gave it to me to wear for the night. She then disappeared and came back with the matching skirt and a beautiful silver belt.

After I was fully dressed as a traditional Lisu woman, the mom and little girl led me to the dancefloor. The men were in a circle around the pighead-offering playing drums and a flute-like instrument and leading a dance. The women were in a larger circle around them, all holding hands and participating in a circular dance. They let the three of us in and I did my best to follow along with the dance. The first few minutes were a bit awkward. Not only did I not have a clue what I was doing, but despite the outfit, I didn't exactly blend in. However after a few minutes the people seemed to get used to me and I started to feel the rhythm of the dance.

After dancing for over an hour the little girl kept tugging on my arm to take her home. So, I walked her up the hill to her hut and then joined my friend, Nikon and a group of the other men in some card games. I never quite figured out the rules but I seemed to be quite lucky at it.

It was about this time that I started to feel the effects of a vengeful spirit that I had offended. Well, it was either that or possibly all the strange foods interacting with my weakened stomach. Even though I really was looking forward to seeing what else this party had to bring I knew I couldn't do it. I went back to one of the family's huts and sprawled out on the blankets they had put down for me.

At this point all that I could hope for was that I would fall asleep before the sickness kicked in. But even in my increasingly delirious state I knew it was a joke to think that I could sleep during a Lisu New Year celbration. Even if I could get used to the sounds of the music, chanting and dancing, it was the firework explosions that jolted me to my soul. Besides, everytime I closed my eyes I had vivid flashbacks of eating the cow tongue.

It wasn't long before I had to get back up, climb down the stairs of the hut, wind my way down a steep path and empty the contents of my stomach into a dirty, flooded squat toilet. My only relief was that at least I couldn't feel the cow tongue licking me on the way back up.

I returned to the hut only to have to repeat the process again throughout the night. The party continued on until 4am when the villagers and myself were finally able to fall asleep.

The next morning I could barely summon the energy to hold on to the motorbike. Nikon took me back to my friends' home to rest and then later back to the hospital.

"Would you like a private room?" The doctor asked me after reviewing my tests and talking over my symptoms.

I assumed she meant a private room just to get an injection. "Oh, no. Regular is fine."

"Ok, you stay until tomorrow."

"Wait a second, what!?!"

"Yes, you stay one night."

For only the second time in my travels I had actually pre-booked a bus ticket. Because my visa had expired I had even sprung for the expensive direct ticket that left that night.

"Oh, no, impossible." I told the doctor. "My visa is expired, I need to go to Laos tonight."

"Ohh..." the doctor empasized. "You can go... but quite dangerous."

I thought about it for a moment then came to my senses. It would be ridiculous to get on a bus by myself feeling the way I did. "Ok, I stay in Pai tonight, but I stay at my friend's house." I compromised.

"Ok, you get injection first, then rest and lots of water and come back in morning for second injection."

"Deal!" Finally my bargaining skills came in handy for something more important than saving a dollar on a tuk-tuk ride.

Next I went to see what I could do about my non-refundable bus ticket. With hospital papers in hand I asked to switch the date on my ticket.

The man directed me away from the other tourists to say "impossible."

I was quite exhausted and slightly delirious at this point, so it didn't take much for tears to well up in my eyes. Without effort, I used the oldest trick in the book.

"Ok, I move your ticket to tomorrow. No problem."

I rested at my friends' house and they lovingly took care me, bringing me homemade and soup and lots of water and juice. I followed all the doctor's compromised orders, said some more difficult good byes and left the next evening for Laos.

When I spoke to Thai immigration they confirmed that, as I had only recently discovered, the daily fine for overstaying a visa has more than doubled. I pleaded with the man a bit and showed him my hospital papers, but I was not so emotional this time and didn't turn on the tears. So, I bit the bullet and paid the whole of my fines.

Leaving Home

Goodbyes can be so difficult. However, they also remind me that I am living my dream. I am continuously conflicted with sadness to leave and excitement for what may unfold around the next bend.

As I left Ban La Up I knew that I would be back. If I didn't let myself believe that, I would not have been able to walk away. I feel so fortunate to have found somewhere so welcoming and appreciative to volunteer. I really grew to love my new friends and family there.

When I would walk into my first grade classroom the kids would jump up and down. "Yay!" they would exclaim as they scurried to their desks. My heart lightened each time. As we went through this ritual, any difficulties I had since the last time I had seen them seemed to melt away.

The children didn't care that I didn't have any official teaching training. They were excited to see me because I knew how to create a game out of English words and they could probably tell that I adored them. We would sing songs, draw and create bizarre dances to learn body parts, greetings, colors and farm animals. It was amazing how quickly they would learn. I could hardly think of new things to teach them fast enough.


However, after much deliberation, I decided against taking the long, strenuous trip to Mae Sot for the third time to renew my visa. With the new law, you only get 15 days extended to your visa. Subtract from that 2 to 3 days of traveling to get the visa and it doesn't leave much time. Instead, I settled on a plan to return to Pai to visit friends, go to their famous reggae festival and then spend some time in Laos.

The family that I spent a lot of time with invited me to their home on my last evening in Ban La Up. They brought out their best desserts and pulled out their best English to tell me how much they would miss me.

I picked the kindergartner, Dom, up to hug and twirl and tickle. "I love you" he told me. Oh man, they were not going to make it easy for me to leave.

When I returned to my home the little girl that I had been living with presented me with a gift. It was a purse that she had weaved and sewn herself.

"I love it!" I told her as I slung it over my shoulder. She beamed so proudly.

"Miss you!" They all stretched their tongues to tell me. "Come back."

The father told me they would keep open my spot on the floor around the dinner table. "Please come back, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year... no matter, just come back."

Returning Home to Ban La Up

January 15th, 2009

It must be a good fit. I just returned to the village I am volunteering in after a 9 hour (one-way) Saang-Taew adventure to Mae Sot and back in order to enter into Myanmar and renew my Thai visa. Upon my return, I was unexpectedly overwhelmed with the feeling that I was returning home.

There were smiles all around as I was welcomed back by my family. It took Grandma a little while to warm up to me, but now she seemed the most excited to see me. As my friend Queta would say, she is a fine wine.

I feel so fortunate to have this opportunity to be welcomed in by a wonderful Lawa family in this beautiful mountain village and be able to feel helpful at the same time.

Although things have changed here in the past ten years or so with electricity and TV, the people still hold onto much of their way of life and tradition. Each meal is cooked over an open fire in the kitchen. The toilet is outside and must be squatted over. A large bucket with a bowl to pour water over your head serves as the shower. Instead of chairs and sofas there are mats on the floor. The people do their own farming and each family has pigs and chickens living under their hut. The bed is just a blanket on top of the wood-planked floor.

The meal times are my favorite. Each meal is the same and they only have one word for it, "gin kow," which literally means "eat rice". The women sit on mats in the kitchen and start a fire in the square pit. We prepare the leafy vegetables by tearing them into pieces and rinsing them in the recycled rain water. The rice is put over the fire to boil. Chilies are ground and all sorts of spices I don't recognize are prepared. If meat is available we chop that as well to add to the vegies. Once the rice is boiling it is moved onto a cement cylinder to simmer over just a few of the coals. The little boys come in to warm themselves around the fire. I teach them some english words and they return the favor by teaching me Thai. Grandma teaches me a little of the Lawa language and occasionally bends her rule by speaking Thai with me. Smiles and giggles are always going around as we try to adapt our tongues to new pronunciations . The main dish is usually boiled in a pot over the fire. Sometimes there will also be other tasty treats wrapped in banana leafs roasting just outside the fire. Other times we will also cook using a wak or a fish roaster over the fire.



Once the meal is ready the whole family gathers in a circle on the floor around the dishes of food. Everyone is served their own generous bowl of rice. The family says a little prayer while I silently thank the animal that gave its life. Everyone has a bite of plain rice and then uses their spoon to dish up a few bites from one of the dishes into their bowl. Once you finish those bites, you get some more to add to your rice until your bowl is empty. Even after a week the family is still thoroughly amused to watch me pour heaping spoonfuls of the chili paste onto my rice.
The mother of the family, Mina, was worried that I wouldn't be able to eat her cooking, so she is very happy that I love the mountain food.

After the meal, the daughter Helena and I wash the dishes in a pot of water on the windowsill and throw the scraps down to the ground. This is always immediatly followed by several skirmishes from the animals below to get at the best pieces.

The Thai people seem to be obsessed with bathing. They wash several times a day even though it is quite cold here in the mornings and evenings. I take my shower in the afternoon when it is the hottest. Even then the water feels painfully cold as I ladle it over my head. I try to get it over as quickly as possible before I go outside to comb my hair and dry in the sun.

The toilet was a little bit difficult for me to get used to as well. The toilet room is always outside in the back of the home. There is a little basin in the floor with a foot pad on each side to use while squatting over it. It takes a little practice to find your own correct foot positioning. Once you are done with your business, don't bother looking for the toilet paper. There isn't any. Even if you did have some, the system isn't set up to handle it. Instead there is the same bucket you use for the shower. You ladle up some water and wash yourself. Now that I have gotten used to it, it's actually not bad and you feel cleaner than with paper. And don't worry, there is soap to thoroughly wash your hands with when you are through.

I have even gotten used to sleeping here. Although I will admit, my first night was slightly miserable. I think the little sleep I did manage was spent dreaming about my therma-rest on the other side of the planet. The floors of the huts are made with either slats of bamboo or wood planks and then they are on stilts high over the ground with no other insulation below. So, when I saw my bed of just a blanket on the floor I knew it would be hard and cold. Luckily my friend Pat gave me a poncho blanket just before I came up, so I wrapped myself in that as well. Even with that, I would still wake up cold and then be bitter about the hard ground.

Yet, somehow I have gotten used to it. I am still always a little cold at night no matter how I wrap myself but I appreciate the benefits of the hard floor for my back, I have gained a new appreciation for the soft parts of my body, and I have actually been sleeping pretty well. That is until the roosters sound their daily alarm at the crack of dawn.


I haven't been doing as much classroom teaching as I would like. This time of year the people have just finished their main harvest and there are a lot of celebrations going on. This translates to a lot of days with no school. I have already been to two weddings, two children's day festivals and helped one little girl celebrate her birthday. Other times I help people with their wares, teach English to families and have time to relax and explore.

The Lawa people are traditionally Animist and although they still retain some of those beliefs and customs, most people have been converted to either Christianity or Buddhism. The first wedding that I attended was a Christian one. It was a sober affair with a band but no dancing and a lot of talking by the guy on stage.
The second wedding was between a Lawa Buddhist woman and a Lisu (another hilltribe) man. The day before they sacrificed a cow and a pig. They made enormous pots of rice and invited people from all around to join in on a feast.

I was invited into one home to join in on a meal of "the King's food". It was a beef dish with a deep red sauce. I'll admit it tasted great, that is until I asked what the sauce was made from. "Raw blood" came the simple response. It was then that I noticed the dish had the same after taste that comes from a bloody nose.

The village elders gathered in the home of the bride, passed around liberal amounts of home-brew and chanted for the newly-weds. By the time I was invited into the house, the elders were well on their way to being thoroughly sloshed and quite amused to have me as their guest. They all kept pushing me to drink the home brew and speaking to me in Lawa. I responded by taking tiny sips and joking with them in English. Laughing tends to be the best form of communication in these situations.

When I needed a break from being a spectacle, my new friend Sayan took me over to his families home. Sayan was just visiting for the day from Chiang Mai where he works for an NGO. It was fortunate for me that he was there because he speaks really nice english and was able to explain a lot to me. We had another lunch at his house. Everyone seems to worry that I am not getting enough to eat. I helped his father separate cotton from its seeds which is a nice relaxing job.

Apparently, at one point Sayan had a roomate that was Mexican. So, he has developed a great interest in all things Mexican. After lunch he offered me some Kahlua. I couldn't turn down the novelty of drinking Kahlua in a Thai hilltribe village, so I accepted. But on hindsight I probably should have known something was fishy. He poured some instant coffee into our cups, added a splash of hot water and as I watched in horror, proceeded to fill the glass the rest of the way with rice wine.

"Delicious?" he asked.

I controlled my gag reflex and managed to giggle for the second time that day. Some things just don't translate the same.

By night time many people around the village were "Mao LaO" (whiskey sick) and I was glad that the people in my family don't drink much.


Children's Day was another special affair. The teachers at the school set up a stage and each child in the school had the chance to take part in a performance. They had a big present exchange and food and snacks were passed out like Halloween.

The younger children mostly stuck to traditional song and dance while the older kids performed more pop style singing and skits. A few of the older boys performed some rock songs with their band. The whole thing was really cute.

The next day we filled a truck with children and adults and traveled down the mountain to the town of Mae La Noi where the whole thing was happening again but on a larger scale. The kids were all so excited for this excursion to "the big city". At this festival they also had a carnival ride and a couple of extra stages. Everyone could just walk right up and get food, drinks and ice cream. It was similar to a small town fair, but everything was free. It gave the event a very nice spirit.


In the evenings I often visit another family that lives a few houses down from mine. They are probably the sweetest family I have ever known. They live a very traditional Lawa lifestyle. They don't have much in the way of money but they are incredibly rich.

There are six children, but the house never feels hectic. Even the baby has a calming peaceful presence, I've never even heard her cry.

The eldest daughter, Janjira, has a special place in my heart. She wants to be a trekking guide. I think she could become a great Outward Bound instructor as well. She has a natural gift for english and jumps at any chance to learn more.

One evening I was over at their house trading skills. They were teaching me how to make brooms and I was teaching english. Janjira casually mentioned that it was the birthday of her little sister Om.

I taught the family the "happy birthday" song and we celebrated with some little treats I bought and I gave her my colored pencils. I felt honored to give a small treat to a family that has shared with me so much.


The classroom teaching has definitely been something that has pushed my comfort zone. Although I am an instructor in the US, I have never taught inside a classroom, I have never taught a large group of small children and I have never formally taught english. Nonetheless on my first day the Thai teacher, Toshi, had me jump right in.

"Here are the keys for classroom. Go Ahead!" Toshi told me.

I had no idea what english the students already knew or how to start.

"Uh, hello." was my pitiful introduction.

"Hello-teacher-how-are-you-today." The class responded in unison, making the phrase sound more like one continuous word.

"I'm fine, thanks. How are you?"

This time I was responded with only confused looks and frantic searching of the faces of peers to see if they knew what was going on.

"Ok..." Come to think of it, I probably had a similar expression. I wondered if the students had any idea how much I felt out of place.

Somehow I managed to stumble through the hour teaching introductions, practicing numbers, the ABCs and a few necessary vocab words.

Finally Toshi announced that the class was over. The students all stood up, bowed to me and recited in unison, "Thank-you-teacher-see-you-next-time."

I let out a huge sigh of relief as they raced out the door. Then slowly other students started filing in.

"Ok, next class." Toshi told me.

I wondered if this was some kind of cruel joke, but no, it was true. Fortunately Toshi took more of a lead with this class and the students were also more self directed.


I got that kind of self-doubt that seems to happen each time I throw myself into something that could either be fantastic or terribly painful.

What am I doing here? I asked myself. I don't know how to teach english! How could this possibly work. I berated my decision to come.

There are times when you jump into water that is over your head that at first you feel as you may never stop sinking, but when you give it time, you can soon rise to the surface and enjoy frolicking.

I have learned to relax in the classroom and use my own style to teach english in an active way. The children have been responding well and some days are really fun, especially with my first graders.

Over dinner upon my return, the father of my family told me they were all very happy I was back. He explained that now I am like a member of the family and when I am not there, the women feel sad because they are missing me.

I never knew it could happen so quickly, but I felt the same way.

Searching in Circles

January 6th, 2009
Once in Mae Sot I quickly found people that wanted me to commit to volunteer positions. I toured a couple of orphanage schools and was deeply touched by their need. However, as a person that relies strongly on intuition, it just didn't feel right for me and my skillset.

I hadn't fully realized how much I cared for the small villages of Northern Thailand until I had left them. I finally gave myself time to contemplate the offer that I had received in Mae Sariang. The offer that had sounded too good to be true. The offer that was now tugging at my heart and nagging my soul.

During my last visit to Mae Sariang I had really felt a connection to the area. By chance, I had also met a Thai couple that run an eco-minded trekking company. After a bit of talk, they offered me the chance to volunteer in a village that they visit on their treks. At the time of the offer I had been too distracted by my quest to Mae Sot to give it serious consideration. But fortunately I did have the good sense to get their contact info.

So, on a leap of faith I again boarde the Saang-Taew for the 6 hour ride back to Mae Sariang. The journey was not wasted, when I arrived I found the offer to still stand. Today they are taking me to a village to see if it suits me. I don't really have much information on what it will be like, other than I will be working at the school and in exchange I can live with one of the families. They told me that I won't have much direction and basically I can make what I like out of it.

I'm generally a person that's pretty much at peace with the unknown but now I find myself a bit nervous. I'm really hoping I can make this work into a good experience for all involved.

A Long and Winding Road

December 31st, 2008

I was on a journey to volunteer but instead found myself the constant benefactor of the kindness of strangers.

After spending several days longer than expected in Pai, I said some tearful goodbye to my Thai friends that I had grown close to. It was amazing how quickly I had felt apart of their community. I was sad to leave, but I was also on a mission. My main intention for spending so much time abroad was to combine my love of traveling with my desire to volunteer. So, I was headed out on the long and winding road to the Thai-Burmese border town of Mae Sot.

When I got on my first bus, it was filled past capacity and the seats were all taken. I stood there akwardly with my back hunched. In Thailand, things are just not build to accomodate the height of a tall westerner. Out of the blue, a young man insisted that I take his seat. He was able to stand much more easily, being quite a lot shorter than I.

Four hours later I arrived in Mae Hong Son. I was hoping to push on to a town another four hours south but it didn't work out with the schedules. I generally try to avoid arriving in a new town after dark, so I decided to stay their.

I bargained for a rate and got on the back of a taxi motorbike. When we arrived at my desired guest house we discovered it was full. The driver told me, "don't worry" and motioned for me to get back on the bike.

Six places later we still couldn't find a vacancy, yet the driver remained in good spirits. We made a game of it like a treasure hunt. After each place denied me, we would throw up our arms and exclaim, "Nai!" and race off to the next place.

Eventually we found the one open place that was within my budget. "Yay!" we celebrated. The driver didn't even ask for extra money, of course I gave him a nice tip though.


The town was in full swing for the Thai celebration of New Years.

There was a large market centered around a temple on a lake. The Thai families were out enjoying the festivities, eating and drinking and setting off large paper hot air balloons. The balloons are lifted up into the sky by the heat produced by the fires at their bases. The sky glowed with their light.

The next morning I set out to catch the morning bus. The bus station was across town so I planned to catch a ride. I started walking in the direction but could not find a taxi. I had already been walking for 20 minutes and it was getting close to the time I needed to be there. Feeling quite frustrated I finally attempted to ask a boy how to get there.

He responded with a little bit of english, that it was straight for awhile, then turn... (I think).

By this time I was sure that I would miss the bus, but I kept walking. Suddenly the boy pulled alongside of me on a motorbike and motioned for me to get on.

As it turns out the station was still a long ways away, but he got me there just in time.

It was another four hour winding road through the jungle up and down the mountainsides before I reached the town of Mae Sariang.

I discovered when I arrived that the last ride to Mae Sot had already left. Fortunately this time I easily found a room close to the station that was really cute and very affordable. One good thing that came from this fragmented journey was that it provided me the opportunity to explore two extra towns.

After watching the sunset from a hill top temple I was wandering back through town.

"Hello! How are you?!"

I was surprised to hear english because I hadn't seen many Farangs since I left Pai.

"I am good. How are you?" I responded.

The whole table, filled with men and women of various ages, exploded with laughter.

"Please, come join us."

A trait that seems to be common in Thai people is that if you are by yourself they want to "adopt" you.

How could I say no to people that are so entertained just by my speaking. So, I found myself a part of their group, eating and drinking and joining in on a rendition of "Have you ever seen the rain..."

They all begged to have me join them at the Karaoke bar but I was too weary of getting on a bike with anyone that was drunk enough to appreciate my singing.

Early the next morning I caught the ride to Mae Sot. The ride was the back of a pickup truck with benches built in, called a song-taew. At one point I was sharing the song-taew with 27 other Thais. I learned that the winding roads had actually been a blessing once we hit the straight, hot freeways. We raced along so fast my face was burned from the wind.

It was another six hours before I reached my final destination of Mae Sot. I was physically exhausted by my journey but spiritually energized to give back for all that had been given to me.

To Pai (A Christmas in the Mountains)

December 25th, 2008

*WARNING: if you tend to worry about my judgement and safety, you may want to skip this entry.


Now that was a Christmas to remember! Through a strange series of coincidences I unexpectedly spent my holiday with a tiny hilltribe village five hours by motorbike into the jungle without another outsider in sight.

I suppose one could take it all the way back to Febuary 25th 2001, when I met the love of my life that I later nicknamed Tupai. But, that would make for far too long of a story.

Fast forward over seven years to me traveling in Asia and feeling a mysteriously strong pull to the small town in Northern Thailand called Pai.

I took a train on a 13 hour voyage from Bangkok to the city of Chiang Mai where I could catch a bus on to Pai. On the train I met a Kiwi married couple, whom had been traveling for over a year, that were on their way to Laos. They also planned to just spend one night in Chiang Mai. Somehow we kept managing to distract one another from moving on and it became three days before we departed the city. The highlight of which being the Chaing Mai Zoo. It was very nicely done and a little less stringent on safety rules than the US. I was able to fulfill a lifelong dream of playing with and holding a baby lion.

Finally I made it to the bus station. The driver asked, "where you going?"

It wasn't until the moment I responded "To Pai!" that I conciously recognized the connection of the name of this town and my long lost love.

I sat in the back of a rickety bus that was so old and decrepped that I seriously doubted its abilities to house old hippies, let alone carry us high up into the mountains. However, for the price of the ride I couldn't even make it to the next neighborhood in the US, so I took it all in stride.

I passed the time ensconsed in a muddled converstation amongst a french girl and a very friendly Thai woman, both of whom had limited english abilities. Somehow I ended up playing translator, but it was really more like a bad game of telephone. I'm quite sure that all three of us have very different pictures of what we discussed.

Once in Pai I found a flimsy hut to stay in for 150 baught (about US$4.50) but it was so small I couldn't even open the door without hitting the saggy bed. It was a bit late, but I decided that I needed a good bowl of rice and curry and a beer before I'd be able to sleep there. So, I headed next door to a place called the Wisdom Bar. It immediately drew me in with its cozy patio little nooks to lounge in, a bonfire to sit around and good classic rock playing. "Like a rolling stone" came on and gave me a whole new appreciation of it.

I was invited in, chose a little table and ordered my dinner.

I sat for a couple of moments longer before I was questioned with, "Oh, you're here alone?" from the woman at the table next to me.

"Yes" I nodded.

"Oh, please, come sit here." The Thai group welcomed me to their table as warmly as old friends.
Ah, welcome to Pai.

We sat there eating, laughing and drinking and welcoming other visitors into the circle. At one point I was sitting around a fire with a man from Israel, his girlfriend from Holland, a mountaineer guide that works in Nepal, two German girls and several local Thais. We were from all over the world but that evening we were all the same.

I was asking around about my best options for trekking into the mountains around town. Each person had been out trekking with a different company and everyone had seemed to have a good experience. I asked my new friend Oyi if he wanted to go on a trek with me. He told me that his trekking guide friend, Kon, was also trying to get him to go on a trip for Christmas to stay in a village that been influenced by a missionary. However, he was too busy to go. He offered to ask Kon who was also sitting at the fire if I could go instead.

Kon seemed like a really nice and respectful guy, but it just seemed like a bad idea to go alone with someone I had just met. I chatted with Kon and all the others throughout the night, but neither of us mentioned the trip.

Two days later I was getting the same story from everyone that I met. They had already been trekking, but offered the same advice; just find some cool people and go with a company that doesn't go to overvisited villages.

I had been studying the posters at each of the 20 or so trekking companies around town. I finally saw one that looked really good. They guaranteed to take guests to villages that were not visited by any other companies. They also seemed to have a great respect for the people of the villages and the environment.

So, I walked in to see if there was a trek leaving soon. The woman left to get the guide for me to talk to. Much to my surprise, Kon walked in the door. He told me, as I had already suspected that there wasn't much trekking going on until after the holidays, but I could always get together my own group or check back in.

Just as I was about to walk out, feeling quite disapointed, he stopped me.

"Well, I'm going on a personal trip. My friend Oyi was supposed to go with me but I don't think he is going to..."

I knew from an outsider's perspective it would be a terrible judgement call... but, my inutition told me the situation was legite, and my intuition rarely steers me wrong.

Two hours later I was on the back of my new friend's motorbike heading deep into the jungle. The dirt road twisted and turned, juanted and dipped, we crossed muddy creeks, climbed dusty hills and raced down deeply rutted paths. All the time passing oxen filled rice paddies, weaving between exotic fruit trees and passing wild flowers. The terrain seemed to include everything, except for a flat place in the road.

After an hour without seeing anyone, we pulled alongside a little stand with three men drinking homebrew and puffing cheroots. I was a bit aprehensive about the situation. Kon and the men exchanged some words in Thai and then four more men came out of the jungle wearing ski masks and yielding machetes.

Holy shit! What have I gotten myself into! This has the possibility of being really bad, even by my standards. My mind raced trying to decipher what they were talking about.

The men studied me as well, looking me up and down.

I considered my options and realized I didn't have many.

The men all laughed and one of them offered me a drink. I was in survival mode, the last thing I wanted was a drink.

My tension eased as I realized they had lost interest in me and were casually chatting amongst themselves. One offered me an orange and I took it as a peace offering.

I still didn't feel quite right until we were back on the bike a ways further down the road. Kon admitted that he was joking with them and told them I was his girlfriend. They were quite surprised because they are hill tribe farmers and rarely see farangs (westerners).

They may have been surprised, but I'm guessing I was the one more in shock. It really isn't until now that I can kind of laugh about the whole thing.

We kept on bumping down the road putting the motorbike to the test. Sometimes the path would be so steep that we would have to hop off half way up and walk with the bike's engine still roaring. Other times we would be going down a winding road with brakes squeeling narrowly missing rocks and branches and losing traction in lose dirt. I was certain that at any moment we would crash and burn and all I could do was hold on with all my might.

Eventually we made it to the Lisu village to stay with Kon's friends. They showed me to their hut. It had a dirt floor with an open fire inside. An old man sat on the floor shucking corn for the pigs. Chickens ran about and several piglets were trying to jump over the door stop.

"Here is your bed. Please, make yourself at home."

The bed consisted of a couple of dirty blankets folded on the floor. Never the less I was excited to be there. We ate dinner squatting around a little table with a Lisu woman. The meal was a delicious mix of egg, taro stew and rice.

The next morning was announced very audibly by a countless number of roosters. It was also marked by the sounds of several grass huts a-rocking. No wonder this village has so many kids running around.

It still amazes me that everyone in Thailand seems to wake up at the same time. Within the timespan of 20 minutes a whole town can go from absolute silence to full swing with people chatting loudly, music blaring, dogs barking and engines roaring.

We got back on the bike to travel further into the mountains to find the Christian village. Along our way we passed through another small village and stopped to say hi to an old couple that Kon is friends with. They opened me warmly and the old woman had a great laugh dressing me in traditional Lisu clothing.
As we passed through the village I noticed a young Lisu woman bumping along on the back of a bike seemingly with no effort. As my arms were quite soar from my death grip, I took a clue and was finally able to relax on the bike.

Riding through a jungle trail on the back of a motorbike is a lot like dancing with a partner. You must keep your body loose, ready for each twist and dip while at the same time maintaining control of each movement. You must learn to trust your partner, but sometimes it is best to just close your eyes, and most importantly, always remember to enjoy the ride.

A few hours later we arrived at the Lahu village just in time to partake in the Christmas Eve festivities. The village consisted of about ten families of which most were Lahu people with Animist beliefs whom had also been influenced by a Christian missionary.

I really wasn't sure what to expect. What I found was they didn't have a Christmas tree or presents but they had killed three large pigs and were enjoying a gathering of families for a large feast completed with a generous supply of homebrewed rice whisky and a couple of santa hats mixed in.

All were surpised to have a Farang as a guest. But, nonetheless they were very welcoming and entertained by my presence. Well, all except for one of the babies that didn't quite know what to make of me. The children were a bit aprehensive as well, but once I proved myself by playing their version of hackey-sack they warmed right up.

All the adults were interested in was my relationship status and couldn't seem to believe that I am single. A couple of them were very set on the idea that Kon and I were to start a romance and get married. Unfortunately for them I have very different ideas for my future.

Once the sun set the feasting and festivities abruptly ended. One of the families set up some blankets for me to sleep with them on the floor of their stilted hut.

It was very nice being so integrated into ther lives on Christmas, but it also made me miss my own family and friends quite a lot.

Christmas morning was just a continuation of the festivities from the day before. We feasted and the woman worked on preserving the remaining bits of pig in various fashions. There was literally pig everywhere.

Kon and I started back on bike to make the five plus hours back to town so I could call my family.