The Big Chill.

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This morning disaster struck. But the story begins last night when I left Bangkok and Dave. He was catching a red-eye to JFK via Beijing, just as I’ll be doing in a bit more than a month from now. It was emotional to say the least, leaving him after a month and a half of not only constant contact, but continuous excitement and novelty. I packed as I usually did for the next adventure, but probably more haphazardly, being overconfident from the lack of incident on the trip, and distracted by it being the last night with Dave. I must not have placed my black bag - with all of my money for the massage school and Chiang Mai - in the backpack as far as I usually did, and I didn’t place the lock in the right position, so it didn’t quite hold the two parts of the bag together tightly. Instead of protecting the money, it was a flashing fluorescent light advertising an easy steal to anyone who rifled through my large travel backpack. Although this could have happened, really, at any time during the trip, someone on my overnight bus to Bangkok decided that was the night.
When I arrived in Chiang Mai, found my guesthouse, and opened up my bags, I felt the envelope and it was torn, and felt flimsy. Seconds of time were elongated, just as in movies, and the realization, my 12 one hundred dollar bills were gone, along with two thousand baht bills. I stumbled out of the room and told my sweet guest house manager, and then feebly wandered back to my room and looked online. I found the Chiang Mai Tourist Police. Of course, the usual story, filed the report, felt awful, felt appropriately irresponsible and careless, and resigned myself to thinking I would use up my savings from Korea, with little to spare for seeing friends at home. A few miserable hours pass, and somehow, I get called back into the station. I’m trying not to be too unrealistically optimistic, and internally chastising myself, trying to make sure I memorize the lesson of the traumatic morning.
I arrive at the station, and a woman from the bus company is there. Someone from the police station has demanded that the bus company take responsibility since they cannot identify the person who took the money. The company has agreed to cover nearly all of my losses, and the woman looks frustrated. I avoid her gaze, but she’s not staring me down anyway. At this moment, I’m conflicted. I feel awful, recognizing that it is truly my responsibility to maintain my own possessions. And what kind of idiot travels with that huge amount of money out of her reach? Of course, I had mini-excuses: I was worried I’d fall asleep and someone would grab the bag off the floor, if it fell from my lap, I figured I had it in a small locked compartment, and at the bottom of another bag…None of these mattered. And now, it was the company who had to pay for my negligence. But at the same time, I was thrilled and startled with disbelief. I know I don’t deserve this luck.
It is now 8:30 at night and the shock hasn’t yet worn off. I am more steady now. But I can't help to see a reflection of a twelve-year old me in the eyes of my guesthouse manager. There's no reason for me to assume she's looking down on me, or tsk-tsking. She is incredibly easy-going, and was quite supportive while it was all happening. I am most likely projecting my own embarrassment, which is as thick as a layer of cheesecake around me. While I was wallowing in my guilt on the ride to the station, she mentioned that all Chiang Mai tourist agencies require travelers who utilize their services to sign a waiver of sorts expressing that they alone are responsible for the safety of their possessions. A nice sort of elbow nudge. While Thailand looks safe, and feels quite modern (though dusty), anything can still happen, no matter where you travel.
So, here I am, the first night of my month, alone, in Chiang Mai, as a student of massage. I realize, walking around the two nearby markets and the poorly lit streets of my neighborhood, it is much easier to feel out of place as a tourist if you are alone in your observations. You can walk carelessly around any random neighborhood, swinging your arms with a boy, and make it quite obvious that you are walking simply to enjoy his company. When you're alone, your presence is more likely to be questioned. A major weakness is to be without a goal. If you are going somewhere, on a mission, you are less likely to be goaded into a conversation by a merchant, and less likely to be continuously barked at by a tuk tuk driver who ignores a headshake. If you appear lost, wandering or searching, you are shark bait. Having another person beside you, you can keep up a conversation, preventing a merchant from addressing you, or at least giving him the impression that you are not interested in shopping. Specifically, as a woman, having a man next to you, especially closely attached to you, prevents other men from gawking, as they sometimes do. It is this stare that most tourists, and especially a tourist alone, that reminds us how far away from home we are. We are not walking to work, and we quite obviously would be useless in this society, except, maybe as computer lab monitors. We do not have any status, nor any explanation for our presence. We are here because we want to see how other people live, and to see what they see every day. But, the language barrier makes it impossible to chat up a bored-looking store clerk. "What do you think about the new prime minister?" I would ask. But I can't, and so I walk on by, and smile quickly if I get a stare. Of course, this awkwardness doesn't exist if you're doing something appropriately touristy. But if you’re not staring into a golden wat, or reading a guidebook in front of ancient ruins, it’s sometimes difficult to prove, even to yourself, what you’re doing walking around a closing down fruit market with no interest in buying anything.
That reminds me of another major issue I’ve had with constant travel. I cannot cook my own food. I can’t wander into a refrigerator and grab the milk carton and a bowl of cereal. Even here, at my tiny, out of the way guesthouse, I have to wait for the kitchen to open, and order that bowl of cereal for a dollar fifty, and then thank the “chef.” At least here, the family atmosphere does relax some moments. Unlike at other slightly fancier establishments, I do not feel as though I am being watched while I eat. Efficient waiters create stress. At any moment my plate will be lifted past my face, and my glass swooped away. Nope. At this guest house, Ann, the chef, hangs around in her shed kitchen watching a soap opera, and I bring her the plate when I'm finished. So, she's a bit more like an aunt. But, as it's my first day here, I don’t feel as though I can put my feet up on the opposite chair and lean back as I read. Not yet. Especially since I still have to prove myself as an adult, capable of taking care of her own valuables. Anyway, no pictures yet. Many to come, I’m sure.

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Comments

[hello]

Getting money back in Thailand like that is very unusual to say the least. I'd be interested in hearing if it actually come through.

[Brie and her orange shoes]

Already received the money.
Yup. I got the money back that day. Handed to me - that moment capture in a photo - by a representative from the bus company.