where cider meets condensed milk

Happiest Place on Earth/Thailand!

2008-09-29T14:17:00.000+09:00

Beautiful Baan Unrak, in Sangkhlaburi town, Thailand! After leaving Cambodia in a rush of sangria and Japanese food, and going alone across the border on a long long bus ride to BKK, and running around for a few crazy days at MBK Shopping Wonderland, I made it home to BU on a long long minibus ride. This was trip #3, but my first one without other Go-MAD buddies. It was more chill, much more chilly, more lonely, but still nice to visit the kids and hang out in town. It rained every day in August this year, and the sticky red mud ruined my pedicure.

Smile! Most of the kids are Burmese refugees, but some are Karen or Mon tribal minorities. I should have done the sketchy border crossing trip last December! The Myanmar border, only a few kilometres away, is locked down now. Unsurprisingly enough.

Highlight: three mornings in the nursery! It wasn't finished during our last Christmas trip, but we devoted some of our fundraising towards it, and a university group from Japan painted and decked out the room with books and toys. I also met the uber-hippy volunteers, and ran into Gillian from IHS, randomly working in Burmese refugee camps for the summer. I didn't make it out of my P Guesthouse bed and out into the cold rain in time for yoga, but ate my weight in BU cafe curries and cheezy bread and vegan chocochip cookies, and even managed to do my statistics exam at the one internet spot in town! No international phones in sight, but Sangkhlaburi is now wired.

Parting shots of Cambo

2008-09-25T12:39:00.001+09:00

These are the some of the last postable photos I took in Phnom Penh. The city itself doesn't hold much for me, but I dwell on the thousands of pictures of our sweet kids! This is a 'street' along Steung Meanchey village slum. Tim joined me on my last day at the child care center, and we joined rounds with the community workers, to give some baby clothes to new mothers and distribute some bread. We weren't of any use except as a novelty, but being with community workers kept us from being regarded immediately as tourists with handouts and stealable things. Along this path, the bags hold recyclables and salvaged items that can be sold and sent to Vietnam for processing. The shacks along either side are houses.
The CPP is everywhere!!

Under a house-- up on stilts because it'll all be mud and water during rainy season. Amazing to pay $5-$20 per month to live on top of rubbish.

Hell's Angel goes to the ocean and nearly 'Nam

2008-08-02T17:28:00.005+09:00

Loveliest thing about this stop-off in a nowhere village along the potholed road to Vietnam was the borderline-crazy man who wanted to practice English and buy us coffee. Anyone hankering for a touch of Type II diabetes should try this Khmer recipe: 1 part strong coffee, one part crushed ice from an unwashed bucket, a scoop or 5 of white sugar, 5 parts sweetened condensed milk. Add straw. Drink. Feel giddy. Immediately crave another one. Feel like you can take on the whole world. Begin shaking at minute 10. Feel comatose at 30. Anyone who says you can't drink crack through a straw hasn't been to this coffee shack.

My abbreviated motorcycle-diaries trip with Tim was heading to Kep-by-the-sea, where crabs are famous and lightning storms rolling off the mountain are freaking terrifying. The road from Phnom Penh to Kep goes from paved and wide, to paved and terrifying, to bumpy and rocky, and back again. The amount of cars and buses doesn't vary much, but the width of the road does significantly. Today's SE Asian language lesson: honking means "I'm here, and it's time for YOU to move out of MY way." Alternately, "Meeeeeeeeeeeee!" This shouldn't be confused with American horns, which can be translated as wingdings and exclamations and pound signs to cover up vocal cussing. Or the Japanese horn, which says "Arigato!" while bowing and cowering along the side of the road in guilt. Thank you for driving on my road! It's been a pleasure!

Here's the pretty young thing I rented for $4 per day and a passport. But no, I still haven't learned to drive. My personal helmet is black with blue flames on the side, and is a style worn by many-a-motodop man in Cambodge. I only bought it because the pink ones at the shop (with or without Hello Kitty decals) are sized for miniature-headed Khmer women. Buffalo Girls, won't you come out tonight wearing your manly manly helmet? Don't mind if I do.

The way back, we took the long way around for 8 hours, motoing to hidden swimming caves that were mostly dry (from the drought), and over railroad tracks, unused and leading nowhere, and past endless stretches of rice fields, water buffalos, and curious farmers. After a 3 hour detour on a rocky road, we were within throwing distance from Vietnam, but headed north to get home in the midst of a downpour. The next morning at work, I wondered if Hell's Angels had the same kinds of problems sitting down after being on their choppers for so many hours.

SMC

2008-07-28T20:48:00.003+09:00

Even being in a building with electricity, a few blocks from this (Steung Meanchey), can feel like an ivory tower. I don't spend much time this close to the burning mountains of rubbish, but any visit is enough to haunt you. Nearly all our day care kids were either following their parents here to pick garbage, or waiting in their tiny homes for their family to return each day. Some university students that volunteer with us are doing a documentary, following several families during their working days at the dump and traveling back with them to their first-glance-idyllic countryside homelands, where most people live on less than 45 cents a day, and many families are starving. Perspective... still trying to find it.

Mister Mister

2008-07-17T20:37:00.002+09:00

My boys. Muscle-san looks ready to jump off that spray bottle to scrub down our counters. Not a moment too soon, I say!

My occasional view from work. Not my desk (which overlooks a scenic whiteboard) but the community center. Cows and trucks stroll by. Power goes out. Sun blazes. Behind me, picture 50 of the cutest kids ever, running around and doing art projects and swinging. Catch me when I'm home to see photos.

Commute. Good times.

Cruising

2008-06-20T20:24:00.003+09:00

Holiday number 65 of the year (Queen's Birthday Celebration... for the elderly... and the water harvest) was my first escape from central Phnom Penh in weeks, but we didn't get that far. Loaded up some PEPY bikes, set off into the 30C heat, and cruised around on red dirt roads towards Choeung Ek, aka the Killing Fields. Not a good destination for a lazy holiday ride, you say? You'd be right. Just a touch of Deepresso is how we roll in Cambodge.

House on a lake where they grow morning glory and other water vegetables.
Good clean water! Yum.
Kids at a temple or pagoda-- not sure the difference. Widows and extremely poor children, usually abandoned or orphaned, can live on pagoda grounds in exchange for washing dishes, taking care of the grounds, and the like. The monks accept food from community members, and in exchange, the people living there can eat their leftovers.

Cambo (House) Five and Cambo Six

2008-06-17T20:18:00.005+09:00

As requested: I have a house, the fifth place I've lived in five months. Sometimes, it's filled with mod, blurry people. They are awfully nice, and they did like our Mexican cooking, though I had to explain a few times to our Khmer neighbors that Lauren and I weren't actually from Mexico.

Not requested, but here are a few staples of Phnom Penh life in an unassuming snapshot:
1) Taken from a tuk-tuk (motorcycle driven cart or vehicle)
2) Lots of rain, which floods the streets and makes the rats living in the sewers angry enough to run out and riot, and shake their little paws into the gray afternoon air
3) Cambo Six-- a popular chain-shop for gambling on British football teams
4) Motorcycles, which are at a higher risk of being stolen during football championships (Seriously.) Motos can generally be started with any key or piece of metal, so it's a wonder that more don't get knicked. Moto owner, beware. If the rat gangs don't drive away with it, a losing gambler just might.

Things that are famous

2008-06-04T20:50:00.005+09:00

After the scenic bus ride, Mister Potato, Timmy and I arrived in Kep. It's a small town, famous for an amazing crab and seafood market along the coast. I'm not a huge fan of crustaceans, but they're *famous*. It was unofficially rainy season, which means most of the town was a shade of mud, but we at least made it out on a attempted hike or two up into the hills before getting drenched and/or attacked by cows. The wild cows with horns? Some say they're domesticated. Don't believe them.

From there, a van took us to Sihanoukville, one of the slimiest tourist destinations in Cambodia. There isn't anything special about Snookville, other than it has a ridiculous number of international restaurants and domestic taxi-girls to choose from. Take your pick! (We just went for NGO-helping-abused-women-cafe delicious brownies and muffins and some great Italian food, and passed on the other option.) I tried to knock a life goal off my list by learning the art of motorcycle driving. Not successful. Think you have to actually surpass 1st gear to get that accomplishment.

The last stop was an eco-lodge in Koh Kong province, near the Thai border. Check out that boat! We rode on one just like it, only not sunken. The cabins were classy and fancy, apart from one small mouse friend in the shower. We went for several kayak rides, but were severely drenched each time from rainshowers. Not sure if it was actually that eco-friendly, besides being in a jungle and using mostly solar panels... until, that is, the solar power ran out and we listened to the rumble of generators all evening. Eco!

Mister Potato Goes to the Coast

2008-05-27T23:57:00.004+09:00

My good friend Mister Potato is a Malaysian Pringle man, but he looks suspiciously Mexican. That mustache? That sombrero? Please. That's Senor Potato to you. The trip from Phnom Penh to the ocean only takes a few hours, along one of the deadliest roads in Cambodia. The path is narrow and full of speeding buses and trucks, which means that crashes are as good a form of entertainment as the ridiculous Khmer comedy videos. Charlie Chaplin allegedly came through these parts back in the day, and taught his form of humor to the people in charge. Now, all comedy is derived from that. It involves a lot of slapstick, and people getting hit in head with funny objects. Put this type of humor in language you don't understand, on blaring speakers, on several TV monitors throughout the bus, and it's good times. Hmm. Improvement or not over semi-sadistic Japanese game shows?

That said, Mister Potato and I spent the journey looking out the window, watching the scenery, cows, and car crashes race past. I didn't yet abandon this blog, but have a habit of working too many hours, and not posting. Also, have no other internet besides web cafes full of super-sketch Nigerian email scam artists. That is a broad generalization, but if you lived here, you'd know there's a fair bit of truth there. So. I have bunches of pretty pictures, but allow one to assure you for now that I'm alive and well, and full of crisps.

Gingerbread houses

2008-04-30T20:23:00.003+09:00

Gingerbread! Actually, someone probably stuck Brite-Lites into the shape of a palace, but it does look romantic.

Sayonara MisterV... at the best Japanese restaurant in town, with the worst service. This night, the city was having power cuts, so the whole place went pitch-dark every 7 minutes. It was bloody hot, because of the weather outside and the burning (yakiniku!) coal pits inside, and then the lack of fans/aircon. Cold beer, hot nights--ah the joys of endless summer. All the girls keep asking me if she's really gone, and if she will pleeease have a baby soon and bring it back to CCF.

My newest roommie is Lauren from Boston, and she will hopefully be inspiring/forcing me into half-marathon shape, especially if I'm still here to run at Angkor Wat in December. With my sublet expiring, and having several options for apartments swept away out of our reach in matter of hours, we jumped on an offer for a beautiful apartment and moved within 2 days. Out of the ant-n-gecko-n-spider oasis, and into the shiny new flat! (No, it's not the royal gingerbread palace pictured above...) It's a few blocks from Tuol Sleng--the high school turned torture chamber turned Genocide Museum-- which at first made me not want to even see it. Lauren's observation is that when living in a death-torn country that is so different from what your reality is, you inevitably end up weaving nightmares into your daily life... and making them better.

So, now my house is 2 blocks from where 17000 people were interrogated under a brutal regime, and my happiest days are working near the garbage dump, which is one of the most apocolyptically bad places you can imagine. I am not saying I don't miss my clean green other lives... I do. A lot! But maybe acknowledging the nightmares keeps you grounded, keeps you humble, keeps you thinking about life, keeps you aware of the proximity to death, keeps you remembering how important it is to have a safe home and a good family. I always thought it odd in Japan that their cemetaries (for ashes?) were snuggled up right next to houses and combinis and schools. But perhaps no more strange than placing death into beautiful, lacquered coffins and burying it far, far away. No matter where you are here, you can't escape the poverty and disease and crime and desperation, but it's easy enough to find the great things -- happy kids, helpful grandmas, and icy sugarcane juice make the world go round.

Bride of Demented Airline Employee Returns to BKK

2008-04-12T15:02:00.006+09:00

Excuse me... I speak jive. Get yo' groovy self out the door!

BKK... again. But, my visa worries may finally be over, two pricey trips to Thailand later. Flew to Bangkok on Friday night, with no plans, and nothing but directions to my favorite guesthouse, which rudely decided not to honor the reservation. Jerks. Ended up at a shadier place down the street- clean, plain, nothing special, nothing awful. The window looked straight onto the Skytrain platform, which meant I had to be extra careful to close the curtains. Otherwise... free show with every ticket! Yikes. BKK is really great the 1st... or 2nd... or 8th time you're there. This marked stay #10 (not including airport stopovers). Eh. Too many trips for a city I don't much like, but the shopping is good.
Tim was en route to America for his business plan competition, so I had someone with which to indulge my twice-daily need to eat Japanese food. (Yaaaaaay onigiri!) Also, Mexican, Egyptian, Italian, and multiple stops for bubble tea. Since I first came to BKK, cars and trucks have pretty much eliminated the herds of motorcycles on the roads. BKK is really the first world, as long as you stay away from the slums. And mostly, I stayed in the shopping areas, and only ventured to Khao San in pursuit of a cooking class. Good job.
Happy? NO ONE ASKED THE CHICKEN.

Within four days, I was back in Phnom Penh with new clothes and books, and no need to go to work for another week. My first big adventure was buying a used Japanese bicycle, at last feeling confident enough to ride around in traffic. I could finally stop depending on motos, and it would be easier to get everywhere! Had a lovely day of cruising, locked it up in front of my aparto next to my roommate's... and found it missing in the morning. It was gorgeous: slightly rusted Japanese mamachari, with a bell and a basket, and powder-blue finish. I never even had time to give you a name, but I miss you already. Such beauty can be fleeting. Gone bikey gone.

Going glam

2008-04-02T14:37:00.006+09:00

What to do when waiting for a ride to a wedding? Check out the 'flections in a Lexus. Ballin'.

Everything about Cambodian weddings is big and bright and over-the-top. Two wonderful staff members got married on Sunday, and everyone and their mother (and the little volunteers) were invited. Many happen out on the street, under bright tents, for that festival feel. This one happened in a huge air-con wedding ceremony palace. The traditions are half-east, half-west. When the bride and groom walked in, she wore a white dress, and they circled the table several times while we all threw little flowers. Then, came time for the cake. Cue "Here Comes the Bride," and light the... birthday candles. Make a wish! A little fusion? After that came lots of dancing. Sadly, we didn't get to eat the cake.

Mr V and Raychaa, gone glam for a moment. I may commission a crazy glittery dress to be made for me soon, and I'm rethinking my (imaginary and not happening soon) wedding plans. Out with class. Starting to like the idea of crazy colors and a DJ wearing a kroma who croons American rap songs in a foreign language. Martha Stewart Wedding magazine, cancel my subscription. Once you've gone gaudy, you'll never go back.

Cyclo pub crawl-- how excited is this driver to have someone else take his seat? I bet he was glad to rest his flipflopped feet.

And from the night before, happy birthday to Nora! Hey, what kind of pet shop is serving flaming B-52s at midnight? The best... damn... pet shop in town!

Ants in the land of Land Ruisers

2008-03-25T15:53:00.006+09:00

Every morning on my moto ride to work, my favorite street stall is a signmaker's. Examples of signs you can have commissioned: (Khmer Rouge) Trial Judge. Police. Lexus. Land Ruiser. The idea is to let people know that you are powerful, and/or are rich, and/or drive a fancy car but don't spell that well. Someday I hope to afford a Land Ruiser, which I will eat during a nice dinner of Tofurkey with a Tuno sandwich.

I live 2 kilometers from work now, in a quiet tree-lined street surrounded by governor's houses and a golf driving range. My balcony overlooks a gated community across the street, with huge mansions with swimming pools and shiny cars. Perhaps even a Land Ruiser or two! In my new crib, I have a washing machine (good) and a tin roof (bad). When it rains, it echoes so loud in my room that it sounds like gunfire during an earthquake. Good thing I'll be moving before monsoon season. I also have huge spiders with webs up in the roof and ants everywhere and plenty of chirping house geckos. Some say ants hate cinnamon. This isn't really true. What they DO hate are rivers of body soap on the wall. This kept them away from food and the sink for a good half-day, until the river ran dry and stained the paint a faint shade of citrus-mint refresharomatherapy. At least they aren't mukade. Sadly, the ants are staying, but Mr V is leaving me for a visit with the husband (Mister Mr V) before she heads home.

My daily highlights are teaching my English class, because my kids rock. The weekly highlights are trips to the day care, because those kids are so great and so exhausting. I remember a time when I ran with 4-year-olds and didn't need to bathe in Lysol later, but MAN these kids would make you smile. Trust me. Last week, the big adventure was a trip to CCF 4 for Scott's birthday party. All 300 kids, all the staff, and the biggest birthday cake ever were in attendance! These gingerbread men have no idea that they're two months late for Christmas. Cake, snacks, playtime, dancing until 8pm... Phnom Penh knows how to party.

At the community center last week, a mother started petting my arms (very normal), asked me some questions. Response: "I am America, 25 o'clock naah?" (Yes, I am actually studying Khmer. No, I'm not retaining it well yet.) A pleasant staff member came over to translate more thing she wanted to say: "She says you have soft hands. She wishes she did, too. But, she works with semen." I looked down at her hands, faintly coated with gray and white dust, and immediately, I wanted her to stop touching me. Germs and headlice don't faze me, but...

Two minutes later, I came to the conclusion that she must have been a construction worker. I hope.

Demented airline employee returns to BKK

2008-03-13T10:19:00.005+09:00

Back to Bangkok... again. Mr V (Deenaree) and I both had to jet out of Cambodia with expiring visas in order to stay longer, so we went to spend a long weekend with her extended family. Of all places in the world, her mother is from Beloit (!), but her father is Thai. Her aunts and grandmother and cousins and the maids took excellent care of us, and we came back to Phnom Penh after 5 days relaxed with nicely ironed clothes. Leaving was a disaster, as we had to work all morning, move out of the hotel, drag all our stuff to the office, arrange a new lease, and get to the airport in time. Our students probably think we're crazy bag people.

Below is a spirit house outside her grandmother's restaurant, which is for protection and respect. We ate so much good food, mostly Chinese-Thai style. It was right across from Lumpini Boxing Stadium, and is *famous* for Half-Century Barbecued Chicken Satay. Couldn't try it, but it did smell tasty. And famous!

Instead of satay, how about large seafood? Yeah, we ate these giant crabs for one meal, along with prawns the size of your foot for another, and smoky tofu with broccoli and rices and all sorts of noodles. Did I mention the mochi dumplings filled with kurogoma (black sesame), in a sweet-spicy ginger sauce?

And in true Bangkok style, we did a lot of shopping. And in true will-work-for-sticky-rice- and-free-drinking-water volunteer style, we couldn't really buy much of anything. Ah well. It didn't stop us from spending 3 solid afternoons at MBK and finding multiple excuses to drink bubble tea while we were there. We spent most of a Sunday at the weekend market, in search of not much of anything in particular, but found cowboys! (Deenaree said it didn't make her miss her apartment in Houston. Secretly, I think she ran back and bought a bootleg bluegrass CD.) We had iced coffee back at the house with Bizen Betsy, who was in town for master's research, and we had some natsukashii moments. (Remember that time we were all in a huge article in the paper for no reason? Remember how lame and yet fun Okayama was after OD'ing on karaoke and chu-hai? Yeah...)

And at the risk of this becoming food porn.... this is so beautiful. Hello, my love. The Oishi Grand is a fancy J-buffet and it's freaking amazing. Deenaree's aunts took us and her brother out for a sayonara dinner, and I think I've stashed enough tempura calories to outlast any bout of Camborexia. So. So. Good. See you again, dear sashimi, when I'm in another sufficiently developed country.

Hotel, Motel, Guesthouse, Apartment, Hostel, Holiday Inn? Paragon!

2008-03-02T18:35:00.006+09:00

Not much to say on this blog lately because everything has been too overwhelming, but it's all circling back around to good again. Also, no camera yet, and that makes me very annoyed. Here is one surviving pictures of some friends I made in the fishing village out in one of the provinces a few weeks back. I really dislike Phnom Penh right now and feel like it's draining away my energy, but need to be here to do my job. So.... give me a few weeks and I'll be comfortable again. Going to BKK on Thursday and hoping it gives me the stress relief I need. (More importantly, it'll give me the new visa I need when I come back.) Apartments 1 and 2 have both bitten the dust, and I now live in a champagne-backpacker/ low-key-business-traveler hotel. Weird? A little. Nice? Yes. Deenaree is the ESL volunteer with me at CCF, and we moved in together to our place on the riverside to escape Things That Go Bump In the Night. In her previous guesthouse, the final straw after a flooding room and strange smells was a confused German man taking a spare key from the desk and waltzing in her room at 2am. We stay somewhere a little more classy now, because that's the kind of classy (paranoid) gals we are.

Besides voting, there is lots to do in Phnom Penh. Eating, drinking, playing sports, getting a headache from dealing with moto drivers, and so forth. Job is great-- I'm mostly in the office but also am teaching a class for some of the older kids every evening. Already, the thought of leaving makes me break inside, so I'm rearranging everything to put off America for longer. We also have a newly-hatched day care program at the community center by the rubbish dump, and Deenaree and I each go once a week. (We both have names that are hard to pronounce in Khmer, so she gets called Mistah Vee or Nary and I'm called something close to RayCHAEY.) They are lovely and it's everything that is important to me (little kiddies, health programs, community building, early learning, nutrition, etc) all squished into one program. They all wear striped black-and-silver polo shirts. A week before I came, I happened to buy a top that is black-and-silver striped. It's either fate or I share the same fashion tastes as 4-year-olds. I'm banking on fate.

USA Donuts

2008-02-10T15:26:00.001+09:00

Rock the vote!I haven't this done since college, thanks to the too-slow international absentee ballot system. The place to go for a vote, a coffee, and a treat? USA Donuts! A donut is shaped like an O... more than just a coincidence? Subliminal messaging and tuktuk adverts aside, it's just 50cents for a full-sized, hot, fresh, properly fluffy glazed donut and, and free to cast a ballot for *insert name of chosen Dem candidate*. Feeling a little patriotic.

Back in Penh

2008-02-04T19:02:00.002+09:00

I'm here in Phnom Penh, I'm safe, I haven't abandoned the blog, and I'm living near the Royal Palace. Working at CCF and it's heaven, and after a week of many ups and downs, I am more adjusted to life here. Spent yesterday on a 3-hour (each way) journey via truck, ferry, and dugout canoe to a remote island to visit a village with a sponsor and some of the girls that used to live there. Better story and pretty photos to come. I won't post pictures of the CCF kids for security/privacy reasons, but you can see some of their stories at:

www.cambodianchildrensfund.org

Life is sweet. (Coincidentally, if you want some freaking amazing gourmet chocolates with a warm and fuzzy aura, order the ones of that name from the CCF site. But stay away from the 'Bombay curry'. SO wrong.)

This is not sayonara, but "shitsurei-shimasu!"

2008-01-23T09:57:00.001+09:00

Before you assume it's a curse, shitsurei in Japanese means "rude" and shimasu is the verb of doing. You must say this every day as you are finish work: I'm being rude for going home after doing everything required of me!! Forgive me for leaving before you! Man. I'm a world-class jerk! See you at 8am tomorrow!!

(Saying sayonara at the end of day implies that you won't be back for awhile. Feel free if you are actually off on a journey, but if you're quitting your job, it helps to say your foreign farewells with the level of gusto employed by pre-gubernatorial Arnold... BayBEE.)

Phnom Penh and ridiculously cute kids at CCF await! I'm on a plane tomorrow, and everything else is decidedly less concrete. Shitsureishimasu, Seattle. Thanks for the lattes. Back sometime later. Don't wait up.

Pick Chicago

2008-01-16T14:38:00.000+09:00

Little Girls' Night in Chicago started, as all Chicago nights should, with *famous* deep-dish pizza. We ordered a small, which claimed to be for 1-2 people. I think that's only possible if the first person had gobbled up his companion and then was hungry for more. Seriously ridiculous. I was able to meet up with Jon K for a mateccino while Sarah hit up the shops along Michigan Ave, and otherwise we had a pleasant taster-spoon wandering of downtown. Sars and I had a view of the night's lightning storm from our room in the Hyatt, which was our last nice-hotel hurrah now that the NCAA and JET (respectively) have pulled the princess rugs out from under us. Hello, $5 hostels.

The Bean ("that big shiny globe thing") was surrounded by fellow tourists in the rain, and a good dose of crazy people. They say it was inspired by liquid mercury, but I thought it more like that black stuff from the heyday of the X-Files. The truly terrifying art exhibit in Millennium Park was a pair of identical 3-story high screens that showed a blinking, twitching, smirking video of a person's face. Don't walk here alone. You might come out with nightmares. Or, a big booger.

Auntie Em! Auntie Em!

2008-01-11T02:38:00.001+09:00

Wisconsin was not the chosen site for filming "Twister" but it gets exciting weather sometimes. Last summer when I went on a speedy trip to Madison, a record-breaking 24 tornadoes touched down in the state, and we spent a good part of an afternoon in Scott's Storm Shack with sirens ringing throughout the neighborhood. Naively believing that I had *nothing* to do with this anomaly (or the tsunami, or the typhoon blitz of '04) , I returned to Wisco this month to find below-freezing January temperatures and snowdrifts. All clear.

After a few days, it warmed up considerably, causing thick fog. My sister and parents and I headed from Madison to Janesville in the haze, when suddenly were caught in a foggy white-out on I-90. After a few tense minutes, traffic halted, and would remain so for 3 hours due to a horrific 100-car smash parade less than a mile ahead. A minute earlier, and that could have been us. If fate has anything to do with it, all the tiny things that delayed us, including the alarm going off when I walked out of Borders that morning, may have kept us safe. Fate or the justification of a would-be shoplifter? Odd that it was the 2nd time that week a security alarm went off for me...

Sarah and I left on a bus to Chicago in the morning, arriving in balmy 60 degree weather. Traffic was also jammed up, due to a visit from President Bush. This caused an equal amount of commuter ire as the killer fog had, except these angry people had picket signs. And, lo and behold, a rare tornado touched down that day in southern Wisconsin, smashing a town to bits. It's probably my fault. Alternately, we could blame global warming or feel guilty as a nation for not paying enough attention to Al Gore.

Non-disastrous adventures: seeing Lorian in Middleton! She's a bonafide interior designer now, which means we're both on completely different tracks than those long ago freshman days in Bobb-McCulloch. And of course, I saw my family: g-rents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and all. We all watched the Seahawks limp to victory over the Redskins, which now means they'll battle Green Bay in the next round. Family combat! Go Hawks.

Cousin time at its finest, courtesy Heidi's precocious computer and technology abilities. She took, saved, edited, and emailed these pictures before Sars and I even knew what was happening. Back when we were 8, man, the internet wasn't even INVENTED. (Well, maybe it was... ask Al Gore.)

Still blazing after all these years

2007-12-27T18:20:00.000+09:00

My dad's family recipe for figgy pudding (above, aflame) has been handed down for generations and he now alleges he can track all the specific ingredients to a grocery ledger kept by ancestors in 1600s Netherlands. We young'uns say it tastes like it was made in a 17th century Dutch kitchen, too. Still, it's awfully pretty to see it floating down the hallway, dripping blue splashes of Bacardi 151 onto the floor, as it has for centuries. As for other holiday traditions, my sister was recently shocked to discover that her friend's mom uses the exact same recipe for Easter pastry that our mom makes. To which our mother replied, "Well, it IS Betty Crocker, you know..."

Christmas was only unusual in that all 6 of us were home. However, being a clan of pretend grown-ups, with jobs and universities, takes a lot of the kid fun out of holidays. Tree-decorating gets more minimal each year, yet somehow the tree keeps getting bigger. You can't tell from AB's new-age snapshot, but the tree is almost 10 feet tall. It went in easily when it was baled, but now it'll be impossible to fit it through the door without damaging everything in its path. I suspect the chainsaw will make a surprise indoor visit when all of us ladies are out shopping this week.

Fauxtofurkeyfu

2007-12-09T22:08:00.000+09:00

Featured: Turkey, as carved by Count Claude. Foreground: Lonely faux turkey. Not pictured: nut roast. G&D's remodeled kitchen is gorgeous, complete with 15 times the number of appliances I had in my old aparto. All those ovens! I'm anticipatorily sad to be missing out yet again on Debbie's Famous Carrots at Easter, which would be in their silver dish, sitting on that shiny new countertop...

Warm 'n' Fuzzy T-giving Thursday begat Black Friday. A short sleep after the last slice of pumpkin pie, I was back at work, caffeinating already manic consumers. Shopping malls are funny little universes of money and adrenaline and urgency. My mom and I did a spot of sunrise shopping before my shift, and half the salespeople we saw at Macy's looked ready to hyperventilate. By the end of the day, most of those in my department did as well, but the day wasn't as awful as predicted. I still prefer dancing around with elementary schoolers as a means to make a living, but it's good to have a new challenge in the meantime.

WANTED

2007-12-02T17:23:00.000+09:00

Kagawa-ken police are still seeking a trio of armless, pegleg fugitives for crimes of treason. Hirata-san was last seen in the city of Kanonji, wearing an oversized factory-worker windbreaker and green trousers, rendered useless by his lack of legs. Takahashi-san appears to be covering a pregnancy, and is flashing a bit of 2-by-4 under his right cuff. They were traveling in the company of a shrunken-head female. If you have seen any of these criminals, please locate the nearest police box or call hyaku-to-ban.

Litterbirds

2007-11-21T17:59:00.000+09:00

Consequences of living in a low-crime, high-paranoia area, like Japan: lack of crime, high rates of discrimination against potential criminals (foreigners), and astronomical fines for small offenses.

Consequences of living in an eco-friendly, low-crime, obsessively-PC place like Seattle: high risk of fines for jaywalking, overpraise for tattletaling (call 764-HERO to snitch on carpool lane violators), and incomprehensible statewide green-campaigns. 'Litter and it will hurt?' What does that even mean?

My little Robin is home for just a moment from her Public Health/ UMichigan/ Haiti adventures, and we found an avian companion! Just bop bop bop along the Bothell-Everett Highway until you pass a big chicken (and egg).

Lately I just spend my days dusted in either coffee grounds or finger paint, and sometimes go looking for ducks and papier-mache birds. And sometimes I seek out faux-turkey for holiday meals. What to do when I'm feeling particularly feisty? I throw rubbish out the window while driving alone in the carpool lane.

Where Courtesy is Contagious

2007-11-02T08:48:00.000+09:00

Nordstrom picked this tagline to pump up employees heading to the sales floor: "Through these doors walk the most courteous people in the world!" However, I bet it was a second-place choice, after Kenmore snatched up "Where Courtesy is Contagious." Courteous, yes. Free to say whatever you want? No. The thought police may soon come after me for saying this, but I heard a rumour about a girl who posted myspace pictures of herself in lingerie purchased with her employee discount, and which store she worked at. She was fired. The moral is: don't bring your work home with you. Alternately: don't bring that JCPenney attitude into Nordy's! We are class all the way.

I don't even think these are pumpkins. But, they are organic and uber-local, whisked right out of the garden to add autumnal flair to the porch. Halloween snuck right by, and now we're faced with the prospect of eating the candy not taken by all... both... of the trick-or-treaters. I'm searching for side gigs in babysitting or preschooling to counterbalance the constastress coffee job, but at least I've only sold my soul seasonally. And from there, off to Wisconsin to see the fam in January, followed by a scary exam that I haven't yet decided to take, followed by an escape to Cambodia!! (Seeking orphans, predictably enough.)

Family trees

2007-10-21T21:53:00.000+09:00

This is a big tree in our yard. It's dying. The big cut-down tomorrow will apparently be the most exciting thing to happen around here since the Power Outage of '06. Yes. I am home. I was so anxious to get here, but on the freezing rain day of arrival at SeaTac, everything looked a bit wrong. Seattle is too green and clean from a Cambodian mindset, too loud and tacky and misplanned for my Japanese self, and too cold for my endless-summer inner thermometer. My ineffective prescription for culture shock and joblessness was this: two solid weeks of moping in conjunction with watching Grey's Anatomy in my jammies. Now I'm working as a coffee girl at Nordstrom. I dress in black and am jittery all day long.

With globehopping on pause for the whole fam simultaneously, I get to hang out with these nice people in Redmond. The parents had a Scandinavian adventure with extended family this summer, and are probably relieved to NOT need to visit Japan ever, ever again. Annabelle returned from her India-and-stuff soujourn last month, and just turned 27. Livi (also doubling as AB's roommate and deadbeat landlord) penciled in 4 hours away from the architecture Nerd Factory to celebrate the occasion in the land of the living. Sars is playing volleyball out in Montana, so it'll be another wait before I can see her. The closest I've come is pulling up the couch to watch her games streaming online every weekend. Maybe the Bobcats will win a game or two soon! Or really, just one game would suffice...

Armchair tourist

2007-10-15T03:16:00.001+09:00

More cheap armchair lodging options: internet cafe! Post-Izu, my poor planning skills left me at Yokohama at midnight with nowhere to stay. Media Cafe Popeye is cream of the crop. For $15 overnight, you can get a reclining chair in a cubicle, speedy internet and a selection of movies to watch, a TV that is only hooked up to adult channels, free soft drinks, access to a shower, and more manga comic books than you could read in your lifetime. Above is just one corridor of manga shelves. Multiply by 100, add in salarymen and Halo-nerds and you'll have a better idea of Popeye at 3am.

Yokohama was grey, Tokyo was misty, Narita Airport was calm and efficient, and I lept through the sliding doors as they closed on the Japan chapter(s) of my life. My sister told me I had 2 weeks to talk about Japan after getting home, and my time is nearly up, so my focus is sliding elsewhere. Peacey Boat just rejected me for the only job I ever coveted, I am predictably crushed, and now have to adjust my plans. Probably will take the J-government's money and run somewhere more 3rd-world. For now, back in America, where cider doesn't meet condensed milk, but hot dogs and Velveeta have been married for decades...

Dinner with Pooh-San and the Boss

2007-10-11T16:42:00.001+09:00

Asakusa's street izakayas= fantastic food and strange company. After an onsen tour with a girl named Sonal, who was on a post-law-school, pre-corporate-world tour of Asia, we came here. Immediately, a group of salarymen and OLs adopted us and began ordering plate after plate of food for us, and even offering to share dishes they were about to eat. One of the men (oddly enough, from Okayama city) was extremely friendly, mostly sober, and spoke English. His boss talked at us a fair bit, mostly for the purpose of saying dirty words in Japanese while giggling, but he was drunk when we arrived and too smashed for syllables by the time we left.
A tubby man at the end of the table, wearing a wife-beater and gold chains, was identified by nickname "Pooh-san" due to his love of beer and honey. Halfway through the meal, Pooh-san's girlfriend strutted in with high heeled boots, acrylic nails, auburn-accented hair, and a skirt short enough to reveal tatoos up her thigh. The Boss pointed out that she had "good fashion," just like Sonal and me. I suppose he was drunk enough to mistake backpacker eveningwear (cleanest non-T-shirt outfit in your wardrobe, with something shiny for distraction) for yakuza chic. Damn, did I put my leopard-spot nails in with the bug spray or my mildewed handtowel?? Bossman actually did fall off his stool once or twice, and became intent on groping his girlfriend at the table and/or trying to drag her into the alleyway for alone time. It was classic. Or just weird.

When I returned here with Sonal and Welshman Paul on my final night, we only befriended a thuggish, chain-smoking, whiskey-downing guy who resembled Jabba the Hutt. Oddly enough, he was carrying with him and cuddling a Dachshund.

This building was in the "kitchenware" neighborhood of Ueno, and each teacup is an apartment balcony. I waited and perused the cutlery/ladle bins of the shopfront below, hoping for a resident to emerge-- a human spoon! -- but no dice.

On Saturday morning I left Tokyo and headed for onsen paradise in Izu. The first one I visited was an elaborate spa complex with the option to sleep overnight for 2000yen in communal lounges. The baths ranged from standard bubblers to a black tea tub to an Egyptian salt bath to a rocky outdoor tub open to the rainy skies. Secretly, I love the cotton jammies you get for the purpose of lounging between soaks: too-short bottoms and wraparound tops. Stumbling into such a resort, it would appear you'd been loosed into a mental hospital. Grown adults in floral or seafoam green sleepwear wander, snack, watch TV, or nap on the thick-carpeted floor, while old women in shorts and polos march around with buckets and mops. By midnight, darkened rooms containing rows and rows of reclined armchairs are filled with silent or snoring patients. I curled up in a captain's recliner chair in the family lounge, and slept like a rock until the Voice of God came on the speakers for a 6am wake-up. Glorious Japan!

Shoemeister in Tokyo

2007-10-08T16:13:00.001+09:00

I suppose I'll never be far along enough in my Japan re-education to stop thinking that signs and buildings in Japan are funny. If you can't read the katakana above, the "Shuumaistaa Shop" sells German footwear. Wearing Birks. Sellin' shoes. It's the shoemeister...

While waiting to be interviewed for the dream-boat job, I stayed near Ueno, which is a chaotic hub with a park, zoo, street markets, and herds of commuters. Next door to Ueno is the historical Asakusa district, which is packed with digital cameras toted by sheep-like tourists in hats.

The glittery Asahi Super Dry building above is supposed to represent a tall, foamy mug of beer, with a very lost golden sperm making a run towards it. I think.

Moral of this story: Rushing for the train will shock new mothers and strollers, plus you'll make babies AND suitcases cry. Don't do it! The tears of a Samsonite should dissuade you if the worried pram doesn't. Tokyo police salutes you for your compliance.

Ambitious Japan!

2007-10-04T05:47:00.000+09:00

Welcome back, Japan! I may never take another photo this Amelie-perfect in my life.

From Koh Chang, a long bus ride brought us to an evening eating and drinking in the flashy lights of Bangkok, and a speedy taxi has us at the airport at 4am. By dinnertime I was alone in Tokyo, lethargic and confused, 2 months after I'd left this country behind. Bad idea #1 was deciding to have uniquely Japanesey foods as much as possible. After this ill-conceived desire for matcha redbean sweet-potato mochi ice cream parfait, I fell back on the perpetual safety of tuna-mayo onigiri and chain-sipping boxes of milk tea. Japan, our semi-abusive relationship continues...

Koh Chang, no elephants in sight

2007-10-03T10:08:00.000+09:00

To the most famous of the Koh Chang (Elephant Island) getaways we go! My basic provision for returning to Thailand is that I never want to set foot on Koh Phangan or Samui again, and when you add in the death of a novice diver on Koh Tao last week, that knocks out the major places in the Gulf of Thailand except Chang and Samet. Pretty sand can be found anywhere, but bad vibes can ruin everything. Koh Chang was lovely in terms of tourists, residents, and fun(potentially dangerous) waves. I can take care of the undertow threat, but will skip the violent tourist deaths and cab drivers on meth, thanks.

Hey, boys-- do you happen to be an Olympic-level competitive swimmer? How about an Abercrombie model? No? Do any side work in Bangkok as a Rosso Men's Underwear spokesman? No? Then, please don't wear that Speedo. This fella was also wearing pink Crocs, which are SO wrong, but I couldn't get a clear shot while he was walking in front of us.

Look quick! PEPY dorks on the beach! The island is gorgeous, and still maintains its Jurassic Park appeal despite the decline in velociraptors, the rocketing increase in development, and the amoebic multiplication of 7-11s and ATMs. The poorer cousin of the 7-11 is a 7-Years combini done up in similar color scheme. And the backwater cousin of the 7-Years is, naturally, the 7-Days. Most everything in our local 7-Days was stale or flat, but the ice cream case was pretty decent. The roads are hilly, windy, and deadly, but it doesn't stop incompetent gaijin from trying to ride motos with their rented Thai women perched behind them. When they misjudge something and stall mid-hill, you want to laugh, but the sight of a moto crashed into a guardrail made me more freaked out than anything. For a prettier impression of the island, Tim made a video: get the full mood music K-Chang experience right here.

We stayed near Lonely Beach, which wasn't as much lonely as introspective. And it could've been friends with the other beaches if it wanted to. The waves washed away Timmy's sand castle... kids never understand about the tide. At night on the beach as part of the standard fire poi show, one man inexplicably wore a feathered headdress. No, he did not go up in flame. And he didn't try and sell any of those creepy little wooden frogs.

Can't stand the heat? Get into the mega-mall.

2007-10-02T13:21:00.000+09:00

Bangkok, home to the overwhelmingly posh and freezing cold mega-malls, is concerned about global warming. Central World is cavernous and kept at a temperature of -5C. When the earth overheats and the fishies in the Gulf of Thailand go belly-up, everyone can just move into Central World. Stop sweating out in the global warmth, and come on in where the air-con is strong and we'll all stay cool! Bring your piscine friends and they can swim in the fountain. Problem solved. Enviro-change is easy.

Bec was my tour guide, and I was so relieved to have a friend in the big, scary city! We shopped, had coffee, reminisced, gossiped about the old OK gang, and walked all over the Siam area. Meeting with Bec and Steve and Bulgaria Adam simultaneously was a retro Takahashi reunion, but it was nothing like Joyfull. (Dani was our missing ingredient! And greentea redbean sweetmilk shaved ice in a bowl the size of your head. And scary hamburg. And yankee J-punks.)

All those little balls were bouncing around as if possessed. Brilliant.

Tim-chan skipped out on work and rolled in on Thursday for a long weekend in Thai. We met up with the Tak Crew 'n' Friends for theoretically Egyptian food in the Little Arabia quarter (which is a rather broad term that has few boundaries or inclusions), followed by a "birthday" shisha. I think there are probably guidelines to how long you can milk the bday privileges, and Tim was pushing it. I am still thinking about the hummous and bread and feta dip and the mysterious chopped parsley dish that looked like lawn clippings but tasted like salad heaven. With Lebanese soap operas on the TV, sweet shisha smoke heavy in the air, all the signs written in beautiful foreign calligraphy, and women in veils or burqua being escorted along the side streets by a man, it was one of a hundred moments I have in Bangkok in which I can't remember what country I'm in.

Laffy Taffy taxi cabs in the gridlock game.

I'd Like to Extend to You an Invitation to the Pants Party

2007-09-26T22:06:00.001+09:00

The Pants Party on the Mekong River for Tim's birthday coincided with my last night in Cambodia, Michael's 3rd, and Jonathan's 1st. Wear some fancy pants, funny pants, shiny pants, dragon pants, zebra pants, lady pants, any pants at all, or not at all. Found my $3 zebra trousers at a random little market near the house, which made me look somewhat like a Florida woman headed for a buffet dinner at a casino. It started drizzling while I was buying them, which quickly turned into a good rain, which became a downpour, which turned into a legitimate river running through the aisles as people scrambled to cover their wares from the leaks in the tin and tarp ceiling and the floodwaters below. When I finally biked home, there was so much water on the road that your foot goes fully under with each pedal, and little kids were fully submerged, swimming in the mucky water. Given that Phnom Penh has sketchy sewage systems in place, I hope those kiddies have immune systems of steel.

Met some other foreigners on the boat who lived in my same dorm at Northwestern, 2 years later, so was able to utter the infamous line, "Yeah, I lived in Bobb." Oh Bobb-McCulloch and the almost-fond memories. It was a very late night, followed by sunny and very early morning tuktuk ride to the airport. Hopped over into Bangkok in another rainstorm. Sayonara Cambodia!

"We'll be saying BKK the rest of our lives, like some demented airline employees..."

2007-09-19T00:20:00.000+09:00

I suspect I'm bad luck when it comes to international travel, but my sister says just lucky. This Thailand trip didn't coincide with anything tsunami-scale, but my flight from Phnom Penh to Bangkok arrived a few hours before another discount airliner crashed and burst into flames after touchdown in Phuket. It was pouring rain on my bus-ride into the city, with thunder and lightning as I was running to find a decent guesthouse. Funny how my only thought was annoyance about my lack of raincoat, whereas that's right about the time 88 Thais and foreign flyers perished. I've done the Phuket-BKK route 4 times, but not on 1-2 -Crash. Fingers crossed that Airasia keeps its planes in better shape and doesn't try to fly in such dodgy weather.

For now I'm reluctantly in Bangkok. Did one night on Khao San Road for convenience and then headed to more relaxed Siam area. Khao San is as bright and tacky as ever. The tiny charms dissipate more quickly each visit, and are fully replaced with exasperations. Tourists dressed the same, in cornrows and clothes inappropriate for weather and body-type. Bored, apathetic shop employees. Creepy tuktuk drivers. Tailor-shop men that block your path in alleyways and then glare and say muttered things in English and Arabic if you don't stop to talk and get a suit made. (Although, they may just be talking about the weather or football in angry tones.) Each time I had to walk away from those headbanded "hill tribe" ladies, I felt a little more dead inside. They grab your arm with a pitiful look in their eye, and that mournful crickety-crack of the wooden spine of their frog toys haunts me.

Siam is the mega-shopping area that I usually avoid for lack of funds/shopping-desire. I've now spent 2 full days walking and shopping around here, for lack of other sightseeing to do. After 2 months of wearing backpacker clothes that were either closer to jammies or sewn by street children, it's exciting to have new things, and even some grown-up work clothes! Met up with Bec for day one of the shopping attempts, and then we joined Steve for Egyptian food and sky-high drinks on the 60th floor of a hotel. The rooftop bar was more classy before the men with their hookers show up, but you can't avoid that here. We had to change into our new clothes in the bathroom and hide our flip-flopped feet just to get inside, but apparently wearing a skirt so short that you can't walk up stairs properly helps keep up hotel appearances. Overheard:

Lady of the night: (shriek) Oh my gaaaaawd! Beautiful view!
Drunk 'n' Dirty Old Farang: And what a beautiful You!! Beeeautiful you!

I hope you're paying her well to put up with that level of slurred pun, old man.

Jazzercise

2007-09-14T01:17:00.001+09:00

For the low cost of 500 riel, or 12.5 cents, you can join several hundred others in aerobics class atop Olympic Stadium! This is Shannon's and my section, which I suspect was beginner(loser) level. Each has its own stereo and announcer, so if you walk the circumference of the stadium, you will pass through 10 classes. Next time I'm joining the advanced (hardcore) class. In lieu of Billy's Bootcamp, I need my 12.5 cents worth.

And, for free, you can play soccer anytime, anywhere. This "court" was lined by garbage and all the corners smell of pee, but usually we play on the red-dust fields below. We've played a few times on weekends with these same kids, in the ultra-grubby rags. They are tough as nails, and I had an old Cambodian man saunter up to tell me about his university study days in London and to warn me that these boys might try to take my wallet. We also had a special kid adopt us for a few days, who spoke some type of mumbled Khmer that the other kids laughed at. He insisted on giving me rides on my bike, and then inadvertently pulled off the entire tire valve while playing around with the gears, deflating it in 3 seconds flat, and causing me to take the gimpy bike home in a tuktuk.

It is a rather significant change from spending days with these kiddies to an evening at the 2nd poshest hotel in town. My uncle Michael comes to Phnom Penh a lot on business, and treated us to dinner at the Raffles, where he was staying. My parents told me that A-belle "approved" of the Raffles as a nice joint, but I don't know that I put much weight on the opinion of a girl who has been sleeping on a mat in an Indian ashram all summer. As a certified Champagne Backpacker, though, I will certify it myself as fancy. I felt underdressed walking in the lobby among the Raffleites. Dragged Tim away from his beloved spreadsheets long enough for a fabulous dinner that included sushi, melt-in-your-mouth sea bass with ginger, and Khmer tapioca soup with bananas, which is now my favorite dessert in the world. (Chocolate is a food group, not a dessert. Different criteria.) I haven't seen U-Michael since last summer, and it was fun to chat and visit with fam from afar, in a mutually foreign country.

Today marked my last day as general helpful hobo at PEPY, and it's been a packed week. Daniela has been nominated for a business plan grant through Cartier, and the final plan is on its way to France at last. We will try to get her to exchange PEPY bracelets (woven by kids at an orphanage) for a gold watch. Because of that, there is lots to do in the office and everyone else is working all the time. Tiny Tim wants to be Tiny Toones-- as stress release, bring on the breakdancing! Or at least the fledgling attempts at headspins.

Tiny dancers

2007-09-03T18:29:00.000+09:00

Still in Phnom Penh, and still loving it lots despite my general fear of cities. I've been working in the PEPY office since the trip finished, which doubles as the PEPY house, which means we live and breathe PEPY. It's very Real World, if the producers wanted to film in a developing country, and put a bunch of NGO types in a barbwire-gated colonial villa, snuggled up next to a rundown temple and some slum neighborhoods. Most of Phnom Penh is like this: poverty bleeds right into wealth. Even for the ambassadors and military types living in the gated mansion communities, you only need to step onto the chaos of the street to remember where you are.

Feeding the pepyaddiction has been fantastic, but I might go into withdrawal in a few weeks when I leave. Last weekend's highlight was a repeat performance by Tiny Toones, our little breakdancing friends. They performed at a new nightspot called Q Bar, which uses white white white everywhere and the biggest bed you'll ever see in Cambodia. Better than anything I'm used to in Okayama, but it has the desperation of a little bar that wants to be cosmopolitan yet falls short. Because of the kids, a lot of the hip-hoppers and thug men of the city were there, and we watched some of the foreign girls prey on that crowd on the dance floor.

As for daily life in the city, the food is good and you can get any type of cuisine you can imagine, due to the enormous expat community. The fusion food is the most fun because you can't get it elsewhere. This happy smiley fish was pretty phenomenal.

And my pretty PEPY family is pretty phenomenal, too. Maryann is the interim director while Daniela is in the States. She is casually running things while working on her PhD in sociology and learning Khmer. Shannon is from Chicago and runs the office with an iron gavel, a chocolatini, and a box of pop-tarts. Finish your task list or else!!

Around Phnom Penh on a basket-bike

2007-08-27T22:48:00.000+09:00

Yes, people do go to the gym in flip-flops. Haven't seen a towel yet. The only time it's cool enough to get a good workout here without passing out is at dawn, which is a bit of a drag, but better than... you know... passing out. August and September are the wettest times of year in SE Asia, and only a few degrees removed from the fiery heat of the springtime. When storms come through, the power of the rain is amazing.

My biggest accomplishment so far in Phnom Penh is learning to bike around the city without dying. I do not go out or do much of anything alone because I'm a big chicken with notoriously bad sense of direction, but I am a very good Professional Tagalong. To the gym at rush hour? To Olympic Stadium on a crowded boulevard with irrelevant stop-signals? To the post office, going round and round on the 5-lane roundabout? Lead the way. I shall follow. Most people ride motorcycles, with 1 to 5 passengers and 1 to 5 additional pieces of cargo. After that comes tuk tuks and bicycles. Least common are cars or trucks. If you drive a car, the point is to advertise the what it is, such as LEXUS in huge silver letters. Or, once, I saw a LEXIS. Unfortunate spelling ruined the illusion of genuine brand-name quality.

Crashes are rare, but you have to understand the hierarchy. Bikes can go faster than cars but need to get the hell out of the way. Motorcycles don't need to really obey lights, but tuktuks and cars do. Men driving cyclos (bicycle rickshaws) plod along at any speed they choose, as do people walking carts of food and drinks along the roads. Everyone avoids the elephant. If you are a man between the ages of 16 and 75 and you see a foreign girl walking, you should honk, yell "Moto? Moto?" or "Hello!", and/or stare at her as if she's not wearing a shirt. Seriously. Creepy.

Tim, what are you doing?? I said to pretend to push Shannon down the stadium stairs! On second thought, maybe it's not just the Khmer men that can be creepy.

Stingy, stingy, stingy!

2007-08-23T20:05:00.000+09:00

Cuter than Cambodian centipedes: Mama Andria, Claire-bauble, Rocky, Timberrr, Lemming, Justin Timberlake. (Foreground: Kevin and Sally.)

Attempted coneheads.

Moderate scandal of a photo-- look the other way, M/D. Standard practice at Angkor What? is to decorate the tables and walls with graffiti, which we extended to Sharpie tattooing as well. The kids selling flowers outside laughed at us and some of the... pictures... drawn on our arms, and were kind enough to gang up and try and rub the messages off my skin. I lost a few layers of epidermis, but then we played some hand-clapping games and their pimp glared at me for not buying flowers. We finished the night lazing in Claire's bed and listening to romance (or lack thereof) war stories until 3am, and all of us said sayonara in the morning. Very very painfully early in the morning.

Our bus to Phnom Penh was rocking, though, and we got to listen to America hip-hip circa 2002, instead of awful Khmer karaoke. Hey funky deejay, cue "Jenny From the Block"! Back at the bus station, the moto drivers were swarming and and yelling and pulling at our bags and sleeves. Annoyed, we walked away and found a non-aggressive tuktuk driver to take Claire to the airport, and Tim and I kept walking. One of the drivers had quietly followed us for 3 blocks, and suddenly emerged to block our path with his vehicle. He demanded to know why we hadn't given him the driving job, and we said we were walking to our apartment. He called us liars, and circled us a few times in the street, yelling, "Stingy, stingy, stingy! Stingy, stingy, stingy!" before roaring away. We hid on a sidestreet before sneaking into a getaway tuktuk. It's hard when everyone needs your business, but with 10 men pulling on your clothes in the blazing sun, after you've been listening to J-Lo for the past 6 hours with a dangerous hangover, you're not inclined to give the aggressive ones your money. Or, more likely, we are just stingy. Stingy. Stingy!

Angkor Wat, take 3

2007-08-19T19:03:00.000+09:00

For our goodbye to PP, we had a nice river cruise on the Mekong with all the PEPY staff and some other random NGO people. Climb aboard the unaptly-named Love Boat! I didn't see any scandal or love on-deck, but the music was good and the cookies and tarts (pastries, not unmoral women) were fantastic. In the morning we had a long busride to Siem Reap to start Angkor Wat adventures. We hit the most popular temples-- Angkor Wat, Bayon, Ta Prohm-- on our first day with a rather uninspired guide. Thailand has been the number-one ransacker of Angkor Wat over the centuries, and bad blood runs strong and deep. The guide pointed out a stone carving depicting a battle between Thai and Cambodian forces: "Notice the Thai soldiers. They are wearing LADY'S clothing!" and he chuckled and continued the story. Our last guide translated Siem Reap as "Thailand lost." This guy: "The thieves are defeated." Not feeling the *love* for Thailand.

What's cooler than a 7-headed mythical naga snake? Six heads on our too-hot-to-handle August trip!
Siem Reap only exists as anything more than a village due to tourism. It's a strange town that changes dramatically every time I've come. In 5 years, Bar Street will be identical to Khao San Road in Bangkok, which is a shame since Khao San is an area in Thailand with almost no Thai people. I think our best night out was at a Khmer nightclub called ZoneOne where we really had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. Undeterred by a "no guns, no hats, no flip-flops" sign on the door, the bouncers didn't frisk us and we walked our flip-flopped selves inside. It was packed, it was bizarre, it was fun, we left at 3am. Good times.

Trusty Tim says... I am coming to eat your children.

You can find me in the Club

2007-08-18T09:16:00.000+09:00

Our days were at RDIC, our nights were at the Club. Have fun on the Waterslide of Death at Club Evergreen, but no weapons! The Club was rather posh-looking, but is found down a dirt road, 45 minutes from the city, next to a village, central nowhere. In the spirit of posh-ness, we used air-con for the first time in weeks. (Protect the earth, protect yourself... but it was really hot. We had to. Don't tell Captain Planet.) When we stayed here on the May trip, the hotel food was awful and Sarah and I lived on choco-chalk Caloriemate bars. So good. By August, the Club E kitchen had mysteriously been shut down, so we ate at the RDIC coffee shop. Often in Cambodia, things are cooked with a hint of meat, which means every meal is an unwanted treasure hunt. Bring on the chalk.

When we got back to Phnom Penh, we spent an NGO afternoon with our old friend, Master Kung Nai, or the Khmer Ray Charles. He had just returned that morning from a trip to England, but he and his son and 2 other students played for us on this traditional Cambodian guitar-like instrument called the chapei. He is supported by Cambodian Living Arts, which aims to keep traditional culture alive by supporting masters and students of music and dance. We also saw the same dance class as in May.

Pretty girls at CCF! Our final NGO visit was to Cambodian Children's Fund, which is the fantastic children's home and educational program we visited the past 2 years. Most of the kids used to work at Steung Meanchey, the municipal garbage dump, picking out recyclables for money. There are now 3 facilities, but we just went to the main one and saw some classes. We attempted a discussion about the environment with some of the older kids. Several of them thought that illegal logging and water pollution were the biggest threat to Cambodia's environment, and a few cited the dwindling populations of river dolphins in Kratie. It was great to see these kids again!

Arsenic and old goats

2007-08-15T22:51:00.000+09:00

For 3 days, we headed to the countryside to work with Mickey and the RDIC gang on sustainable development projects. Rice-husk latrine, anyone? This is the same organization we worked with for Golden Week for our rainwater collection unit, and they are jaw-droppingly amazing. However, the certainty of rain makes building concrete tanks problematic in August, so we worked on other projects. Everyone who has ever met Mickey wants to marry him, and it took about 10 minutes for most of us to agree. He's sort of magical-- the type of person who starts explaining a complex issue and when he finishes, you'd like to believe that's what you'd been thinking in your head all along. He's a funny, charming, family man from Kentucky and everyone at RDIC is doing really great work. They do everything from water testing to well-building to health education to animal husbandry to karaoke/media presentations to tree grafting to fish-raising using goat manure runoff to feed the algae which feed the fish... I could go on. The goat pen also featured the biggest stud I've ever seen in my life. He was the size of an oxen with gigantic horns and I was terrified. RDIC offers a 2-for-1 goat exchange, where they give 2 goats, offering stud service for free, and get one back in exchange. I miss my goat babies.

Our time there was fun, but a bit inefficient in terms of how much was accomplished and how much time we waited around. It's hard to have groups of volunteers show up without specific skills who really want to help in any way they can, but there isn't always something convenient or useful to be done. We did have a good outing to a village across the river, where we visited some families' homes and tested their water for arsenic.

Arsenic is a common contaminants in the river delta area and excessive ingestion leads to arsenicosis. A visible symptom is hyperkeratosis of the skin, especially on the hands and feet, which looks like big black spots. The effects are irreversible and can lead to liver and other organ failure. In the body, it can substitute for phosphorus, causing many of these health problems. Many of the pumps in this region were installed by development or charity groups, but the water cannot be used for drinking. RDIC is researching effective ways to remove the arsenic, or else install wider, shallower wells that do not bring up water with the higher levels of the toxin. Da (above) was our main guide for the day, though he usually works in the lab instead of doing village visits. He took DJ to the village volleyball game that night. It turns out that the tall, athletic foreigner (and, shhhhhhhh, part-time model) didn't stand a chance against the buff, hardcore Khmer volleyball men.

We collected samples and tested for arsenic levels, which will be used to create a map of the country to find safe and unsafe well locations. Catherine and I were the science nerds, and even this uber-simple reaction made me almost miss chem lab. Almost. It was a little strange to be just walking into people's homes, taking water samples, playing with the kids, and then coming back to say that their water was dangerous to drink, but apparently our presence as foreigners helps legitimize the work of the Cambodian staff. Very strange. We had a whole gang of kids following us, and were able to get a good game of PET-bottle baseball going by the end of the afternoon.

Our last morning was back at the RDIC factory again, painting liquid silver on water filters and getting dirty in the garden with hoes. Ah, how the "Where's your hoe?"/ "She's over there!" joke never gets old.

Shoga nai: Cambodia style

2007-08-13T11:21:00.000+09:00

My last night in Kampot, I came back to the guesthouse, went to my room, and had the key break inside the lock. They decided there was nothing to be done, and had me stay in an empty room. They must've told a cloud of mosquitoes to join me as well. At breakfast, they still hadn't done anything about it. It can't be helped. Nothing to be done. In Japanese, you can say to this, "Shoga nai". This really means that they've done everything they can, asked their boss, discussed it at a meeting, determined it can't be helped, and are thus expected to apologize while racked with guilt and shame. In Cambodia, it often means that no one can be bothered to do anything about it. I asked again. Came back at 11, nothing had changed. Someone finally showed up, unlocked my room, and I rushed off to catch my bus back to Phnom Penh. I fear that when I open the sachet of famous Kampot pepper that I bought in that strange town, it will be infested by sneeze-maggots or something else will have gone wrong. Shoga nai.

Back in Phnom Penh, I lounged around and vaguely helped until trippers arrived on Saturday. Tim works in the PEPY office and did all the heavy lifting for this trip whereas I just did the emailing beforehand. I think of him as older than me, but actually he just graduated from Notre Dame 3 months ago. So it's not an issue of more years but of competence. The longer I know him, the more I'm convinced he's secretly some charity/development/volunteery Superman. Seriously, this boy can do anything. Trusty Tim to the rescue!

My August companions: Catherine, Claire, Andria, and DJ. Avoiding the dust? Safe from bird flu? Escaped from the lab? On Sunday, we visited the Genocide Museum and the Killing Fields, which still feel haunted to me. Melancholy and lethargic, we went for a requisite meal at Friends, which has the joint revival powers of great food and a positive social change program in action. From there we visited a new posse on the bulging Phnom Penh NGO scene. The group is called Tiny Toones, and is a breakdancing group for kids and teenagers, primarily from the city slums.

The founder, KK, was a refugee from Cambodia to America. While growing up in Los Angeles, he joined the Crips, spent 3 years in prison and was then deported. Back in impoverished Cambodia, some local kids heard that he was a breakdancer and begged him to teach them. Eventually, he gave in. The group has grown from about 9 original students to a few hundred. They drop into the "studio" (whichever house they have found to rent and haven't yet been evicted from) every night to practice and learn. All the students have to be clean and sober to join the group, which gives many the incentive to fight the temptation of street drugs. They also help the kids enroll in school, and give free English classes. Some children, especially those from rough family situations, end up sleeping in the studio all night.

KK is quiet, tattooed neck-to toe, with a long ponytail and a beautiful smile. He chain-drank iced-coffee-in-a-baggie throughout the day, and seemed to be surrounded by ring of adoring kids wherever he happened to be sitting. (In the last photo below, he's in the front row in a white shirt.)

We went on a Sunday, for the weekly dance-off in the park between different neighborhoods. We sat on the pavement, with the square roll of linoleum serving as the dancefloor enveloped by rapt faces of children, adults, and a few foreigners. Our group judged, Khmer Idol-style, as each group faced off, each kid bringing insults and challenges to outdance one another. There's our judge, Claire "Nicer than Simon, sassier than Paula Abdul" Bauble! It was the Tiny Toones clan that mysteriously took the top prize, and thus got to dance-off with KK and some of the other older dancers and teachers. This guy in red: so hot. Maniac, maniac on the floor...

Salt & Pepper: Kampot

2007-08-09T01:31:00.000+09:00

Kampot, one province to the east of Sihanoukville, is the black pepper capital of the culinary world, though they've also instituted a thriving seasalt operation near the coast. Get your famous salt AND your famous pepper! Total domination of tabletop spices. I was extorted by a thug of a taxi driver when I went, and was forced to stay at the guesthouse he took me to. Someday I will be strong enough to face confrontation, but that day has not yet come. I would rather lose a few dollars than argue with punk Khmer cabmen with huge arms and a glare in their eye.

Feeling upset by a day of being hassled, I wandered the town of French colonial architecture left to ruin. A lovely man who teaches English at the local junior high approached me for a chat and then took me out to see some famous caves. Salaries are low, so he supplements his salary on vacations by being a tour guide on moto. At the mouth of the biggest cave, there is a small 6th-century Hindu temple. We crawled through the darkness on hands and knees and on slippery rocks for about 15 minutes, only to find a holy man who was living there for the entirety of the rainy season. He had a hammock set up near one of the altar-like places for Buddha, at a place where light streamed through from above.
Other than caves and pepper, the only real attraction is the Bokor Hill station, inside a national park that is under threat of illegal logging. The ride up was 2 hours in the back of a pick-up truck on a crazy dirt road. We saw monkeys along the way, one of which broke off a chunk of a branch and waited until we passed underneath him to drop it. Angry monkey.

Bokor is a mini-town atop a hill where the French used to work and play before the war, and now it's crumbly and ghostlike. The church walls were covered in graffiti, and the hotel had chamber after chamber of broken-tiled rooms coated in dirty rainwater. It would be the place to set a horror book, atop a hill haunted by ghosts of colonists past.

To the Cambodian coast and back again

2007-08-03T19:27:00.000+09:00

For the week I had between my Japanese visa expiring and meeting up with the PEPY staff, I cruised around a bit of southern Cambodia. Started in Sihanoukville, the beach resort city. The beaches were littered, everything is a bit run-down, and it wasn't a warm fuzzy place to be. The popular place to stay is near Serendipity Beach, which is decent. Along the beachfront, there is a line drawn in water: foreigners in one area, Khmer in the next. Skin color aside, it's easier to tell by what people are or aren't wearing, as most Khmer swim in all their clothing, usually just whatever they are wearing that day. It's a popular destination for wealthier families from Phnom Penh to escape for the weekend. Anywhere there is sand, there are little kids selling bracelets and trinkets and they are experts at hassling and hustling. I had a few friends that were pickpocketed by the roving gangs of cuteness. Kawaii with a bite, apparently.

Every tourist beach in Asia seems to offer the same boat tour, and I sign up every time: $10 to feel seasick, swim, do a bit of snorkeling, walk through some forest/jungle/marshland, get rained on, and have a nice lunch complete with just-caught fish. There are also some beautiful waterfalls outside of town, and I had a very friendly (if not overcharging) moto driver who chatted with me the whole way there.
Serendipity appeals to the backpacker crowd, but in low season, there are as many people as bars and the nightlife resembles Okayama's: dead. But at least Okayama has far less hookers. The prostitutes couldn't find business at any of the sparsely-populated bars and looked quite angry. I spent time with some Aussies and a pack of beautiful Danish missionaries, and took off for Kampot after a few nights.
A chili, a wave, and a footprint... and a little bit of garbage in the sand. Won't be back again, Sihanoukville.

Gone in Sixty (Seven) Hours

2007-07-26T11:40:00.000+09:00

Three years of teaching gets you as many farewells as one year would. The gifts and the form messages are the same, I imagine. I didn't get anything as cool as Bruttney-sensei's milk carton elephant, but since I've been living in this town since the days when real woolly elephants (some say "mammoths") roamed, I assumed that moving day would be slightly momentous. It wasn't. No one came. I called and only fueled the confusion in a circular conversation with a BOE man that didn't have a clue who I was and why I was telling him about my moving plans. A few hours later I managed to move out, I think. Hey, remember when I sold y'all my soul back in '04? I'm ready to trade it back now for my aparto keys and a Guppy. I only learned later that my supervisor was gone because she was stung by a bee, which no one thought to mention. So much depends on a stinging insect. (But no rain water. And no white chickens.)

After that came lounging in Sasayama, town of mosquitoes and black beans. Also no white chickens, but there are 10,000 signs of a hamster telling drivers to be careful. There must be an epidemic of hamster-squishing on the roads, because Hamu-chan is at every corner. Kids, let this be a lesson. My sisters' and my gender-confused male hamsters -- Marie, Lily, Louise-- never would've had a chance in this lethal town. When I had to leave, I (like the hamsters) was crushed.

And then to Tokyo, which took as long to reach as the subsequent flight to Bangkok. Yet another night in the new BKK airport, Artic Annex. It's very shiny and has more air-conditioning and more sleeping employees than anywhere on earth. Another quick flight, and 67 hours since Kibichuo later, and I'm typing from a sticky keyboard on a sticky Phnom Penh morning. Tomorrow will be my first visit to the ocean shores in Cambodia. It's good to be back.

Sensei Doodle Dandy

2007-07-19T14:34:00.000+09:00

Missrachel-sensei is here, and she is going to eat your children. Hungry hungry hungry! But as of today, it's all over: no longer Allen Lachel Teacher. Gave a few speeches, cried during all of them, caused a table full of kindergarteners I'd never met to proximity-cry, and had lovely cake parties with 3 of my staffs. It's hard to let go of the title, the fame, and my feather status, and to realize I won't get this kind of send-off again until I retire. And now for shamelessly cute photos of 1st years:

Marine Day for the Elderly

2007-07-17T11:55:00.000+09:00

This weekend, a sayonara to national holidays without much significance: Marine Day (for the Ocean-Sporty and/or Waterlogged Elderly). Appropriately enough, a typhoon swept across southern Japan this weekend. And inconveniently enough, Niigata was hit by another killer earthquake that is made worse by the little nuclear spill and the continuing risk for landslides. (Heeeey Land of Sunshine!! We're safe.) Pouring rain forces life indoors, and wet clothes and shoes never dry, which leads to pervasive scent of mildew in train carriages and classrooms. But it could be worse right now: it could be summer.

One more week here, and I am trying to enjoy my short list of will-be-missed Japanese foods as much as I can. I am a sad little bowl of miso.

Tottori Anthills

2007-07-11T13:13:00.000+09:00

These are the *famous* Tottori sand dunes. Those little specks in the distance are all heading for Ant School. I finally made it here after 2 years and 50 weeks, and was pleased but not overly amazed. My Virginia boy toy scoffed at my excitement, since he's from America's Dunelands or some such nonsense. I bet Kittyhawk doesn't have camels, now, does it?? After Ludo popped up on one of the hills, and we went for a swim, we all got set to run down the biggest slope again. And now imagine a crazy Frenchman in just a sandy muumuu, barrel-rolling down the hill, spinning around and around like Joseph's dreamcoat at the laundromat. The J-tourons in high heels, shrieking every step down the hill, nearly short-circuited. It was beautiful.

And then we got tired and hot. There are camels, available for hire if you want an uninspired ride or pissed-off photographs. If I were a camel who had to work the Tottori Dunes instead of braving the middle eastern deserts or at least acting in a faux-desert Hollywood action thriller, I bet I'd be angry too. Confused castaways contemplating camels...

Guppymashou

2007-07-09T09:10:00.000+09:00

My hard-working Mitsubishi Guppy safely carried me to the Sea of Japan and back this weekend. It might've been excited to see kinsfolk on a plate in Tottori. Guppies on tofu? Yes, I actually chose to order this for my birthday dinner at an Okinawan restaurant. It looked exciting, and I'm exciting, right? Wrong. The first pet I ever had was a guppy named after my idolized big sister. Olivia (the fish) was belly-up in 2 weeks. I blamed myself and hid in the blanket fort in my room until my dad offered up his own guppy (Galileo) to me. I thought about Olivia (the fish) with each little bone and eyeball crunching in my mouth and the bean curd oozing between my teeth. I nearly gagged and hid her five friends under the goya champloo. Goya is a bitter, bumpy gourd. Champloo means fried rice with seaweed, fish eggs, and anything else found in your fishing net, in the cupboard, or under the fridge. Go go goya!

And weird birthday meal #2: sashimi on rice. Most of it was delicious. The squirmy shrimps with eyes and antennae were quickly imprisoned in the miso soup bowl, never to see the light of day or a customer's salivating stare again.

Reason for being in Tottori: music, dancing, drinking, friends, sand, and a pervasive wannabe-Thailand groove. Saturday was 07/07/07, which meant a good day to gamble, or to get married, but instead of pachinko or proposals I turned 25 in style. July 7th is Tanabata, or Star Festival, in Japan, and is a day to make wishes and tie them up into trees on colorful paper. In a rather uneloquent summary, the Tanabata legend is about 2 (star/person) lovers who were banished to opposite sides of the galaxy, and are only allowed (by the girl's father) to come together on this auspicious day. In America, we celebrate death, Jesus, chocolate, and America. But there isn't a day with such dreamy connotations that would have children and adults gasp and tell you just how lucky you are. Next year to get this lucky feeling back... I might need to go to Vegas.

Haaaanshiiin Tai-gas!

2007-07-04T15:50:00.000+09:00

I have a few students named Taiga. It's fantastic fun when you're a kid, but I wonder how they feel being stuck with a mascot/animal moniker the rest of their life. It is probably easier than for a rather large child I have named Daichi, the kanji literally reading "big one." Best of luck with that, buddy. But back to Taigas: Okayama doesn't have a baseball team, so we borrow from the Kansai region. The Hanshin Tigers left the lights and glamour and sprawl of Kobe/Osaka, and deigned to play at our local stadium last night. The opposing team, the Yakult Swallows, has the threatening symbol of... an umbrella. Really. To be named after yogurt and then have an umbrella as a mascot? We stopped laughing when it started raining and those Yakult fans looked pretty dry. Damn you, Yakult.

I met up with Hiro (who isn't much of a baseball fan) and his friend (who is a rabid Tigers fan), and we randomly found ourselves in a section with 5 of my elementary kids and their families. It's an hour and a half drive from my town to the stadium, but Tigers mania knows no bounds. Every player has a different cheer, which are organized by official cheerleaders in the Brainwashed section. It's creepy, but in a friendly way. Happy cult life! The only cheer I could read was for token-gaijin Andy Sheets, in quasi-English:

"Andeeee! Andeeee! Here we go hero of the revolution let's go Andy hit hit Andeeeee Andeeee."

Yet, Andy struck out, and hit into a double play with a tied score and runners on base. Heroism? Oh, Andy. You've failed America, and you can no longer lead the revolution. The Tigers won in 12 innings, I made it home by 1am, and the earth cringed a few thousand more times over the rainstorm of latex after the traditional "Miracle of Life" sperm-balloon show in the 7th. (Hey guys, it's this way! Follow me...)

The Ugliest Dog in the World

2007-07-02T13:17:00.000+09:00

But actually, not a dog: a wild boar. I'm told that inoshishi are tasty, but a bit gamey. And I don't know what that implies, but I suspect their stench carries into the meat. This little guy lives in a cage with about 5 others, just across the river. They're let out on a leash for good behavior. Otherwise inoshishi roam free in forests, and steal farmer's vegetables. They're also somewhat dangerous and stupid. I think I was justified in screaming and nearly wetting myself when one darted from the bushes while I was taking out my trash last night. I don't worry as much about the occasional mukade in the kitchen, a geji geji or three in the shower, and the once-in-a-blue-moon cockroach. But giant hairy pigs snuffling around 20 feet from my back door...

The Emperor's New Castle (Ruins)

2007-06-25T20:58:00.001+09:00

There are days when you blame poor decisions on not speaking the language. And then there are days when the bread lady comes to the staffroom (to sell bread, obviously, and not to be confused with the seaweed lady) and you make inexplicable choices. I selected grape-cabbage juice and greenpeas bread. Wrong wrong wrong.

And now to travel photos: what did I see in Hyogo prefecture? My big sister *claims* to be in Norway or Sweden or some other make-believe Viking country, drawing buildings. Please, Liv, if you don't want everyone to know the truth, don't name your cocktail bar after yourself.

Hey, where's the castle? I was warned that Sasayama-jo 'ruins' might be a letdown after the glory of Himeji-jo. As it turns out, there are no ruins. There is this concrete that plausibly could have been the foundation, except that it's all smoothed and paved for wheelchair access. So, there's actually nothing. I was standing looking at the view, trying to force a moment of historical significance, and the family next to me was admiring the primary school just beyond the moat, commenting on the blueness of the pool and width of the playfield. Rather like a child fascinated by ants in the midst of a New Year's parade, except the parade in Sasayama has long been attacked... and lit on fire... by invading samurais. {Insert a better metaphor here.} On a related note, what sadist decides it's a good idea to build a primary school next to a moat? "Don't run away, kids! You'll get in big trouble... unless you're eaten by a crocodile first."

My reason for being in Sasayama-shi "mosquito-ful mountain city" was to see Brandon. And yes, this is the gorgeous boy that I met in an elevator who is already on track to break my heart. Questions answered.

Sunday was spent at the international centre, speaking Japanese and playing balloon-popping games and running 3-legged races and dressin' in drag. As you do. A baseball player, a schoolboy, a yukata girl, and a sword-wielding chugakusei walk into a bar...

Sayonara orphanage and randomness in the woods...

2007-06-19T19:52:00.001+09:00

Went for a final orphanage visit on Sunday with Ludo, Alison, and Tomomi for a runaround with the kids. Somehow Ludo knew a guy who worked at another children's home in Okayama, who showed up on his motorcycle to take us for a quick visit. This other home is a residence/school for kids with behaviour problems, where they "learn how to live" properly. It's in the woods atop a hill, surrounded by hundreds of cemetaries, and the kocho-sensei said it makes the kids feel safe. The teachers invited us for tea, and then the grills came out, and this turned into plate after plate of awesome food. Some old guy that I couldn't understand (old man ben, obviously... I should be better at it by now) had caught some fish that day, so they grilled those up for us. Four hours later... we're still there, eating and drinking and poking at the bones of nearly-still-blinking (and DELICIOUS) fishies in a pottery workshop in the middle of the woods with these tough, hilarious teachers. They wanted us to come back to meet the kids and practice English, but I'm leaving and Alison and Ludo are both taking new jobs in Tokyo. Maybe Tomomi can help take others back. Sayonara Shintenchi and another piece of my heart left in Okayama...

Sayonara at Jibutei

2007-06-13T22:11:00.001+09:00

Rolling out of Okayama with the same party energy we rolled in with: Jibutei! After several foiled attempts, we finally got another party lined up at the best venue you can imagine. Never again can I casually mention that I spent the weekend at a samurai mansion. This is where ancient Japan meets gaijin trash, and we know how to have a good time.

And... the only photo I took of aforementioned good time: Darren comtemplates his jouzu party-planning skills, flanked by sidekicks. The party started by evening, my camera walked away soon after, and I found it in the morning with a few pictures of Britt waking up. The other photo albums I saw posted by friends could be retitled as "Photos of Lash with yukata and beer" or "Rich House closing in on every camera lens in sight" or "Bob-san captures futons and tiles." In lieu of my own photo impressions, words: music and fireworks and cha-han and chu-hai. We were neither accosted by angry old neighbor people nor yelled at in the morning by cleaning ladies. Nothing was broken, no-one was broken, it went nearly all night, and Brian treated everyone to plates of walnut-apple French toast in the morning, which was followed by an onigiri fest. Sayonara (part 1 of 40 million) Okayama...

Chasing the Happy (Mart) Rainbow

2007-06-10T22:11:00.000+09:00

Forced mirth: Happy Mart bathed in the glow of a rainbow. I saw a CareBear or two, sliding down to get their Happy groceries.

What's better together than Ritz and peanut butter? Always, anywhere, CRACK.

Huge castle, sugoi chiitchai na gaijin. Saw the best ("top 3") castle in Japan on trip to Himeji with the boy toy. This castle puts Okayama castle to such ridiculous shame that it's like comparing the actual pyramids to a child's Lego statue of such. Then again, Himeji-jo wasn't burned down and rebuilt like our local one. It's 7 stories high, still in its original glory, and amazing. There is an entire courtyard designated for seppuku (samurai ritual suicide), with a well to "wash the beheaded". (Do they wash the head or the body? And why?) I didn't feel any spirits, but that might have been due to a traipsing horde of rambunctious office workers on a field trip. I wonder if they all remembered to bring a signed permission form and a brown-bag lunch.

Reason for loving inaka schools: rice planting day! There is no better way to spend an afternoon than knee-deep in mud. Through my schools, I have now planted and harvested rice, and eaten the products as lunch or mochi, which is more plant work than I've done in my entire life. Many of the families around here have a rice plot at their house, but most of my teachers are from the city, and have to learn what to do. All of my schools have rice plots, and the primary schools also have vegetable gardens, chickens, and rabbits. Last month one of the school rabbits gave birth to stillborns and then ate half the litter. It was disturbing because I was only told "Baby rabbits!" (without the "dead" or "chewed up" modifiers), but the kids were fascinated to learn about death nonetheless.

Kobe!

2007-06-06T21:19:00.001+09:00

Kobe Recontracting Conference, take 3: rumour has it that the JET Programme is losing lots of funding and might collapse. I'm leaving soon anyway so don't care much, but this means I got "paid" (over-reimbursed for traveling) way less to present this year than last year, and didn't even get my own room in the hotel! Jerks. It was fun, though, and I hope I sounded more professional and less nervous. My proposed topic (volunteering, what else?) also wasn't deemed important enough to get its own panel, so I had that as a bonus topic after the real sessions were over, and talked instead about Life As a Second Year JET. I could point out right now that *every single person* at that conference-- by definition--was about to become such a JET. Thus, neither special nor marginalized segment of the society at hand, but at least my rooms filled up.

Our Fuzzy Peach newsletter boys have published some good variations on this patented style: Life as a Punk-Rock JET, Life as An Accident-Prone JET, and so on. If I wanted to focus on something that channelled the bizarre-o energy of my senior year English Lit seminar, it would be Life As a One-Armed African-American Lesbian Blind Poet of the Harlem Renaissance 2nd Year JET. That's like quintuple-marginalized, seriously. All you straight-up 2nd year JETs can't understand such hardship. But I guess that probably wouldn't reach the masses.

Kobe has: subways, trains, lights, restaurants, bars, clubs, fashionable people, and everything else that Okayama lacks. I arrived on Sunday, and stayed in a nice little business hotel like the nice little businesswoman I pretend to be, before switching over to the Portopia. The conference time itself was stressful and overwhelming in regards to sheer numbers of gaijin, but that made going out much more exciting. Stayed out late basking in the bright lights and Redbull/vodka charms of the city, but had to be bright and shiny for morning session. Harborland is the place to go for restaurants at which you can admire the harbor, preferably while eating meat. Couldn't do the latter, so instead celebrated the end of my conference duties on Tuesday with beers and squid legs at Bikkuri Donkey (Surprise! Donkey) chain, which is like TGI Fridays without the annoying waiters, and far less flair. (Also, there's just one small donkey statue, by the cash register. If I ran it, there would be a donkey that actually surprised every patron. BIKKURI! Donkey, my ass.)

Had some fantastic meals, including the ultimate salaryman-sushi joint, which featured a guy who looked just like Jabba The Hutt, except wearing a suit, using chopsticks, and spewing incomprehensible Kansai-ben. Went for a lunch with the other presenters at an organic/vegetarian cafe for soy milk quiche and pecan pie and dandelion coffee. I don't know quite what I was eating, but it was heaven on a (fair-trade hand-carved) table. Shinkansened home on Wednesday, nearly in time for school, and have been swamped since then with classes and plans and things to do. Might be recovered by next week...

Judy Run and flying babies

2007-06-01T00:52:00.000+09:00

Fastforward from Cambodia to Shizuoka, mostly because I can't remember what I did for 3 weeks. I think I slept and ran and stayed late at school everyday and stressed a lot about the Kobe conference. But then I made it to the big day(s)! And took Shinkansen halfway across the country! I got to see Katie from Baan Unrak and the mythical Judy as well. Judy Run was a blast, and I was so glad I dragged myself out of bed at 4am to get there. I ran a 10K, along the river, in the sun, and it was gorgeous. Wish I'd had more time to explore the Izu peninsula. The event raised $4000 for PEPY, and a big chunk was from the event Sarah put together at her high school. Nice job, Monkey! During the overnight adventure at an awesome onsen, we saw a shemale in the tub, with a baby. Considering you can get kicked out for having a tattoo, it's pretty brave to come in with a 6-pack, Adam's apple, and some serious surgery scars. The onsen also was complete with an English teacup bath. Mmm kocha!

Sarah and I followed her new friend Joe to Numazu, and then we followed him to meet his kyoto-sensei, who then took us to a festival. "A strange festival" was the only description we had. Kyoto took us meet the priest at the temple, who told me that there would be flying babies. Flying babies! I was really excited and worried, but it turns out he meant crying babies. Damn. There was a latin music group (from the exotic country of Ratin) and their fuzzy Disney dancers, some taiko, tea ceremony, and babies everywhere.

A baby who cries well lives well! And a baby who flies well will be on the next episode of "Heroes."

Angkor Wat

2007-05-30T22:33:00.000+09:00

Last day in Siem Reap... cue the tears! Also cue sweat dripping everywhere, because it was so freaking hot. And then cue a torrential downpour just before we made it back to the hostel. We met one of the 4th grade classes from the PEPY Ride school, and set off for our grand temple tour. Above is Bayon, which is my favorite. There are faces everywhere, which are assumed to be of Buddha, but the guide said they were actully of Brahma. (I think.) From there we went to lunch at a buffet near Angkor Wat, and then headed inside. Our guide again this year was Ta, which is a nickname that means "old man", and he's a rockstar. In Cambodia, it's considered lucky to let hairs grow from a mole, so he must be the luckiest man alive.

Rocky and Snoopy, doing what we do best... being dorks.

Our buddies, their teachers, Santa/Hoes/Sean/D, and the most famous temple skyline ever.

Nozomi/Shinky with some of the kids, watching the unfolding amazement that was "Token Boy lying on his back and singing love songs to the adoring crowd." It turns out he was singing Unchained Melody (not Whitney Houston) but I couldn't hear very well over the screams of laughter. Sean is going for a PhD in Global Poverty next year, which is so awesome. We were all talking one night about volunteer movements and social change needing to go from so many different directions, and how our trip fits into all of that. If we all just come and volunteer for a few days and then do nothing to continue that spirit in our own lives and communities, then our work is not sustained and doesn't make anything but surface change. But when we are then inspired to go into education or economics or business or medicine with the motivation to change the existing structures of inequality in the developing/developed worlds, we have so much more power to actually affect long-term change. Gambarimasu.

GQ: Angkor edition.
This guy just put away his cell phone into his monk-purse (monkurse? monketbook?) as I snapped this.
Brady Bunching: Snoopy, Ebi-chan, Risa, Glamalie, Gyoza, Birdie, Rocky, Token Boy, Shinky, Sakana no Hito.

To Siem Reap!

2007-05-24T13:03:00.000+09:00

Mmm. Roadside insect stands on the bus ride to Siem Reap. First, you pull off the wings... and then the pinchers...

Glamalie and a snackie (exhibit 1 of my "Sean looking suspicious in the background" photo series). I claimed that bugs fall outside the parameters of my vegetarian ideals. Ideals, mind you, which are already severely compromised by the "fish are swimming vegetables..." theory. By that logic, cicadas are just potato chips with legs. I'm not principled, I'm a wimp. GO GLAM!

The next morning in Siem Reap, D and Amy/Ebi-chan headed out to the PEPY Ride school to check things out and rescue some books from rat infestation. Ebi-chan, already famous for courting disaster with her prawn-choking, managed to break her bicycle and get caught in a rainstorm. Oh, little Ebi...

The rest of us went for a 2-hour tuk-tuk ride to Beng Melaea. It's very jungly, uncrowded, and fun for climbing. Maybe someday it'll be roped off and guarded due to the danger, plus probable damage that tourist cause, but in the meantime... HI MONKEY!
Was followed by a return to Siem Reap, Mexican food, excessive snacking on European chocolate with Sarah back at Earthwalkers, and somewhat awful Cambodian-fusion dinner at a restaurant we had much higher hopes for. We hit up the night market, bought silk products made by women at Sangkheum Center (home we built at in '06), got freaked out by sketchy men hanging around the ATM, Birdie and Sean bought out a dirty mini-mart of all their durian and jackfruit snacks, and then we went home. All in all... a very good day.

Cambodian Children's Fund

2007-05-23T14:48:00.000+09:00

We returned to the same children's home/school/orphanage-- Cambodian Children's Fund. It was started by a man named Scott who was an executive in the Hollywood film industry, came to Cambodia, fell in love with the country and the kids, struggled to find a way to give some of these kids a chance at better education and opportunities, and ended up moving to Phnom Penh to start his own foundation. Most of the kids at CCF were workers at the municipal dump (Steung Meanchey), picking through for recyclables or anything of value to sell. The conditions are dangerous, crime is rampant in the surrounding communities, and the kids don't have the chance to go to school. Some of the kids at CCF have been orphaned or abandoned, and have come to live full-time. Some are abuse victims, or had been sold into prostitution. Others have families, but live at CCF during the week and go home on weekends. The focus is on health and education, and giving kids the chance to study, stay healthy, learn all about Cambodian culture, and have a chance to pull themselves out of poverty.

For their drama class, the kids write about their own lives, and they act in and direct the story on stage. Above is one girl's story. In the play, her father comes home drunk, and beats the 3 children, while her mother (who has spent the day gambling) yells and sends them back to the dump to collect garbage. In the final scene, the children are attacked by a gang of thugs while picking through trash. The play ended with the girl collapsing in the sun with her brother and sister huddled on top of her. In real life, the girl has started a job working in a restaurant in the mornings, and takes classes at CCF in the afternoon and evening. Scott only has the kids do performances for special supporters of CCF, so that the kids are not treated as if they are in a monkey-show, dancing for the tourists' money.

Here is the author/ lead actress-- so accomplished at only 14! We spent time hanging around, playing, dancing, before dragging ourselves away for a late dinner.
Birdie and the boys!

The following morning was our last in Phnom Penh. Glamalie and I went to CCF2, which is a new facility across town, to visit a girl we've been sponsoring. In addition to basic education classes, they take sewing, hair and make-up design, and work at the training bakery. She was so shy, and sweet as can be, and very mature. She remembered all sort of small details we'd told her about ourselves and our group members in emails and letters, and I wish that we would have also had time to meet her mother, who is very sick. CCF2 is closer to Steung Meanchey, which makes it easier for more of the girls to be with their families. Too little time at CCF, will be back in a few months!

Unrelated scenes from Phnom Penh

2007-05-22T06:08:00.000+09:00

Sometimes, babies have an unbelievable sense of coming timing. Check out the cynic (possibly possessed) look on his face: wise beyond his 6 months. Pass me around like a plaything, will you tall people? I'll show you.

Phnom Penh is a city of about a million people. While riding from The Club to the riverfront, who should pull up on a moto but a guy we had watched in dance class at CLA a few days earlier? Coincidence... or something more sinister? (Coincidence.) He kept pace with us for several kilometres, chatting the whole way, before changing course to join an afternoon volleyball match in progress.

Foot traffic.

Spirit into concrete: for Noah Simring

2007-05-20T20:11:00.000+09:00

To Santa And His Ho's... And Sean, the kids, the PEPY worker bees, our RDIC hunks, the buff Cambodian men who cleaned up all our messy work, and to everyone who helped us fundraise the money for this project... otsukaresama deshita! (Thank you for your work, o honorable tired people!)

And from our constant memories of Noah, here is the rainwater collection tank that we built in concrete. Last year on our final house-building day, we joined the boys of Sangkheum Center for a soccer kickaround. We were all too hot to move in the pre-storm air, and most of us were dragging feet through the dusty grass, willing the ball to be on the opposite end of the field. Daniela had promised us sugarcane juice if we put out a good effort. The PEPY Nearly Dozen soccer "team" was no match for the superhuman Sangkheum squad, but Dane kept yelling at us lazy ones to keep running, and Noah was out there fighting for every ball to the end. We lost by a landslide and were flirting with heatstroke, but then we got our sugarcane juice as promised and everything was better again. Noah was always the one giving 110% effort, and it's that spirit that Nat and I wanted to carry into this year's GW trip. Noah, you are missed and loved!

Waiting by the ferry on our last day, Mama Glamalie explains how to use a fancy camera. The saddest part of leaving was the kids kept saying, "See you to-morrow? See you to-morrow?" and we had to say no, and just accept hug and kiss attacks instead.

RDIC and building

2007-05-18T14:26:00.000+09:00

This is the RDIC factory where they manufacture various water filtering equipment. These ceramic filters are being coated in liquid silver something... I wasn't really paying attention. We spent a morning here, painting and assembling filters and touring around.

This is Sam Ol, a project coordinator from RDIC, demonstrating a water pump that they developed for use by families. Benefits of this type of pump: it's inexpensive, can be easily fixed by its owner, and reduces arsenic in the water. Santa (Keith) is on the left, and he was our group papa. He has done aid work in several countries, and worked as a paramedic with Medecins Sans Frontiers. Pretty much, he knew something about everything. RDIC also makes educational videos about things like hygiene, health, and literacy, and we met a nurse practitioner that is working on a program to reintroduce herbal remedies into village cultures. Western medicines are exorbitantly expensive, but the traditional methods for treating common illness were mostly lost with the displacement (and genocide) of the older population during the war. So, RDIC is working to recover this knowledge so that communities can take care of their own health problems using ingredients found in the region.

Nerds at the "coffee shop" (tables under tents, all the locals, fantastic coffee and Ovaltine) near RDIC.

And then back on the loooooove boat to the building site!

Lisa, here comes the airplane!

More hours at the building site: go Sean! Go Thea Ra! Who won? Our Cambodian friend did, but he was just trying to impress Lisa. Rowr.

Yagi yagi yagi! Right before I was enveloped in the herd, I heard a commotion from behind me. Some runaway cows were charging haphazardly toward my tiny patch of dusty road, big pointy horns glistening in the sun, old woman lazily grabbing for their halter ropes. If I were in slo-mo, I could've donned my glamour-cowgirl hat, stuck my thumbs in my pockets, and said, "Well, cows, looks like there ain't room in this here village for the two of us!" And then I could've moseyed out of danger's way. This didn't happen. The goats started braying, I panicked, screamed, and 2 cowgirl feet plus 100 little caprine hooves fled in the direction that seemed least likely to lead to imminent death. It's been awhile since I've run with goats. It was terrifying. We escaped the mad cows. I survived with a light head-butt tap from a mama goat. I ran like hell to catch up with Sean and our RDIC boys before any other animals tried to eat me. And then an old man who was watching started laughing at me.

Hey cow, aren't you looking so chill and undangerous? Whatever. I know all your tricks.

Over the river and through the woods...

2007-05-15T00:23:00.000+09:00

Is there anything cuter than a beautiful Cambodian baby in sequins and a Texas do-rag? No. This is as kawaii as it gets. TEXAS!!
The highlight of the vacation week for me was the same highlight I have during my workweek: being at primary school! Our project was with RDIC (Resource Development International- Cambodia) which works on water and health initiatives in communities near Phnom Penh. Often, they build tanks at primary schools because they are central to a community and easily accessible. We set out in tuk-tuks from the heart of Phnom Penh to the rural outskirts, checked into Club Evergreen (our hotel, more commonly referred to 'The Club'), and got back into a truck to a ferry dock. We waited in the sun for a bit before hopping on for a long ride down the river, with people, cars, motorcycles, monks, and drunk pigs for company. Animals have to be alive to be sold at the market, so these piggies are fed sour mash, covered in mud, and strapped on to a moto. Chickens can just be stuffed into a carrier bag.

This is our adopted school for three too-short days! These are our kids! The school has 430 kids enrolled, but not nearly that many actually come to school. Especially in rural areas, most kids never make it past grade 3, but having their names registered ensures a meagre per-head allowance from the government. They can only go to school 3 hours a day, and it's a bit hit-or-miss about how often the teachers will be there. The principal was talking to our guides, and he wanted to know all about daily school life in Japan. (When I got back to Japan, all my kids were grilling me on daily school life in Cambodia. Let's exchanging!) The kids were really shy, as this may have been their first significant contact with foreigners. Especially loud ones who wanted to sing songs and play with concrete. They taught us some fun group games, and otherwise we joked around and sang songs. Most of the girls wouldn't get near me, but there was a herd of boys who were obsessive about hand-clapping games and songs. I may never want to sing C.C. Oh Playmate or Seven Steps again...

Cambodian Ray Charles and friends

2007-05-14T23:31:00.000+09:00

After the sad morning, we toured around with CLA (Cambodian Living Arts) and met some amazing artists and musicians. During the Khmer Rouge regime, thousands of people with special talents-- including musicians, artists, dancers, and educated professionals-- were killed. One result of this genocide is that traditional music and arts were nearly wiped out. CLA is an NGO founded to seek out surviving masters of dance and music who can now teach young Cambodians so that this culture can be passed along to the next generation. Neat, huh? The man above (Khmer Ray Charles) went blind when he was 12 or so from chicken pox, and began studying this instrument from his uncle. The songs sung are sometimes ad-libbed, and change depending on who is listening and what is happening that day. Thus, one of the songs was about us! (I'm pretty certaing that RC's song translated something like: Welcome to Phnom Penh, y'all/ It's blazing hot you know./ Santa and the Ho Ho Ho Ho/ Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho's/ and Sean... word up. Yo yo.)

A few "blocks" away from Ray Charles' abode was the home of an instrument maker and his son. This entire area was set up as an artists' colony, but now the land value is going up and the government wants to forcefully relocate the entire community.

We finished at the CLA studio to see a dance class. Most of the kids had been studying for about 4 years, and they tried to teach us some Cambodian groove. Apsara in the house!!

S-21 and Killing Fields

2007-05-09T21:20:00.000+09:00

This Cambodia trip was again with PEPY, which is an NGO founded by Daniela, the lady in red. In a nutshell: she began with an idea to bike across Cambodia to fundraise for a new school, and that happened. And people wanted to come and help with the new school, so they came. And more people wanted to come and see Cambodia and volunteer at the same time, so they did. And along the way, PEPY was established as an NGO and lots more things have been happening, with tons of trips, lots of biking, and so much joy traveling all over the world from everyone involved.

Our first morning in Phnom Penh was of sadness, and our first afternoon was of music. The Killing Fields are very tranquil, with a stupa towering up from a meadow to house several thousand skulls recovered by villagers after the Khmer Rouge regime. The skulls are organized by age and gender, shelf by shelf by shelf by shelf to the clouds. The glass doors are open and dusty, but the air is still. Only spiders weave through the bones: silent librarians of lives forced into anonymous and violent death. Many of the bodies are untouched, unclaimed, uncounted, in the mass pits outside.

From there we visited the Genocide Museum, also called S-21, which is the former high school where victims were held, interrogated, and tortured before being sent to their deaths. Everything hit me harder this year, to the point of physical illness, yet there is nowhere else I would have wanted to be that morning than right where I was, amongst new and old friends.

To say that these places represent something horrible and sad is an obvious statement. But it is easier to process the sadness when you're with wonderful people who are actively doing good in the world. PEPY love.

Streets of Phnom Penhdelphia

2007-05-08T22:40:00.000+09:00

The Best Golden Week Ever (version 2.0) kicked off with a hellish final day of work due to a violent cold. Hopped on the trains the next morning, which were halted and sporadically cancelled due to an alleged earthquake. They should've interviewed me for the TV report, with my backpack and flowing stream of hanamizu (nose-water): "I definitely didn't feel anything. Really. Nothing. Now, where's my damn train to Kansai Airport?!?!?"

Bangkok airport was my home for an overnight layover, and thankfully Glamalie and Sarah arrived to save me from this scary drunk cowboy man. These benches are quite comfy if you think of them as hard, metal futons.

Once in Phnom Penh, I remembered why I've been excited for the past year to come back! We stayed again at the Indochine 2 with lovely Danin at the front desk, and experienced the old joys of book-selling kids everywhere, power outages, water outages (usually only for the hour you needed to shower), and clans of bored tuk-tuk drivers on every street. We're home!

As always in the markets, strange things await at every turn. I can buy live seafood at my grocery store on the lucky days when the big eels-on-wheels-truck comes to town, but I would prefer buying thrashing fish from a dirty bucket of water.

Rosso, Men's Underwear Vendor to the Stars, needs to know:

"Hey baby, want a little Santa between your toes?"

This is not 'Nam. This is bowling. There are rules.

2007-04-25T00:06:00.000+09:00

These are magic bowling shoe lockers. There are tiny little men inside that take your money and send purple shoes down the hatch. Fast, convenient, entertaining, and I don't feel like I'm taking the "there's no such thing as Foot Syphilis, is there?" risks I would at a classy joint back home like Kenmore Lanes. Highlights of the Cambowlia-that-nearly-wasn't: I bowled 136, and Birdie G and I spent a good 10 minutes basking in shoe-locker wonder. Now, to Cambodia, Cambodia, Cambodia!

Let's go mushrooming.

2007-04-20T11:50:00.000+09:00

Day 5 of 6 in a workweek where you feel like you're doing everything just slightly wrong:
Teachers: "Oh! Goodo moooorning!...(air of panic) What are you doing here?"
ALT: "Um, I work here? I think?"
But, it's a bit exciting to have a teachers' meeting called in your honor, if only to decide what to do with you all day. Allen Lachel Teacher also moonlights as Assistant Lachel-PE-Teacher, Assistant Lachel-3rd-grade math teacher, and general playground phenom. So now to cancel the weird week, some belated Seoul pictures:
This is the tunnel that leads to the tunnel under the DMZ that the North Koreans allegedly never built. (No pictures allowed, but Ty is sneaky.) They painted coal on the walls after the fact to pretend that it was an old abandoned mining tunnel, without accounting for the fact that there is nothing to mine for in the entire region. What's worse than a liar? A bad liar. It's a bit like a child scribbling their own name on the wall *cough cough Livia cough* and then blaming their infant sister. Who can't even crawl, let alone wield a crayon and the alphabet.

National assembly building, and inside on our personal tour, sloshing around in wet jeans and shoes on the marble floors. Below is part of a peace monument with stones taken from battles and wars all over the world over the past few hundred years. Some of the wars were ones I'd never even heard of, but it was a beautiful statement.

One Trivia Night and One Day in Hiroshima

2007-04-17T17:09:00.000+09:00

Trivia question: What breakfast food goes well with everything... salad, ice cream, chicken, and so on? Obviously, it's cornflakes. So fusion, so unnecessary, but secretly I think it's fantastic. On their first full day of the Japan Tour, Version 5.0, the 'rents came along, jet-lagged and cranky, to another great Trivia Night by Bob-n-Eric. I kept waiting for questions that never came about Britney Spears, playground tag game strategy in modern Japan, onsens, or Shakespeare. It turns out that I, like the cornflakes, am so fusion and so unnecessary. Jon K Gogh worked his way onto the team with claims that he was admitted to PhD school on the basis of his trivia knowledge alone-- such lies! But those civil war questions would've otherwise gone unanswered, and the JET Lags certainly didn't get last place.

After a busy Easter, M/D and AB went off to Shikoku, and we all met up in Hiroshima a few days later. My dad wanted to see Miyajima, which is home to the really big red torii shrine and and an army of scary monkeys. The deer that swarm the island look worse than ever: skinny, scraggly, and going through molting season and/or lice infestation. They were mostly too sickly to do anything but lay under construction scaffolding, and only one approached us half-heartedly for the requisite chomp of a map out of tourist hands. I'd diagnose shika influenza or maybe severe apathy, but shouldn't notify the authorities until there is someone to blame.

(From foreground): Dadster, Rick-Steves-Approved backpack, Big Bad Rice Paddle.

Sisterly love is tender and true...

(Hey A-belle! J-Lo called... 5 years ago. She wants her shades back.) The best line from the fortunes that we bought at a hilltop temple was Abelle's love forecast: "He will arrive, but he will be late." Late for what? Late for dinner? Late for the wedding? Late as in the Late Dentarthurdent? It's sort of a threat, you see...

2nd Annual George Chapman International Easter Egg Hunt

2007-04-14T17:52:00.000+09:00

Now that the Chapman kids are all getting married and the Allen girls are scattering to the wind, the hunt lives on in new forms. We had a party on Easter Sunday at the children's home in Okayama-city, with 7 of us JETs, plus my sister and parents. My mom was the plastic-egg mule, and got questioned at customs about all the paraphernalia she was trying to smuggle into the country. But, oh, was it worth it...

A-Belle's Tugboat service: No distance too far, no child too cute.

Jon K Gogh, Birdie Glass, Bob-san, and Richard of Oz filled up eggs for the hunt. Per unspoken tradition, the boys went out to hide them on the playground, because everyone knows that girls aren't capable of such manly tasks. We stayed indoors, washed dishes, did the laundry, painted eggs... you know. The usual.

Chihiro-chan and her puffball bunny. Dani brought all the crafts ideas, because she is the art queen. Birdie and Bethany monitored the egg dying/painting tables, and AB and Bob did the paper table, where Bob's *Famous* Origami Baskets were born.

And, Kendo Man scared away the children.

The hunt itself was over much too quickly, but it was good fun. Instead of real money eggs, we thought about using coins from Korea or China as a non-yen replacement, but I pictured some 2-year-old choking on 10 yuan worth of Mao, and opted against it.

Christmas (as celebrated in a consumer-driven, primarily non-Christian country) is easy to explain: a big chubby man brings presents and everyone eats a lot, all in honor of a miracle holy child being born. The reason for Easter is more confusing: a big chubby bunny lays colorful eggs and hides them, in honor of the aforementioned holy child who has risen from the dead. I'm not sure which part is more implausible, but at least the kids liked the Cadbury Creme Eggs.

SWF in small J-town seeks big man wearing a tapestry.

2007-04-09T17:51:00.000+09:00

Before this sumo tournament in Osaka, I didn't know much about sumo, but I thought I would catch on. I didn't, or at least I have yet to grasp the brilliance and nuance of the art form. It looks about how it does on TV, but inside it was really hot and there were crazy numbers of foreign tourists.

Summary: I recognized the Bulgarian dude that I suspect has made Bulgaria yogurt famous, or the other way around. The superstar top-tier guy won the finale. Now after 3 years of tuning out everyone who has chattered on about the greatness of sumo, maybe I'll be able to toss in a word of wisdom. ("Oh, him? Yeah, he was really... um... agile. And Bulgaria makes GREAT yogurt.")

It's Koreal: Harmonious city, Happy Suwon!

2007-04-05T22:57:00.000+09:00

Happy Suwon! Last city, last days, Suwon was pretty cool: shopping malls, lots of restaurants, a world heritage fortress, a folk village, and a big wall. I left from Suwon for the airport, and flew straight back to Okayama, and didn't lose my Guppy in the car park! Happy day, indeed.

Mmm, looks like oden (direct translation: slimy slimy floating things in oily water) from the combini! But I bet 7-11 hasn't yet tried silkworm pods.

In the traditional folk village, historians were careful to include T-rex in the silk weaving display. Tyrannosaurs used to roam free throughout the peninsula until they were (predictably enough) destroyed by the Japanese.

It's Koreal: Dust from China and Food from Seoul

2007-04-03T23:22:00.000+09:00

This is the National Assembly building in Seoul on a waterlogged afternoon. The non-rainy days were hazy and overcast, which was blamed on the infamous/ubiquitous Dust From China. I wandered over with Ty (former eikaiwa teacher, now a student of Japanese) and Manuel (Swiss/German allegedly non-goatherding Oxford boy) for a visit, but we were told it was too late. Disappointed and drenched, Ty began chatting with a man at the information desk who happened to know Japanese and wanted to practice on us. So, even though the building was now closed, we were given an awesome personally guided tour, and the three of us were free to gossip about our goat-herding friend at will. The guide was explaining about the creepy lion statue, and was insisted there was something stored underneath. Ty thought he was saying there were bodies, and I couldn't understand the word he kept repeating: uwain, uwain. It turns out there is wine stored underneath the statue. Whose? He didn't know. Why? Hmmmm.

Ty tempts the Korean sushi, Manuel inhales the bibimbap, and I'm eating food seasoned with something crazier than black pepper! I don't like Korean food because of spice and sneaky meat, but I succeeded in eating veggie bibimbap, random tofu soups with and without meat broth (vegetarian my foot!!), and some random fish concoctions. I tried to be very cultural, much to the dismay of a stomach that hates me and perhaps is still on fire. The rest of the time I was living on crackers and juice, so it wasn't that different than being at home. Or in kindergarten.

After 3 days in Seoul, I wanted to go to a national park on the eastern coast, but the rain cancelled those plans and instead I headed alone to the small city of Icheon. It was quite dull, but has lovely hot springs and a lot of ceramics. I like hot springs. One old lady didn't like me, though, and threw water accidentally-on-purpose in my direction. Joke's on you, grandma, I'm already in the tub!

In Icheon, I didn't see a single foreigner up until I boarded the same bus to a museum as a young Russian guy. His English ended at "Hello," and my Russian left me after "Spaceeba," so it was an awkward Party of Two on the bus ride and at the otherwise empty museum. The ceramics are famous for this blue sheen glaze, but the magic formula had to be rediscovered after the war because everything/everyone involved in the ancient process was... destroyed by the Japanese. Predictably enough.

Raaaaaaaaaaaah! I am going to eat you! (Korean or otherwise, this is what kilns always say to me.)

It's Koreal: Welcome to Seoul!

2007-04-03T00:16:00.000+09:00

Seoul was clean, safe, lively, busy, efficient, and full of real people everywhere doing real people things. Real people things include: talking on trains, laughing and crying in public, old people crashing through crowds and hitting foreigners with canes (just because they can), couples holding hands, people wearing all sorts of different fashions, girls wearing cute shoes that still allow them to walk, and generally not acting like robots. It was like everything that pisses me off about Japan was removed, and what was left was translated into Korean. Funny, that.

My sightseeing buddies (and bear) for the afternoon. Being a single girl strolling around, I was approached primarily by random men and junior high schoolers. These girls were obsessed with Project Runway and America's Top Model, and they were all so friendly. Two thumbs up for nearly every person I met while in Korea! None of the men that approached me seemed sketchy, and some walked me 3 or 4 blocks when I was lost, just because they were kind.

This palace was very famous for a reason I don't recall, since everything started melding into one memory blob. Many of them look like smaller versions of places in China. Also, it gets confusing when every building of significance can be described as such: "... and then it was destroyed by the Japanese." Rah rah Nippon...

It's Koreal: DMZ.

2007-04-02T09:51:00.000+09:00

In a nutshell, Korea-too-quickly was awesome. My first goal was to see the DMZ, which is very famous and very heavily guarded and very creepy. "M*A*S*H" was set during the Korean war, which makes up most of my previous knowledge of that time period, and all I remember from the show is that one of the guys was a cross-dresser. Not so useful. En route to the DMZ, our bus tour guide was wise-cracking and making remarks about Kim Jong-Il, even as soldiers with large guns were checking our passports. It takes about an hour from Seoul, and the video we were shown was set up mostly as a Good versus Evil account of the war, complete with Good music (triumphant or sad to represent the South) and Bad Evil music (minor key, lots of drums to represent the North), and accusations of the Chinese entering the war "illegally" when the battlefront arrived at their borders.

James and the Giant Peace? (No, that was painful. Sorry. But I bet Dad thinks it's funny.) Picture-taking was highly restricted, especially inside the 3rd infiltration tunnel. We all wore helmets in the tunnel, and had to walk, crouching down, for half a kilometre, after descending to 80 metres below ground. They said that, had the tunnels been completed, the North could have moved 30,000 armed troops through in an hour. I banged my head against the ceiling 5 times, and I imagine that running, fully armed, would have been a bit more difficult.

Before entering the tunnel, we watched another movie, but this was focused on reunification/peace/chipmunks and much less about finger-pointing at the North. It opened with a little girl prancing through fields, and then there were bombs and the ground splits open and everything is wrapped with computer-image barbwire and she cries. Insert Darth Vader's theme song, some more bad computer images, a short history of the tunnels and how they were discovered, and why the Korean people want (and need!) peace. Cut to a long section about the wonderful nature preserve that has been created by the DMZ (no people, no pollution), filled with chipmunks and rare birds. It finished with the same girl crying in a field, but this time she sees butterflies flapping in the breeze above the barbwire jungle, and computer-image trees explode from the ground. Another chipmunk montage, happy music, and the ground mends itself. This is the "sunshine policy" dream for the future.

There is a beautiful train station at Dorasan, which one day will take trains to Pyeongyang, but for now is just a photo-op for tourists and bored soldiers. I wanted to visit Panmunjeom, which is the peace village in North Korea where negotiations occur, but the brochure said you can't do the tour if you're wearing jeans. However, everyone on our tour that continued was in jeans, so maybe it didn't matter. Too bad! Our last stop was a viewpoint of North Korea, but it was too misty to see much. The South Korean peace village in the DMZ erected a huge flagpost, and the North Korean village retaliated with an even bigger flagpost. But, we were told that they used cheap, heavy material, so the flag won't flap unless it's really windy. The South uses only the most expensive fabric, so it flaps in any breeze and has to be replaced every 2 months at a cost of $2,000. Sunshine policy, perhaps, but ego knows no borders.

It's Koreal.

2007-03-26T13:05:00.000+09:00

Secret spring break starts tomorrow! I've never had any desire to visit Korea, but I was feeling bored with Japan and bought a ticket to Seoul on a whim. I'm travelling solo for a week, and not telling my schools in hopes of avoiding the veiled annoyance that I went abroad yet again. On the record, I am on Shikoku. Off the record, I am going to shop, see the DMZ, stay in a temple, eat Buddhist food, and perhaps seduce the hot Korean movie star, that one who is really buff and has good hair. (Yes, there is only one. It's not the guy in the picture. But I will learn his name.)

Good intentions, better boat rides

2007-03-24T01:52:00.000+09:00

The road to... somewhere on Shikoku... is paved with good intentions. A-belle and I had grand plans for spending the holiday-of-the-month (Vernal Equinox for the Elderly) biking on a pretty peninsula. These plans were scrapped in favor of lattes and a ferry ride, because we were lazy. And thirsty. Also, we met a lot of old people. Best Sanuki person we met along the way was a 90-year-old who quoted Scripture for fun, before a TMI monologue:
"You may be asking yourself... why do I speak English, though I have old age? It is to stop senile dementia. Many years ago, I got into a French woman. She has broken my heart, in deep point." Heeeeey Shikoku!

And today's reason why Bob-san and I fail at Japanese:
The first two kanji are so easy that toddlers should be able to read them, but I get confused by different fonts. Late late at night we read it as either 'big person' or 'big entrance'. I am glad that it's the latter ("packed to capacity"), because it would be really disturbing to buy an *Adult* Juicy Meat Bun. Yum yum. Juicy!

Crushed.

2007-03-15T18:02:00.000+09:00

So, the good news is that I'll be coming home by the summer! The bad news is that my reason for going back is being unable to apply for a teaching job on the Peace Boat, which has been my dream for so so long. And that has made me mopey and I wish I could go around kicking walls. Or kicking boats. The reason: the next voyage will stop in Cuba, along with 20 other countries. Because of the Cuba stop, they have banned Americans from the entire voyage, for safety reasons. Odds are, I would've been rejected anyway, but I would have liked to think that the Peace Boat was principled enough to stick with its primary value of not discriminating based on nationality. Sure, you can't cater to everyone... but I'd like to propose that the next voyage visits North Korea. They're in need of peace, and I'm sure once you eliminate participants and teachers from the countries on bad terms with NK, you'd still get a good group. Right? Yeah, that's what I thought, too.

Sip Bacardi (from a tippy-cup) Like It's Your Birthday

2007-03-08T22:23:00.000+09:00

The best Potential Nightclub in Okayama award goes to... Mars. For the double birthday party, we rocked up at midnight and were promptly shushed in the staircase. And then we were scolded for not making one line in the stairwell. In the... empty... quiet... stairwell. I sat down on a step to wait for the last stragglers, and the bouncer glared and asked me to stand up. Another 10 minutes and I think he would have been announcing that everyone should go use the potty before recess time. Seriously, bouncer-man, those announcements are my domain. Go back to acting like this is a nightclub.

On the left is a freestyler on stage, flaunting his rebellion via tattoo. Hey Mister 55, don't wander around outside in heeled shoes or sit in the stairwell, or there will be hell to pay! The rapping sounded good, I suppose, but we lost all respect when they took a looong break to teach quasi-gang signs to the crowd of posers. The hand in the right photo is trying to be hip. Trying? Failing. But it sort of looks like it's picking the rapper's nose....
And here's the crew, most of which was hardcore/cheap enough to stay out all night long:
(Back): some guy, Vasco, Dimple, Bday Boy Andyroo, Jarek, Lyric, Maurissa, Tara, Marilu Who; (Front) Dami, Bday Boy Darren, Deverly, Bob-san Park/Park, me. (Where's Kanae?) And more importantly... how did SJP not make it in this picture?? I know you all miss him AND his Windexed couch.

I don't want no yaks.

2007-03-05T14:32:00.000+09:00

Today's Japanese lesson:

In this peaceful 'hood, we DON'T need no gangstas.

The OL, salaryman, and ojiichan (true cross-section of Japanese society) add:

Ho! No! We don't need no open-shirt thugs or high-heel-wearing, line-dancin' fools around these parts. No thugs, no scrubs, no Slap Leather. Please, boot-scoot yo'self to Matador for that. Gimme a high-five and leave in peace.

"Reichel is Black woman."

2007-03-01T22:48:00.000+09:00

Note to self: Wear more colorful clothing next week. The Accidental Goth look is leading to awkward comments.

Two more gems of the week:
1) I am pimped out to the nursery school when my junior high kids have testing days. Today the local elderlies were also there for a Hina Matsuri (Doll Festival) party. If the thought of naps, mochi, and drooling toddlers doesn't appeal to you, then this should melt any heart, 2 sizes too small or otherwise: kids in hats, grandparents in cellophane.

2) Junior high student one: "A-Lu-To... what does ALT mean?"
Omniscient student two, with a scoff: "Allen Lachel Teacher." (Duh.)
Classmates: "Ahhhh! Wakatta! Sugei!"

I shouldn't have corrected them. I am all that is ALT. Bow before me.

N-A, K-E-D, Nakedmanfestival is the way to be!

2007-02-20T18:08:00.000+09:00

Hadaka Matsuri in a sentence: 10,000 men put on fundoshi (sumo thong) and tabi (ninja-turtle shoes), run around yelling "Wasshoi," drink sake, cleanse themselves by hopping into cold cold cold water, crowd into a temple, sway back and forth like boy-seaweed in a current, and then beat each other up to catch a lucky stick at midnight. In a second sentence: The rest of us perverts ("cultural observers") drink and watch.

A few of my lovelies: A-belle, Marie and Gary (of Baan Unrak fame) came from afar, to drink amazaki... and display pregnancies. I have a bizarre picture of Gary from Christmas that would have been great, if not for a completely ghetto Santa stomach-- I think it was just a balloon held in the waist of Gary's Santa trousers. I looked at the picture and thought: "Cute house mother! Gary Claus! Gary's gigantic abdominal tumour!" Ho ho ho, Santa's Little In-Need-of-Surgery Patient is back, and he's wearing a raincoat!

The man behind the email curtain: Lackey, with both ears intact for the occasion. Birdie Glass worked her magic and got an *unexplained* discount on deluxe buses. Nicole was the Money Wench. Bob was, as always, the Glue, because nothing can fall apart when he is around.

Hey, who brought Bird Flu all the way to the Saidaiji? Wasn't me, wasn't Sharky, was it that devilish Dimple? Muah ha, everyone knows that wet, naked people are more susceptible to sickness. Cluck cluck, who's got a fever?

Jarek and I headed back to the buses, and while I was outside directing lost/late people, the buses took off without me. This led to a panicked call, some yelling by Birdie and Eric to get the driver to stop, and a long sprint through the rain. I hopped on, and we got glares from the driver for the ride back. Sweet. But, really, nothing went awry, there was a TV camera crew on the boys' bus, (and a TVman that kept declaring himself as Vasco's New Best Friend), we raised money for the shelter, I pulled my first all-nighter in ages, and... yeah, did I mention the 10,000 men part? Kid in a candy store, yo, minus all the creepiness that image might evoke. Oh, and most of the "candies" were 40 year-old J-men. (Who wants old manju?) We had to head to Aussie Bar to get the selection of imported sweets. And, yes, as usual, I could have chosen a better analogy.

As fun as it was, my first impulse is to say that helping organize the event was a pain in the ass. But, since I didn't have to run around all night tightly wrapped into a fundoshi, I really have NO idea what that means. Probably all you runners do...

Nowhere to go but down

2007-02-15T18:32:00.000+09:00

Annabelle lives on Shikoku, which is what you would get if you put Missouri and all its neighbors onto an island for several centuries, and then suddenly built a bridge across to the mainland and wondered why everyone who came across talked funny. If you are a visitor, you call her town Ka-non-ji. If you're a local, you say "KOWnj," and if you live there and are over the age of 55, you also swallow the second half of every Japanese word you speak. The Kownj is a bunch of paved-pararicepaddy-put-up-a-combini-lot towns all smushed into one "city" by the sea. It contains everything your heart desires... if your heart desires any of these things:
1) The CIRCUS! The CIRCUS! We're going to the Picadilly *coughpachinkocough* CIRCUS!

2) Tub o' lard. I am talking about the silver buckets on the left, thanks very much.

3) Famous cheezu mochi. What's that? Processed (no other kind in this country) cheese inside mochi, which is then fried. May contribute to development of nicknames such as listed in point #2.

Doraemon says...

2007-02-12T23:55:00.000+09:00

After my 3rd visit to the post office last week made me cry for the 2nd time, I went to my town bakery. Must have looked as sad and defeated as I felt, because the baker gave me this tasty little guy, filled with chocolate (not red beans)!!
And so, after two and a half somewhat turbulent years in Japan, I'm making plans to move on. The ALT job has been good to me, but... no surprise, I didn't recontract. Just getting by in any job and any social scene is hard enough, but made harder when you feel stupid and incompetent when trying to do simple tasks, and your social interactions are so few and far between that you forget how to make conversation seem natural. I talk to the postmaster more often than my parents. The people I see with the most regularity are 2 senior citizen guys at my gym, whom I would call "friends" if only I knew their names. And if only we talked about more than the weather and what workouts we were doing that day. ("Weight machines?" "No, just the treadmill and then a swim, how about you?")

I've only had one passing thought about staying. On a midterm-test day, I was allowed to teach at the nursery school. It was fun and games and songs all day, with two snacktimes and mandatory naps for kids and the less-important teachers, and I haven't used that much Japanese in ages. Fantastic! I drifted off to sleep on the futons, surrounded by all the little children in their flannel jammies, and when the headmaster gently rang the wake-up bell for snacktime, I was groggy and happy. I could do this for another year, I thought! And then I realized that it wouldn't be my job if I recontracted, since I'd more likely be teaching 5 classes a day at the elementaries. Damn. Unemployed by August. Professional volunteer work, here I come.

Who's Bringin' Bird Flu Back?

2007-02-05T00:23:00.000+09:00

Worst. Drink. Ever.

What is it? The bartender called it the day's special, and then snickered. Welcome to Takahashi, where your blue, fizzy, yogurt-flavored alcoholic "special" soda on ice may require a quick vaccination: anyone fancy a glass of Tori Influenza?

Takahashi confirmed cases of bird flu this week, which has meant a mass slaughter of all local poultry and occasional surveillance of the Kawakami area by helicopter. Do they really need a helicopter to spot runaways? Any stray would be chased and chopped by a granny with a walker and a sashimi knife, surely. Do they think a chicken is going to hitch a ride down the 180 and sneeze on all its friends in Soja? Maybe the helicopter is meant to see what is coming IN to the town, so that there will be someone to blame. Like... oh... maybe an UNCLEAN FOREIGNER transporting germs from an UNCLEAN FOREIGN COUNTRY? Like... oh... maybe that ALT chick who just went to Thailand? Wasn't Dimple coughing and clucking while trying to sneak past quarantine? Blame Dimple!!

Chickens in the fridge, y'all. This is the face of Bird Flu.

Choc-o-inaka

2007-01-29T18:07:00.000+09:00

The month of January has been rescued!! I suppose a Joyfull meal wouldn't fit in the box, but Bae-Yon-Chris-Joon knows how to survive the lonely inaka, and my first package ever from the UK was perhaps the most perfect. Creme eggs and Twirl for everyone!

Mount Daisen

2007-01-25T23:03:00.000+09:00

Hey hey, we're on Daisen! For those of you that don't nihongo o hanashimasu, that means "Big Mountain." The weekend on the mountain included middling snow, one very cool Meet The Jetsons chairlift (with space-age windscreen), one Botox headband, and one evening of getting sucked into a Kochi-style drinking ritual with some teachers that covered several rotations of the following topics:

--Japanese sake
--War
--Kendama (a children's game involving a wooden ball on a string attached to a mallet)

My Japanese vocab on the topic of war is limited: "It's bad," and "Bush is not very good in the head." At least kendama is easier to explain. ("I can't do it. Because of the sake. I am not very good in the head.") So, that was our night. The next morning the two teachers looked wrecked and wouldn't acknowledge our existence in the dining room. In their defense, they are country bumpkins who said they see a gaijin about 3 or 4 times a year. In their non-defense, I hate the Fight Club rules about drinking gatherings. Back home, talking with strangers is called "making friends." In Japan, it's an exercise in pretending you exist in two different dimensions. And it is CREEPY.

I had to warm up with the sunflowers on the beginner slope before we moved to the more difficult area, where the mogul skiers and daredevils and big boys play. Also, that's where all the attractive men were hiding. I bet Bruttney impressed them with her sexy stolen skipants. Step aside, fancy-haired snowboarding boys, the Kibichuo Idols have arrived! And only one of us knows what she's doing, so we're going to need some open space on this here slope...

Leaving Las Phuket Vegas

2007-01-22T17:48:00.000+09:00

Annabelle's Asia Tour 2006 brought you by... Woodinville Starbucks, where the macchiatos are perfect and the faux-homeless men congregate. This Thai tour now finishes in... Patong Beach Starbucks, where the lattes taste burned and the Thai rent-a-girlfriends congregate and glare at their ill-mannered European "boyfriends".

We spent very little time in Phuket: long enough to eat last-chance pizza, to drink mediocre Starbucks, to get a mani-pedi, to glance at the masses on the beach, and to fly out as fast as we could. The "massage" parlors are quasi-legit, in that you can get an actual massage in most of them, and it's standard in any type of beauty parlor. Some is completely legit, some of it is dirty, and usually it's all going on in the same place. I didn't get any massages because I don't like strangers touching me, but I'd be unsure about things if I were a guy. If you are in a place such as Phuket or Pattaya, chances are much higher that more of the business is of the non-innocent kind. You can make guesses based on how seductive and aggressive the girls are that work there are acting, but who really knows.

The nail parlor where we went was very clean and nice and they all had certifications on the wall. Per usual, they also offer massages. A lady came in for a massage, and disappeared upstairs with one of the girls. Her boyfriend sat beside us for a foot massage in the main area. After that 2 dirty old Japanese men came in and started hassling for their "massage." It was so creepy to be in the room and realize that they were buying sex, while I was sitting in a chair watching ER and having my toenails made pretty. Only one of them spoke some broken English, and they were both clearly drunk in the middle of the afternoon. They told the woman they were from Korea, but I could understand a lot of what they were saying. The older woman in charge brought them a separate price menu, which was about 5x what the most expensive listed massage was. She was arguing with them a bit, and one of the younger girls came in to be inspected, but they dismissed her, one saying to the other "She isn't cute!". They kept asking for discounts and gesturing lewdly and snickering. Oh, those cheap bastards... you know they'll get off the plane in Japan and pay $200 for a train home, but they're hassling and haggling over $40 to exploit some poor Thai girl. As soon as they were taken to a room by an angrier and sufficiently cute masseuse, the woman just looked really pissed off. We told her that they were speaking Japanese (not Korean), and she just shook her head and seemed really defeated. It was probably the most depressing moment of the day. My toenails were a beautiful shade of red, if tinged a bit with shame.

Flying high on the AirAsia discount skies! I flew straight home from Bangkok, got back to my aparto the next morning, and was at my desk at school by lunchtime, looking and feeling like hell. Annabelle flew to Japan a few days later. The morning she arrived, I was awoken by a call from Kansai Airport security, asking for my address and phone number on her behalf. I was worried they hadn't granted her a visa, or that customs had discovered the orphan in her carry-on. ("Welcome to Kansai airport, gaikoku scum... drug-sniffing dogs are now being released into the luggage area...") Nope, they just stopped her at quarantine for no reason, and then let her pass on through once I had vouched for her. Hahahah... little do they know about the intestinal party she picked up while volunteering at the Mother Teresa home in India. Suckers! Wait... that's my name on the form if she really is carrying the plague...

Burnin' Koh Phi Phi Love

2007-01-21T22:11:00.000+09:00

Koh Phi Phi, home to Burning "Love", was fantastic and we stayed almost a week. The sea is gorgeous, of course, the atmosphere is really relaxed and friendly and clean, and everyone seems honest. Most of the businesses are run by families, and it has a much safer feel to it. The land travel across the isthmus (via dirty dirty Surat Thani) took hours and hours because they keep transferring you from travel agency to sketchy travel agency. It doesn't make any sense, since none of the individual drivers or buses can be making any money. Word on the street is that the Thai mafia owns Surat Thani because it can control drug trade through the ports and up to Bangkok. So, they supposedly shunt tourists through 14 agencies in 4 hours as a front for other business. Glad to be of service!

Highlights of Phi Phi: We spent almost every day on a beach, more commonly known as Shirtless Man Heaven, and wandered around the entire island by foot or boat. There are no roads on Phi Phi, so almost no motor vehicles. Our bungalow was up on a hill, above tsunami-level, hidden up in the trees. It was lovely, except when it poured rain one day and 4-inch centipedes threw a soiree in the shower, much to my dismay. And by dismay, I mean screams. The restaurants were amazing, and a nice change after the very-tasty but slightly-repetitive orphanage food. (The Burning "Love" is a bacon mashed potato dish, not something that requires an awkward test and a course of antibiotics.)

We met up with Colin and his pals and had a fun night of food and drinks and midnight swims. I really wish we had seen him take on the 6'6" Aussie amateur fighter in a boxing match the night before, but we just saw the after-effects: split lip, damaged rib, increased fame. (Next up, Colin-- fighting 10,000 men in fundoshi at Naked Men festival!! Let's take down the yakuza!) After he left, we kept hanging out with Fran (on the right), who is from Johannesburg but now lives in Italy with her husband. After dinner one night, she looked at her change, and instead of a one-baht-coin, she had been given a South African rand. I can't imagine there are many of those in circulation, but she thought it to be fateful. She was really fun and knew everyone on the island, so it was like being with a celebrity. One of the Finnish boys in the group was in love with her, not to be deterred by her wedding ring and constant mentions of the husband. Oh, little Finn...

We formed a fan club for this guy, who was awesome. The band did all cover songs, and if you closed your eyes, you'd alternately think that Kurt Cobain or Eddie Vedder or Bob Dylan were suddenly in the bar with you.

On a kayak trip one afternoon with Fran and a hilarious Canadian couple (Roger and Loretta), we did some snorkeling and visited the swimming monkeys on a place called, predictably enough, Monkey Beach. One came up and stole Roger's green tea, and proceeded to drink the rest of it. It's sad to see animals like this, going after people food and stealing garbage, and filling their bodies with crap that they should never have to encounter in the wild. Probably Steve Irwin would be rolling over in his grave. He seemed fine with wandering into wild animal habitats, but animals are not supposed to have people food. Or sweetened o-cha. You know, saru-chan, that's just all empty calories...

As we were on the beach, a guy came hobbling out of the water, limping on one foot. While walking on the rocks, he stepped on a sea urchin, and the spines went deep into his foot and broke off. In addition to that, he already had gashes on his shoulder and leg from a motorcycle accident on Phuket, and looked a bit worse for the wear. The Thai man running the food stand told him to pee on his foot for the time being, and then to ice his foot. As he and his friend went behind a rock to take care of that, a monkey hopped into his kayak and ran away with his camera. Worst day every for the beautiful sea-urchin guy! We tried to chase the simian klepto, but it pulled a Hot Zone "ebola jaws" impression and we stayed back until it got bored and dropped the camera in the sand. We met him again at a bar that night, and his foot was completely swollen up. "Koh Phangan tattoo" is the phrase for damages incurred by idiots on motorbikes. This guy also managed to get a "Koh Phi Phi tattoo" due to urchin spines imbedded in his foot, but such tattooes are much less common. And hardly in demand...

New Year's, and Why I'm Done with Koh Phangan

2007-01-17T14:37:00.001+09:00

Happy 2007 from Koh Phangan

On the road from Sangkhlaburi to Koh Phangan, a few shout outs:

*Thank you, VIP bus driver, who kept trying to leave people behind during momentary restroom stops en route to Bangkok. I don't know what they do on the Very Non-Important Person buses, but probably they push you out the window when it gets too full.

*Thank you, travel agency on Khao San Road that closed early twice when we needed to pick up Abelle's ticket.

*Thank you creepy Sikh agent man who made us take a cab for a hour across Bangkok in rush hour traffic to pick up said tickets from his gated compound.

*Thank you, Koh Phangan taxi-truck driver on meth, who pulled over, tried to extort money from everyone in the cab, yelled and swore at us when we got out, accused us of being Italian, almost slapped another girl passenger, swore some more when we gave him his money and ran away, and would have run us off the road a minute later had we not been hiding in some family's garden.

*Thank you useless men in said truck who did nothing to help this situation, besides offering him 10 times the fare to keep driving. (Did I say "men"? My mistake.)

After 24 hours in buses and taxis and boats, we arrived on Koh Phangan on New Year's Eve without a reservation and not sure where to go. At the taxi stand, a dishevelled American guy came up to us and offered to help us find a place to stay. He had been out partying all night and was waiting for taxi charges to go down before he went home. He suggested we try to get a bungalow on the same beach where he and his friend were. This sounds like a good premise for "Brokedown Palace 2: Eastside Girls Doing Stupid Things" (see scene 1, going to Sikh man's Bangkok compound at dusk) but they were decent fellows. And since they didn't have rocks to throw like AB's India mugger, it seemed totally safe. We got the last shack available, and it sufficed for a night. I don't know why, but everything about Koh Phangan made me uneasy. I used to like it, but when you keep have negative vibes coming from everyone living on/running the island, and the crowds of foreigners are the ones you would never want to hang out with... you have to follow your gut and get the hell out.

By evening we were on Hat Rin for the New Year's party. Hat Rin has become more developed and everything looks a lot trashier, people included. It had a much more relaxed backpacker feel 2 years ago, but this was more like being in a frat party. Down on the beach, we ran into the Champclair Mafia (Martin'n'Jen, Greg'n'Ted), and hung out for a bit before drifting away in the crowd. Right before midnight, we spotted our buddy Mike standing on a chair, yelling out to us, "Girrrrls!! It's meeeee!" before his chair toppled and we had to try and catch a very drunk Irishman. There was the standard fire poi and club music and fireworks, but it felt a bit been-there-done-that, and really sleazy. It wasn't like Phuket, which is gross for obvious reasons (hookers, the dirty old men who love and pay them, and slutty ladyboys), but still just felt sort of wrong. Alcohol can be fun when it clouds things a bit, but not being able to drink keeps your head clear and lets you focus on what you actually want to see. We spent a long time chatting with a guy who ran a dive shop on Koh Tao, and would come over with his brother to sell drinks every night during high season, and then head back to work all day. His comment was something like, "Yeah, Phangan makes good business... as long as you don't have to stay! Hahahahahah." Yeah, that's about right.

On New Year's afternoon, we went to check on tickets to Phi Phi for the following morning. Hat Rin is convenient because of all the cafes and bookstores and shops, and I love that aspect of these little tourist ghettos, but it seemed even more depressing by light of day, as if the beach itself had a hangover. The taxi incident occurred on our way from Hat Rin to the boat office in Thong Sala, and we made our decision to get out immediately. When we came out of hiding, we flagged down a guy driving a pick-up for one of the fancy resorts, and he dropped us off in town. He had a Thai karaoke machine on the dash, and seemed thrilled to make some cash on the sly. AB and I went to the office, instead bought tickets for the night boat, and were sailing away from Koh Phangan 2 hours later. I shan't be returning...

Team Baan Unrak 2006

2007-01-17T01:29:00.000+09:00

Sayonara until next time, Baan Unrak! Our group was awesome-- 21 beautiful, funny people, all volunteering so much time and energy to be here. I adore you all so much!
Back: Me, KT, Erica H, Brad, Alicia, Steve, Sarah.
Middleish: Soma (high school girl from the home), Nicole, Denise, Nikki/Nikkers, Colin, Marie.
Front: Chelsea, Annabelle, Nicci, Gary, Abijiit, Vicky, Jen, Tricia.
(Early escapees: Jon, Brazilian Erica)

I had some people ask why we all wanted to work during our holiday, but the time here was a vacation. Imagine the best day you've ever had at your job. Now imagine that intensified tenfold, and continuing for a week solid. Oh, and all the people in this best-workday-ever-on-speed situation are orphans so sweet that you get soul-cavities. Not relaxing, but makes you happy, right? So, that's why this was a holiday, and why I came back to Japan more centered than when I left. Go team!

Jungles and farmland

2007-01-15T23:37:00.000+09:00

I rode an elephant at last! I gripped Erica's arm the whole time, and was happy that I didn't get thrown off in a freak stampede. I used the above picture in class today to talk about winter holiday, but was shown up by an elementary schooler who had ridden an ostrich. Who does that, really? There is an ostrich farm right in my town, and your only other wildlife-viewing option is the caged boars at the gravestone-carving shack by my house, but I didn't know you could ride them. To her credit, she's like 3 feet tall, and weighs as much as the 3000yen ostrich eggs sold at the farm stand, but that's still quite brave and much more exotic. Maybe I know why the caged boar grunts... it's jealous that the ostriches get all the attention.

The ride was quite slow, but the best part was fording the river, upon an elephant eye-deep with its trunk in the air. If you imagine the elephants to be oxen, it felt very Oregon Trail, minus the cholera and diphtheria. Our elephant was the only one with tusks, and had a habit of uprooting small trees as we went, which caused the guide to yell and smack little Stampy in the head with a metal hammer thing. We started out first and got passed by every single other zou-san. Embarassing!

The subsequent bamboo raft ride was an exercise in sadism for the guides. Whenever there was a turn in the river, a tree, or a section of rapids, the guides would either purposely guide you into them, or not be of any use to change the raft's trajectory. After the first crash, I realized that whenever you saw the motorboat stopped with a guide running the videocamera, you were about to get hurt. So, you either pole like hell to avoid the obstacle (which never worked), or you pre-empted injury by falling to your knees. When I thought we were finished, our guide maliciously rammed the raft into a rock right at the end, and I scraped up my entire leg and got a bruise that has only just faded. Jerk! (Or to quote Michael: "How do you say 'annoying jerk' in British?" "Um... bloody wanker?") This never would have happened on the Oregon Trail.

To get to where the elephants roam, we went on a very early boat through the misty morning. The "old" Sangkhlaburi town was flooded years ago in order to create a reservoir, but there are still a few remnants visible, such as this temple. We also saw the bridge that crosses from the Thai to the Mon (a hill tribe) side of town.

That night, Abijiit gave us a full tour of the grounds and talked about plans. He works with Baan Unrak full-time, and wants to become a Dada and start a home of his own. He has a wife in the Philippines who hopes to become a Didi in the future. He is fascinating and knows nearly everything about anything. On the land surrounding the home, he has created an elaborate farming system, with tiered gardens to account for the wash-out rainy season, irrigation plans, medicinal herbs, vegetables, flowers, trees, and lots of reasons for everything being the way it is. He wants to have a meditation retreat area with simple guesthouses, but that is a few years down the line if it happens.

Teaching at the school

2007-01-15T01:49:00.000+09:00

We all split up and taught for 2 days at the school, and A-belle and I were in the kindergarten and nursery rooms. I desperately wish I could have been working with this age group full-time while in Japan, but I'm content enough with my part-time elementaries. The kids have free play in the morning, and then at 9am they would clean up and sit in a circle. One of the teachers would light a candle in the center of the room, while all the kids sat quietly with closed eyes, sneaking smiles to us every few seconds. I don't know what was being said by the teacher, but the kids surprisingly all calmed down completely for about 15 minutes. Japanese students are like drugged housecats compared to the little Thai tigers you see at Baan Unrak, so calming the younger ones was a task.

From there we led songs and some games that I used to do at BCC and at Kids' Place, and did some other activities. Even the tiny 3-year-olds know a lot of English songs, particularly "Jingle Bells," which they will sing 20 times in a row before you need to intervene. On the second day we did masks as well, before heading to the nursery until lunchtime. The nursery children have less structure, and mostly were playing with clay and having snacktime. One little toddler who had some physical/developmental issues loved Annabelle, and when he saw her later at dinnertime, he yelled and wiggled away from the house mother so Annabelle could hold him. He then started licking her face. Oh, those kids...

The big orange house on the little hill

2007-01-10T22:19:00.001+09:00

Last year, all the kids at Baan Unrak were living in the school building, with 2 to a bed and 10 to a room. There were 100 children in a space meant for 50, and limited air flow and lack of light was contributing to illness. Didi had purchased land for a new home, but there was no funding for the project. As of December of last year, she told us that she meditated on it, set a date as to when the need would be fulfilled, and kept faith that things would happen as they should. She told us that February was the date she envisioned. Shortly after our trip, she was home on a visit to Italy, and did a presentation about Baan Unrak. A friend of a friend offered to fund the entire project, and they broke ground in February!
The home is on a hill above the town with a view of the lake and the jungle. There are also several huts (below) for single mothers that can work in the weaving center and in the home in exchange for their housing and the ability to live with their children. Single mothers in this area of Thailand are shunned, and it is virtually impossible to get work. Thus, many women (particularly Burmese refugees) will abandon their children in order to go to the city for work, or to enter into a new marriage, or otherwise look for a new life. But, this gives the women and their children a second chance.
The new home embodies everything that I think about Neo-Humanism: open, full of light, complicated, accommodating, and pale orange. (I say orange not to be sarcastic, but because that is the color of clothing worn by its leaders.) The Neo-Humanism Foundation is the group that operates the home, and it is under the international Ananda Marga yoga group. The beliefs of this group are that all lives are interconnected-- animals, plants, people, the environment. The phrase used in meditation, Ba'ba Na'm Kevalam, is translated as "all is love", "all is one", or "love is all there is", and is used as a chant to focus the mind in celebration of a supreme consciousness. As everything is interconnected, we should respect our surroundings, and also treat our bodies with respect. They do not eat meat, fish, garlic, onions, dairy, eggs, or caffeine. Also, they meditate daily, and do yoga. In many ways, this (all is love, all is one) could be any number of philosophies or religions or stoned ramblings, but what makes it stand out is that the expression of this belief is through service to the community. So many service organizations are based in one faith, which can be problematic when you support the goals but not the foundational basis. To compare it to the Catholic notion of "good works," the outcome of community service may be the same, but the works themselves may be motivated by fear of God or Hell, or as a means of being allowed entrance to Heaven. With Neo-Humanism, service is not a means to an end, but the constant and necessary mode to approaching enlightenment. I do think that most people have an innate desire to help others, but motivation and specific direction are the largest barriers in acting upon this desire. And whether it takes religion or socio-spiritual groups or personal quests to guide individuals into improving their communities, then each has served its purpose.
Here are Colin and I with Didi Anuraga and Didi Devamala, who run Baan Unrak. Didi Devamala started the home 17 years ago, after she was given a child to look after while visiting the area. She was then given another child, and another, and she decided that her mission would be to create a home for abandoned children. Didi A came to Baan Unrak in the past decade, and she is now in charge of the primary school. I think these women are amazing, and I'm excited to be back for a few months post-JET to be with them and all the great kids.

Santa Santa Santa Santa Baby...

2007-01-10T19:11:00.001+09:00

Christmas day was more chilled than Christmas Eve, which meant lots of time with the kids. The morning was a coloring contest for all the kids, and the afternoon was something that was imagined as Undokai (Sports Festival) but evolved into games chaos in the blazing sun. We had a ton of toys and school supplies from everyone's collection efforts back home, and every child got various gifts. A company had donated a backpack for all the older kids, and some of them didn't take it off for days. My little Mushroom, Kemala, got a puppy that she carried most of the week. And that tiny guy below carried that yellow plastic bag around like it was a baby. Proof that toddlers will inevitably love whatever the toy came in more than the toy itself!

We had not one, not two, but FOUR Santas, partly because it took forever to hand out each individual gift. Above is KT and one of the older girls, and below are Santa Gary and Nicolelf with some of the younger kids. Many of the Burmese kids wear thanaka paste on their faces, which has many purposes. It works as sunscreen and bug repellant, and is used decoratively for beauty reasons as the girls get older. It is said to condition the skin, and absorb sweat, and probably cure cancer while regenerating fossil fuels, too.

Christmas Eve at Baan Unrak

2007-01-09T20:15:00.000+09:00

Baan Unrak! Baan Unrak! Back again!

Baan Unrak means "House of Joy," and is a more fitting name than any other. If I left all my feelings about this place at that translation, it might suffice. I can pretend it's more complex than that, but it's mostly happiness. I felt it in all the months leading up to being here; while on the plane to Thailand; on the bus ride up; on arriving at the gorgeous building; on getting my first hug from a grinning child; and when eating my first meal. I felt it while doing all those things in reverse order when leaving and coming back to Japan.

It's hard to write without hyperbole and exclamations and calling everything the best ever, but this (like last year) really was my Best Christmas Ever. Had it been October rather than December, I would be describing the Best Week Before Halloween Ever, but it carries a weight of romanticism to even say the word Christmas. (There's no other holiday for which WHAM! would be receiving royalties with such a pathetic song. John Mayer took a weak stab at nurturing sympathies for lesser holidays with "Just 'Til St Patrick's Day," but it didn't work. Let WHAM! have their monopoly, buddy. You stick with pleasant asthmatic whining.)

Christmas Eve was our first full day at the home, so we were all doing different things. I was shown a bolt of cloth and asked to get the kids to sew a stocking for every child in the home. There are 112 kids. I had 6 needles, 3 scissors, a roomful of bouncy kids, and an afternoon. So, Brad and Alicia and I set up assembly lines, finding jobs for the different ability levels of the kids, and they got about 50 or 60 done by hand.
Need stockings? Elf knickers? Get 'em at Santa's Little Sweatshop.

Chelsea prepared an elaborate musical for everyone to perform at the pageant, and it was adorable. Sarah and Annabelle (the two little children) claim that you can't have Christmas without:
1) Snow
2) Reindeer
3) Presents
Colin, the patient dad, informed them SURE YOU CAN! You can have Christmas without any of these things aslongasyoulovethebabyjesus. (In 'Merica, Jesus loves ALL the little children... 'cept the bad ones. And possibly the homosekshuls. But snow and reindeer are unconditionals. Everyone loves the reindeer.) And then everyone broke into multi-lingual song. It was a perfect skit, and we have some great singers in our group. We really had no clue about whether this was a Japan-style Christmas-minus-Christianity farce, or whether we were being asked to promote it as it was regardless of whether our group wants to promote Christianity. The orphanage isn't religious, the kids aren't Christian, but one of the nuns had many holiday requests relating to The Baby Jesus. Though Christmas has become something so different through culture to pop culture and back again, it IS about.. you know... Christ. We weren't sure where to tread, holding a pile of gifts and clothing for The Baby Jesus while chanting an "All is Love" meditation in Hindi. Politically correct can be culturally incorrect, but we went the PC route and had a shadow puppet show with magical animals, and focused on Rudolph instead of Jesus. Not a huge worry anyway, since the kids have limited English, and were more interested in the fire. And the horse.

Most of the kids did a Burmese or Thai or Karen song/dance of some kind. The house mothers did an awesome Thai pop-song rendition.

That's not the bonfire. That's part of the bonfire that the adorable little pyro below dragged out with a stick before getting distracted and trotting away again.

And this is the horse. The story related to Mary and Joseph, and an Eastern European folktale about animals talking on Christmas day, and imagining something so strongly that it happens. I couldn't hear very well. But at some point, this horse rocked up to the pageant to watch and all the kids harassed it the rest of the night. I can't recall where horses fit into the picture, or talking ones at that. Been away from Sunday School too many years.

Bangkok again, again, again...

2007-01-02T23:03:00.000+09:00

Merry Christmas from Jack Sparrow and the gang! I had no intention of being back in Thailand for another Christmas, but needed to come back to Baan Unrak orphanage, so here I am again! I left on the 21st, and had some of the Bitchu-Takahashi bitches (Marilu, Jen, and Dimple) for company at the airport and on the plane. Annabelle and I met up on Khao San Road, where we celebrated winter holiday by eating most of a gingerbread house in our hotel room. Maybe not quite as good as Mom's legendary Christmas Party fare, but at least we had electricity when we ate it. (1st world? 3rd world? Where am I?) I met most of my trip companions on the Friday, and we spent our only full day shopping for presents for the kids.

At Wat Po that day with Steve and Colin, I wandered into the photo of some pretentious barefooted fake-dreadlocked backpacker. Sensing death rays aiming at my head, I turned to see him glaring at me in disgust, probably because I was wearing footwear, had showered that week, and will never understand the REAL Thailand like he did. I apologized, and he said in an affected American-who-wishes-he-wasn't accent, "Don't smile, get out of the f**king way!" We could have pointed out that anyone who respected the REAL Thailand wouldn't swear in a temple, but the dreads must've affected his brain. And now, I can use this as a catchphrase when anyone dares cross my path. The temple was already closing, but the monks let us in to take photos. Hope that Buddha in a mirror isn't blasphemous, but I bet my ponydreadtailed friend will say otherwise.

At the bus station in the morning, we had a reservation *maybe* and were meeting a Thai girl from the orphanage to help us *maybe*, but couldn't figure out what to do at the station once the taxi drivers had finished running up the meters by driving people in circles. We spoke no Thai, the bus attendents spoke no English, and we were all confused. I was terrified that I would manage to screw up one of the simplest yet most important tasks of the trip (getting everyone there) but it worked out just fine. Alicia was a star at sorting it all out, as nothing about the city seems to faze her. Not much else to say about Bangkok, other than that it is still dirty and crowded and there is more to see than you ever could hope to. Left Bangkok, made it up to the town, and that is where more stories will begin.

Hey Jude! Meet Slash.

2006-12-17T02:10:00.000+09:00

Proudly introducing SLASH Black and SLASH Silver, folding bikes to the stars (of Kibichuo). They may be small, but if they worked together, I think they could take on Judy-Juuudy judyjudyjudy (JU-DAY!!) in a fight. The girl who took our photo was either coming from a Dress Like A Ho Version of a Member of the Claus Family party... or she was going to work.
At Megamart, I pushed the helper call button in the bicycle shack, and 3 guys came running. Sadly, the stylin' ones were too slow and we were stuck with a dorko sunflower that started shaking when he saw Bruttney's looming shadow. I finished our police registration forms, and he pointed to a blank space:

Helper: Yes, you need to write your name in kanji.
Me: (meaningful pause) My name is only in katakana...
Helper: (blank look) It needs kanji.
Me: ...because I'm a foreigner.
Helper: (terrified, confused)
Me: How about romaji?
Helper: (hyperventilates)

Really, were you surprised by lack of Japanese names? Was it our black shiny hair and vacant giggles that confused you? Was praying that the J-clerkboy with spiky hair and sparkle-sparkle earrings would stroll in again (which is not a thought that often crosses my mind), but no dice.

Christmas party at Okayama-shi children's home

2006-12-11T17:48:00.000+09:00

Is this not the freakiest mask you've ever seen? Rudolph looks like he could be Billy Bob's sidekick in "Bad Santa."

Domo arigatou, Yusuke Roboto! We had about 50 JETs and company come to Shintenchi Children's Home again this year for Christmas, but we had to pack into the gym because of rain. Most of the kids here are not orphaned, but have been abandoned or removed from their family's care for various reasons. Many of them are also unable to enter the foster system or be adopted because their parents specified it as such when they were taken to the home. It makes sense for those kids that are short-term or temporary residents, but many of them are left in the home until they finish high school.

Lauren with a teacher and some of the junior/senior high boys.

That's Pinku-chan (the stuffed pig), Tomami (the girl), Ari-chan (the baby), and Sharky (the census guy in Tamano). The kids were bouncing off the walls to begin with, and then they got their presents, and then we gave them sweets and snacks. With 2 remote control helicopters and countless cars zooming around, I kept thinking "You'll shoot your eye out, kid!" but everyone made it through the day unblinded.

This was my tiny little space cadet, Kaito. I gave him Anpanman building blocks, mostly because I wanted to play with them, too. He is 3, but I would put his developmental level at that of an 18- or 24-month old. (Even thinking that makes me itch to read my mom's subscription to Parents magazine. I shouldn't admit that out loud.) I really want to hang out at the nursery school when I have time to visit more often this spring because I miss little guys like him.