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 12th 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.
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