a collision of worlds, smiling debri

---

And fini.

Classes are over, as of Friday, and what with the speed of life accelerating lately like gouda playing nascar, this swirling mass of lesson plans and singha has frozen unexpectedly.

This last week was a collision of worlds. The stress of incoming flights, the rush to cure procrastination, the inhalation of chiang mai's nightlife. Sleep has become more the estranged foreigner than even I. Which is why I spent all day Saturday curled up in bed with Orhan Pamuk's 'Snow.' And having spent the evening before hastily debating glazed philosophy with strangers and eating unrecognizable fruit on the steps of Tha Pae gate towered by a forty-foot tall poster of the king with free-flying lanterns sparking overhead, I realized that I'm in love with this place. I love sitting in a restaurant not having a clue what anyone is saying around me. I love that the only words I know in Thai are nice ones. I love that there's no "no" in the Thai language. Think of the implications of that! And food is everywhere, but no one is fat. Dogs roam free, and there's no dog shit. What is it with this country? Why is it so phenomenal?

I had the most wonderful conversation with my Thai teacher that I wanted to relate, though. I was trying to explain to her the meaning of the word disorientation (after asking her to translate tom robbins' saying "disorientation always leads to love" which has been something of a mantra for me for years now), and we came to talking about travelling and the humility it brings. I told her this story: so many dogs yet so little ..., about my aging cylops hero and she told me a story about when she first arrived in Manchester to do a graduate program.

In Thailand, as in most countries less stained with western ideals, there's a great respect for elders and helping people and all things nice. So she was on one side of a busy street and there was an old lady who was having trouble crossing. Ying went up to her and held her arm, trying to help and the woman hit her! Ying, of course, was horrified. What a contrast though with my experience ... it's almost an exact reciprocal. I'll let you work out the awe of it on yer own. 😊

And, a comment on another blog (... incense over dose)courtesy of David in Wilmington: i don't really think the point is that monks think that girls are dirty (though i sometimes think so, depending on the particular girl) in the sense of being unholy but really that they don't want to get cute little asian monk erections under their saffron robes- the colour of which i believe is meant as an apotropaic- that is, to stave off sexual desire... a theory. What are the popular religions there? Are there lots of dirty little Christian missionaries? (they are all dirty: "if you can say 'jesus,' little girl you can have this cookie and a big fat can of coca-cola."

With that, I'm off in search of this book store that was recommended to me because it's three small stories of rickity teak, filled with books, and they serve kaow sawy which is a curry soup with noodles and things -- which has quickly become a favorite, a sort of comfort food -- at low tables with pillows everywhere. What a Sunday afternoon, right?

Anyway, tell me things American, slackers. How are you people?? I want stories. I want tidbits of your own. Do it.

---