Correspondence Pt. II

In recent correspondence

More to come.

R

Field trip to Nepal

With mom on the continent, I took my school up on their offer to let me have some vacay time to travel. Off we went to Katmandu to visit esteemed scholar and dear friend of mine, Shrochis Karki, home from his rigorous studies to carry out his dissertation research.

So, I’m going to narrate this post in the fashion of the lecture I’ve been giving to my more advanced students in a pathetic attempt to reconcile myself with the guilt of an absentee educator. Welcome to my classroom.

“I was so happy to see my friend and his family. Friend and family. Very happy.” Big smile to illustrate happiness.

“I had a lot of fun in Nepal. Fun. It was beautiful. Beautiful.” Accompanied by the large and ambiguous sweeping gestures of my arms that my body insists on making every every time I use a descriptive word.

“Nepalese food…Nepalese food is very delicious. Delicious. We ate with our hands. No chopsticks, no forks, only hands.” I mimic picking up food with my hand several times. My students look skeptical. "You know, my friend's dad is a very good cook. Their kitchen smells like the most amazing spices and we ate curries and mangoes and fresh ox. And homemade yogurt everyday." I'm losing them. I know better than this; digressions are verboten. I mentally reprimand myself and correct course.

“The mountains were so big. I saw the biggest mountain in the world. Biggest mountain in the whole world.” I do my mountain impression, and then my whole world impression, and then my mountain impression again. Everything is crystal clear.

“There are many Hindus in Nepal. Hindus. Cows are very important to Hindus. You cannot eat a cow in Nepal.” I pass on doing my cow impression.



“Hindus and Buddhists go to temples together.”

“However, in Nepal there are many people who have no food or money. Life can be difficult. My friend, my friend is doing research.” Two minute pause while we look up research in the dictionary. “Research on education. He will walk for six hours to a small village. Small village. No electricity, no cars. He will research education there for two months. Two months.” They seem impressed, Shrochis.

“It was a good trip. I learned a lot.”

And then all of my students clap and smile and say, “Oh, we’re so glad we’re learning English so that we can communicate with people all over the world. Thank you for showing us what a useful tool the English language can be!”

And, now that you've lived three minutes in the life of one of my students, but before you resume playing the facebook and twitter, I'd like to publicly thank the most kind hosts I've met on planet earth: Shrochis' family. I'd be a better person if I was one eighteenth as nice or patient as you all.

Next up: live blogging Fulbright's 60th Anniversary Symposium in Bangkok, July 16-17th. Make sure your modem is working because you are not going to want to miss this.

Truly,

R

July 1, 2010

Happy nine month anniversary to me and Thailand!

A V.I.P. HITS THAILAND

NEWSFLASH! Phitsanulok has a new and highly esteemed visitor: my very own mother.

Well, I thought I knew Thai hospitality before this, but lo, I was so wrong. In honor of my mum's arrival, unimaginable heights of kindness have been summitted. My mother spent her first day in Thailand expertly guided by my coworkers around the ruins of the 15th century historical capital of Thailand, in the 100 degree heat. That was only the beginning. My teacher QT is off the charts.

Here's ma, receiving flowers at the departmental party celebrating her arrival.

Ma poses with the kiddies.

I'm so excited about her visit I'm even going to take a little vacay. Reckless, I know, but when you haven't seen family in nine months...

Happily,
Bec

Happy Father's Day

Miss you pops!

Love,
R

How I realized Phitsanulok is home

In The Republic, Socrates introduces an extended metaphor for the city as a human soul. He presents the soul as having three components: eros, thumos, and logos, or, quite roughly, desires/love, spiritedness, and intellect. Thumos corresponds to the warrior class of the city, defending the things we love (including, of course, ourselves). Thumos is our vanity, our pride, our expectations, and even our anger at ourselves for not meeting expectations.

Most relevantly for this post, it's the part of ourselves that irrationally attaches us to things that are our own. As in, of course I liked my high school football team and went to every game even though our record in the four years I attended school must have been about 10-38. Our sports teams, our homes, even our family members: thumos is the part of ourselves that bonds us to those things that, objectively viewed, might not be all that great. Think Cubs fans, the way you like your mom's weird macaroni and cheese, the bizarre dent on your car you strangely take pleasure in. These things are ours, and just that is enough to make them valuable to us.

Last week, I hosted a 23 year-old Italian couch surfer on the floor of my one-room apartment. He was plenty amiable, at the mid-point of a two year journey (by land and boat only; no flights!) from Italy to Australia. He stayed here for a couple of days, taking in the sights and relaxing before hitching-hiking on to the next big town on the highway. I showed him the best P'lok has to offer: the big temple, the night bazaar, the best pad thai in town, the best juice stand, the market, my friends, even aerobics in the park. When he was packing up, I asked him what he thought of the place. He said, "it could be worse," as if this was the most natural observation about the place.

I was a little stunned. Hadn't I shown him the wonderful parts of town? The little secrets it took me months to accumulate? Had he been paying any attention? And that's when I remembered what I'd been struck by when I first got here: the anonymous melange of three-story high dingy store fronts that stretch for blocks and blocks, the unattractive amount of trash, the vague feeling of a town that doesn't matter but wishes it did. The Scranton of Thailand, maybe?

Then I realized, it had happened. Phitsanulok had become a part of me. I'd subsumed it under my umbrella of things that are my own and that thus I love. And so, couch surfers be damned, I am defending this place until the temple bells stop ringing and the giant rooster statue on the highway crumbles down. All I need now is someone at the Phitsanulok tourist office to please, please find me and hire me to write brochures.

Yours,
Rebecca