Saturday, December 27, 2014

Yogi the Blogger

I'd like to spend more time on this blog but suffice it to say that I have finished my yoga course, am a fraction more enlightened on what enlightenment means, and am now in transit to see my best friends on an island in Thailand.  

I think I'll write a book about this experience and call it "Nom-Meditate-Compassion."  

Below: the lovely environs and inhabitants of Nong Khai.  

Friday, December 19, 2014

And, like that, the school year is half over.  And, I'm suddenly on vacation.

Less than 3 hours after school ended, and I'm already what feels like hours away, across the border in Nong Khai, Thailand, sitting on the deck of the Mekong and eating delicious food.

Exactly at my breaking-point, the term has ended.  I took on coaching middle-school girls' soccer a few weeks ago, and now, I am out and working or active from 7:00am to 8:00pm nearly every night.

I'm starting something tomorrow that I never thought I would; a yoga/meditation course that goes for 7 days.  I'll be spending my Christmas alone in a yoga studio, basically.  Interesting turn of events that I could not have predicted 6 months ago.

My plan is to lay low and avoid human contact, and regain my normal voice after four months of yelling and talking all day.  After my week here, I will fly to Phuket (beach/island land) and fall straight into the loving arms of my two oldest and dearest friends.  

Yes please.

Friday, December 12, 2014

Vang Vieng

 Our trip to Vang Vieng last weekend was as peaceful as pie.  Vang Vieng is a well-known tourist spot in Lao, mostly because of its booze and drug-saturated backpackers.  It has become a party town, and tourists come for the mushrooms and stay for the drunken river tubing.  Erica, Otto, and I went for the natural beauty and hiking.  We stayed far away from the intoxicated tourists in a little garden hostel with a cantankerous Irish man straight out of a Dickens novel as the grouchy innkeeper.  While at the hostel, we spent our time being verbally abused by the innkeeper, and also enjoying the 24/7 spectacle of a tiny dog making passionate (and ineffective) love to an elderly and much larger dog (who had no idea what was happening.)  To give you an idea of this innkeeper, who is surely at least 200 years old; as a response to Erica's bubbly nature, he growled at her and asked if she had taken a "bloody course" in cheerfulness.  Or, in response to a Lao staff getting our weird, complicated food order correct:, "canya do a ferkin thing right?"

 When we weren't observing the grotesque spectacle at our hostel, we were out walking miles down a dusty, dirt road beneath jungle mountains and alongside rice paddies and fields of cows. We dodged speeding caravans of aged Korean tourists flying by on some perverse form of a SE Asian snowmobile (dirtmobile?).  We were all happy to note that for once in our lives, Americans weren't necessarily the ubiquitously obnoxious tourists.  Thanks Korean grandmothers and grandfathers!

I've probably told you before that there are a LOT of dogs in Laos.  Some of them I like, but most of them I don't.  And I love dogs.  My daily encounters with dogs looks something like this:  3:20am stupid-barking-asshat-dog-that-lives-next-door wakes me up by barking for no goddamn reason.  7:00am On the way to school kujo-neighbor-dog chases me half-halfheartedly down the street and I nearly have a heartattack and run over a small gaggle of monks out on their morning alms giving.   4:30pm I walk past possibly-rabid-dog-with-mange on my way to the gym and avoid eye contact.  Riding home at 7:00 pm, I slow down at a certain corner so that evil-neighbor-dog decides that I'm too boring and slow to chase.

Anyway, this ain't no Beppo land.  But in Vang Vieng, we made such a special dog friend!

This is Honey:

 We met Honey on our hike (on the way to the Blue Lagoon) at a hostel that we stopped at to buy water.  A little quivering mass of excitement and affection, Honey gave her huge heart to us the minute we met.  Otto especially, she was enthralled with.  When we left the hostel to continue our walk, she came along with us, walking alongside or a little in front for our entire journey.  Always looking back to check up on us, and always bravely exploring and conquering the frontier so that we didn't have to.

Honey vetting out a suspicious character:  

 Regrettably, Honey seemed to be lacking some essential dog-quality that usually leads to things like street smarts, dog-etiquette, and generally just all logical instincts that a canine should have.  Honey was all passion, and bold-hearted stupidity.  Coming from our firmly ingrained Vientiane tendency to let laying dogs lie (or keep the f away from all dogs), we cringed as we watched all 5 pounds of Honey conquer and pillage the homesteads and fields around us.  Ducking under barbed wire fences, chasing chickens, trying to make friends with guard dogs, Honey boldly and stupidly put us into all sorts of awkward and dangerous situations.  At this point, we no longer even saw Honey as a dog, especially when compared to all of the real dogs with dog brains and instincts who nearly killed Honey whenever she came onto their territory and did all sorts of ridiculous and inane things.  I think Beppo would have been more savvy, actually.  Because of Honey's antics and un-dog like behavior--blatantly breaking all sorts of dog-dog contracts that have always existed (like "hey, don't come onto my property and chase MY chickens")--we actually attracted the unwanted attention of hundreds of terrifying dogs and one near cow-attack.  Yes, we almost got attacked by a cow because of Honey.  I don't really think that cows actually attack like ever, but Honey's ridiculous footloose and fancy-free behavior in a field of cows irked this cow to such an extent that Otto almost got run over when the cow attempted to charge Honey (who was standing on the other side of Otto).

Pre cow attack:

 Shortly after the cow attack (aka after Honey's attempted self-martyrdom), while mentally recuperating in the field, a family of farmers approached us on their way to dig, and Honey jumped up again and bravely barked at them and tried to chase them away and apparently protect us.  From peasant farmers.  Cringe.  "Koor Thood," we said in Lao.  Excuse us.  We are just hanging out on your farm field, riling up your cows, and chasing you away.

Yep, Honey was undeniably special.  Erica and I had resorted to closing our eyes whenever another Honey-Actual Dog encounter occurred.  We felt so attached to this little dirty mass of fur and neither Erica nor I could fathom witnessing Honey getting mauled, although we felt it inevitable.  Our peaceful walk had turned into a very stressful situation, our own safety compromised by the snarling territorial Actual Dogs who would follow us past their property growling in outrage over Honey's antics.  Honey was a liability.  Oblivious to the real world, she trotted along happily, eyeing her surroundings to find her next adventure, her next territory to gleefully pillage and burn as her human companions shrank in embarrassment.  It was so clear that she was with us.  After one misadventure off into the bramble to chase someone's pigs, Honey returned covered in mud and with sharp bramble caught in her long hair and cutting her skin.  We spent 10 minutes crouched on the road, gently removing the sharp thorn and stick from Honey as she smiled happily in her Otto's arms.  I literally have no idea how a creature such as Honey has survived so long in the world without an ounce of survival instinct.
 Meanwhile, the view was beautiful.
We reached our destination; the Blue Lagoon after a 7 km walk.  The blue lagoon is one of the biggest tourist landmarks in Vang Vieng and consists of a beautiful blue natural pool with zip lines, swings, swimming, and drunk tourists.  We sat at a picnic table with coconut shakes, Honey sitting on our feet below, like a real dog for once, exhausted and covered in mud, excrement, and parts of trees from all her adventures.  At this point, we had accepted the fact that Honey was our dog now, and we were responsible for all of the horrible things that would happen to her in the future.  We were dreading our long walk home, wherein it seemed inevitable that Honey would finally get mauled by a real animal.  
Magic happens, though.  We decided to go play some weird yard game and in the midst of our game we heard a woman calling to us, "I'm looking for my dog!"  Turns out this kind woman had driven all the way from the hostel that she owned to find Honey.  Until this point, we had been calling Honey "Harold" and "Charlie" so this too was a surprise.  Through the village grapevine, she had heard reports of Honey's pillaging and looting on our walk to the Blue Lagoon, and then she drove to the Lagoon to look for us.  We were so happy that Honey had someone who loved her and took care of her, and that we were no longer responsible for her safety.  However, we were sad, too.  Honey was so special.  Honey had chosen to walk for hours with complete strangers who she instantly trusted and loved, so far from her home, and now we loved her too.

Honey was very resistant to jump into his mom's minivan and leave us:

Honey's departure freed us up to do some human activities like climb up a mountain into a huge cave and just stare out at the immensity in silence.

Me in the cave:

On our peaceful long walk back to the abusive innkeeper, we saw some beautiful sights during the magic hour in Lao.

Love and Honey,

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

Fallen Flowers

You have an essence to you

like fallen flowers. 

The ones strewn like dead dreams all over sidewalks

Purple kisses on top of your parked car. 

Treeless, baseless

You spin through air

Landing in places you shouldn't be

Beauty like a bell

That rings in dank corners

Stepped on by endless shoes

This is how you are.

Words are Ruins

How quickly I have forgotten you.

The vast importance you held
The long bus rides
The incoherence of Arrivals:
Falling over with kisses
My burning eyes

And later,
Leaning against a bullet-ridden wall
My teeth sticky with candy
And your hands endlessly sculpting

Our silence was so sweet.

But words are final and exacting,
Falling like old stones to land firmly around our feet
Until we are trapped
A Stonehenge of sentences between us

Something we can wonder at
But can't deny.

Words are ruins.

I remember

I remember 
our world.

under the hottest sun
we crawled into each others' 

the space we discovered inside each other was

entire cave systems built for two;
amphitheaters of us.

Everything else was there too, of course.

Outside, trees grew out of our openings,
mountains groaned and ached,
people worked and loved and also ached, 
there were weddings
and funerals
and schools
and markets

but I can't remember them.

Only you, and the hottest sun
staring at us

through the cracks of our cave.  

Friday, November 28, 2014

Oh My, how things do change.

Wow, none of these things were true in my life before.

In Vientiane:

1.  I wake up at 6 am every morning.

2.  I travel alone on my breaks.     

3.  I've learned how to avoid being chased by possibly rabid dogs every day. 

4.  I have a soundcloud.

5.  I have a motorcycle (sorry mom), which Erica and I alternate using.  

6.  I do yoga.  

7.  I find the social dynamics here incredibly hard, which is why I've started an Amish partnership with Erica.   

8.  I don't drink or go out.

9.  I lift weights.

10.  I teach children about improper fractions.  

I don't think these things will be true forever, it just amazes me how your life can be so different than what it was just months before.  All these seemingly disparate parts of my life right now fit very well together.   I don't forsee motorcycles in my future past Lao.  It's just what makes sense here (and is ironically safest).  Some things, however, I'd like to keep around.  

I don't think I came to Lao to make a billion more friends or fall in love.  I think I came here to have a very quiet life for a year and learn how to teach.  I'm thankful for Erica and others here, for learning how to do things I never thought I would (like improper fractions and yoga), and for the experience to teach my students.

Thanksgiving with my roommates and other friends:

Invention Convention and (sort of) good behavior

None of my students won at the invention convention but I give them an A+ for effort.  Especially the inventors of the "Party Bus."  

 Please note my student Ford who has dramatically flung himself on the ground rather than standing up.
Apathetic Party-bussers. 

I've implemented a reward system that gives groups of students points each day if they (mostly) don't behave like rabid hamsters.  The "Dolphins" were the first to reach 20 tallies and get their pizza.  

And the daily comedy of teaching fourth graders...including improvising really stupid stories to serve as models.  And probably misspelling "Sqwuack!" but being happy that it's on the board, nonetheless.  

And when you find a secret, hidden note from a student who you thought despised you.

Friday, November 21, 2014

Words. Pictures to come.

Your resident part-time blogger, accidental luddite, and street sociologist is back!  I almost have a computer again in my life!  While Erica is in Korea, I am using hers.  When she returns, she will return with a computer for me, which is a delightful feat of physics.

So much has happened, reader, since last we spoke!  For Halloween, I masqueraded as a triumphant, disheveled, and much-frizzled Ms. Frizzle along with Erica.  We made a magic school bus out of yellow classroom paper.  At an expat party on Saturday, we danced all night in our hamburger-themed dresses.  In retrospect, I should probably have watched "Frozen" and come dressed as queen Elsa or whatever so that my students would fully love me.  I was actually smitten with my Halloween costume this year.  This was probably the best Halloween since my senior year of college when my friend Kari and I dressed like King Arthur of Britons and Patsy from Monty Python's Holy Grail.

Halloween weekend, Erica and I went on an ambitious bike trip that brought us out to Buddha park where we stared, dazed, at hundreds of statues rising out of the earth.

A day before our 2-day November break, I decided to buy a ticket to Bangkok.  And then, the next day, I flew to Bangkok.  Several things happened in Bangkok.  I was very warm, most of the time, I drank a stupid amount of fruit shakes, and I went to a big glittery shopping mall to see a movie.  Oh, and I also saw a Floating Market which looks exactly how it sounds.  I also participated in a water festival by dropping a basket offering into the river, I witnessed the sun set behind the golden spires of the Grand Palace, and I saw giant buddhas.  I stayed in a youth hostel because it was cheap and I avoided drunken 20 year olds like it was my job.  And yelled at them when they came back at 3 in the morning and had stupid, drunken conversations in loud voices.  My last night in Bangkok, I met up with a lovely Thai couchsurfer and her sister who scooped me up and brought me to a beautiful roof-top restaurant with live music and the best Thai food ever.  Besides that one evening, my time in Bangkok was blessedly quiet and mute.  My stressed and over-used vocal chords got a much-needed break from sqwaucking at children.  Culturally, Bangkok is worlds different from Vientiane.  It's a big city!- filled with people wearing strange clothing and doing things quickly.  No traditional Lao skirts there.  The language even seemed completely different from Lao, although I know they are quiet similar.  During the movie I saw (in a real theater!), everyone had to stand up for a 5-minute salute/recognition of their King as we watched awkward photos of him riding horses and wearing silly clothes flash on the screen.

Since this trip, school has picked up and us primary teachers have been faced with midterm report cards and teacher night.  Just this Thursday we had our parent night and are able to put the report cards and the flurry to rest for a bit.  Per my Leif Griffin-approved golden standard rubric of professionalism, I passed the Parent's night with flying colors, since I neither threw up on or made out with any of the parents I met.  Unfortunately, because of language-barriers, I was unable to accurately communicate exactly how much of a disaster some of their children are in class, but perhaps that is for the better.  Not that all my children are disasters, but at least 1/2 of them are.  Some days I can ride out the crazy and smile when Ford flops dramatically on the floor in the middle of math or runs around during assembly with a box on his head, smile indulgently when basically anyone in my class runs up to me when I am mid-speech and inappropriately yells "SIR! TOILET" but there are other days when the vibe seems to be teetering on the brink of "Lord of the Flies" and I curse the gods for having allowed me to adopt a wild band of 9-years olds seemingly over night.  I'll take it, though.  I'll take being called either "SIR" or "CHER", the intense and painful hug-attacks, the anarchy, and the goofiness.  Please do yourselves a favor; jump on a plane sometime over the next 6 months and come to school with me.

Christmas break is blessedly approaching and although I have no idea what I will be doing, I can guarantee it will be strange.

Friday, October 24, 2014

There aren't always elephants.

I've done a bad thing.  Surely now, the picture that you have of me in your mind (if any) includes riding elephants, communing with monks, and climbing mountains.  I'd like to supplant this with a more realistic image of my daily (sometimes gritty) daily life.

First, to set the stage, I give you Vientiane:

One of the smallest capitals in the world, Vientiane is a flat town that hugs the Mekong.  A place where begging is illegal, poverty is not readily visible here.  At its best; a mixture of French colonial architecture and Buddhist temples and pagodas.  At its worst; congested, dusty, and rife with street dogs.  Near the river, the scene becomes different.  Scores of falang (foreigners) flock to this area to eat a huge variety of foreign food, walk along the river, and experience the night market.  Arguably the greatest attraction of Vientiane, the Mekong at sunset is a magical place.  I myself, being fairly far from the excitement and bustle of the center, go there on weekends to sit in nice cafes and stare at falang.  Ah, the falang.  One of the defining aspects of this small town; foreigners are everywhere.  Hunched over with towering backpacks, they walk in packs along the dark streets, conspicuous for exactly this odd form of transport (walking) that no one else does here.  Two distinct groups become apparent; backpackers and expats, their differences so many lines drawn into the sand.  As part of the highly revered group of expats, I live away from the center in the part of town that expats and real Lao people live.  As an expat, I don't walk around with huge backpacks.  Really, I don't walk at all anymore.  In Vientiane, one must zip around on a motorbike, scooter, or bicycle if one wants to attain any semblance of normality.  I do it for this reason, and also to avoid the street dogs.

Away from the crowds, Italian restaurants, and shopping of the center, I reside in a little village alongside a canal.  My neighbors are Lao families, Indian engineers, French NGO workers, and dogs the size of bears.  My village seems safe but our gate padlock is always locked.  Our village is near "Little Vietnam" and "That Luang" which is the most famous golden temple in Lao.  There are several western coffee shops within 5 minutes of me, which I frequent heavily.  Bubble-tea stands, Lao restaurants, and fruit vendors populate the streets.  There is a big, busy road nearby full of shops and chaos and advertisements that I hate but must go on to do many of my errands.   My school is a semi-peaceful 10-minute bicycle ride away on back streets.  In the morning, I bike to school at 6:45am, and every day I am thankful as I roll slowly over a small canal bridge, past a Lao construction site where pigs and puppies live, and past a group of monks out for their daily alms-giving.  My neighbors crouch down on bamboo mats with sticky rice and fruit to give.  Sometimes the monks are singing as I bike past.  As a small, developing capital, traffic is a new concern to Vientiane.  The streets are small, the traffic lights few, and the concern for rules sparse.  The amount of motorized vehicles in the roads has skyrocketed and now the town slows to a stop during rush hour.  I am doubly thankful to go to work so early in the morning because it is one of the only peaceful times of day to be commuting. 

It is exciting to be part of the flow of traffic.  At one of the many intersections that lacks a streetlight, when I am approaching my school, I situate myself next to a Lao person on a motorbike and follow their lead as they skim and flirt through the intersection to reach the other side safe.  Everyone wears face masks and jackets when they motorcycle; partly to avoid the pollution and partly to avoid tanning their skin.  Women zip past me, fully covered, and wearing their usual sins (traditional Lao skirt).

I am the first to arrive to school.  It is my quietest time of day.  My mornings have become sacrosanct.  I go almost immediately to my classroom to assess the damage and rearrange the tables and chairs.  Every day after I teach, there is a Lao program for 3 hours in my classroom, so nothing is ever the way I left it.  I turn on some music.  I start doing the small routines that I love.  I set up my reward system.  I write the daily bellwork on the board, the agenda, and review my lesson plans.  I think of last-minute activities that allow for differentiation and write four different tasks on my home-made white-boards.  The primary building is quiet, with only a few early students sitting and playing with their phones or doing homework.  By the time that the students become to arrive in earnest, I am (mostly) prepared mentally and physically.  I shut off my brain for the 15 minutes or so before the students come into my classroom.  I know that I'll be using all of my mental capacities over the next 7 hours and these stolen moments of meditation are just as essential as a lesson-plan is.  When the bell rings, I feel a flash of panic, which is quickly replaced by acceptance of what lies ahead.

I open my door and my students stream in, some more quietly than others.  I am prepared with the daily spelling activities, but my students are still waking up, and are slow to begin their daily routine.  After about 5 minutes, almost all of the students are working on their spelling, and I dance around the class in a dizzying tango to make sure they are all working and doing the correct activity.  I make sure to insert some form of praise into this first part of the morning to set the tone for the day, calling out certain students or groups who are especially working hard.  Then, it's time for English, and the transition takes longer than I expect (like usual).  Because of the difficulty I have experienced with transitions, I have started using "Brain Breaks," an idea that Erica gave me.  Instead of expecting my class to execute a quick and thoughtful transition into the next class, I embrace the inevitable chaos, and give the students 3 minutes to talk to their friends, get out of their seats, and get their things, before I call everyone to attention and expect quiet.  English should be my favorite subject to teach but as it is clearly my students' least favorite subject, it has dropped in my ranks.  Most of my students dislike English because they don't speak English very well and it is a subject in which they often feel confused and thus disinterested.  I have 3 students who speak fluent English and who are grade level and my challenge is how to teach both my beginning ELL Lao students and my international students.  I have started differentiating lessons, and if I'm able, I sit with my lowest English students during lessons to help them through tasks.  This hasn't worked as well as I would like it to, since all of my other students want my attention and help during lessons too, so I have to flit back and forth between students and tables instead of devoting my time to the learners who need the most help.  I really wish that my international students would be more independent and able to direct their own learning, but they are only 9 years old, after all.  During my classes, I feel a keen need for an ELL pull-out program or a classroom assistant to work with the students who have low English or behavior problems.  As it is, I am constantly stopping my lessons to attend to behavior.  I have two boys who should have full-time assistants, and as they don't, they disrupt most classes with fighting, running around, or refusing to do their work.

I love my students, but I don't know how to manage them as a class.  I have moments and classes that work wonderfully; when all the students are engaged or working together to complete a project.  Any class where I have to take more than 5 minutes of lecturing--such as science to explain a complex concept---or topic studies---I lose them.  I'm problem-solving ways to minimize the amount of time that I stand in front of the class and talk at them.  It's not their fault that they can't focus for long, and I need to come up with better ways to give important information.  I prefer the classes where the majority of the time is spent with group or experiential work.  But there are some times when I simply need to disseminate information and need the class to more or less listen to me.  I've been trying to teach about Inventions for the last 2 months for Topic Studies, and now that we have an Invention Convention coming up and the students have to create inventions in groups, I have found that most of my Lao students still don't understand what an invention is.  This is a source of frustration for me because I want the students to participate in the convention but during group work, they are unfocused and excited. This is a sign that I have not taught effectively and that I need to go slower and break my tasks up into clear steps.  The groups I have put together for this convention are mixed ability, partly because I want to teach the students to work with people who are different from them (*the international students with the Lao students), but also because I want everyone's inventions to be at about the same level.  On Friday when the students found out their groups, they complained and refused to separate from their friends.  One student who is very unpopular, sat in a corner crying, because his group didn't want to work with him.  This weekend, my goal is to think of a way to put this right.  I think it will include a lot of Monday being devoted to discussing kindness (again) and teamwork.

Math is a bit easier to teach, despite my constant need to relearn concepts I haven't thought about for 10 years.  During most of my math classes, my Lao co-teacher comes in to help.  It makes a huge difference.  While I do the teaching, she roves around the class to help individuals with their math and address behavior issues.  Having her there to translate for the Lao students is also quite helpful.  This frees me up to also attend to individual issues with the work, which I normally don't have a chance to in other classes.  Some of my lowest English students are brilliant at math, which is wonderful.  This is the one class where my international students aren't leaps and bounds ahead.  It's a level playing-field.

During my breaks at school, I maximize even the smallest amount of minutes available to me.  As a teacher, i think there is always something that you could be doing (hello marking!) but I also consider a break spent quietly as equally important.  Sometimes my breaks are spent marking books, sometimes preparing for the next lesson, sometimes talking to a friend, and sometimes staring into space and collecting my remaining energy.  Two days a week, I turn into a PE teacher, and take groups of students out to the soccer field to teach them ultimate frisbee.  Once they catch on to the rules, they are pretty incredible.  I sometimes really enjoy these two periods a week, and other days I just want to get out of the sun and stop the endless cycle of shouting in my day.

Once the final bell rings for the international period, I scoop up my basket of papers, books, and go to the teacher's room to grade, plan, or unwind.  I feel good at the end of the day, usually, even if I have just cried in frustration or ended my day poorly.  At 3:30pm, the afternoon and evening seem full of potential and time.  At my desk, I check in with Erica to see how her day went.  She sits right across from me, and is usually on her computer facebooking friends and family or reading a book.  Erica is a good teacher.  She is an incredible user of time.  By the end of the day, she has used all of her free time and spare minutes so effectively that she is done and ready for school the next day.  By the time the bell rings, her mind of off school and on her other life.  I've become better at this but still have a long way to go.  I want my mind and body to be free to wander and explore after work is over without over-rumination or worry.  We exchange stories about our day.  During science for her, her students were 'rogue' so she made them sit in silence for 3 minutes.  I told her that Alex farted and the entire class dissolved into chaos.  We make each other feel better and cared for and that we did the best we could with our day.  We talk about what we are doing after school and about school gossip (of which there is many!)

The Lao teachers at our school run in groups just like us international teachers.  It's a gap that is decreasing in size; however the cultural dynamics are very apparent in the staff room.  There are some divides at my school.  There are the Filipino teachers, the Lao teachers, and then the rest of the international teachers.  I'm interested, in course, of jumping over these lines drawn in the sand, but it's a lot harder with the Lao teachers.  We don't share a common language and despite my best attempts to learn Lao once a week, I'm not at the point where I can have a conversation with my Lao co-teacher yet.  Then, there's the reality that we don't actually teach together.  We just share the same students.  In the afternoon of Friday, my Lao teacher leaned over to me and motioned that she was having a baby in 8 months.  My Lao teacher is unbelievably beautiful.  She has what has to be the kindest and loveliest face I've seen.  She is all soft features and smiles and small acts of kindness.  I felt so happy for her.  At lunch, we all keep to our respective language groups, more or less.  Perhaps because we are tired by lunch and want to have easy conversations.  This doesn't apply as much between the Filipino teachers and the other international teachers.  We all sit together and have made friends across cultural lines.  One of my best friends at school is Nukie, who is fierce and beautiful.  I think it's perhaps because there ARE so many international teachers that there is such a division.  In my schools in Uganda, there was no chance of this happening as there were only two of us in our village.  We luckily had no choice but to sit with the Ugandan teachers everyday and talk.

We trickle out of school starting around 3:20 if we are feeling daring.  Officially, we have to stay until 3:30pm.  On most days, I will go straight to the gym to do yoga or weightlifting.  The gym is a bizarre melting pot of muscular falang and muscular Lao people.  I lift my 10 pound dumbbells calmly and methodically next to men who scream in pain with every rep and then dramatically hurl their 200pound weights on the ground triumphantly.  To suddenly belong to a gym in Lao is by any accounts a strange turn of events for me.  During yoga, people answer their cell phones.  I understand nary a word of what is being said, so I constantly crane my neck up to see what the next pose is.  Women laugh as they lose balance or fall over.  It's great.

On Tuesdays, I leave straight from school to go to the college where I teach once a week.  I teach two classes of low-intermediate adults, mostly university students.  I arrive 45 minutes before my first class, and slap together a lesson using the books they provide.  It makes me proud that i have gone from taking days to prepare 1 45-minute lesson for my TEFL program to preparing 30 minutes before I teach for 3 hours.  I like teaching the adults.  It's a complete change from my 4th graders and I find it a great relief to be able to go through an entire lesson where all the students are engaged and eager to learn.  I make the students get out of their chairs and move around the classroom for some of my activities and they are very shy to do so at first but then later are sometimes laughing.  I don't believe I could do this extra teaching for more than 1 day a week as by the time I get home at 9:00pm, I am no longer a human being.

Night, like morning, is holy.  I retreat to my room to do several Ilse-things like write, play ukelele, study Lao, and read for pleasure before bed.  My mornings and nights embrace the sweaty chaos of my day; I always start and end my days quietly.

This weekend, so far, I have spent eating giant bowls of fruit and writing blog-novels.  Today I am feeling happy, well-rested, but I also miss my family.  I hope this blog gives them a good idea of my daily life here.


Saturday, October 18, 2014

Luang Prabang

We visited Luang Prabang last week, which is the original royal capital of Lao.  Luang Prabang is a 12 hour bus journey from Vientiane, through winding roads and beautiful mountains.  Our first night bus journey was thankfully eventless.  We emerged from our strange bus cocoon beds into the cool mountain air of the north, reveling in a sensation we have gone without for two months (cool air!!), and took in a lovely, clean, and green mountain town.  Entirely different from the dust, exhaust, and stifling heat of Vientiane, Luang Prabang is all misty green and colorful temples.  

I never stopped moving in Luang Prabang.  On the first day we went straight to a waterfall (on a beautiful hour-long tuk tuk ride) that was something out of a fairy tale. A series of lovely shelf-pools that led up a hill to a huge falls.  The water there was a color I'd never seen before and that can't be captured by a camera---a milky menthol color---...and the band of artistic gypsies that I was traveling with even struggled to capture the effect on paper. 

The next day, we met 6 really nice elephants at an elephant oasis by the Mekong.  We rode in pairs through a village with mountains climbing high over us. 

Over riding, I much preferred standing next to the elephants, stroking their trunks, and staring deep into their kind eyes.  It was an incredible experience spending time with such peaceful, giant creatures.

I may or may not have taken a selfie with an elephant.

After our ride, several of us took a boat ride across the Mekong to go see Buddha Cave.  Buddha Cave is an ancient cave that has drawn Lao people for years due to its mystical nature and spot right on the Mekong.  Years ago, the kings and queens made an annual pilgrimage to worship their gods, and later, Buddha. 

After the cave, we returned to bathe the elephants.

The elephants turned into little kids in the water.  They played together, swam around, and enjoyed the sensation as we threw water on their dry skin.  Each of us got the opportunity to ride the elephants bareback in the water and then our mischievous mahouts (elephant trainers) would give the command for the elephants to try to throw us off their backs...using any means possible and we each experienced the sheer thrill of being thrown off the backs of a full-grown elephant into the waters of the Mekong.  After bathing the elephants, I rode an elephant bareback back up to their home, and to let me off, my elephant-friend gently crouched down on her knees until I had slid off her back.

To make this day more incredible, we had the stupid-luck of being in Luang Prabang during the Festival of Lights- arguably the most beautiful festival in Lao.  For this festival, each temple makes a dragon boat out of wood and crepe paper and candles, and then during the evening of the festival all of the boats are paraded throughout the town accompanied by hundreds of excited townpeople and foreigners who follow the parade down to the river.  The boats are judged and then set one-by-one into the Mekong, and the boats float down the Mekong with all of the lights shining in the night.   Throughout this evening, hundreds of chinese lanterns are set off into the sky and little prayer floats with candles are set lovingly into the water after a prayer is made, so the entire town is swimming with lights.  We each set our own prayer float into the water, with a little boy helping us by scrambling out to a boat to make sure they found passage.  All of the little boys had the distinguished job of shepherding the tiny prayer floats while their uncles and fathers and grandfathers participated in shepherding the majestic, glowing dragon boats into the water.   It was the most beautiful night.

Preparing for the parade! 

Earlier that evening, we climbed up hundreds of steps to watch the sunset from atop the Phosy mountain in town and strangely set free four birds from cages that were being sold at the temple on the top.  This is Luang Prabang from high:

The next day, we decided to bike all the way back to the waterfall we had seen on the first day on rented mountain bikes, a debatable decision at best since this basically required biking up a mountain for 3 hours.  We met some friends along the way who were having a much more relaxing time than we were:

My last day in Luang Prabang was incredible.  I woke up at 5:30am to participate in the daily alms ceremony downtown.  Still half-asleep I stumbled down to the main street where some kind ladies scooped me up, sold me some alms, wrapped a prayer scarf around my neck and sat me down on a mat to wait for the monks. Starting at exactly 6:00am, silent lines of monks of all different ages began to walk by us for the offering. For each monk, I grabbed a ball of sticky rice and put it into their bag as they passed by, careful not to look any in the eye.  Besides tourists taking photos, the scene was silent.  Poor village children with large baskets were given food by the monks during the alms ceremony, a site that brought some to tears.  Something incredible I noticed was that there was one monk with down syndrome. 

 After the alms ceremony, I went back to the hotel to get ready for our Hmong village trek.  The next 7 hours were stunning.  We were driven an hour away in a tuk tuk and then crossed the Mekong on a tiny rickety boat to the other side.  Our guide then led us on a 5 hour trek through the mountains to visit different hill tribes like the Hmong and Khmu.  Partway through, we stopped in a Khmu village and ate delicious bamboo curry using ingredients that we had foraged for on our morning trek.  We met young boys setting out traps for birds and many people farming in the hills. 

The only part of our trip that was life-changing in a negative way was our bus trip home.  Ordinarily a 10-12 hour trip, our bus ride took 24 hours.  In the middle of the night, our bus broke down in the mountains completely in the middle of nowhere.  No reception, no water, no bathrooms, no food, we spent 12 hours there.  I was having some GI problems, so I had an especially rough time.  Near the morning, we all went outside the stifling hot bus to sit outside as our bus driver furiously worked underneath the bus covered in grease.  The morning mountain air was nice and we all started talking and laughing.  Two of our friends built a fire with help from one of the monks on the bus and roasted bananas for everyone.  Erica sat sketching the broken down bus, we talked with some Lao people, and played ukelele on the pavement.  Around 10am, our bus driver fixed the bus after spending 10 hours working on it. A ridiculous triumph that included taking apart the engine and putting it back together.  He then jumped back on the bus and spend the next 10 hours driving us back.

Love and Elephants,