Phu Pha Man: It's Not Always About the Destination

~~~~~

Sure, you can find beauty in the tourist traps, you can let Tripadvisor tell you about all the must-sees, but you’re limiting yourself to 30% of what there is to offer. The real beauty is found when you wander, when you let the whim of the moment direct you. And I’m fortunate here as a foreigner to have a great Thai friend that invites me along and opens up the local secrets of this beautiful land.

Two Americans with their faces drooling at the scenes out the window and our Thai beauty of a driver cruised in along the gravel road, with two guys and a guitar in the hutch. We’d arrived at our oasis: an eco-resort set in front of limestone mountain curtains, rickety wood bridges leading to our designated bungalows nestled upon purple lotus ponds. And surrounding the farm fields in front: endless young rice fields the color of Crayola Electric Lime, with Thai farmers lined in perfect formation pulling up old roots and exchanging them with new seeds like a natural, well-oiled machine. And silence. Silence that I’m evermore appreciative of because of my current urban existence.

Silence, with it’s rhythmic melody quiet, is a powerful sound on the planet that reminds us to breath into its naturalness.

Our first adventure of the day: a natural spring.
We turned along farm field after another. And if I told you I was beaming, I don’t think that accurately illustrates my expression. My smile was basically falling off my face. Eggplant. Sugar Cane. Dill? I could have died and gone to heaven, and I’d be happy.

 
Jick was waist-deep in the mud colored spring. I was doing my best not to slip on the rocks below. Melissa was close behind. Johnny was free jumping from boulder to boulder. And Nay was wandering through the forest snapping shots.

 Water is cool and all, but after getting a taste for it, my heart gravitated towards the soil. The touch. The feel.  Miss. Barefoot straying through the fields. Round eggplants, oblong eggplants, bushes of multi-colored peppers rows on end. Green mountains, edged and etched in their own individual way, lined the backdrop. I walked past a deserted farmer’s hut ornate with a dried grass hammock, cooking pot, and straw hat- elements of the simple life that I could easily adapt to. Just a little further I was zooming my camera into a field and focused on a farmer. My immediate instincts were to engage, but after saying hello, she flowed with Thai conversation and laughter. I quickly realized I could only communicate with my smile. She touched my skin, that holy white, and I was on my way. When I joined the rest of the crew we challenged each other for the most epic picture of a gargantuan tree.

Our next adventure: a waterfall.

             Twelve kilometers along the countryside on a bumpy, up-hill road, we were blessed to have a truck that handled the terrain. Farm fields upon farm fields. Hundreds of baby papaya trees filled my line of sight, and every so often I yelped pointing out adult jackfruit trees. Past an orchard of rubber trees, each with their own spouts to collect this precious material. I was constantly reminded where everything comes from- the Earth. With jaws dropped at the picturesque scenery of green mountains and rainstorms in the distance, we decided to take a group shot among the tapioca fields. It was one of those journeys where the beauty never ended. With no idea where this waterfall exactly was, and no road signs to provide direction, every so often we would check in with the locals to assure we were on the right path. And the first time Jick rolled down the window, they all just looked at us so puzzled. She thought, “they must not speak Thai.” But in reality they were just in shock of seeing their first farangs, foreigners.

And I can’t really describe what it’s like to be looked at with so much bewilderment, to be one of the first in your race to engage with a remote village. It’s like you’re this beautiful creature that’s been extinct and you’ve only been described from word of mouth. Slowly, we crept further up this mountain, given the constant assurance that yes, trong pai, keep going forward.

But as we checked the time, we realized it was getting late, that we’d have to turn back to catch the bat cave show. So we made a 3-point turn cliffside, and past our friends who were cleaning cilantro where the river met the mountain. We could sense we were so close to the main attraction of our journey, but for me, the journey of engaging with the locals and identifying plant life made the trip all worth it. 

The night adventure: the bat cave (tham khang khao)  

            Before I left on my weekend trip I called my brother. His advice: don’t eat the guano. Ace Ventura provides all of life’s lessons. And as we gathered underneath the cave, I couldn’t help but wonder when someone was going to offer me guano. Sadly, no offers of bat poop, although my friend who climbed into the cave said locals were rummaging about collecting something from the floor. Had to be the guano, man.

A little after their expected departure, as the sky was darkening, the sound of flapping wings activated the amazing spectacle. Millions of bats were flying in formation, creating an ebb and flow of black dots across the night. You could see them for kilometers into the distance. And some locals were there to gain good spirit, to possibly see a winning lottery ticket number in bat formation. I just looked up in awe; they just kept coming, with a straggler out to the side every once in a while.

After the great natural entertainment, we took to the road in search of dinner, feet dangling out the truck bed. But the street was all closed for the night. Before accepting 7/11 as our dinner option, Jick asked if there was anywhere open. Directions were given, and in the thai way, directions weren’t that helpful at all. But after some turning around, slowing down, asking for more directions, we finally happened upon a place. And although it was closed, with one table finishing, they let us eat.

          

We met a local farang, with feisty British humor. He was having fun getting cheeky with Johnny, surprised we were there, seeing how he’s only encountered five foreigners in the area. He invited us to check out his orchid farm the following day (or we invited ourselves, I don’t really remember).

A nightcap of live melodies from Nay and Johhny became an opportunity for us all to practice our musical talents. It was a night where everyone played and got involved. It didn’t matter how the harmonica sounded; we were all trying.

And maybe that’s the most beautiful thing about music, that anyone can give it a go.

The following day we took our time leaving the peaceful eco-resort. What’s the point in rushing with an atmosphere so calming? We made our way to the orchid farm, that weeks earlier had been destroyed by high winds.  But as I peaked through the greenhouse before we started our tour, it all looked so beautiful, and the tree hugger heartbeat started thumping.  Our British friend was very open about his life story. His main reason for leaving his homeland was the loss of his dog. He figured his angry soul would go wild in England, and so he started an adventure to Thailand. Now he’s got lots of animal friends, a Thai wife, a daughter, a booming orchid business that manifested a travel career, and the most beautiful backyard where he can see infinite mountain peaks. I’d say, a pretty satisfying life.

            I was consumed with purveying the infinite rows of sprouts that came from all over the world. And I felt so comfortable in the greenhouse. It’s my ultimate playground. No better of a reminder, among thousands of plants and great friends, to acknowledge a missing passion in my current lifestyle.

Before heading home, we ventured into the remote Phutalor Cave where we needed a guide to unlock the entrance. I’ve been to caves before and stalagmites still amaze me. But what I couldn’t get over was that this massive cavern was all to ourselves. There weren’t obnoxious tourists making far too much noise, or kids running around touching everything. There weren’t blocked passageways. It wasn’t an experience that thousands of people had walked before me. It was just us. Exploring its depths. Feeling the energy from the crystalized rocks. It was our own private experience, and the rocks were left undisturbed.

Even a stone, and more easily a flower or a bird, could show you the way back to God, to the Source, to yourself. When you look at it or hold it, and let it be without imposing a mental label on it, a sense of awe, of wonder, arises within you. Its essence silently communicates itself to you and reflects your own essence back to you. –Eckhart Tolle 

Phimai: A Taste of Cambodia in Thailand

I absolutely love my children. I love teaching them English, even if they can only count to ten, even if they still pronounce strawberry as ‘stawbully’. But they tire me out, my exhaust tank is empty after a full day of little nuggets jumping all over Teacher Nola. So I absolutely savor my weekend time. It’s an opportunity for me to get out of my city and explore somewhere new. A time for Nora the Explora to feel like a backpacker again, at least for a few days.

The perfect hint of wanderlust.

This past weekend I was recommended by a friend to visit the village of Phimai, about a 2 hour journey south from my city. I was planning on heading solo, but two girls from my program were interested in joining. And if there is anything I’ve learned from traveling alone, it’s that company is ALWAYS welcome. On Saturday afternoon we took a public, air-conditioned, non-direct bus there.  

My initial thought about this hop on, hop off adventure was shit. I’ve had many of journeys where non-direct routes equate to me stranded on the side of the road with a dust caked face and an anxious mind.  But my friend and school coordinator had provided me a full proof guide to landing in this village. She wrote down each step of the journey, and even scribbled in Thai in case they didn’t understand my pronunciations. Yet again Thailand made things easy. There was an actual bus stop, we weren’t just on the side of the road. And there was a bus controller who flagged down the transport for us. It was all so… convenient.

When we arrived in Phimai I immediately felt relaxed. Life seemed to happen a bit slower, cars and motos didn’t zoom down the streets. And as we walked to a nearby shop to ask for directions to our guesthouse, they didn’t just point for us, they actually walked us there. I knew I liked the feel of this village. And that night as we wandered together to the night market, we recognized how amazing the silence felt. Our city is full of people, and you constantly embody frogger crossing the motorway. But here in Phimai, we were able to practically walk in the middle of the street with no obstructions. 

Along the night market, this one stall grabbed my attention. I think I was mostly interested in the beaming faces from the Thai man and woman selling this green plant that looked similar to peppercorn. We did our best to use hand motions as we asked what exactly the plant was. I pointed to a mango, thinking this plant might be a fruit, and they responded, “Same, Same.” But the more we engaged with them, the more we learned this was not a fruit, but actually a tobacco plant. And I’m really not one for cigarettes. I was that 10-year-old girl who cried every time my Uncle came to visit with nicotine-laced clothing. I was that younger sister that brought the package of Skool chewing tobacco to my Dad when I was snooping around my brothers room. And here I am, in Thailand, fascinated by this local smoking product. So Morgan and I decided to buy some, directed to chew it and spit it out. But almost immediately as I gnawed on the plant, I was revolted, and started dribbling it out of my mouth.  Infectiously laughing at how ridiculous we looked, I scanned the market, and all the Thais were laughing too.

If you have to look like a fool, at least be a clown for others amusement.

We made a friend at the cake stand, who proceeded to give us his number. And we nodded, as if  “sure, sure,” while we knew in our heads we wouldn’t contact him. The following morning we woke up early to begin our tourist filled day of meandering through the historical park. When I walked downstairs to ask for a bike rental, I was in such a sleeping haze it took me minutes to realize the man standing next to the owner was none other than the cake man himself! SHRIEK! I tried my best to stay casual as I reverted upstairs to pass along the news to the girls and work on an escape plan out the back. But as we pedaled down the street, from the corner of my eye, I saw the cake man in his yellow shirt joining along. Crap.

We wandered around this magical temple, as my mind filled with memories from Angkor Wat, the world’s wonder in Cambodia. I had researched the Prasat Phimai and learned it’s believed to be a 12^th century model for this larger religious complex, with much evidence suggesting that the land was once ruled by the Khmer Empire. Seeing it firsthand, touching the stones, I saw so many similarities to the structure in Cambodia that I visited a month ago. It was so impressive. But something was different. . . it felt so much more special. Because thousands of tourists weren’t blocking my vantage point, it was just me and a handful of others. And the grounds were so lush and well kept. I really felt like I could close my eyes and go back in time to this heaven on earth.

Yet there he was, the stalker Cake Man, following behind my friends each time I zoomed in from afar to snag some paparazzi footage. I approached him once, and flat out told him he could go. But when he reacted so sadly, I couldn’t muster the courage to be persistent. Later, though, I realized our hopes of him catching the drift were pure delusions so I finally, firmly, relayed the message.

And I recognized that sometimes you gotta put on that ‘bitch face’ to get what you want.

So with our extra baggage kicked to the curb, and the morning sun beating down, we made our last rounds of the temple structure. As I was breathing in the beauty, a man approached me and said, “Teacher” pointing to his son, his camera, and me. They wanted a picture with me! I’d heard from friends that this happens in Southeast Asia, but I’d never experienced it firsthand. This little boy was so happy to be in a frame with me, and sweat dripping down my face, I couldn’t help but give the cheesiest smile ever. Never have I felt such royalty for my profession. And standing against history, they were more excited about this white girl than the backdrop.

I had spent a month in this country, but in those 10 minutes of a celebrity photo-shoot, I finally grasped “Real Thailand”.

We decided to do some wandering, because there is really nothing better to do in an unfamiliar town. After circling a beautiful lake, constant positive thoughts floating in my head, we happened upon a cute café. The owner filled our stomachs with fruit smoothies and fried rice, and even drew me a map to our next destination. Nature soothes my soul, so we began the journey to the largest Banyan tree complex in all of Thailand. Banyan trees create an interwoven web of connectedness, as seeds germinate into the very tree they were bred from.

Before entering the tree maze, I was intrigued by buckets of amphibians. We learned that it was common practice to buy one and release it into the lake as a form of good luck. Each fish providing it’s particular fortune. As we wandered through the forest in amazement, I quickly felt sorry for my bagged Goby fish and rushed to a waterway opening the bag to release it. Although I wish I could tell you it was this gentle, pleasant release, in reality I awkwardly plopped the creature into the lake. But when he announced some air bubbles in the distance I was immediately relieved. I hadn’t killed my little good luck charm.

We roamed around this enchanted space, giving thanks to the Buddha, and shaking a cup of wooden sticks that provided our fortunes. I did my best to be mindful, and my adventurous soul saw a broken down walkway as the perfect playground.

The return home reminded me that all travel is never the same. Although we took the same exact route, the bus we landed on home was crammed to the brim with passengers. About 15 of us were standing in the aisle for almost an hour. My friend turned to me and grimaced, “I wanted to practice my thai vocab words,” and I replied, “even better. . . we get to practice Thai culture instead.” Sitting on plastic chairs the remainder of the ride, holding on to the seat in front at every turn, I did my best to be careful and not tip over on the monks sitting behind us. And I took the air-conditioning driblets as a nice relief, a different kind of spritzer.

I’ve been spoiled with enough luxury in my life to cherish the moments of raw, bare, essential travel. 

Taking‘roughing it’ to a whole new level. 

Feeling Like Gs in BKK: Gems, Glitter, Grins, and Gypsy Girls

After my second week of teaching, a reunion was due in Bangkok with my best friends in Thailand: Zola and Kara.

Everything went so smoothly with my transport from my city, Khon Kaen, to the capital six hours away. The nearby Western hangout spot, Didines, called me a taxi on Friday night so I was able to chat with a fellow teacher friend while playing pool before I departed. As I waved goodbye and entered the cab, it all seemed so natural, so casual-just a weekend trip away. My cab driver knew exactly where I was going, another relief, although he uttered the word “krap” and I had to remind myself that he wasn’t cussing at me, it’s the thai equivalent of saying “sir” or “madam”.

Then I waited in a very comfortable bus terminal for my midnight trip to Bangkok. Reclining seats, personal televisions, bus attendants, and free water made for a luxury experience.  I was fast to snooze on my most elegant overnight bus trip in South East Asia yet. I woke up in Bangkok and was able to find a taxi immediately, and one with a meter running! The luck! I was dropped off around the corner from my hostel which I quickly found as if I was a resident walking the streets at 6AM. It was all so easy. Too easy, I thought?

But instead of questioning how I arrived with no hiccups, I just thanked the universe and was grateful.

I took a short snooze on the hostel couches, since they wouldn’t check me in until later. I woke up by my beautiful and amazing friend Zola. She was laughing uncontrollably that I was so relaxed and chill with just kicking it in the lobby. Mai ben rai, right? (No worries) Walking up the stairs to her dorm, I was flooded with familiar faces from OEG Orientation. It was like I had come back from winter break in College and was being reunited with all my friends. And yet again, I was reminded why coming to Thailand with a program was so clutch, because I immediately have a social structure in this foreign country.

Curing my girls of their epic hangovers, catching up about our interim lives filled the day and sooner than we realized we were starting to get ready for Together Festival. Oh right, I traveled to BKK not just to see my gypsy friends, but also for this electronic music festival . . . you know, that WOMP, WOMP, WOMP.

And for those of you who have this image in your head of festivals as a place for all the crazies to join together in a fusion of drugs and dance. . . well you’re right. But it’s much more than that. Don’t disregard it as a place only for addicts and extremos. Because, at least for me, it has to do with thousands of people joining together to jam with music that makes you feel the drop. . . and some people might be out of their mind, but they’re all happy, insanely happy. . .and what’s more special than to be in a stadium of people jumping to the same beat and radiating pure ecstatic euphoria?

You don’t have to drink the Kool-Aid to feel it.

So let me just tell you more about how amazing my friends are. My friends find just as much joy as me when painting their faces and adorning them with gold, glitter, and gems. We easily gossip, and not in this nasty, hurtful, spreading rumors type of way, but in this let me tell you about my new boy crush type of way. My friends go with the flow, and when I am at the entrance of the venue telling them I forgot my ID, it’s no big deal, it’s all about the journey, and that extra taxi ride was so much fun anyways. My friends totally get me, when I inevitably get lost midway through the festival and they trust they will find the phoneless Nora the Explora. My friends make new friends, they aren’t just there for the music but more so for the company, because new Thai connections mean better future memories. My friends jump at the words, “Cat Café,” no convincing needed, they are just as giddy as me for the purrfect Sunday afternoon lounging around with kitties.

 

My friends are the ones that reunite the following weekend, and send me a video from the club saying how much I’m missed.

Those are my friends. And I’m so freaking blessed.

The Little Things

I recently read this poem that a childhood friend shared on her Instagram. Before I even finished reading the title, I felt myself automatically double clicking the photo to like it. Because in a moment of being so absorbed in the big picture of my life here in Thailand, in this concrete jungle, and all the things I like to bitch and moan about on a daily basis in regards to transitioning back to the routine I was running away from. . . I was reminded of “the little things”.

And it made me touch base with myself. To remember what I live for. Really, what we all live for. Because the whole great picture can create major heart palpitations, but the small little crevices, the short little moments. . . those are the ones that keep us going. These little things are what encourage the butterflies in our stomach, to enter our heart, to find homage fluttering and kicking up the sparkle in our life.

Little Thing #1: I had a really long, stressful day at school teaching 3 and 4 year olds who just look at me with puzzling, blank stares. I was shuffling my feet on the hot walk home, deciding if the sweltering humidity or a long night of lesson planning sounded more appealing. I was becoming absorbed in the monotony of my current situation: work, yoga, eat, work, sleep. And then I heard from someone in a line of traffic jammed cars, “Teacher Nola,” “Teacher Nola!” Before I even scanned the scene for one of my little nuggets, I was already beaming, because it is so amazing to be called Nola. I’m no longer Nora here, the “r” is hard for Thai’s to pronounce, so they call me Nola. And it melts my heart every time I hear it. It reminds me I’m doing something different. My student AJ was shaking his hand out the window with such enthusiasm, and when I started to wave back he got even more excited. 

Walking down the highway, with my student screaming from the car for his teacher. It might not seem like much to you, but it was the simplest thing that jolted me back to happiness and grace.

Little Thing #2: I had finished dressing the last kid and couldn’t wait to put them down for nap. Naptime might mean dreamtime for them, but it means relaxation time for me. So sometimes I see myself rushing through the process to get them down, so I can get out.  One of my boys, Fifa, always likes to make silly faces and is a complete giggle master. As I was cuddling next to him, he put his arm around me and let out a big ole FART. I couldn’t help from giggling, and he turned around, looked me in the eyes, and just started uncontrollably cackling.

Being farted on by a kid might have a lot of people grossed out. But for me it was a little reminder that my students feel comfortable around me. To just let it all out.

Little Thing #3: There is this girl in my class named Design, and for the first two weeks I was completely positive she was scared of me. It’s pretty easy for me to connect with kids, but I tried everything with this girl, and she wasn’t budging. She would always just look at me with these nervous eyes, like what are you trying to do lady?

But on this day, I was standing outside during after school recess. As I looked down, I noticed Design by my side, and she kicked me her shoe. I kicked it back. She began to smirk. And we played this game of sliding her shoe on the pavement. Just like that, in this artless motion of pushing a shoe back and forth, we became friends. And now, most days, she still follows me around the playground.

Little Thing #4: I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this girl Kaotoo, she is completely afraid of water. She kicks and screams when she goes to the toilet, she doesn’t like when it rains outside, and getting her near the swimming pool has been the ultimate test. Luckily, she speaks very good English and is able to communicate the fact that she does NOT like getting wet.

We have swimming class once a week, and it has been my mission to get this beautiful girl, tormented by the feeling of wetness, to enter the pool. And after three weeks of school, I was finally able to get her in. She was shaking, she was crying, she was pleading to not let her drown. But I just squeezed this little monkey tight and continued to soother her and whisper that I would never let her go. I can’t say that she enjoyed it, but she did let me hold her in the water, and for that I am grateful. Because there was a slight second when she stopped being emotional, when she took a breath and chilled out, and that moment was worth everything.

My classroom is filled with little ones, who share with me their little moments each day. And sometimes the little moments look like a kid peeing his pants and then crying incessantly. Sometimes the little moments look like a petrified kid resistant to sitting in the corner for not following the rules. But sometimes the little moments look like a group of kids smiling as I enter the classroom and saying, “Go-od Mo-rning Teach-a Nola.” And it means more than you could ever imagine.