Good Morning, Vietnam!

I am checking in from Vietnam. It has been over a week. I hope no one was too worried. I joined a tour group on 31 March in Hanoi, Vietnam and, like with most tours, we have been kept ridiculously busy. I am on the fifteen day Reunification Express tour offered by Intrepid Travel. I can’t say I have enjoyed all of the stops on our itinerary, but just being able to hand over the transportation and accommodations responsibility to someone else and to someone with a lot of experience in Vietnam, has made the whole trip worthwhile. I have also had a great time getting to know the people in my group. The group consists of seven Aussies and myself. Luckily, everyone seems to get along pretty well. Our tour guide is a twenty-something Vietnamese guy from Hue that goes by the came Charlie.

We are twelve days into the trip so there is so much to tell and so much I have probably already forgotten. Today we are in Nha Trang and hop on an overnight train around 8pm for a nine hour trip to Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon). I am really not looking forward to the train, but it is our second night train so at least I know what to expect. Our first night train took us from Hanoi to Hue. Each city along our well travelled path down the eastern coast of Vietnam is known really only for one or two things. Whereas a tourist could spend a week in Rome and not scratch the surface, I have been pretty much ready to move on from most of our stops after two days.


Hanoi’s main draw is the General Ho Chi Minh (Uncle Ho, for short) mausoleum and surrounding complex. Yep, it is possible to see the man himself. Against Uncle Ho’s final wishes, he has been embalmed and put on display for all to see behind bulletproof glass, surrounded by eight guards and inside of a several million dollar square shrine made entirely of marble. His wishes had been to be cremated and he insisted that the government not spend any money on a monument to him because he felt it would be better spent on the people. He was right. The mausoleum comes off looking like a dull, gray stone cube reminiscent of the Soviet era.

In contrast, Hue is known for its imperial Citadel. The ancient walled city and vast grounds for the royal family is taken straight from their Chinese ancestors down to the eunuchs used as male servants to the king. Everything is painted in the imperial colors of yellow and red. Most of the city was destroyed, though, by bombings during the American War and is just now starting to get slowly reconstructed. Both to my Australian group members’ relief and chagrin, the Vietnam War is referred to here as the American War despite the heavy involvement and casualties by several other countries including Australia. Strangely, I am something of a novelty as an American touring Vietnam. Once my nationality is noted, though, no obvious judgment is passed on me and not much more is spoken of it. Possibly because it is pretty clear that I was not even born during the time of the war, but I also think that most Vietnamese are very happy to keep that part of their history in their past. They see themselves as the victors and the survivors. They just want to get on with life. It probably also helps that much of the country consists of farmland and rice fields. On the surface at least, it took much longer to rebuild the cities of Europe bombed during World War II than it did to grow crops to cover the Vietnamese countryside ravaged by bombing campaigns. It is the difference of a war taking place in a developing country. I don’t mean to downplay what were probably herculean efforts to restore Vietnam. I am more trying to make sense of why there seems to be very few signs of war here. Or maybe that is exactly the government's goal.

The poverty here, though, is overwhelming at times in its scale and its assault on all your senses. Buildings stand half finished or half demolished depending on slight variations in the structure or possibly just depending on one’s outlook. Trash lines sidewalks and sewage flows freely along the curbs. Exhaust fumes clog the already humid air. These are not war torn cities. these are impoverished communities struggling to meet basic needs. In some cases, the government has started to demolish houses in the hopes of building five star golf resorts to draw foreign tourists, but has stopped mid-stream for reasons our guide can only speculate about. In the vast majority, though, people are living in small, one room structures with walls of concrete and roofs of corrugated steel sandwiched between neighbors in much the same arrangement. Shopkeepers have a slightly better lot as they oftentimes live out of their stores. Running toilets, hot water and sometimes even electricity are unknown conveniences. There are nice parts of each town, especially in Hoi Ann, the city of tailors, with nice houses, but their luxuries are what we would all call modern essentials. Most striking, is that most of the people don't seem all that less happy than anywhere else.

So far, I have enjoyed Hoi An the most. It is a quaint little city trying very hard to lure in tourists looking for tailor made clothes and get them to spend more money on knock-offs – everything from books to dvds to jewelry to shoes. Several shops also make Chinese lanterns and someone seems to have had the great idea to adorn the streets and cafes with them. It gives the whole town a festive and friendly atmosphere. I couldn’t resist the idea of, for the first time in my life, having clothes tailor made. I ended up purchasing three linen dresses and two pairs of handmade Capri tights to wear with the dresses. I think they look rather nice with the fake Rayban’s I picked up in Hue and the light tan bolero hat I also bought in Hoi Ann for $3. I will post a picture so you can each see what you think.

We are now in Nha Trang, a world renowned beach destination that I just don’t get. It is filthy. Everything is filthy – the water, the beaches, the streets, the hotel rooms, the restaurants – except for a half kilometer strip along the beach lined with reasonably nice deck chairs and umbrellas. That is where all the Westerners are to be found…or out on Vin Pearl Island, most know for hosting the Miss Universe Pageant a handful of years ago. It is only accessible via an incredibly overpriced funicular ride across the bay. I opted to just hang-out in the hotel for the afternoon. Tomorrow we get to Saigon and go on a day trip to the Chu Chi Tunnels.

Monks and meditation

Yesterday, I decided I would devote most of my day to opening myself up to Buddhism. I decided I would visit the biggest temple closest to my hostel, Wat Phra Singh, and take along "Naked Buddha" to continue my learning about Buddhism. The book describes the pose and process of meditation, but I thought I would first see how long I could sit cross legged in the temple and just try to quiet my thoughts.

I still have a lot to understand about the philosophy of Buddhism and probably even more to learn about how Thai culture shapes their local brand of the faith. That said, there is a platform to the left of the main statue of Buddha where there are several gold life sized statues of what I guess to be the previous heads of the wat. Sitting right there in the middle was who I took to be the current Grand Monk (or whatever his title is) in his meditation pose looking no more dead or alive than the statues surrounding him. The only real difference was that his robe was saffron orange and the others' were gold. Kind of creepy...but not that much different than paintings of saints adorning church walls, I guess. I went back today to take this picture and there he was again. I wonder if that is his 9-5 job.

I can't say that I was able to still my thoughts completely. I was happily distracted watching all of the people flowing in and out of the wat. The sheer artistry of the statues and architecture is also really fascinating and so different than in Christianity. I was able to quiet my thoughts to a dull drone, though, and I was able to slow my heart rate enough so that I did not sweat even though there was not a fan on in-site. There were plenty of fans. Just none of them were on. Usually, noticing that alone is enough to form beads of sweat on my forehead.

About thirty minutes in, though, I felt a slight drop in my stomach and a very sharp pain in my right foot. My right leg had fallen asleep! Trying to control my impulse to jump up and start stomping my foot to wake up the rest of my leg, I silently extended my legs outward. The stamping would have been better. The only other monk in the wat, a man about my age, collecting tithes (or whatever they are called in Buddhism) and I think performing some kind of blessing ceremony on the patron points at my outstretched legs. And there, in that moment, I have committed one of the greatest taboos of Buddhism. In outstretching my legs, I was pointing the bottoms of my feet at Buddha. I might as well have spit or shat on his image.

I immediately recoiled into sitting cross-legged only to have a pins and needles pain shoot through my legs. So there I am trying to gracefully stand up without sticking my feet out in front of me again, but also without putting any weight on my now phantom right leg all the while stifling a reflexive groan. Thank goodness I had the foresight to sit with my back to a post. I half shimmied up the post, turned, and walked as fast and as quiet as I could to the exit to grab my sandals from the steps. I bet that monk had a good chuckle. I sure would have.

Exiting the front door of the wat, descending the few steps and making my way out the front entry way of the temple's compound, the relaxation feeling I'd felt in my body in the temple actually turned out to be my digestive system turning on me. That damn street vendor with her 20 baht fried rice! It took all the concentration and will power I had to get the two blocks back to my hostel and to their closest toilet. I immediately felt fine afterwards, but couldn't help, but feel weary about what Buddha had in-store for the rest of my day.

I walked down Ratchadamnern Road to the next temple, Wat Chedi Luang, and went inside for a brief sit and to take pictures. I ended up talking to a novice monk probably in his late teens or early twenties. As I was leaving the temple, he was sitting just outside the door reading a local newspaper and he started up a conversation with me by asking what I was listening to on my Ipod. Had it not been for the orange robes, I would have found this to be a bad pick-up line, but I had noticed he had done the same with two previous Western men entering the temple just before me. I think he was just bored and wanted to practice his English skills.

I told him I was listening to a book about Buddhism and he asked me why I was visiting Thailand and if it was to convert to Buddhism. I told him that, after growing up in a Christian town and culture, I was just curious about other faiths. We talked for a few minutes and I was trying to make an effort to just be open to the experience, but I think I was distracted by how typical he was. I expected him to almost visibly glow with enlightenment, but he was more like a polite college kid than anything else. I think that has been the biggest misconception on my part. I just expected too much out of these teen aged boys, these novice monks.

I have experienced them picking on each other, trading jokes, and even cutting in front of me in line at the 7-ll. They are just boys. Oftentimes, it seems they are either there because they are nominated by their families to become a monk for at least a few years to bring status to their family or they come from an impoverished background and becoming a monk is a path to a free education and a better standard of living. I am sure there are just as many reasons as there are monks, but those seem to be the main themes I have heard so far. Monks are entitled to a very cheap education (a fee of about $25/year), free room and board, free clothing, and free health care. They do have the option of earning a small salary as a teacher, but most don't earn a wage because money is just not necessary. The lifestyle is far from luxurious, but I can see its appeal. Monks are also very highly respected in Thai culture.

That evening, I went to a monk chat across town at Wat Srisupan. I was joined by a German couple about my age. The German woman was greatly looking forward to the meditation that is advertised as a two hour session from 7-9pm. She had been practising to build up her stamina. I recounted to them my half hour attempt earlier in the day and said that I would probably not be joining them. None of us ended up meditating in the end.

Instead the monk assigned to lead the monk chats filled the two hours with his pontificating about Buddhism. "The Buddha said" this and "The Buddha said" that. In his not entirely clear English he basically repeated what I had heard in "Naked Buddha" except he interestingly colored it with what was surely Thai culture and probably unbeknownst (or beknownst) to him, some political dogma. His take on why women are not monks, for instance, was hard to keep a straight face through. It had something to do with women being too weak and that 'the people' did not want 'it' in Thailand. The author of "Naked Buddha", an ordained Buddhist nun, had warned about this since she herself had to travel to Vietnam to be ordained, one of the only places that will ordain women. She also cautioned learners to be aware that culture and politics paints Buddhism just as much as in Christianity and other faiths so it was interesting to be able to identify it when this monk was speaking.

One of Buddhism's basic tenets is to question everyone and everything which I think is great and is one aspect that really appeals to my curious nature, but the monk noticeably got defensive when I asked why it was a tenet for monks not to marry if Buddha himself had been married. In what I thought was pretty universal of a twenty something guy he explained that Buddha was married prior to his enlightenment so that he would know the suffering that his followers experienced so that he could better understand them. I am pretty sure there is more to it than that, but I just kept my mouth shut and let him change the topic.

Needless to say, I was grateful for the experience, but a little disappointed. I think I will make a point, though, to look for more monk chats as I continue my travels into Vietnam and Cambodia.

Lions and tigers and elephants, oh my!

I just had to post a few of these pictures. I shared some of these pictures with my family and I believe my sister's exact words were, "What are you crazy?! That tiger could have eaten you for a snack!"

Those exact thoughts did not cross my mind, but it did seem pretty fatalistic all the sudden when I was allowed, through a trap door, into the tigers' enclosure and was warned not to touch the walls made of chain linked fence or any of the wires running along the walkways because they were electric. Hmm...I thought...I am in a ten foot high electrified pen with three full sized tigers and two 'animal trainers' will little more than sticks to protect us. Strangely, I was pretty relaxed. It was probably because both the trainers and the tigers were really relaxed about the whole thing.

Last Sunday, I went to the Tiger Kingdom just outside of Chiang Mai. It was part of a kind of package deal that included a trip to the Maesa Elephant Camp. My guesthouse's manager's husband was taking their nephew to the Elephant Camp and Tiger Kingdom is nearby so they offered to give me a free ride.

I had heard great things from several travellers about Tiger Kingdom. The park looks like a very well maintained Western zoo with at least a dozen huge enclosures. The enclosures are grassy spaces enclosed within in ten or so feet high chain link electric fences. Each enclosure also has an area with a concrete landing and a roof. They are fed there daily and I suppose it is also a place for the animals to get away from the rain and heat. There was also a smaller concrete bottomed, walled pavilion where the newborn tigers are raised. There are four groups of tigers and they are segregated according to their age into different spaces. The larger tigers are the sub-divided further into a handful of enclosures. Tickets are purchased depending on which age group (or groups) you want to go in and have a 15-20 minute visit with. The general consensus I gathered from other travellers was that the full sized and newborn tigers are the best to experience.

The tiger cubs were six weeks old and adorable. Luckily, the timing of the other visitors was staggered enough that I had one of three cubs all to myself. He didn't crawl all over me like the others were, but I was fine with that. I was just in awe. The pictures are a little blurry. He was in a constant state of wobbly motion. He did look a little glassy eyed and that bothered me because I had heard some rumors that the tigers are tranquilized, but I have also heard people adamantly deny that. It is hard to tell in Thailand, to be honest, who is telling the truth about tourist attractions and who even knows the real answer. The animal protection laws just don't really exist here.

Maesa Elephant Park

Our first stop of the day was to the Maesa Elephant Park. I was pretty hesitant about the whole experience and I still don't really know what to make of it. After unknowingly participating in an elephant trek just north of Phuket in which we road on metal benches that damage the elephant's backs, I pretty much vowed to stay away from an elephant park, no matter if it had a good reputation. This elephant park was a huge wooded farm area that supports over seventy elephants. I could say they looked well taken care of, but I am not a veterinarian, I really don't know. What the nephew and so many other Thai children were at the park for that day was the Elephant Show. Several of the elephants had been trained to march around a huge dirt ring and perform tricks like trying to kick an oversized soccer ball into an oversized goal and to paint with watercolors. I didn't stick around for the entire show, but I did pay for it as part of my admission.

We also had the opportunity to watch several of the elephants bathe in the parks river. Watching them each amble down the rocks into the water felt like watching grandmothers of the animal kingdom out for daily swim. They then took turn lying down in the running stream all the while their handlers dumping bucket loads of water on their backs.

We had the option to buy bananas and sugar cane to feed the elephants. I felt like a contestant in an episode of "America's Funniest Home Videos" as two eight foot pachyderms came rather quickly towards me in hopes of getting the bananas from the little French girl squealing in delight and fear in front of me. Is it universally rude to push a child closer to an elephant even if their parent has been stupid enough to ply them with bananas and step away so they can get some good pictures? I literally tried to climb over the bench behind me, but it had a high back to it so I was kind pinned while these elephants' trunks had their way with me. No, there was nothing remotely sexy about it. The long moment passed uneventfully, thank goodness, and the French girl was off to taunt another creature several times her size.

I really enjoyed visiting the nursery. It was just a large pen where a six week old elephant had been sequestered with his mother. I am such a sucker for babies. I was later told that baby elephants are often separated like this to protect them from aggressive elephants that may harm them. The baby sure was fun to watch. He was trying to feed himself water by dipping his trunk into a barrel just outside of the pen, sucking up water, and putting his trunk into his mouth. He was doing it so slow and deliberately. He managed to get his trunk into his mouth after a bit of a miss and then stuck his trunk in too far and gagged himself. In a fit of frustration, he shot the water back into the barrel and stumbled away to hide behind his mother's legs. He had learned how to pick his minder's pockets, though, in search of food. It is no wonder there are signs posted all around the park warning visitors to watch their belongings. It is because of the sometimes over zealous elephants. Can you spot the baby in the picture? Look for the little trunk...

Buddha at the food court

I have been kind of disappointed with myself these past few days in that I seem to be spending my time doing things that I could just as well do at home. I used to fantasize, for instance, that if I had a break from working that I would lock myself away somewhere beautiful and peaceful and read all of the books I never have time to read. Along with that, I would learn about other religions. Instead, I have spent most of my time on the internet planning my next stops and watching "Project Runway" and "Mercy" downloads while playing solitaire on my ipod. Some habits die hard.

So, last night, I decided it is time to stop wasting my time. I would wake up today early (at 9am) and walk as much as I could while listening to an audiobook, "Naked Buddha", an explanation of Buddha and Buddhism by an ordained Buddhist nun. I don't know why I do this to myself. I didn't go to bed until almost 1 am. So I woke up this morning to the sound of the cleaning crew yelling at each other in Thai on the other side of my paper thin door. It was 10.45. By the time I ate a leisurely breakfast of toast, coffee, and fresh fruit and took a shower, it was nearly 1.00 pm....and 37 degrees Celsius (98.6 F) without a cloud in the sky.

I decided to check out the park a few blocks from my hostel that I had yet to wander over to. It was almost as big on the map as it was in reality and nearly every inch of shade was occupied by either a body or a pigeon or pigeon shit. Moving on...I decided to walk to the nearby temple that hosts monk chats on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday evenings followed by two hours of meditation. I missed yesterday's session for the pathetic excuse that I was feeling a bit hungry. Tomorrow I won't make such an excuse. And, to prepare myself, I did a trial run and walked there so I would know exactly where it is and how long it would take to walk there. It felt like walking in an urban desert. I was almost the only person walking. Listening to "Naked Buddha" helped a lot in that it distracted me and was just philosophical enough for me to separate myself from the heat.

I sat in Wat Srisupan by myself for about forty five minutes. It is a beautiful temple and, judging by the silver temple adjacent and the constant sound of construction, they were doing very well with the donations coming from the monk chats provided in English. Good for them, I thought. Every wat, church, and temple should learn from you. People would rather give after learning than out of fear. It was great to be sitting in a temple as "Naked Buddha" described the reasons behind the imagery used in Buddhism and also explained Buddha's story from man to enlightened one. Other than two small birds that kept flying in and out of the open windows and doors, I was alone with the several statues of Buddha in varying sizes and the hundreds of images of him painted on the walls. I need to ask the monks why the silhouette of his image is repeated so often.

Suddenly, six teen aged monks entered the room. I slowly collected my things and left not because I felt threatened or felt that I was interrupting something sacred, but because they were so loud it was distracting. They were repeating a phrase as it seemed to me they were dropping coins into a clear Plexiglas bank of money. I could be wrong, but that is the sound I remember. I must pay closer attention tomorrow. I know, from "Naked Buddha", that the chanting is done to focus and to eliminate any space for any other thoughts in one's mind. I imagine that is the principle reason for chanting in most religions. I just don't know why it these monks felt the need to be so loud about it. Another question to add to the list.

Walking out into the brilliant sunlight, the heat hit m like a body slam. I managed to meander down to a 7-ll in a daze and get a cold, sweetened iced tea just as my knees felt like they'd buckle. Enough of this. Time to head to the mall. Apparently, this is a sentiment shared by Thai and American teenagers alike. It is THE hang-out spot. I had not been too impressed by the shopping mall I had headed to last week on the opposite side of Chiang Mai, but had heard some good things about the Airport Plaza shopping mall - namely that a few volunteers had found cute dresses there and that it had a cinema. Add air conditioning and I really didn't care what else it had to offer. I was in. Momentarily rejuvenated by the iced tea I decided to walk to the mall since, after looking on the map, I realised it was just straight down the road. I think I may have been the first human being, Thai or other, to walk there. It didn't even have pedestrian walkways outside of it. Needless to say, I made it and was immediately washed over by the cool air conditioning and what I recognized as a Waitrose (British super market). Thank God...err...Buddha.

The five level shopping mall was filled out with nice Western (i.e. Puma, Guess, LaCoste) stores and Thai stores along with electronics stores carrying every brand of computer, phone, etc. you could imagine and their knock-offs. I did continue to listen to "Naked Buddha", but had to re-focus myself several times after getting distracted by retail therapy. The prices are just SO low! I bought my first Holister tank tops today for...wait for it...$2 each. Granted they were made in Cambodia, but the labels are still clearly visible despite their lame attempts to "X" them out with a black marker. And, then there was Dairy Queen. I think this makes the third day running that I have eaten ice cream for lunch. I also bought a shirt dress for 70% off ($10) that I can wear with tights to teach in Cambodia and a Wacoal bra for $8.50. They are normally $60! I would have assumed it was a knock-off, but I bought it at the Thai equivalent of Macy's. And all of the other typical lingerie brands, Maidenform, Jockey, even some European brands were several dollars more expensive. Women will appreciate this.

It is now after 9pm and I have just eaten my 20 baht ($0.50) dinner of egg fried rice and am onto my second glass of French red wine that I found at a wine store yesterday. I think I will head back to my room soon and watch an episode of "Project Runway". Like I said, old habits die hard. Tomorrow, the plan is to make the rounds of the many used books stores for a few new books and to keep listening to "Naked Buddha" in preparation for the monk chat and meditation in the evening.

Thai Cooking 101

This week, I have been volunteering to teach English at Sirimangklajon primary school and, in the evenings, I have been taking a Thai cooking course at Siam Rice Thai Cookery School with chefs Nancy and Pot at their house just outside of Chiang Mai’s city center. The organization I am volunteering with arranged a one-hour course for us last Friday morning to learn how to make curry paste. I liked the approach, the atmosphere, and the cooking so much I decided to book a week long course. I had also seen enough brochures to know that all of the comparable cooking courses had very similar menus and also slightly higher prices. In the end, because the school I was volunteering at was closed on Friday and because I got sick on Thursday from the papaya salad I had during lunch and had to cancel that evening’s course, I ended up with two evening courses and two full day courses. My secondary motive was to work on improving my tolerance for spicy foods. My husband loves spicy foods and enjoys making Indian curries among other things at home. We have been limited, though, in what we try when eating out and what we prepare at home because of my complete lack of tolerance to spicy food. That is slowly changing.



An unexpected bonus of the class has been meeting so many great people. Each day, I take the course with new students. And, unlike with the volunteering and in my hostel, most of the other travelers are in their mid-twenties to early thirties. The clients’ focus tends to be more on bringing something new to their kitchen tables to liven up family meals and dinner parties. Most are also much more open to new flavors and curious about indigenous ingredients.


On Tuesday, I had a great time getting to know a couple that I will call Mr. & Mrs. Foodie. The British-American couple in their mid-late Thirties knew every herb and vegetable Pot showed us in our tour of his neighborhood market. My first thought was, “These people should be on Master Chef or Hell’s Kitchen! They really know their food!” When I asked Mrs. Foodie if she was a chef and how she knew so much about food, her response was, “We just LOVE food.”


They immediately started trying food in the market and bought a piece of Chiang Mai sausage that they offered to the rest of the class to sample. It was delicious! I had seen Chiang Mai sausage in various night markets, but had been intimidated by its large, half pound, pinwheel shape. I knew I would not want to eat that much of a food even if I did love it. And, living in a guesthouse, I do not have easy access to a refrigerator so nibbling on it over several days was not an option. I immediately liked Mr. & Mrs. Foodie.

I started asking them what other food they’d tried in Thailand. They started rattling off nearly a dozen different dishes. After make a quick mental inventory of the new food I had tried in my five week stay and coming up with about the same number, I was shocked when they said they had been in Thailand for four days. They are taste tourists! Their enthusiasm, curiosity and openness to answer even my most basic food questions really empowered me to try all the foods I had been cautiously avoiding. I stopped pretending to have the same food phobias as my fellow university aged volunteers. Granted, I had many of the same aversions to seafood, herbs and most vegetables at their age so I pass no negative judgment, but it does not mean that I need to limit my experience to accommodate them.

That evening, I made vegetable spring rolls, hot and sour chicken soup, sweet and sour chicken stir fry and a green curry. I enjoyed the spring rolls and green curry the most. Surprising, at least to me, is the frequent use of tomatoes in Thai cooking. I do not think of tomatoes, for no real reason except for their prevalence in my upbringing in the Midwest, as a tropical fruit. I also do not particularly enjoy tomatoes. It is part of my texture neurosis. Unless they are stewed, diced within a centimeter of recognition, or pulverized into a paste, I am not really interested. Unfortunate for me, Thai cuisine limits the amount vegetables and fruit are cooked to enable them to retain their flavor and texture. As a result, most of my tomatoes have found themselves relegated to the edge of my plate when we taste our finished dishes.


Something else I do not normally enjoy is eggplant (aubergine for those not tuning in from the U.S.). Again, it’s the texture. Rather than the purple zucchini-shaped (courgette) vegetable I am accustom, a Thai eggplant looks like an egg – a pale green one, at that. Paired with the barely there cooking method and the much more dense composition, I actually like Thai eggplant. The eggplant, along with carrots baby corn, thai basil, and kafir lime leaves are diced and accompany the green curry paste, coconut cream, fish sauce, and sugar. Green curry paste is made by pounding in a mortar green chilies, shallots, garlic, galangal (Thai ginger), fresh turmeric, and shrimp paste. Typically, a Thai person includes ten tiny, fiery green chilies in their paste. I was proud to include two.

For the vegetarian spring rolls, we sauteed the stuffing of tofu, garlic, shallots, scallions, Thai ginger, shitake mushrooms and bean sprouts in a sauce of soy, fish, and oyster sauces, lime juice and sugar. We then wrapped a brimming tablespoon of stuffing tightly inside of a square of rice paper sealing the roll with egg before frying them in hot oil. Along with sweet chili dipping sauce, they were crispier and tastier than I had had at most restaurants.

The sweet and sour chicken was another story. Again, there was the tomato gate crashing and now also a cucumber, another texture nightmare. There was also a noticeable absence of breading on the chicken, the sauce was watery, and the secret to the tanginess was a big dollop of ketchup. This was not your Chinese take-away sweet n’ sour chicken. Yes, I know I am not in China, but I really didn’t expect tomato and ketchup. I set it aside after sampling it. As for the soup, more barely cooked tomato along with not so finely sliced (my fault) strips of the very fibrous Thai ginger (much more fibrous that it’s more popular cousin). I stuck to the very tasty sour broth and chicken.

For dessert, I fell in love. I apologize. I must be watching too much of the hyper-dramatic Thai soap operas that are impossible to avoid here. For dessert, the chef made us sticky mango rice. It is the best thing since sliced (dense brown Dutch) bread. I did not particularly like mango nor did I particularly like rice pudding (umm, texture, again) before arriving in Thailand, but I love this dish. If breakfast weren’t included in my room rate, I would seek sticky mango rice out every morning from a street vendor or market stall. Last night, I actually walked nearly two miles in pouring down rain until I found a stall in the Night Market selling the creamy, perfectly sweet dish. I can’t really explain why I like the dish. Please just try it.

Cooking class and fish spa

On Friday morning, our local coordinator organized a two hour cooking class for us at a cooking school just outside of Chiang Mai city center. We started by visiting the chef's local market to learn about local varieties of ingredients like fresh turmeric, lime leaves, and sweet Thai basil. He also showed us how to pick out the correct coconut cream and we watched coconuts being manually separated into coconut meat, cream, and milk.

I had just eaten breakfast and had not had a full night's sleep in over five days. The combination of a full stomach and lack of sleep made me just uneasy enough that a wave of nausea hit me as we walked into the market of food stalls and the smells of frying meat, fresh fish, and raw meat wafted through the air. Then the chef handed around a few curry pastes for us to smell. I didn't trust my stomach to smell the first two, but thought I'd give the third a try, the one he called chocolate paste. He laughed as I reflexively reeled backwards and my throat flooded with saliva. The paste was actually made of fermented shrimp and smelt like rotten soybeans. If you are lucky enough to not know that smell, just imagine the smell of something horrible and long dead. Very funny, chef!

Not surprisingly, I think the cooking studio was an extension of a family compound that housed and employed the chef's extended family. An older woman lounged in an elevated, canopied sitting area set-up in the yard under a large tree and rocked a two year girl in a child sized hammock while a younger woman worked in the kitchen preparing the raw food we would use in our cooking class and glanced occasionally and what looked to be her infant son sleeping in an even smaller hammock set-up along the far wall of the kitchen. In the adjoining room, our class of volunteers worked on making two curry pastes - one spicy and one not-so-spicy. In a room diagonally opposite, three other customers started their full day cooking course by making spring rolls and frying them in woks over single burner stoves. There weren't any doors separating the rooms, the front half of the house did not have exteriors walls and openened onto an outdoor sink and small herb garden. The layout gave the house an open, airy, homey, and welcoming feeling. The curry and spring rolls were delicious! I really enjoyed the course and can't wait to start a full week of evening courses this upcoming week.

In the afternoon, three housemates and I decided to give a fish spa a try. I had seen segments on British and American news shows about this new fad in health treatments. I had not considered trying it, though, until getting to Thailand namely because they are everywhere here in Chiang Mai and, at 80 baht (about $2) it is really cheap. According to Wikipedia, the fish employed in Fish spas are called Doctor fish and are a special breed of fish that eat the dead or damaged part of a human's skin, thus, leaving behind only the healthy skin. Apparently, it is a good treatment for psoriasis.

To me, the fish looked like smaller versions of the bottom dweller scavenger fish that I have seen used in many fish tanks to help keep the tanks clean. I wish I could say it was a relaxing and enjoyable experience, but it felt more like enduring a strange and uncomfortable spa treatment. I would recommend anyone with ticklish feet avoid this. It took me the first five minutes of the treatment to just keep my feet in the tank. The vibrating and tiny sucking sensation was just too much for the bottom of my feet. I decided to plunge my feet to the bottom of the tank so that the bottoms of my feet were inaccessible to the nibblers and was only able to endure the fish nibbling the rest of my feet and calves after my friend sharing the tank with me put in her feet, thus, drawing most of the fish in the tank to her feet and distracting them from me. The myriad of tiny sucking felt like vibrations. I was only able to distinguish the bites of the larger fish and the more tenacious ones that weaseled their way in between my toes and under to the arches of my feet. It was a long twenty minutes that I was happy to finish. They did a great job on the callouses on the sides of my feet and toes, but I would much prefer a pedicure at double or triple the price.

It is coming up tulips

I moved out of the Travel to Teach volunteer house and into a nearby guesthouse today....Hallelujah! It was like living in a teak tree house masquerading as a frat house in the middle of a hot, busy city that hardly slept. My top bunk bed on the top floor was a sweaty, sunny, noisy mess. I could hear everything said or done in the house or in the surrounding neighborhood. And it seemed, once it finally got quiet, our gecko roommate would start in with his loud chirping just to remind us that we had no control over what came in and out of our room in the way of multi-leg creatures. My housemates, ranging from 19-23 coped in the same way I would have at that age, by being as nocturnal as possible. But, at 30 years old (or just 'old' as I overhead one German girl refer to me), I have just enough experience and, thankfully, money to get the hell out of there as soon as possible. Don't get me wrong, my housemates were great and were the reason I stuck it out for one week, but I was out of that house and checked into my guesthouse as early as possible.

What frustrated and disappointed me the most was how Travel to Teach handled my complaint. Several volunteers had actually, the week prior, moved to another location to volunteer because of the living conditions in the Chiang Mai volunteer house. Instead of being forthcoming and admitting that they recognized a problem, they blamed the issue on me and my having too high of expectations. I just happened to talk to one of the volunteers that moved out of the house when she was in-town today. Sandwiched between my two backpacks, I was walking to the guesthouse and she was walking back from the corner store with breakfast. She and at least two others had raised very similar complaints and are so frustrated they have decided to seek volunteering opportunities independent from Travel to Teach.

There were cobwebs everywhere, holes in the walls and floors, an open wire inside of the fridge that shocked a fellow housemate, and ridiculously dirty common spaces like the shower, kitchen, and living room. Not to mention it was too warm at night in the upstairs rooms to sleep and several guests complained of numerous mosquito bites even though they'd continually sprayed themselves with bug repellent and bug eating geckos shared every room.

The volunteering placement itself is incredibly disorganized too. The first week of the English summer camp did not end up happening. I was told by the local coordinator it was because it was exam week at the local schools and we were not allowed to disrupt their schedule. I was then subsequently told by the area coordinator the real reason was that there were too few students enrolled to go ahead with the camp. So, instead, we waited around all day to teach English to novice monks at nearby Wat Pa Pao (pictured) from 6-8 pm. That would have been fine except that there were more volunteers than monks so I spent most of the time sitting in the back of the class scratching the prior nights' mosquito bites. Next week, we teach from 9-noon at an English summer camp that, now that we have been given more details, is not a camp at all. In pairs, volunteers will take turns teaching fifty minute segments to twenty-five students in a school's lunchroom. I was told we'd be teaching them sports and interacting with the children through interactive activities. When I asked why, the coordinator told me it was too hard to keep track of the kids if we let them go outside so, instead, we are quartering them in their lunchroom. It sounds more like summer school detention to me.

I can't get over this resentment I have that we, as volunteers, have not only paid this company to coordinate a placement for us, but we have also taken time out of our lives and paid fairly expensive plane fares to fly half way around the globe to be told that the children (or their parents and schools) are not interested in learning English enough to show up to free lessons in their own neighborhood. I also feel like the company and school hasn't really taken the time to maximize the opportunity for both the volunteers and the children. Needless to say, I have asked for a partial reimbursement.

Today I checked in to the Green Tulip House just around the corner from the volunteer housing. At a price of about $10 per day (including a single room with a/c, wifi access, and breakfast), it is by far the cheapest accommodations I have stayed in thus far, but also pretty much exactly what I needed. It is simple, but immaculately clean. I checked in a little after noon and fell asleep atop the covers on my double bed and woke two hours later to the sound of a neighboring room's door being slammed shut. I look forward to catching up on all of the restful sleep I've missed this past week.

Chiang Mai

My first week in Chiang Mai has been fun, interesting, busy, frustrating, and hot. I thought I'd treat you to several pictures I have taken in the past week and some really funny signs I have seen. I will pick up with more writing in my next blog. Enjoy!

Wat Doi Suthep

There are +300 steps leading up the side of the mountain to get to this temple. It was well worth the walk. This is just one picture of a tucked away stairway to one of the main buildings in the temple's compound.

This is a statue we saw tucked in amongst the thousands of stalls at the Sunday Night Market. The sign at the statue's base just cracked me up. The spacing of the 's' in 'shoes' was off and, instead, added to the end of 'your'. Aren't we all thirteen years old at heart?

Hmm...just one of the food stalls at the night market. What condiment do you think goes with a "Big Cricket"?

Here is a sign in the village of the most unathentic hill tribe in Thailand. The waterfall was a trickle and the opium was picked over (just kidding...about the opium).

On Wednesday night, we went to a Thai boxing match. I am not sure whether we were lucky or not to have ring side seats. but these two boys were fun to watch. They were cheering on their icon, a Canadian boxer.

Koh Yao Noi

Stepping onto the small longtail boat is like stepping back in time; stepping back into some other culture’s time. The boat skims across the top of the water and passes people fishing in the low tide mud across a backdrop of massive boulders (called limestone karsts, I learned later) jutting out of the water. The water, flat except for the waves caused by our boat cutting through the water and the one other boat that zipped by use from the opposite direction, against a blue sky with fluffy clouds that so fill the sky they look to be falling below the horizon lend a serenity to the massive, jagged rocks that defy gravity with their oversized tops and slender bases whittled away by thousands of years of lapping water. It feels like we’ve somehow found a tear in the fabric of reality and slipped through the jagged, rocky teeth of time and are floating out to an island in another world. I was really excited to see what it would be like to step foot on one of these mythical looking rocks.

We landed on the pier. I should say we landed next to and beneath the pier that seemed impractically high at our low tide disembarkment. After lugging my backpack across two other similar sized boats and up a lead pipe ladder covered partly in clams, I was on the pier. A huge sign at the beginning of the pier welcomed me to Kho Yoa Noi in English and presumably in Thai. Assuming the sign to be an indication of the size and level of tourism as relatively high, I was a bit shocked when a taxi drove me past the one restaurant and two makeshift shack/grocery stores and out of the center of town. About half of a mile outside of the center, we came to Ulmer’s Nature Lodge and Island Yoga center.

I arrived around 4pm with no one in sight so I walked the short sand road down to the concrete, pavilion styled restaurant I saw half way down the short entrance road. The owner, a nice man, standing in front of an appropriately oversized picture of the country’s king mounted on the wall next to the menu of daily excursion options, said that he just saw the yoga center’s owner, David, leave a few minute ago and said I should just take a seat and relax until David returned. As I was opening the restaurant’s menu to order a much overdue lunch, he asked me where I was from and I mentioned that I am American, but live in Holland. His face perked up and he pointed to one of his rental bungalows and told me that a Dutch woman was staying there, but leaving tomorrow so I should go over and say hello. After he repeated himself, I figured I should appease the new acquaintance and go say hello.

Joyce was sitting out on the front porch of her bungalow talking on her mobile in Dutch wearing nothing, but an oversized towel. I immediately felt myself interrupting, but saw no way to nonchalantly exit the situation so I put on my best idiotic smile and waited for her to get off the phone. It felt nice to speak Dutch not because I am particularly good at it, but because I have been pretty homesick these past few days and any taste of home is nice. What would normally have been pangs of missing my husband was immediately replaced by the knowledge that my Dutch husband would probably hate this place. I don’t know. It could go either way. I could see him sitting pretty much anywhere on the planet for a few days reading a book, eating decent food and having some drinks. I imagine, though, he’d be almost offended by the surroundings of the lodgings and the town that are rustic to the point of feeling derelictic and junk yardish.

It must be part of the culture of a Thai island cutting its teeth in the tourism industry, but handfuls of nicely built wooden and even partially stone or concrete bungalows look to have been set down in the land that Goodwill left behind. The bungalows and restaurants I have seen are at least partially furnished with roughly used second hand furniture. Last night I ate at a seafood restaurant perched a top a hill and set into trees with a beautiful view of the bay and the back half of the restaurant’s tables were piled with used books in German and English and other items travelers had discarded on their stop through the island. And again, this morning when I went to get a massage, the ‘waiting area’ consisted of five fishing nets strung as hammocks and a bar that had been enclosed with appliances and just stuff to create a kitchen and living area. Surprisingly, it is easy to get used to. The amazing scenery looking out onto the bay along with the palm trees and wild flowers and the incredibly nice people make it easy to ignore the odds and ends stacked almost everywhere.

The two stores in the town center were a bit more bizarre. It was difficult to tell what was for sale in the larger of the stores that looked to me like a converted auto repair garage from the 1960s in which the previous owners had just shut the doors and left their remaining parts only to be re-opened forty years later by new owners that pushed aside the new parts to shelve their macabre of soaps, medical supplies, fishing gear, Lay’s potato chips and cooler of water, iced coffee and boxed juices.

A huge sign ten yards from the welcoming port sign dictates the town rules that are to be strictly followed by all – “Please respect the clothing and customs. No alcohol or drugs allowed in town. …” and some others that I really don't remember. I took the first rule to apply mostly to female tourists as I noticed half the women had covered heads. I almost literally stumbled upon what I assume was the owner’s family matriarch clothed head to ankle in thin white cotton on her knees in an area of the store behind the soaps and cooler on her knees, chanting softly to herself and bowing down to touch her head and arms on the mat below her. Right there in the middle of the soap aisle, I so wanted to watch this woman pray. It looked so elegant and out of place that I was momentarily mesmerized…probably because my brain was questioning the reality of the situation. The silence was broken, though, as a man entered the store with a New England accent asked, “What time boat trip?” to the Thai man peddling snorkeling and boat trips.

The second rule I took to apply only to that small town circle of just a several meter radius because not a quarter of a mile outside town is a rock climbing school with a restaurant advertising beers all day and up the road a little further is a Thai island version of the Dutch coffee shops, a wooden sided hut next to the road with a floor to ceiling Jamaican colored flag with a marijuana leaf filling the center and a heady scent of pot wafting across the road.

Across the dirt road, I went into the other, smaller store that looked like a detached one car garage had been unceremoniously dropped twenty yards from the pier sixty years ago and in its latest cantation was being used as a souvenir and snack shop. They had the unmistakable banner of the Unilever ice cream brand strung across the open side of the building so I went in to look for some ice cream. I decided instead on a bottle of water, a can of Diet Coke, some local baked goods and a bag of potato chips. I went with the sweet chili squid flavored chips over the seaweed. The baked goods turned out to be two small, sugary cake donuts and six banana flavored lady finger with the consistency of the peanut shaped marshmellow candy popular at Easter.

My back was pretty much killing me by the time I got into my bungalow at Ulmer’s Lodge, but I thought I would push myself a little and take the five o’clock yoga class that night. I know my physical therapist had advised against my Bikram yoga classes a month before when I had a somewhat debilitating flare up of the same slipped disk, but I thought maybe this different style of yoga would work in getting things back in alignment. I was also really curious to learn the more traditional yoga movements in a studio that literally looks out onto palm trees and the bay with huge limestone karsts floating on the horizon.

The yoga studio sat just behind my bungalow surrounding by palm trees heavy with green coconuts. A bungalow shaped structure itself, elevated on a platform and open on all sides except for netting and cotton sheets hung from roof’s edges. The ceiling beams formed a peak under a slatted wooden roof. As we were instructed to look towards the ceiling for certain poses, I watched the three inch long geckos chase each other around the beams. Fans mounted from the corners of the roof whir silently and accompany the bay breeze along with the sounds of chirping geckos, singing birds, and clucking chickens.

I loved the class and found it to be really relaxing, but I almost immediately felt the side effects. I couldn’t finish dinner due to an overwhelming nausea that I had forgotten came along with the back pain. After watching two episodes of “Project Runway” on my computer, I could hardly move and struggled to even roll over. I knew I was in for a long night and I was in no mood to struggle through the pain with little more than a heating pad along with fight the thick, breezeless heat only exacerbated by a mosquito net that had holes in it, but was just thick enough to block out the fan’s breeze. Thankfully, the resort’s owner was sitting next door on the deck of the kitchen bungalow and could call someone to figure out how to turn on the air conditioning unit that was sitting idle mounted on my wall. It immediately made a world of difference. I closed all of the seven windows and put a towel across the crack under the door and gave in to a tired ambivalence about the bugs and geckos potentially surrounding me in the night to come. Thankfully, not a single bug was in my bed net in the morning so that means tonight I can sleep easier trapped inside the netting that managed to shrink my king sized bed to an odd egg shaped twin sized bed under its netting. Maybe I should break out my net to see if it’s any improvement.

My bungalow was an elevated wooden structure with windows on the three sides at the front that looked out onto a porch with a hammock swinging in the breeze. A king sized bed under a white mosquito net sat along one of the interior walls that enclosed the bathroom. Other than that, the only furniture in the large bungalow was a veneered wooden clothes cupboard with attached mirror and small table. A room stripped to the bare necessities except for an air conditioner and fan, it was a perfect place to enjoy this island just lightly touched by the modern world. As I was unpacking after a quick shower before the five o’clock yoga class I took the first night, a thin yellow cat poked her head through the daisy imprinted curtains blowing in the wind of one of the open windows that looks out on the front porch. She quickly jumped down from the window sill and into the room and ran under my bed. She looks like one of my previous cats Shawn when we first adopted him with the same whiny meow sans the top three quarters of her tail, but exudes my other cat Cheech’s confidence and curiosity. What a cheeky little thing to jump through the window and suddenly act shy as she peeks her head out from under the bed and gives me a whiny meow. I immediately started to cry. I couldn’t help myself. So many feelings are near the surface. It felt like both Cheech and Shawn were suddenly there in this grubby little cat to welcome me on this part of my journey and during a lonely time. So I don’t mind when Pepsi (her name given by the owner, David) lays out on my front porch all night and peeks her head through my open door this morning, hops on my bed and follows me around the room begging for scratches. Her coat is caked with fur else I’d pick her up and hold her. She’ll have to settle for head and neck scratches.

At David’s advice I went for a two hour massage with an Ayurvedic healer. That was the best 600 baht I have ever spent. It is an eery and humbling feeling being massaged by someone that seems more in-touch with my body than I am and is, on top of that, a total stranger with which I share little language. It’s like being enveloped in God. It wasn’t euphoric or anything like that. The pain and discomfort of sitting on the front porch of a rented bungalow along a relatively busy dirt path taken by other tourists to get to their bungalows in the sweltering heat while wearing nothing more than a pair of capris and a sports bra was worth it was really overwhelming at first, but I gave myself over in the end...probably because he was so darn good.

Diving the Similan and Surin National Parks

Today I am on the beautiful island of Koh Phi Phi Don enjoying a little R&R in my hotel room at the Paradise Pearl Bungalows. I have included a photo from one of the nearby beaches just to give you an idea. As my other blogs will mention, I re-aggravated a herniated disk that I had managed to get under control just before the trip. Other than at home, I really can't think of a better place to recuperate for a few days than at this hotel and on Koh Phi Phi. This also giving me a chance to catch up on posting blogs...so sit back and enjoy!

February 25, 2010

Today is Day 3 of 4 on the Similan and Surin Islands liveaboard along the west coast of Thailand. It has really been a learning process for me. That is how I am looking at it. I am learning a lot of diving techniques to deal with current and, as a result, am having to really focus on managing my air consumption. For the first time ever, I have the worst air consumption of anyone in my group. It is incredibly humbling and aggravating.

I have never seen so much coral destroyed and fish alienated. It’s not just the diving groups from our boat, but the groups from other boats. Almost all of the divers have huge cameras that cost a small fortune and they spend their dives racing around to catch the best thing on film and do not pay attention to their buoyancy, their fins, or others at all. I literally got body slammed by a Russian diver that was joining us on the buoy line for the safety stop. When I tapped him to tell him I was here, I was met with an annoyed glare rather than an apologetic wave. I wanted to kick him in the $5,000 camera.

And, to be honest, the dive guides I have seen are not much better. They’ve given more than their share of swipes to soft and hard coral. Worse than that they encourage divers who have glaringly bad buoyancy to look at macro life and say nothing when they knock coral off trying to reach the tiny creature of interest. Above water they preach about how the Thai government doesn’t do enough to protect the reefs and eliminate pollution, but in practice they hire anyone remotely experienced in diving and just chuck anyone who pays to dive in the water and lets them do whatever the hell they want. To be fair, the stress and rescue skills of one of the dive masters is outstanding and the other’s is great, but he gets too caught up in trying to give himself an enjoyable dive.

On one dive, my dive guide sent all four of the divers he was leading off to do their safety stops while he waved goodbye to us and turned his back to continue diving. As I drifted off alone into the great blue pulled by a current I didn’t really know how to deal with, I just made eye contact and waved goodbye. I just focused on getting safely through my safety stop and surfacing so that one of the many dive boats could either pick me up or signal to my dive boat. He did come after me and we ended up on the surface together eventually, but the total trust in him I had managed to build in a day was gone.

On our second dive on the first day of diving, after much convincing on my part, he took me to the surface after I was nervous about hearing a funny noise that turned out to be caused by some air escaping from where my regulator connects with my tank. He tried to assure me that the leakage was small, but the sound seemed really loud to me and I stupidly started to panic. I had flashes of rumors my dive club master had told me about Egyptian dive shops renting shotty gear out and chucking people into the water and telling them everything was okay when it clearly wasn’t. The same thing had nearly happened to me with a bad bcd that had it’s purge valve stuck open. This whole experience makes me want to dump half of my belongings just to make room for my bcd and regulator.


Some great things have come out of this trip too, though. I have seen some amazing, new fish and coral. The soft purple coral and the school upon school of literally hundreds of fish swarming gracefully around me as I dive is nothing short of enchanting. I did see a glimpse of a manta ray, but we haven’t yet seen a manta at a cleaning station or a whale shark or any sharks for that matter…some sting rays, though. We had a turtle hang out at the back of our boat for half of an hour while the crew fed him bananas and watermelon. I am not sure if that is really helping the turtle since I can't imagine he is used to eating fruit, but I guess at least it's not hot dogs and french fries. I took pictures above the water, but opted to buy a cd of pictures from the dive guides. They took much better pictures than I could have managed anyhow.

And, what I am most happy about is what I have learned about diving and about myself. I really faced some fears the first two days of diving - the greatest of which was diving for the first time without my husband as my diving partner. I am sure most of the people on the boat think I am a nut job for the crying I did the first day of diving when I surfaced with the dive master and the other two divers in our group did not follow us. I thought for sure they’d be in danger, but in the end they were perfectly fine and really relaxed about the whole thing. I am learning how to listen to myself and have received great advice on how to cope with issues under water. I am learning how to deal with different types of current.

Packing List

I researched several blogs and websites of female backpackers prior to the beginning of my trip to try to determine exactly what to pack. I really don’t know where these women put everything because I actually packed less than most of them and could barely manage to close my large backpack and my accompanying carry-on backpack. Admittedly, I am carrying a lot more safety devices and medical supplies than many military operations so that may be the difference.

For the trip, I purchased the New Zealand made Macpac Orient Express because it had a detachable daypack and came with great ratings on its suitability and comfort for female travelers. Once the pack is on, it is actually really comfortable in that it does not feel like you’ve just strapped 40-50 pounds of stuff to your back and the hip belt really does wonders on distributing the weight. It is the getting of the pack on and off that frustrates me. After my first week in on my trip and after not really carrying my back at all, I decided I could just fling the thing on – just bend over, pick the pack up and fling it around behind me and onto my back. Who needs put the pack on from a seated position? Two rounds of that and I had successfully re-aggravated a herniated disk in my lower back that had originally flared up just weeks before the beginning of my trip. I had been able to get it under control by taking it easy and getting treatment from a physical therapist. So easy I did forget…


So boarding my first of two buses in Khoa Lak, Thailand followed by a taxi ride, long tail boat trip, and another taxi ride, I was in some pretty serious pain as the stabbing sensation began to works its way around my lower back and into my left hip where it has mostly stayed in varying degrees for the past five days. Watching my yoga instructor, also a veteran mountain climber, struggle to carry my backpack the two hundred yards into my bungalow when he greeted me at Koh Yoa Noi, I realized it was high time to get serious about what I really need in my pack and send the rest home. That would trigger the third package of belongings being sent home to my husband in as many weeks. In total, I have sent home nearly six kilos of stuff.


My original packing list:

• Pants: 2 pairs linen pants, 2 pairs Capri pants, 1 linen skirt, 1 pair of jeans, 1 pair Capri yoga pants, 1 pair of tights, 1 pair of sleeping pants, 1 pair of knee length shorts
• Tops: 3 t-shirts, 4 tank tops, 2 long sleeved button up shirts, 1 long sleeved t-shirt, 1 fleece, 1 long sleeved dress shirt, one dressy tank top
• Other clothing: 8 pairs underwear, 4 bras, 2 swimsuits, 1 scarf, 2 caps, 1 sun hat, 3 pairs socks, hiking boots, 2 pairs sandals, 3 bandannas, a purse, raincoat, collapsible nylon bag, fast dry travel towel, silk sleeping bag liner, waterproof bag, money belt, 2 small wallets
• Electronics: dive computer, ipod, notebook with carrying case, mobile phone, camera (with underwater case), 2 personal security devices in a waterproof container, waterproof flashlight, 2 memory sticks, 2 memory cards, small calculator (and all chargers), universal converter
• Other: Swiss Army knife, snorkel and mask, diving weight belt, a dozen gallon sized Ziploc bags, water bottle with filter, pocket calendar and diary, notebook, book, folder with travel info, packets instant coffee and sugar, 5 meal replacement bars, mini ceramic Dutch shoes to hand out to students, Rick Steves travel clothes line, 2 door stops, a sink plug, 2 locks (1 for day pack and one for a locker), backpack Pacsafe, and small Pacsafe for valuables
• Toiletries: (all travel sized) laundry soap, 2 hair mousse, small hair gel, round brush, comb, 2 toothpastes, Listerine, Pantene shampoo, 2 sticks deodorant, contact solution, Qtips, bug repellent wipes, stain remover wipes, concealer; (regular sized) Deet 50 bug repellent lotion, SPF 70 water resistant sunscreen, six months of disposable contacts, mascara, eye shadow, eyeliner, several hair bands, 3 sets earplugs, 2 eye masks
• Medical Kit: herbal tea for stomach problems, waterproof bandages, paracetamol, Benadryl, Immodium, antibiotic cream, tooth ache gel, sinus medication, Cipro, re-hydration powder, Vitamin B, multivitamin, Vitamin C supplement, thermometer, travel sewing kit, 2 packs Rolaids, malaria tablets (for Indonesia), travel Neosporin spray, vaccination history, disposable heating pads, 3 tampons

What I have sent home so far:
• Jeans, 1 pair linen pants, 1 pair capris, 1 pair long shorts, 1 pair socks, 1 pair sandals, purse, money belt, weight belt (after dive trip), computer case, 1 long sleeved shirt, 2 caps, and all-in-one electronics charger that bought in Bangkok that does not happen to fit any of my electronics, scarf

What I have discarded:
• Hair mousse, round brush, carrying case for small electronics (shoving them in my boots instead), hair gel, eye shadow, 1 pack Rolaids

What I’ve bought:
• 2 pairs fisherman’s pants, 1 sundress, 1 linen shirt, 2 sarongs, bug spray with Deet, plug-in mosquito repellent, Tiger Balm


I know I should just discard half of my medical kit, but I just can’t make up my mind what to get rid of so I have just kept it all. The vitamins and the Tiger Balm, thankfully, are the only things I have used on a regular basis so far, but I have used a few other things like the herbal tea and Immodium to ease an upset stomach. It’s also hard not to pick up new things like free toiletries and travel size laundry soap when I see it for sale for so cheap, but that is all part of the buying discipline I am trying to improve. I seem to buy and pack things in two…always a back-up, I suppose is the thought.

If there is any advice I could give to a backpacker or any traveler to Southeast Asia, it is this:

In any city or town of reasonable size or with tourist traffic, it is easier and oftentimes cheaper to buy most toiletries (with the exception of probably sunscreen) upon arrival. I would recommend bringing about five doses of each kind of over-the-counter medicine you think you may need. Prescription medicine and vitamins are totally different. Bring what you will need. With regards to clothing, for pants, I wish I would have brought only 1 pair of linen pants, a few modest sundresses, a modest skirt, and a pair of capris. Most days are filled with an almost unrelenting heat that is only slightly dissipated by a breeze and it makes wearing even linen pants a laughable thought, but I kept one pair because I will be teaching English in two primary schools so I thought dressier pants might be needed. Despite the touristy areas where anything goes, dressing modestly is a must in order to show respect to the relatively conservative Thai culture.

Unfortunately, most conservative summer wear in the U.S. and Europe is, at best, made of thicker cottons or nylon/rayon that I find uncomfortably clingy. The clothes I have found in Thailand, not surprisingly, are much more suited for the heat. They may be of cheaper quality, but they are also a lot cheaper in price so replacing clothes or even throwing them away after a holiday shouldn’t really be an issue. I know, I didn’t believe this same advice I’d received from travelers prior to leaving on my trip, but it is absolutely true for most sizes of people.

If you can buy your clothes at department stores, you can most likely find your size in Thailand. If nothing else, ladies, do yourselves a favor and buy at least one sarong. I didn’t really understand them before arriving in Thailand, but they are basically the most versatile piece of clothing on Earth and they are essentially a fancy sheet made of cotton or a silk blend. So far, I have used mine as a swimsuit cover up, to cover my shoulders from the sun, a bed sheet, a skirt, and a nightgown. If, like me, you are unsure about how to minimize your packing, it will probably become much clearer to you after packing and re-packing your suitcase the first two weeks of any trip. At which point, shipping stuff home or discarding them are also (sometimes expensive) options. It is all a learning process.

Oh, and before I go, I have a few thoughts on laundry. I have been washing clothes in my hotel room sink almost continually since starting my trip. An adjustable clothes line and sink plug are a must. I also brought a travel size of laundry soap, but have also been staying in mid-range hotels that provide toiletries so have been using their shampoo and soap to bathe and to wash my clothes. Soap is soap after all. Keep that in-mind if you are planning to stay in accommodations other than hostels. It will save some money, but more importantly it will save space. I haven’t had my laundry done yet by the hotel or sent it out with one of many shops that offer cheap laundry services and I am not sure I will. In prior trips, I have had bad experiences of cheap launderers and high priced hotel facilities alike shrinking my clothes beyond fit. They are not always like Western dry cleaners and, instead, use very hot water to clean clothes.