Did I say I like the city? Disregard that.
My roommate, who works for a radio station, has spent the last couple months putting together a concert. So tonight, my buddy Mikey and I went downtown to Club Chic to see the show. Now first of all, Thai pop music is bad. (There's really no other way to put it. And I have yet to find evidence that good music exists in Thailand at all. ) Anyway, half the concert was an advertisement for Chang beer (literally--the concert was 5-7, and the ad skits went till six).
So then, on the way home, we were riding in a tuk-tuk, and a dog ran in front of us. Two lanes over, I watched it get hit by a truck. Mikey just heard the sound, which was horrifying enough. But for some reason I watched as its head was shattered and its leg flew off. It's really going to haunt me tonight--I can't get it out of my head.
There are puppies everywhere in Thailand, and they're really cute and fun to play with. But you know that they're going to grow up and not be taken care of. And in the villages, the stray dogs can probably live pretty happily; but in the city, they don't have a chance.
Last night, Whitney and I stayed at a nice hotel downtown, just to get away and relax. On the way, we walked through the giant Khon Kaen night market. Open-air markets have a real charm to them; I think you could learn a lot about a country just by visiting a market like this. But oh, the smells. Rotting pig's feet, eels in a bin, and even turtles; exhaust, trash everywhere, wastewater everywhere. I almost found myself saying, "I'll take the Big-C" (which is practically equivalent with Wal-Mart). And while we were walking, we saw a girl about 3 years old laying with her head on the curb with a blanket. And a guy with no legs doubled over himself, who was still able to hold a cup out for money.
And finally, when we all traveled back to Bangkok a couple weeks ago, and we pulled into the same hotel we had stayed at during our first three days in Thailand, I had felt the most overwhelming sense of deja vu. But it was tinged with a different perspective. I think my first blog entry in Thailand used the same words about Bangkok as above: it has a certain charm. But as I took in the same scene two months later, I was struck with the realization that although I was looking at the same street, I was in an entirely different place than I had been before. Khao San Road is full of tourists, and with the Thai people who are there to serve them. This time around, I felt like all the Thais were noticeably hostile and edgy (so was our group). And this time around, I could not help but want to know their stories. (And this time, we have enough Thai to know how to ask.)
Like the guy at the fruit stand: he's from Isaan, the Northeast, where we've been living.
Like our cab driver: he said he's been in Bangkok for 10 years, and he likes it. But his family is still in another province. And when I asked if he misses them, he just didn't respond.
Like the kid in Patpong, the sex district. My friend Tabitha talked with him for most of the night, and learned about his life in Isaan. He misses his family, but he's able to send money home. He misses his family's food. And at the end of the night, he had to leave the conversation to stand on stage and compete with a couple dozen other kids for the opportunity to have sex with a 70-something-year-old foreign man.
It's the homestays, and the education model that emphasizes learning about real life from real people, that makes the difference in how I feel about Bangkok and its inhabitants. I think my friend Eric from Colorado College sums the idea up well in an article he's writing for our upcoming newsletter about his experience traveling to the beaches over break:
"I envisioned those I knew in Isaan in the place of the people currently renting gear to us tourists."
"I would want to understand how they arrived at their current situation, whether or not they are happy with it, and if there were any other options."
"I think this reflects the power of experience. It is often the case that facts or ideas learned in a classroom are forgotten, but memories of experiences rarely fade away. Experience changes one’s perception, the way the world is perceived."
My roommate, who works for a radio station, has spent the last couple months putting together a concert. So tonight, my buddy Mikey and I went downtown to Club Chic to see the show. Now first of all, Thai pop music is bad. (There's really no other way to put it. And I have yet to find evidence that good music exists in Thailand at all. ) Anyway, half the concert was an advertisement for Chang beer (literally--the concert was 5-7, and the ad skits went till six).
So then, on the way home, we were riding in a tuk-tuk, and a dog ran in front of us. Two lanes over, I watched it get hit by a truck. Mikey just heard the sound, which was horrifying enough. But for some reason I watched as its head was shattered and its leg flew off. It's really going to haunt me tonight--I can't get it out of my head.
There are puppies everywhere in Thailand, and they're really cute and fun to play with. But you know that they're going to grow up and not be taken care of. And in the villages, the stray dogs can probably live pretty happily; but in the city, they don't have a chance.
Last night, Whitney and I stayed at a nice hotel downtown, just to get away and relax. On the way, we walked through the giant Khon Kaen night market. Open-air markets have a real charm to them; I think you could learn a lot about a country just by visiting a market like this. But oh, the smells. Rotting pig's feet, eels in a bin, and even turtles; exhaust, trash everywhere, wastewater everywhere. I almost found myself saying, "I'll take the Big-C" (which is practically equivalent with Wal-Mart). And while we were walking, we saw a girl about 3 years old laying with her head on the curb with a blanket. And a guy with no legs doubled over himself, who was still able to hold a cup out for money.
And finally, when we all traveled back to Bangkok a couple weeks ago, and we pulled into the same hotel we had stayed at during our first three days in Thailand, I had felt the most overwhelming sense of deja vu. But it was tinged with a different perspective. I think my first blog entry in Thailand used the same words about Bangkok as above: it has a certain charm. But as I took in the same scene two months later, I was struck with the realization that although I was looking at the same street, I was in an entirely different place than I had been before. Khao San Road is full of tourists, and with the Thai people who are there to serve them. This time around, I felt like all the Thais were noticeably hostile and edgy (so was our group). And this time around, I could not help but want to know their stories. (And this time, we have enough Thai to know how to ask.)
Like the guy at the fruit stand: he's from Isaan, the Northeast, where we've been living.
Like our cab driver: he said he's been in Bangkok for 10 years, and he likes it. But his family is still in another province. And when I asked if he misses them, he just didn't respond.
Like the kid in Patpong, the sex district. My friend Tabitha talked with him for most of the night, and learned about his life in Isaan. He misses his family, but he's able to send money home. He misses his family's food. And at the end of the night, he had to leave the conversation to stand on stage and compete with a couple dozen other kids for the opportunity to have sex with a 70-something-year-old foreign man.
It's the homestays, and the education model that emphasizes learning about real life from real people, that makes the difference in how I feel about Bangkok and its inhabitants. I think my friend Eric from Colorado College sums the idea up well in an article he's writing for our upcoming newsletter about his experience traveling to the beaches over break:
"I envisioned those I knew in Isaan in the place of the people currently renting gear to us tourists."
"I would want to understand how they arrived at their current situation, whether or not they are happy with it, and if there were any other options."
"I think this reflects the power of experience. It is often the case that facts or ideas learned in a classroom are forgotten, but memories of experiences rarely fade away. Experience changes one’s perception, the way the world is perceived."
posted by Darren Legge at 8:51 AM
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