On the only day of Christmas Thailand gave to me…

Christmas is no longer a day in the US, it is indeed a season. The festivities and the spirit span the length of the month. In Thailand, a Buddhist country, I had very low expectations for Christmas. The fact that it fell smack dab in the middle of midterms week wasn’t a good sign. There were sprinkles of Christmas in the last couple weeks: a few lights along the road (could be for the King, I like to think it’s also for Christmas), trees put up in the city, and Santa hats appeared in the grocery store. There were a few stronger signs in the English department: Christmas carols played all the time and the student teachers made snowflakes out of computer paper to decorate…although, the songs came from my computer, and I taught the teachers how to make the snowflakes…I love Christmas!

Two of the English student interns

Most mornings at 6:50am the morning birds are severely overpowered by the Sansai school songs that play on loop every day until 7:37 or so. But on Christmas day (and Christmas day only) those school songs were replaced by a slightly uneven Jingle Bells and unusual version of Rudolf. Always same same but different in Thailand…

As I walked to morning assembly, my students were thrilled by my Santa hat. Most even replied correctly and without hesitation when I said “Merry Christmas.” They aren’t usually that quick when I say “Good-morning” to them. I was in good company as the teachers in the English department and most of the main office dressed up in any shade of red and green and whatever Christmas paraphilia was available. It was magical. Christmas has swept over Sansai in a night.

After the standard routine of morning assembly, which I will explain in another post, I’m brought on stage next to a Christmas tree, that I helped decorate just two days before, and a Christmas backdrop that I believe was put up that morning. A student (who speaks phenomenal English) asked me questions about Christmas history and traditions and translated my answers to the students. Thank goodness she told me what these questions would be in advance because I had no idea why red and green are the representative colors of Christmas. Do you?

I “blessed” the students, and felt like I had such power in doing so. Then, as per Thai tradition and Christmas tradition, the school director then presented me with a gift: a Christmas bucket with cookies (awesome), pringles (odd, but I’ll take it), and orange juice (huh?). I thanked him, bowed, and posed for the photo op.

Christmas collage taken from the school's website.

Attempting to politely leave the stage I found myself sucked into a Christmas carol, and of course I was holding the microphone. At least that was over quick, and then Santa came out to give candy to the students. The student who had been on stage with me said that she thinks this is why the students like Christmas. What kid doesn’t want candy thrown at them?

After the best-dressed competition and many, many, many, many more photos, one on every person’s phone of course, I got to gather my Christmas bucket and leave the stage only to be accosted for more photos. We dispersed from the courtyard and into the classroom for midterms, and just like that, Christmas was over.

The Christmas trees in the city and the banner at school are left up for a few extra days as a rough echo of the flash flood holiday that was hour long Christmas. But it was a very interesting and special  hour all the same.

Riding in Songtaos with Boys

One of my favorite aspects of traveling is the actual mode of transportation that locals use, and the pride that accompanies debunking the secrets of it. In order to get from Sansai to Chiang Mai I take a songtao which translates to “two-benches”: literally a covered pick-up truck with two benches. I’ve learned the prices (around 60 cents to get to the city, by the way), the various representations of colors, the special hand-signal to hail them, and a few key names to tell them where I need to be dropped off.

Once I hail the songtao, I climb in through the back (or hang off the end if there are too many people) and wait to buzz for my stop. A songtao is never full. We had 26 people and the driver stopped for more. They just started passing children back to sit on strangers’ laps.

The energy in a songtao can be on both ends of the spectrum: complete strangers incite spirited conversation and share their snacks with one another (you never go hungry in Thailand), or the entire songtao takes a group nap. I just love songtaos: they may be uncomfortable, loud, sticky, and slow, but they are a great way to people watch.

Different colored songtaos go different places.

On a rare occasion, I was briefly in a Songtao by myself. I started to close my eyes until I received a sharp pang on my leg. I looked up in shock to realize it was a metal rod that just hit my outstretched leg. I followed the rod up to its owner who was stumbling into the back of the songtao with his eyes slammed tight. I realized this man is part of a particular hill tribe that is genetically blind. They are all also exceptionally good singers, so they travel the country and sing and hope to earn money to bring back to their villages.

He sat across from me and just as I started to close my eyes again asked me something in Thai. I am at least capable of replying that I don’t speak Thai well and that I don’t understand. He still looked a little confused, I repeated myself, then I said that I was American and that did the trick. Most Thais see that I’m American so it’s no surprise when I don’t know much Thai. All the better sometimes on the songtao when I know they’re talking about the “farang” (foreigner) without knowing that I understand that bit at least.

A moment later, he decided he wasn’t done with me yet; he leaned forward and ran through every basic identity question I know in Thai: what’s your name? How old are you? Where are you from? Where do you work? Do you have a boyfriend? Do you like Chiang Mai? How long have you been here? How long are you staying?

To be honest, I don’t actually know all of these questions, but I heard a word or two that sounded familiar and took a shot as to what I expected him to ask me next. He was pleased with each answer so I was quite proud of myself. Once I finally maxed out on Thai and had to simply say “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” He sat back for a moment like he gave up on me, then did this wonderful thing: He leaned forward and reached out to pat my knee as a way of saying both “It’s OK” and “Thank you” and then sat back again.

Moments later the songtao was filled to the brim. He and I sat in silence, observing in our own ways until I got off at my school.

Was I Supposed to Spit on Her?

Muay Thai Boxing

We get the special “they’re-with-me” head nod from my friend’s Muay Thai boxing instructor to the guard of the arena, so we have the privilege of passing through the gate. Apparently, this guy who coaches my friend literally on the side of the road holds some clout in the boxing community. We are accompanied by a huge posse of both fighters and their crew who tape up various body parts, rub them down in Bengay, and psych them up for the fight. The boxers are surprisingly young; however, experience is measured in number of fights rather than years of practice, we learned.

Pre-Fight Routine

Once the boxers are in the ring, they pay respect and mentally prepare for the match (I’m guessing, no one was really capable of explaining) by pressing their foreheads against each corner of the ring. Some even do a ritual dance to the high-pitched blaring music which plays on loop throughout the night.

Each fight is a dance in itself. Music plays as the fighters bounce their lead foot to the beat. Despite the intensity and brutality for which Muay Thai is known, the attentive nature of Thai people is not lost in this hypnotic ceremony. The moment a boxer hits the mat from a knock-out kick, the other boxer is right by his side to check that he is OK. After each round, both boxers returned to the center of the ring with a smile before retreating into the intensity of the match. What an impressive contradiction.

Additionally, from what I could observe, Muay Thai does not discriminate. I am so pleased to write this. There were both boys and girls fighting in equally intense matches. In fact, the most epic and important fight of the night was between two young women. However, women’s rights, gender identity, and sexual orientation are extremely complicated and interesting topics to explore in Thailand, and one that I need more time and much deeper connections to understand!

Helping with the Pre-Fight Routine

In the hub-bub of the fights, it had been roughly communicated to me by the instructor that I was to do something with water and an odd-shaped crown for one of the fighters: about an accurate comprehension of what was expected of me. When this fighter approached the ring for her match I was pushed up to the corner of the ring to place this crown on her head, which I discovered was exceptionally difficult to put on, and I took a shot in the dark as to which way was the front (luck was on my side!) She continued the routine and returned to my corner where I fed her water, removed the crown, and wai-ed as many times as I could because I had no idea what I was doing. When in doubt: wai, then wai again. I observed this process from the instructor later; it was much more graceful, but he also spit water on the fighter: pretty grateful I was ignorant of that procedure at the time; however, my girl got knocked-out within the first few minutes of her fight... so maybe she needed a little spit in her face for good luck- Thai style.

Bring it on.

Bow Down to Me!

Every single day these students stand up to greet me and wait for me to allow them to sit down. By the way, Thai students are always “fine.” Don’t worry, I’m working on that vocabulary…

Many American teachers have throw-pillows and decorative, miniature books that preach the magic powers of being a teacher. In Thailand, rather than contributing to the tchotchkes of your home décor, teachers are treated like a glowing unicorn just walked into your midst.

When I pass by students in the hallway they stop what they are doing, hit the pause button on their conversation, wai (put their hands together across their chest and bow) and say “sa-waa-dii-kaa” or “good-morning”. It doesn’t matter if these students are even in my class (although I technically will see every single student in the school). If they see me coming down the hallway, they will physically remove their friends from my path so that I can pass smoothly. If there weren't these radiant, genuine smiles on their faces, you would think they were just terrified of the clumsy foreign teacher who stumbles her way down a hallway. PS: Thailand has not made me any more graceful of a human-being…

They make me cut the line at lunch, walk down the stairs before them, and offer to carry my bags back to the office for me. If I am conversing with another teacher, they duck like a bat is flying at their head so I don’t break eye contact. Sometimes I’m sitting at my desk and they still stoop like a hunchback when they walk by me (do they think I will throw my stapler at them?).

I’m struggling to adjust to this pampered life. I flash back to teaching in New York for my student teaching last spring when walking down the hallway in between periods as a 5’2’’ teacher (in heels) was a fight for your life. I used to shadow one of the taller students to pass more smoothly down the hallway: Mademoiselle McKechnie the Stalker Student Teacher.

As it is in every culture, respect is a very deep and complicated topic to dissect in one blog post. This is just one quick snippet of how I have been treated when I have done nothing to truly earn their respect but grace these students with my native-English-speaking presence as their teacher.  

Who's the Best Father?

Cards to the King.

I’m glad I like the color yellow. I’m supposed to wear it as much as possible for the next month. Tomorrow is the King’s birthday. As I will explain in a later post there are colors associated with days of the week and the King was born on a Monday, thus YELLOW! Today is Father’s Day in Thailand and there is a very clear connection between fathers and the Father of the country.

My students making donations to the monks.

The entire morning’s classes are cancelled for festivities. As it is a Buddhist country, the morning began with an offering of food to the local monks. I was invited to participate and prepped baggies of instant noodles, a soy milk box, and an Ovaltine packet to place in each monk’s alms, making a wish with each donation. My seniors ditched my class yesterday to go to the market to buy food to donate as well. I’m pretty sure my friends and I went to the beach on senior ditch day…

My offering to the monks.

After the monks received our offerings we sat before them and they led us in prayer. Then they provided the student body with a sermon, for lack of the appropriate Buddhist term. They asserted that there are four rules by which to live:

Love what you do.

Try hard.

Pay attention.

Practice.

Of course as my knees can attest, this speech was much longer but, alas, in Thai! My host teacher graciously gave me the spark-notes version which frankly keeps the message simple: not jimble-jamble of extraneous explanation.

An exceptional aspect of Buddhism in Thailand is the eagerness not to convert outsiders but to allow them to participate, observe, and ask questions. The students and teachers know I am not Buddhist, some students have randomly stopped me in the hall simply to ask my religion out of curiosity, but they are happy to allow me to pray with them every day and instruct me to take pictures when I look hesitant. The other female teachers were also happy to groan with me over knee pain as we stood up from sitting precariously in skirts on the ground for so long.

The teachers (in yellow!) and the monks leading us in prayer.

After a short stretch, we filed to the auditorium to honor the fathers of the students in the school. Each grade is divided into 7 classes, and each class votes for their “favorite father” of the class. I would love to see this criteria, as would my father I’m sure! I have no comprehension of how this works, but we ended up with about 40 fathers in the auditorium to be honored by the director of the school.

The director honoring one of the student's fathers.

For the rest of the morning we sang only songs that the King composed, including a song in English, and students admired each other’s cards both for their fathers and the King. The love for the King is difficult to understand and explain as and outsider after only a couple months but I certainly recognize the importance of respect, and I too wore a bright yellow “Long Live the King” polo to honor the King.