Living In A Coup

It’s made international news. Posted on the front page of New York Times, streaming the banner of CNN. Thailand military takes control in a coup d’etat. And although you might be reading about it, hearing about it, images flashing before your eyes. . . what does it really mean?

It means freaking the fuck out. Walking down a familiar street and fellow westerners advising me that there is a curfew at 10PM. A curfew? Personally brushing it off and continuing to walk to a nearby outside bar. Talking with a friend who has spent much time in Thailand and giving me the scoop on what this is all about. The yellow shirts versus the red shirts. The rich versus the poor. And the government taking command to keep the continuous riots from escalating to civil war. Learning that during past coups there were deaths, not just some, but many. The screens at the restaurant suddenly halting the broadcasted entertainment and changing to a fixed image of the General. And all in my head being scared, living in a new country that takes freedoms and democracy very differently than the world I grew up in. Retreating home, checking my blank email box, and blowing up on my family because I am a scared little girl and no one cares about me.

It means wrapping my head around politics. Scanning through hundreds of news sources only to find I can only scratch the surface of what is really going on. Being told that they are blocking access to real sources of information (and feeling like I’m in a restrictive country like China). My brother sending me story after story from the perspective of the USA and reminding me that I was warned of the political turmoil in my new home. For the first time since College, taking the time to read word for word of fact based articles regarding the suspension of the constitution. Because guess what, it’s affecting my immediate livelihood. It’s not just world news, it’s my news. 

It means having school cancelled. Enjoying free time and a day off to take a breather and pluck myself out of the only space I’m truly living these days- my head. Sneaking into a hotel pool and practicing handstands in the water. Grabbing lunch from a nearby market that I normally don’t get to visit because I am usually working. Navigating around the city’s main lake with friends and climbing up a temple to take in a 360 view of my city. Getting a message from my school coordinator assuring me that our weekend trip will go on as planned. Because other than attractive soldiers guarding the government buildings and city mall, life goes on per usual.

It means freaking my family the fuck out.  Swallowing the situation and realizing there might be something stirring, but I can’t feel it, nor can I see it. My parents, on the other hand, waking up to scary images and stories with the situation placed on a completely cynical platform. Listening to a Whatsapp voicemail of my mother pleading me to return home. Realizing I’ve bought into the hype, after begging for attention, boasting that I’m a ghost in this scary land. Making my father’s blood pressures escalate exponentially because I had no idea what was going on (going to the worst assumptions that the red shirts will assimilate into a war). But that isn’t happening, or at least it hasn’t happened yet.

It means seeing “Real Thailand”. While my friends take advantage of their 4-day weekend and retreat to islands nearby, I head north with friends and witness things most foreigners don’t get the opportunity to see. Men fighting king cobras in a hidden village where we watch from non-crowded bleachers. Women dancing as if the snakes are ornamental necklaces, kissing these slithering creatures and letting them coil in their mouths. Staying in a guest house that overlooks an enormous dam with smoke rising from farms in the distance that are burning their harvested rice fields. Hearing rockets explode into the heavens, as legend has it this action will open the skies and bring the rain. Sharing a delicious Thai meal on our very own bamboo boat, leaving little time to digest as we jump into the warm lake full of locals enjoying common watersports. Admiring the cows in the distance that have this epic backdrop and zooming into the man balancing on his rowboat as he flings his fishnet into the air.

            Watching an orange dragonfly and saying, “I wish it would just land on me,” then giggling at the pure cosmic alignment as it flutters over to take rest on my fingertips. Climbing hundreds of stairs to take in the Buddha statue and admire the sunset from this amazing vantage point. Enjoying an intimate acoustic music show of Thai classics and bowing in grace as they sing some in my language. Not washing my face before bed because it scares me that I might scrub off this gigantic grin. Filling our picnic bag with mangosteens, lychee and fried bananas to complement our American indulgences of cheese and salsa. Hiking through a national park, gazing at the boulders filled with holes only to realize this area was once covered with water. Practicing handstands at the opening of the dam energy source, learning that Thais sell off this electricity only to buy it back from another country. And all the while feeling like this is the first time I’ve actually seen real Thailand, not just from what I read in the guidebooks, but from experiencing what most Westerners miss from this breathtaking land of smiles.

It means repeating to myself, “What Coup?”

   

Putting the Backpacker Lifestyle On Hiatus

I find great joy and comfort in carrying 10kgs on my back. With the freedom of simplicity and the ability to constantly change direction based on whatever passing desire. So the hardest thing for me since moving to Thailand has been swallowing the reality that I have a permanent home for 6 months.

And some in my position might breathe an air of relief. Thank god, I can finally unpack and organize my clothes on hangers. No more rummaging around for that one shirt or that bottle of lotion accidentally crammed to the middle of the pack. Thank god, I no longer have to think about my next destination. No more anxiety in finding the next bus out of town or bartering for the cheapest transport. But for me, these things that make most people want to pull out their hair and scream for mercy, these are the things that reenergize me during my adventures.

Because when you are a backpacker you have the liberty to leave. Leave the social environment because you don’t click well with the other travelers on your current path. You also have the liberty to stay. Stay to hop just one more island because of the pure happiness you get looking into the deep blue. I’ve changed itineraries constantly as Nora the Explora. I fell for an Irish boy and extended my stay in this rainy land. I didn’t mesh with a workaway host family in New Zealand so I dipped. That’s the beauty of being a backpacker: the choice is always yours.

But I’m currently a resident. In a city that I most definitely would have skipped on the traveling trail. For a girl with sand between her toes, dirt under her fingernails, and a soul wandering around the rainforest, being placed in concrete feels suffocating. I don’t like the traffic. I can’t easily access anything beyond a 4-block square. I find the city too developed. I can’t see rice fields, I just see business attire. I get tossed around in the hustle and bustle. And I just want to cry (I have).

So I find myself recently asking, “Nora, what have you gotten into?” My head is full of negative thoughts. I whine all the time. There is always something to bitch about. And with the recent political coup, I more than ever feel the need to complain.

Then I open up A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle, and instantly I’m reminded how this is exactly the challenge I need, this is exactly the lesson I was meant to learn.

"The quicker you are in attaching verbal or mental labels to things, people, or situations, the more shallow and lifeless your reality becomes, and the more deadened you become to reality, the miracle of life that continuously unfolds within and around you. In this way, cleverness may be gained, but wisdom is lost, and so are joy, love, creativity, and aliveness. They are concealed in the still gap between the perception and the interpretation. Of course we have to use words and thoughts. They have their own beauty-but do we need to become imprisoned in them? “

So I’m trying to drop the descriptors of misery, while at the same time simmering the energy surge of my thoughts on the ecstasy of wanderlust elsewhere.

Don’t let thoughts take your possession. You’re missing this. You’re missing this.

Same, Same, But Different: Teach in Thailand Orientation

To prepare for our teaching jobs in Thailand the program held a weeklong orientation in Bangkok to review classroom instruction and introduce Thai language. A group of 87 individuals from all over the US, some of Canada, and one girl from England, connected in a corner of BKK to prepare for our jobs abroad.

After introducing myself to a handful of fellow teachers, I was truthfully apprehensive about this whole orientation thing. I’d come from a place where I’d connected with people on the same wavelength as me. And then here I was in a swank hotel, feeling like I was in the university again, talking with girls worrying about how much weight they would gain abroad, bitching about the heat, and being super ditsy. The superficiality was suffocating. I couldn’t help but immediately text my best friend, Ellie, and tell her how out of place I felt. Her response, “you’ll find the good spirits in there.”

We had an intensive schedule of teaching classes, Thai language introduction, excursions, and socializing. I quickly understood how to instruct with a more basic approach and reduce TTT (teacher talking time) so the students absorbed the themes rather than become overwhelmed with the language. I picked up a handful of key Thai words like hello, thank you, not spicy, and beautiful. We visited the Grand Palace, ate lunch by the river, traveled to the mountains, rode elephants, went to an EDM concert, and danced on Koh Saun street in the pouring rain. 

And as I was departing on the last day one of the orientation staff, Fern, asked me about my favorite part of this week. I was quick to respond: meeting Kara and Zola.

Yes, the opening ceremony, where the Thai staff welcomed us into their country, was magical. We each greeted the Thais on our knees as they tied a string on our wrist symbolizing good luck. That was a special connection.

Yes, the Thai dance performance, where beautiful Thai girls took the stage in costume, was impressive. We ate dinner as Thai girls decorated in gold headpieces moved their body ever so slightly to the beat and contorted their fingers in all sorts of bendy directions. That was a sight to be seen.

Yes, the bus drive from BKK to Kanchanaburi, where green mountains jutted out in the distance, was breathtaking. We rode for hours listening to music as we gazed out the window in wonder of the beauty beyond central Bangkok. That was a stunning view.

Yes, the floating restaurant on the Kwae River, where the sky and clouds married in a scene of pink delight, was picturesque. We ate delicious Thai food and danced to disco music all night, busting out old-school dance moves like the worm. That was a baller night. 

Yes, the elephant park, where we saddled up on these grand creatures through the forest and into the river, was fairylike. We moved with this creature and touched our feet to their ears as we held on for dear life. That was a childhood dream come true.

But the greatest moment, the most meaningful part of this orientation was when I found my GGs, my gypsy girls, my soul sisters. That’s when I felt like everything was aligned. And Ellie was right; I did find the good spirits there. Zola is this full-of-life Canadian, with beautiful dreadlocks, and a very artsy nature. Kara is this feisty traveler, with an eccentric mixed look, and a very captivating energy. We all just clicked perfectly like the three best friends anyone could have. It was easy. We laughed our asses off poking fun at each other, dealing with the endless hangovers, sharing concerns of managing a classroom, dancing on the stage and constantly asking “can you take our picture”. You could set us out from the crowd of 87 as the three girls with matching flowers in their hair. As the girls rocking a backpack as their only luggage. I even had someone come up to me and ask if I came to Thailand with them, if we were roommates . . . nope, the universe just brought us together. Aint that special?

As shooting stars, a blindness, as a lamp. As a magic trick, as dewdrops, or a bubble. As a dream, a lightning flash, or cloud. So should we view all that is conditioned. (Diamond Sutra 32)

We like to see shooting stars and magic tricks, but we must enjoy them while they are happening. After all, isn’t its brevity what makes a shooting star so special? We don’t expect it to endure and we shouldn’t expect the pleasure of company to endure. When we’re missing people, we’re missing the moments we shared together, moments which by their very nature must pass away. Only the passing of the old moments allows new moments to occur. We need to return to the present to experience them. Buddha did this and thus fully lived his life. 

Time for us to do the same.

What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger: Night Buses in Cambodia

(Disclaimer: I am no longer in Cambodia, but I am behind on my blog because I’m living in the now. So just bear with me as I retell my past.)

One of the most beautiful things about being a backpacker is the challenge that comes with the journey. It’s not all meant to be easy and fun, most of the personal growth comes from the moments when you are wondering how the heck you got yourself in this situation.

With only a few weeks in Cambodia time was a precious, precious thing. So as I travelled I decided to use the overnight bus system around the country. And what an experience that was.

From Siem Reap I booked the first-class limo bus sleeper to the south. I was picked up from my hotel and walked outside very puzzled- a pickup truck calling my name. The truck meandered through side streets, but before I could produce a nightmare story in my head we had stopped for a new passenger and I was no longer alone in the back of this open latched car. After cramming 8 people, with luggage cuddled in our laps, we all assured ourselves this was the private transport to the bus station.

I had been warned about the Cambodia night sleepers. Yes, there would be aircon. Yes, there would be tv screens. Yes, you’d be sharing this horizontal piece of space with a stranger. Yes, you had to snuggle your luggage to keep it from being stolen. No, there was not a bathroom. But instead of sending out negative energy to the universe, instead of building up anxiety about sharing a space with a sweaty Khmer man, I just figured it would all work out.

This lucky girl got seated in the top bunk with a fellow American! The chances! We decided on a head to toe sleeping approach and immediately began to shiver as we realized they had the aircon blasting on us for the whole bus. Within the first hour we also realized it would be a very bumpy ride with our bodies taking slight flight every few minutes. And I felt my fellow bunk buddy getting frustrated; I started to complain in my head for a second. Then I thought to myself how I was just at a retreat with only two fans for a room of six- I remembered the luxury of my current situation. I also reminded myself how painful it was to sit still for hours on end during all that meditation. So I took the constant jumble as a blessing, to have the chance to finally move again. Halfway through the journey one of the bus crew came in the back to check on the aircon and scared the shit out of me. Panicked, I awoke clinging onto my belongings like a baby to their blanket. He started laughing and pointed at my friend, him, and then me. He said “1, 2, 3?” as if to motion that he was going to join us. My bunkmate shrieked, “Oh no, no,” and he snickered closing our curtain.

It was an adventure- a great way to dip my toes into Southeast Asia overnight travel. And I didn’t realize how much of a class limo service it really was until I was on the overnight bus to Bangkok a week later.

I remember leaving Otres Beach and my friend from the retreat, Helen, asked me if I was nervous for the next journey I was embarking on. My reply was an easy, “no, I’m ready.” I think I’m very privileged to have come to such a blissful state of mind. I’m no longer anxious about the future or past. What will come, will come. There is no point in freighting. I just want to use all the energy I have in the here and now. In this moment right here. And wow, what a weight has been lifted in myself by allowing the mind to function in this way.

If my bus south were to be classified as a limo, my bus to Thailand would be categorized as a used camper van in the last leg of its life. Yet again I was fortunate to be seated next to an American girl. Seats were arranged more like lounge chairs, but I know you are imagining luxury beach seats, these were made of cracked leather wreaking of human sweat. No TVs. Shifty aircon. A bumpy ride with the engine moaning the whole way. The drive was estimated to be a 14-hour ride. Ultimately, it took 30 hours to arrive in Thailand.

I woke up constantly along the journey. At one point, I realized the road we were driving on was being created as we were on it. A plow in front of us while we made our way through. Every so often I’d ask the crew how much longer to the next checkpoint. Each time, the same answer: two hours. But it was never just two hours.

I jerked up after a slobbery slumber and was informed we had been sitting still for over an hour and that they were working on the engine. I decided to relieve my bladder as I stepped off the bus and saw this Khmer lady talking frantically to some internationals. She shared with us that the person driving for the past 10 hours had no idea how to drive; he was a luggage manager whom the bus driver forced to take the wheel because he was too tired. No wonder the engine was damaged. I decided to find the toilet and kept being directed behind this tiny shack. I will forever remember this moment that I’m not sure I can detail in words. I kept trudging through the dirt, unaware of far surroundings since everything was a blur without my contacts on. I held my breath as I went through a corridor of smoke, a massive pile of trash was being burnt, and my eyes blackened as I escaped through. Finally I was at the bathroom where I placed 20 cents into a jar. I opened the stall door and was immediately smacked with rankness. A hole in the ground to pee in- I did my best to squat while keeping my hair from brushing the dirty floor beneath me. No toilet paper. I looked up and realized there was another hole- the shit corner. I did my best to dry shake and get out of there as quickly as possible. If you asked me before this trip to use such a toilet, I wouldn’t even do so if you paid me. Now I’m paying to squat in the dirt. Did I say, travel forces you to change?

Back on the bus to continue this wild ride. I was getting used to my sleeping space, and then it began to pour, water started seeping in from the windows. And I covered myself with my raincoat- praying, hoping that I wouldn’t destroy my computer. We stopped constantly to let Khmer locals on to cram in the aisles and freeload. We had a handful of bathroom breaks that entailed using a flashlight and touching as few surfaces as possible. I couldn’t even remind myself I had fasted for a day because I was so overwhelmed with discomfort and filth.

As we finally stepped off the bus to transfer to an aircon mini-bus in Thailand I had the biggest grin on my face. I survived. I did it. I walked across the border into Thailand filled with such accomplishment. I entered customs to crossover into my new home for the next half-year, joy permeated over the stench of overnight travel grime. A thai lady stamped my passport, seeing my working visa she asked, “You Teacher?” I nodded with pride. She held my hands, with a compassionate eye connection, and elated, “thank you, thank you, thank you.” I felt like the most powerful person on the planet. Accomplished. Blessed. Never in my life have I felt so full, like I was enough. Because I am enough.

You are enough. Not because you did or said or thought or bought or became or created something special. But because you always were. You always are.