The Sidewalk Jumped Up and Bit Me

Doi SMOC!  She loved Gumby and Pokey!

Shortly after beginning my high School career at Fenwick High School I remember hearing that one of my 8^th Grade teachers, SMOC (Sister Mary O’Connor) had broken her arm falling on the sidewalk outside of school.  I remember hearing from her, on a visit back to Visitation, that she had not actually fallen – rather the sidewalk jumped up and bit her.  I of course appreciated her endearing humor until I learned recently that sidewalks do have a mind of their own – particularly in still developing countries like Thailand.

It's always amazing what Google Images can pull up

Since moving to the mooban community of Sammakorn – about 11km from school I have been humored by the nearly instant flooding that occurs in the streets during and after a typical heavy rain. Conversely, I have been impressed although sometimes fooled by the sidewalks immediately off the main road.  The sidewalks are often built of generous sized concrete panels which are placed over a large unseen gutter so as to quickly move water away from the main road and into some nearby streams.  These panels are often times uneven (like any city sidewalk) and have caught the tip of my flip flop and sent me careening forward (yet still standing) in what can only be assumed as a strange white-guy dance.  Just a week ago the beauty of the sidewalk panels covering the gutters and the ridiculousness of the flooding streets combined in a calamitous affair reminding me that despite all of the 1^st world amenities present here some aspects of Thailand’s developing nation status still exist in our neighborhood.

After planning to meet friends for dinner at a nearby restaurant it began pouring heavily for nearly an hour.  After our friends said they were still good for meeting up – Megan and I put on our ponchos and scooter to dinner.  As we pulled up to the restaurant I parked in one of the few spots that did not have over an inch of standing water.  As I had just showered I didn’t really want to walk through the large puddles and as such found a spot a little further down the road where I could gently leap to the non-flooded sidewalk and then walk back to dinner.  I made my jump successfully and came walking back the sidewalk to find an electricity or telephone pole in the middle of sidewalk and up against the curb.  With the goal of not stepping in the puddle I walked past the pole on the storefront side and even stepped underneath an awning of a closed produce stand to get around the pole.

This is the sewer during the light of day and with out being truly
flooded with water - and yes that blue thing is a full barrel
for added perspective.

  I then stepped back to the sidewalk on the other side of the post and immediately found my left leg had descended into a pit and right below my knee I rammed my leg into the next concrete panel of the actual sidewalk.  Like the sidewalk at Visitation Elementary School which jumped up and bit SMOC I found a sidewalk that had a mind of its own – choosing to be completely ABSENT.   Although an immediate contusion formed that made it look like I had a second knee cap on the same leg I can say that dinner was delicious as I was granted the options to pick as many appetizers/dishes I wanted and our good friends used the parts of the sidewalk that were “present” to run and get me some iodine to stave off infection.  To date I’m still on the mend and yet quoting my dear friend Katie – “I don’t have any diseases that I know of” from spending some unnecessary time in the sewer.  Just remember if you’re coming to visit Thailand – people are wonderfully kind, food is delicious, & sidewalks may jump up and bite you :)

Living without Seasons

Us hanging out at the airport
during our journey East

We arrived in Bangkok at the end of July escaping a heat wave in Philadelphia which was making me sweat at 4:30 in the morning when Megan and I originally left for the PHL airport. 

Yep... that's only about 13 minutes
with no air conditioning for me

Since arriving in Bangkok I have not stopped sweating for any extended period of time.  In fact every day seems like summer – because that’s what the temperature reflects (76 as a low and 91 as a typical high) and almost every day there is a threat of afternoon rain.  And since it’s the rainy season there is always the chance of a deluge occurring at any point in time… and by a deluge I can only try to describe how much it pours – often within a 30-50 minute time period it will rain 6-7cm (nearly 3 inches).  So to recap, if I even stopped sweating I’d likely be soaked by the rain for the remainder of the day.  So while I sit here in perpetual summer and see friends post photos/comments of fall colors, cool mornings, digging out sweaters, and everything pumpkin (ale, latte, muffins, or even actual pumpkins) I have to consciously wrap my head around the possibility that others are actually in the season, let alone the months, of fall. 

Yep... that could be us one day :)

Photos of us in Maine last year

Last year, almost to the day, Megan and I went to Maine to see the fall colors and nearly froze watching the sun rise over Bar Harbor - now we can only turn down our AC to create excitement for long sleeved shirts. 

(Note: we also found we were the youngest people sightseeing by at least 40 years which leads me to wonder what we’ll do when we hit retirement one day)  With these memories, a glance at a calendar, and/or seeing friends posts I have found that I really miss the change of seasons and to an even greater degree I miss reviewing weather and weather patterns. 

To many reading this blog you may already know that if I go back and do everything over again I would want to study meteorology and become a meteorologist.  Not to be on TV or anything and definitely not to be this guy to the right.    I’m just fascinated by the weather and since moving here have found that there is no regular daily weather report or updated radar I can look at to see where the rain’s coming from and how long the storm may last – it’s not because they couldn’t add these details to their news reports or actually create a detailed weather webpage…it’s just that the weather is nearly the same every

day and when it does rain people take cover and wait for it to end (It’s like Groundhog day – without the snow).  Without significant seasonal changes there’s clearly no need for a daily detailed weather report.  At the very least the one aspect of the weather cycle I get to appreciate everyday are the massive cumulus clouds that fill the sky before they release all their moisture.

Nevertheless, I hope all who are in regions that experience seasons appreciate the fall colors and final harvests.  And for all of those of you who are in climates where there is not significant seasonal change and you actually like it that way… I pity you J

Final Note to readers… although I said “If I could do it all again I’d go back and study meteorology I definitely WOULD NOT change falling in love with Megan!  Hi dear J

 

Settling in with Angy Birds

A delicious breakfast of Black Tea, Pomegranate Juice,
Mangosteen, and our favorite Thai fruit Dragonfruit 

I started this blog post about 2 weeks ago and clearly never posted it - so here we go back in time..... (Wave your hands in a downward sprinkling motion and say it with me doodoodoodoodoodooo - see you went back in time)

Megan and I are just 24 hours shy of landing in Bangkok 2 weeks ago and I continue to be impressed with our comfort in getting settled and how it feels far longer than 13 days.  In many ways our first week in Bangkok was like our first week in Philadelphia, with Teach For America - we had 3 days of a "welcome training" with our 26 new colleagues at Ruamrudee International School and yet needed to completely settle our lives in a new place at the same time.

Not sure why the toilet seat is also up
in this photo?  I didn't do it!

In this situation everyone needed to find a place to live in a country where we didn't speak the language and probably within 72 hours of landing.  As a result, we were all flooding the same neighborhoods with the same realtors in hopes of finding a house/apartment that would fit our needs.  It was almost comical how effusive folks were about their realtor (ourselves included) as soon as they signed a lease - but never before.  We were all too worried we'd lose the best possible house if someone else was able to see it.  Nevertheless, 48 hours into our visit we settled on a place which is probably 2 times larger than our place in Philly and at nearly 1/4th of the cost (Yep, the cost of living is ridiculous, but I'll get to that later ).  Plus it has 3 bathrooms - that's 2 more than we had in Philly. One even comes with a urinal... What convenience!!!!.


This is one of at least 4 stalls at Chatuchuk Market
that feature plastic fruit - AT LEAST 1 of 4!!!!

Within the first 5 days we successfully found a place to live, rented a scooter (by the month), navigated the cell phone SIM card issues (I have an unlimited data and calling plan for $25 - how bout them apples AT&T?), shopped at the largest outdoor market in the world and at our local market which would put the Italian Market to shame at least 8 times over. While Megan shopped at our local Sammakorn weekend market I began taking the scooter for a spin and seeing if I could handle the traffic.  Yep... I can handle the traffic. 

To be honest I never thought my weaving through Philadelphia traffic on my road bike would be a transferable skill.  Every day we scoot to and from work - a distance a little over 9km or about 5.5miles for those playing at home.  In the morning it's smooth sailing as it's only 6:15 in the morning.  On the way home traffic can be backed up nearly a kilometer waiting for a light to change - but that would be obnoxious to wait for - so I use my Philly cycling skills to find my way to the biker gang waiting at the front of all the traffic.  Running on the middle line between lanes we squeeze in between cars all the way to the front.  When I'm particularly close to the two cars I get an extra squeeze from Meg - half fearful of hitter her leg on a car, half loving reminder that I'm really close to the car.  Thus far I have only clipped one car mirror with the scooter ("Tis but a Scratch")

 

Beyond regularly seeing images - like the one on the left - of small children riding in their parent's laps not to mention 5 grown people on a single scooter what has been astounding is drivers' awareness of scooters.  Unlike in the States - which is clearly a dominant car culture - here in Thailand, where scooters are ever present drivers appear to be universally aware of scooters whether we are in our own lane (and they're merging) or we're riding the middle line during heavy traffic.  The single best part of the scooter is waiting at the front of the very long line of traffic (four lanes wide) with 20-40 other scooters  and taking off as a giant scooter pack as soon as the light turns green.  It's not only nice to be at the front of all that congestion, but it's also fun to zip off into a little open space while the cars are behind.

The final piece (at least for this blog post) of settling in thus far has been my continued astonishment at how affordable things are.  We have had so many meals in the past 2 weeks that have cost no more than $2 per person.  If we really want to splurge we'll get an appetizer of Morning Glory (not the flower; but a thin spindly green that gets fried - pictured here - it's delicious), two main dishes and a 500mL Singha beer to split and we'll spend about $8.  In fact we went out with some returning Ruamrudee International School staff members and I nearly fell over when our final bill totaled $17.  I felt like it was highway robbery.  All I know is eating at a Garces Restaurant in the future will be a difficult experience to swallow (metaphorically speaking - because I do miss the cheese and meats of Garces Trading Company just a little bit).  Nevertheless, I haven't come across a meal I haven't liked (even when it wasn't what I ordered #needtolearnThai) and for the most part have not craved any particular Western Foods.  Furthermore, based on the high quality of food and its inexpensive nature we have taken to Thai culture by eating out far more than we're cooking.  At this point we are planning on cooking maybe one meal a week and simply buying our dinner from local markets/food stands on our way home each day.  Definitely not a bad life :)

At the end of this blog post it's probably only fitting to connect to the Blog's title.  Thus far we have noticed that Angry Birds are exceedingly popular here in Thailand.  I thought the t-shirts and stocking caps in Philly were prevalent enough.  Here you can have them on your pajamas (semi-normal) as a pillow (a little odd, but still kind of normal), as your soccer football (also kind of normal) as your chips (weird), and now the first in the world.... as your juice (yep that's weird and probably greatly unhealthy)  

Any who, they are so popular that others clearly want to show others how much they love their Angry Birds.  The only problem is when you proclaim your love, in a permanent way, for anything let alone something as silly as Angry Birds you probably should be aware of it's full spelling.  Needless to everyday when we pass the ANGY Birds I wonder if I can start a black market with the Birds that are ANGIER than the originals. :)

 

Until later, we hope all are well wherever you may be and look forward to connecting with you soon. I leave you with a photo of Meg and I wearing a traditional Thai dance pant as we make the dance symbol for love (and okay maybe we craved one thing from the States - Thailand also runs on Dunkin).  Sawasdee! 



Goodbye Little Farm

Tomorrow I will travel halfway around the world to embark upon an incredible journey of learning a new culture, meeting new people, growing as a professional, and hopefully creating life-long memories.  Stateside I leave behind great friends, family, things and places I cherish and look forward to returning to one day.  As I board the plane I also know I say goodbye to one of my favorite things/places ever.  The Family Farm in rural Wisconsin.  The farm and the experiences I had there – from a young age until now – is and will be a lifelong memory. As I pursue new ventures/memories I think it only appropriate to speak of closing out another one, before it is sold in the next few months.  FYI: This will likely be one of my longer blog posts and yet I hope you enjoy the text – if not the pictures!

Freshman year of high school I was asked to write a descriptive paper about anything I wanted.  I remember the teacher commenting, in his nearly monotone voice, to think of a place or thing that ‘when closing your eyes, you see in perfect details’.  I instantly knew I would write about The Farm.   It was probably the only paper I completed with such vigor and purpose on the good ‘ol Apple IIGS.  I proudly submitted it and even remember the excitement of  delivering the graded paper to my grandma (probably the first assignment I gave her since I stopped finger painting).  I think I got an A-, one of my highest grades in Freshman English (reading and writing weren’t quite my favorite classes).  I was so proud to share this 1.5 page double spaced assignment because it was about the Farm - Grandma’s Farm.  Before getting to some of the revised details on my paper and how I saw The Farm, it’s important to give some background details on its establishment and particularly the farmhouse surrounded by the 100 acres.

 

 

 My grandpa, John Horn, was fixing it up for a number of years with the purpose of him and my grandma, Juliana, to enjoy in their retirement.  He added plumbing in the house, a modern kitchen, built a full wrap-around porch, changed the direction of the staircase, and even built an additional sitting room with a stone fireplace from rocks he found on the land.  In the fall of 1978 – while working on the house - my grandpa passed in the same place he hoped he and my grandmother would enjoy the end of life. He had countless other projects in mind and finishes to complete before he passed away in 1978.  My grandma, with help of my parents, held onto this place and throughout my childhood it existed in the state my grandpa had left it – incomplete projects and finishes; but rich with warmth and character.

While I was in elementary school I remember my grandmother would pick me up and take me to the farm with her and Johnny B (Johnny B was the grandfather I knew, as she - a widow - married a widower in 1981). At least, every month they would go for a long weekend and each month they would rotate which of the 3 grandsons (my 2 brothers and I) would get to go with.  I, of course, loved the attention of my two grandparents – what grandkid wouldn’t? And yet, I also have memories that could only happen at the farm, whether it be chasing after a kitten - I got to “borrow” from our neighbor’s barn – throughout the living room.  Or placing a large while salt lick by the pond in hopes that we could later see the deer attracted to it.  I even remember the not so pleasant memory of thinking someone was coming up the staircase in the middle of the night with a coal shovel to “get me” – it turns out it was the click-clacking of the radiant heat registers in the room (I was so relieved to walk downstairs the next morning and see my grandparents alive and well with no shovel around J).  The farmhouse and the surrounding lands were a little kingdom that was just mine to be shared with my brothers, parents, and grandparents; whether it was a day or week in the Summer, Winter, Fall, or Spring.

 

 Obviously, the farm is a very special place from my childhood and yet the reason why I think of this paper I wrote during freshman year is because it didn’t include any people and it was supposed to be as if someone – by reading – was immediately transported to this place.  I was so easily able to write about the farm – like I am now – because it really is my happy place and a place I often picture without me or anyone else actually there – it’s just the space and the simple beauty that exists within. 

At one point while I was in elementary school I had a really hard time falling asleep fearing someone was coming to get me or something bad was going to happen to my family (clearly my worry prevented either from happening J).  One given night I remember my mom telling me to think of a place that makes me really happy, close my eyes, and imagine myself there and don’t think about anything else, just be there. The place I chose was the farm and over 20 years later it remains the place I think of when I am worn down, stressed, and even unable to fall asleep.  When I wrote that paper 17 years ago I attempted to describe the same things I see in my mind today and wanted to share some of that here. 

 

Turning into the driveway a high grassed field uses the puffy clouds to play peekaboo with the sun while it ebbs and flows in the wind like waves coming ashore.  Atop the garage a spherical air vent circulates with each push of wind – wasps flying in and out.  Barn Swallows swoop in and out of the covered wraparound porch which bears the marks of a visiting raccoon and dancing clothes drying on the line.  Inside, sun streams in from the skylight warming the living room while consequently fading photos and childhood drawings. 

The unfinished subflooring around the fireplace is covered with a series of hand-quilted rugs comment-ing on the beauty and simplicity of the neighboring communities who made them.  Outside the back window, black and white cattle huddle underneath a half-dead apple tree that provides a cluster of daily shade while they munch away on available grass and fallen apples.  The same mooing herd can be witnessed through the small and high window in the main bedroom.  Within the strong old farmhouse doors of the room’s closet there are a few pairs of shoes and a coat which are too small for a growing teenager and yet they once belonged to the giant who rebuilt this great place.  Nearby is a light blouse, worn jeans, and a navy blue bandana that show the active marks of the day’s sun and burrs of the field.  The cool white tile of the bedroom’s adjacent hallway leads to a dining table with an always ready pair of binoculars ready to catch the movements of birds, coyotes, clucking turkeys, and graceful but nervous deer.  Meanwhile, turquoise plastic plates and flatware share the table with frosted colorful aluminum cups filled with ice cold lemonade.  The well-worn woven chairs await the delicious meal wafting from the kitchen.  The unfinished stairs to the second floor welcome any visitor with a slight creak of constant unease.  The steps yearn to be sanded, stained, and shine brightly and yet they wear their status with strength and a reminder that their purpose is met.  In the three bedrooms, remnants of young boys’ imaginations conflict and yet live harmoniously with the artifacts of grown men and their military service.  Baseboards creak and mice occasionally scamper and yet the light crawling through the window shades overwhelm these unwelcome visitors and highlight the warmth of those who find rest in these room. 

 

The farm is my happy place, the place I think of when I need to find peace, reset, and/or rejuvenate.  It is a place that Megan and I discussed – unrealistically – trying to hold on to if and when my parents were ready to move on.  And this spring after several years of “discussion” my parents have decided it’s best to sell the farm and move on.  I was disappointed that I would be “losing” my special space and yet I know it is only at the cost of a greater “special” place for my parents and others. 

My parents have made the difficult choice of selling this special place because they have found something that will provide even happier moments and experiences than the farm.  The new place may not be written about in a description of grasses flowing with personification and/or unfinished steps taking pride in their purpose; however, I have no doubt a paper/note/card will be written one day to reassure them that their choice is the best possible one. It will likely be written by a grandson and/or granddaughter and delivered with the same pride in which I delivered mine.  The new happiness for my parents is in being grandparents just minutes away from their grandkids. One day, if Megan and I are fortunate enough, I would hope that all my previous happy places – including the farm – would be usurped by the power of spending time with a child and/or grandchild. 
 Nevertheless, I will always cherish my memories of the farm and my last days there with the woman I love.  Swinging on the barn rope, walking through the field to the pond, climbing our favorite tree, laying out and watching the stars, wandering the woods, and enjoying a meal on the porch whether it morning, noon, or night.  These are the memories that will always be present in my mind and ready to help me find peace when I need it (or maybe even sleep when I need it the most; like on a plane to Thailand.  So in honor of my grandmother I will close - just like she did everytime she pulled down Shore Road away from the Farm - "Goodbye my Little Farm... Goodbye."