Home Sweet Home . . . and Vegetables

It's small, it's cute, it's home!!!! This is my house - a small, tan, cement structure in the middle of Thailand . . . somedays it's still hard to believe. The building you can see behind my house and to the left is the health center, where they have aerobics each night - I hop the fence and join them most nights, if I don't I have to sit at home and listen to it anyway, which makes me feel guilty and lazy for not doing what I can for the only body I'll be given in this life. Thai aerobics is hilarious and always worth the 5 second walk - the instructors have no training and usually no sense of rhythm, so it tends to be an hour of randomly bouncing around in an attempt to mimic the coach who has absolutely no idea what a successful hour of exercise looks like. I mostly stand in the back and laugh until my stomach hurts - I've decided that laughter is a kind of exercise in and of it self.

Back to my house!!! It is one floor, covered in blue tile (except for the really and truly intelligent person who decided to break that pattern and tile the entire bathroom in WHITE - which is now a yellowish brown, that no amount of bleach has been able to bring back to a clean shine!), two bedrooms, a living space, and a kitchen. The floor is tiled in blue, the refrigerator is blue, the washing machine is blue, my bookshelf is blue, my night stand is blue, my table is blue, my sheets, pillows, and blankets are blue . . . I don't mind blue, but there is a lot of it here and I seem to acquire more everyday.

The picture above is what you see when you enter the front door - I tried taking pictures of each room, but they are so small that my camera only caught little bits of them . . . pretty ineffective. Aside from the wealth of blue, I have an abundance of cement! The property surrounding my home does not have a blade of grass, no dirt, not a pebble of gravel . . . I am completely trapped by cement. I don't mind the cement because it is easy to take care of, but it is extremely hot and the lack of foliage around turns my house into something of a target for the suns scorching fingers. My house is the hottest house in my tambone and my neighbors think that if they tell me it is the hottest house in all of Thailand on a daily basis I will somehow be able to shade it from the suns burning stare. Unfortunately I have no such powers and spend a lot of time at a rolling boil.

Again, the cement doesn't really bother me, but I was looking really forward to planting and caring for a garden. I mentioned this desire to my landlord (also my principal), and co-workers and they made it happen . . . in fact they made it happen almost immediately. I have sinks that leak, a hot water heater that doesn't work, a door that locks but does not un-lock, and only one fan - all things I mention on a regular basis in hopes to have them fixed (I even put them on one of Abby's all famous lists and gave them to anyone I thought had the authority to see the tasks completed). I had a single, brief, and fleeting conversation in which I brought up the desire to grow my own vegetables and three hours later large CEMENT planter rings were set up in the back of my house and filled with soil. I was all set to plant a plentiful garden in no time . . . I am still waiting for the sinks to stop leaking, to take a hot shower, and to spend a day enjoying the breeze of an abundance of fans.

The following day my second co-worker and a couple of her neighbors came to pick me up and take me to the beach for the afternoon. They all heard about my new garden and wanted to come take a look at what I hoped to grow - they were outraged that the planters were put in a place which received little to no shade (I'm not sure they understood that there was no such place on my property). The rest of the day was spent discussing my need for an up-graded garden. I shook my head and agreed, but knew that what I got was what I had and there wasn't much I could do about it.

There was something, however, that they could do about it and they fully intended to. The next morning I was ripped from my sleep by a truk's horn and shouts of my name . . . I was a bit disconcerted, as it was 6:00 a.m. and I wasn't familiar with the voices. I got out of bed, unlocked my door, and was facing the men that could not let "their" volunteer live in a home that wasn't perfect. They brought lumber, tools, all the necessary elements for building a cover for my garden and then some. They spent the rest of the morning building me, what they call a slant, and then wandering around fixing anything else they could in and on my house. It rained that night and the next morning things started sprouting, my water doesn't leak, and my door easily locks and un-locks. I will likely never see these men again, but there will be more - Thai people are generous in a way that most of the world struggles to understand. I must have thanked them a thousand times, offered to pay for things, buy them lunch, get them something cold to drink - they stared at me blankly and said, "you needed this done, we did it, we don't want anything from you." Home sweet home . . . and vegetables.

Goodbye Homestay - Hello Home

My last days spent with my home stay family were a mix of tender moments and nervous anticipation of what leaving these people would mean for the next two years of my life. We sat at dinner each night eating nothing but our laughter, as we remembered my first week with this seemingly alien group of creatures that called themselves my family (of human descent); we hugged (something Thai people do not do) each night before I crawled into my tent to great my dreams; we shared pictures, phone numbers, e-mail addresses, and home addresses in promise that I would always remain their little American daughter; we spent every second we had left knowing that we fell in love with each other and that would always remain a part of our souls - I walked away seeing a family, a bundle of people who seemed anything but alien anymore.

The last week of training was spent in a series of interviews, assessments, language tests, meetings, and preparation for our thank you party, held in honor of our host families. I was signed up to perform a traditional Thai dance which required that I do double dutch with bamboo poles and a partner. I usually feel like a rather athletic person and have rarely had reason to doubt my agility or coordination - this stinking game of hopscotch they call a dance made me feel like a one legged, one armed goon attempting to win a tennis tournament. After days and hours of practice my partner and I finally got it down and the performance went off without a hitch (P.S. Mom and Dad - I smiled through the whole thing!!!! You wouldn't have believed it was me).



My host family had a surprise, going-away dinner for me the last night I was to live with them. All the people in my tambone and the members of my extended family came to celebrate the next phase of this adventure and to say goodbye. Saying goodbye Thai style means you better have taken a shower, fluffed your hair, and gooped up those eyes with extra long lash mascara because the next three hours of your life is going to be one long photo-op. In remembrance of the first time we all got together in much the same manner - we had a Thai barbecue (which, by the way, I LOVE). It was just like a goodbye should be; we laughed, we ate, we acted like tomorrow wasn't a reality, and we parted ways with little recognition as to what a mere ten hours away meant. At the end of the evening my camera's memory card was completely full and my cheeks ached the satisfactory pain of a muscle which has been asked to work beyond its normal expectations. I watched the people who had been so kind to me, took such good care of me, fed me, protected me, and been proud to call me a part of their lives walk away and I knew that there was no reason for tearful goodbyes - I would be back and soon we would spend another evening, together again.




The floodgates were posted and held strong as my neighbors, friends, and extended family found their way back home - the following morning, when my Mom, Dad, and Sister knew today would be our last breakfast together was not at all approached with the same restraint. My Dad woke me up at 4:30 that morning with a mission I will spend the rest of my life appreciating. He had made a special trip to the market and purchased a truck load of baby trees - there was a tree for every household in our tombone - he spent a full month's wages to ensure our last moments together would be something we could both look back on and melt into a world which was made better because we were able to be productive and kind in one anther's presence. We spent the next three hours watching the sun come up, breaking into our neighbor's yards, and planting trees; we planted something living, something tangible, something that required responsibility, and care; we planted a living reminder that I was there and if you take care of the things you love the fruits of your labor will always return strong, healthy, and able to give back what you have put forth. The last tree we planted was in our own back yard - the minute the camera's flash went off and we both knew there was no more posing to be done, we cried, we hugged, we packed my belongings into the truck, and we walked away.


The rest of my last day with my host family was spent with my mom, sister, grandma, grandpa, cousin, and aunt. They all accompanied me to the thank you party and watched my dance. They each received a certificate of appreciation for hosting an American Peace Corps Volunteer (there is no Thai celebration, camp, training, concert, graduation, special occasion, etc. without certificates) and then it was time to say goodbye. There was no use in trying to do anything, but cry - so we all did. It was a heart wrenching afternoon, but it brought about the kind of sadness one can feel proud of - if it hurt that bad then I was able to really make an impact on their lives and we had the courage to openly and honestly allow each other a place in the other's heart . . . that's not an easy thing to do. Since then I call them every night before I take my evening shower and am already planning a trip to go and visit.

Our last three days in Chaibadan were spent at the hotel, which was our home for the first week we lived in Thailand. We had a conference with our counterparts and spent the evenings enjoying the company of our fellow volunteers, knowing that we would soon be too far apart to offer that American edge and release that sometimes feels so necessary. Music was played, songs were sung, much drinking, laughing, and crying were done - it was all VERY Peace Corps . . . if you know what I mean, but it was a nice end to life here as we all knew it and an easy beginning to the changes that were so quickly approaching.

Now I am in the province of Rayong in a city called Ban Chang. I am a 45 minute bike ride to the beach, a 3 minute walk to school, and 10 seconds away from my nearest neighbor. I have a house of my own and too much time to have any idea what to do with it all. My neighbors are wonderful people who take great care of me - I eat with them 4 nights a week in order to practice Thai and not go crazy . . . they love it. My counterparts are really excited and eager to have a native speaker in their classrooms, and the principals I am working with are honest and good men. It is summer break here right now and hotter than ever - so really and truly I have nothing, but time. School begins again in the middle of May, at which point I hope to have sat down with my co-teachers and created a game plan so that on day one we can walk in there and start teaching some English. Life right now is slow, but good. It didn't take long to feel at home and at ease here, but there are still many a minutes when I long for the baking of pastries, a chat with my Sister, and the kind presence of my Thai Dad . . . when I visit them next I am sure there will be plenty to miss about his new place I call home.