THAILAND 18- Reflection

Of all the gifts Thailand has given me, and I’ve been blessed with many, the treasure I value most is the culture itself. I came to teach, but learned so much. My only hope is that I will bring back these lessons with me:

Generosity- I’ve never seen American children willingly relinquish their candy, but here kids gladly share their treats. Even in the market vendors gave generously, offering samples of pomegranates and roasted chestnuts. Despite the poverty, I’ve never meet more giving people.

Kindness- When I entered the DEPDC with a cut leg, the volunteers immediately flocked to my attention, and insisted that I let them they take care of me. For days they asked how I was feeling, and if they could do anything to help.

Honesty- Although a bit overwhelming at times, like the elephant drivers who broke into hysterics when a boy got hit with a ball, Thailand’s bluntness is refreshing from our habit of leaving things unsaid. They let you know what they’re thinking, whether it’s if you’re beautiful or hairy. (I was told both repeatedly.)

THAILAND 17- Bangkok Round 2

Well, here we are again, and still I find myself put off by this dirty, crowded city. Thai kindness does not reach the sinuating debris of Bangkok. It's a bit like New York, I guess. The streets are hot and sweaty, choking with smog and contaminants I don't want to think about. I miss the mountain air of Mae Sai. I’d even settle for a whiff of Wisconsin fertilizer.

The purpose of guidebooks finally becomes apparent to me, as I roam about aimlessly. It's actually quite organized for a city, divided into different districts. But it’s all in Thai, and I have no idea what potential goodies I’m passing up. I bump into some tourist attractions; seven hours of wandering is bound to get you somewhere. I stumble upon King Rama Garden, (I took a picture only because I felt guilty for finding it dull,) Chinatown, (quite different from Chicago’s Chinatown, and MBK, (which was actually pointed out to me by a man who noticed I was American, and assumed I wanted to shop at one of the world’s finest malls.) My favorite highlights of the journey, however, were the following:

1.) Chinese monasteries- Are louder, fatter, and smellier than traditional Buddhist temples. People swarm in droves to place dishes of fruit and incense at random corners. How anyone can find peace there is beyond me, but the monks were allowed to look women, which was a nice change.

2.) Mosque- After being drilled by two devout believers of Allah, I was kicked out.

3.) McDonald’s- What can I say? It wasn’t only the menu that was different. (Chocolate banana pie, anyone?) They actually hired a band to play outside the restaurant, right next to a praying Ronald statue. Inside were REAL LIVE ASIAN SCHOOL GIRLS, reminding me of my old manga days. Ahhh, youth. Jazmyn would be so jealous of me right now, and I'm (almost) tempted to hit on them just for her. Fortunately I settle for a photo, and head back to the hotel.

THAILAND 16- Party Train

The term “sleeper train” is misleading. Not (just) because your bed consists of a foam pad inside a steel cage with a shower curtain to block you and the flourescent hallway, but because half of the passengers are partying in the bar. I enter the chrome doorway warily, expecting to find a few insomniacs smoking cigarettes, but am immediately swept into a mariachi line. It’s a freakin’ fiesta, complete with Latin music, lights, and a disco ball. I dance a poor imitation of the cha-cha with a drag queen, somehow managing to find space in the aisle, and tango with a (perfume free) man at least twice my age. He’s from my home country, and since Poles should stick together I hang out with him and his group.

For the first time since Chicago, people are taller than me. Everyone except the Thai drag queen and my fellow UWSP students are from Europe, returning from their yearly vacation. It’s liberating to be able to dance again. The music quickly changes to European drinking ballads, and a round of chanting pursues. It’s a fun spectacle to watch, but my grandmother quickly gave up trying to teach my cousins and I our heritage- one of my greatest regrets, incidentally- and I can’t join in. I haven’t been into alcohol since I was twelve, so I quickly return to my steel cage. It’s not too bad, actually. In fact, it’s cozier than Ying Ping...

THAILAND 15- Last Day

I can’t believe it. Here I am, on my last day at the DEPDC. The closer the end comes, the more surreal it feels. Yesterday was a dream of hiking up the mountains, caving at a national park, swimming at a watering hole, and dancing around a bonfire. The girls laughed whenever I swiveled my hips, and requested: "Teach me how you do!" Jut, Jut (‘Kiss, kiss’) plays on the stereo, and we jump to its hopping beat two times in row.

Was it worth it? Infinately. I want to work on the MYN’s website, but Som Pop, being the enlightened soul that he is, said that I must first complete my own website. It’s a trivial contribution compared to what the children have given me, but I feel the need to do something.

Was it everything that I expected? Embarrassingly enough, I didn't come with any expectations, but I wasn't disappointed. It's impossible to measure everything I've gained here.

Will I return? Perhaps. But there are many other places and people I want to experience first. It's a big world, after all.

Bamboo shoots stuffed with rice fill the air with a stickily sweet perfume, synonimous with my feelings for the DEPDC. Sweet and sticky, I will be thinking about this place for a long time.

THAILAND 14- Laos

Don Sao Island is a snail. Even compared to the slow pace of Thailand, Laos barely creeps. There are a few stands selling trinkets, but the vendors seem to have taken a break. I’m not sure why the dirt road is so wide; there’s no one here to use it. Three children walk (why aren’t they running?) up to me, and I give them the rest of my lunch. Hopefully a member of my group will be as generous to me. I find the national park, and immerse myself in the dry jungle. Darts of red flowers fall from the sky. It’s the most action I’ve seen in this country. Pods that look like fuzzy caterapillars attract my attention, and I reach to touch one lazily. It isn’t soft and silky like the bug it resembles, but coarse, and itchy. Before I know it, my hand and head starts burning as if I were picking stinginig needles. I’ve had enough of Laos at this point, and decide to turn around. On the way back I spot a caged sloth, the most fitting mascot anyone could think of for this country. Unfortunately I’m ten minutes late- I must have fallen under the village’s lagging lull- and the rest of the gang is not pleased. I guess I’ll just have to be hungry and itchy.

THAILAND 13- Hospital

A trip to a foreign country wouldn’t be complete without a hospital visit, so I put it upon myself to trip over a metal fence. I’m satisfied with the surgical precision of the DEPDC volunteers, but the rest of the group points out that this is rather foolish. With morbid embarrassment, I accept a lift to the emergency room. (For whatever reason, they refused to let me walk. Can’t fathom why.)

The ride is pleasant: we drive past a flower garden, and I finally get to see the governmental school. The shot is quick and easy. I’m out in twenty minutes. The whole procedure cost about $5. I wonder how much it would have been in America...

THAILAND 12- Opium

We're in the Golden Triangle after all, so it’s only fitting to visit the Opium Museum. Founded by the Beloved Princess Mother to raise awareness on this social crisis, I didn’t expect to find anything particularly enlightening. The drug’s affects, after all, are painfully obvious. One of the wonderful things about life, however, is that every moment holds a lesson. You just need an open heart to see it.

The museum starts as a dark cave, with mutilated bodies writhing in pain against the walls. It’s tacky, but an accurate depiction of addiction. Once through the tunnel, we’re on the third floor, and spiral downwards with the drug.

This region may be the most renowned for its use of opium, but it was only recently- 60 years ago, actually- that it was introduced to the area. Before that, Egyptians used it medicinally, Benjamin Franklin used it habitually, and the East India Trading Company used it to get out of debt. They didn’t consider the drug any worse than alcohol or tobacco, and didn’t understand why China was having such a fuss. Then came the Opium Wars, and the rest is, as they say, history.

It ends in a reflection hall, with, (of course,) golden triangular pillars engraved in thought-provoking quotes. Although it isn’t a particularly happy exhibit, it was certainly an educational one, and I am grateful to have learned another valuable lesson.

THAILAND 11- Happy New Years

It’s finally happening. The streets are looking the same, blurring into one waste of time. The stares are getting suspicious, no longer filled with kindness. Is it possible that I, Briana Rose Soroko, self-proclaimed traveling junkie, am actually homesick? This revelation startles me. I thought you had to have a home to feel this terrible. Sure enough, my symptoms of loneliness point to this unlikely scenario. So, what should I do?

Find a New Zealander, that’s what.

Mark’s first words to me were, “Excuse me but do you speak English?” to which I replied, “Yes, and so do you.” It was a cup of coffee at first sight. We went to a café that looks suspiciously like Starbucks, and exchanged stories of our travels.

And what adventures he’s had! This is my story, not his, so I won’t go into detail about the woman who’s husband passed away ten days before she stole Mark’s heart and money, but I will mention his current traveling companion, a renegade Buddhist monk who’s having some faith issues.


We discuss philosophy, sex, and- I’ll admit it- I become a bit smitten. I blame it on my passion for Lord of the Rings. Even before I saw the films, I’ve been enchanted with Middle-earth and NZ. They’re my fantasy countries, and here was a character from my dreamland, right beside me.

I desperately want to go to the bar with him to continue our contemplations on existence, and maybe even meet this monk, but have to meet up with my fellow Wisconsinites, to celebrate the New Year. (Readers take note; this is one of many examples I can give on why traveling with a group blows.) As it turns out, they don’t have any plans, so I slyly suggest the bar. This surprises them I’m sure, considering I’m the only one in the group who doesn’t drink, but they heartily agree.

We search for the only bar in town, and find it roughly a mile away. BM Pub, short for Batman, must have been designed after his underground cave. It’s monstrous, with black domed walls towering above us. The stage is empty. The tables are empty. It’s a dance club without customers. No one in their right mind would stay here, and Mark is long gone. I sigh sadly- how quickly romance enters and leaves your life. (Readers take note two; don’t let the love of your life slip away.)

I’m still in good company, and within thirty minutes, the club is packed with people. Chairs are discarded to make room for the crowd, and the music begins. I have no idea what they’re saying. But it’s absolutely perfect. Who needs old New Zealanders and doubting monks? I have Thai pop stars to dance to! I scream the countdown emphatically, laughing that I don’t know 10-1 in Thai.

HAPPY NEW YEARS EVERYBODY!

THAILAND 10- Children's Day

The Thai are notourious for having numerious holidays. After all, why not celebrate? One of the most charming events is Children’s Day, an entire twenty-four hours spent spoiling the youth. The DEPDC commemorates the occasion with grand fervor: balloons are strung, music plays, crafts and games are set, and the party begins! I’ve been to my share of gatherings, but have never seen so many treats. There are hoardes of cookies, stockpiles of biscuits, bucket-loads of candy, and everywhere are glowing smiles. No child is without at least two desserts in both hands. There’s an ice cream truck giving away cones, next to beauticians giving free hair cuts. With a day like today, who needs Christmas? I feel a moment of sympathy for the kids raised in America. They have no idea what they’re missing.

THAILAND 9- Hilltribes

The DEPDC van rumbles its way up the mountain, reminding me of the elephant ride I took two days ago. Som Pop is taking us to see two hill-tribes, where we are blessed with an intimate look into the Akar culture.
The first person we meet is the chief, who is- believe it or not- one of DEPDC’s first pupils. Her black eyes sparkle with brightness. She doesn’t appear to be over thirty, but is responsible for the health and wellbeing of 1,000 people. Most of them are women even younger than her- opium killed the men. The burden she carries is immense, but her face glows with strength that makes me shyly ask if I can have a photo of the two of us.
The first male I see approaches, and proudly declares that his younger brother is getting married. He eagerly asks us to come to his home, where we meet the groom and raw pig heart that was sacrifised for the ceremony. The house is a thatched hut exactly like what you see in National Geographic. It has a straw roof, bamboo walls, raised floor for the flooding season. You don’t get the smell from looking in a magazine, though. Or the darkness.
We’re brought to the fiance’s place, and watch like shameless tourists as she dons on her headpiece. Strangely enough, she doesn’t seem to mind. She even poses for a few photos. (In a modest Thai fashion, of course.) Can you imagine a herd of college kids from another country barging into the room while you were putting on your wedding veil? This isn’t a tourist site, either. Why do these sheltered and secluded people accept our imposing presense with such grace?
I believe it’s because of Som Pop. The excitement of his arrival is clearly evident. The Akar run up to him eagerly, animatedly describing what’s happened since his last visit. He looks just as happy to see them, and hugs everyone one of them.
It infuriates me to think that these are the people who are being trafficked. Their lack of citizenship has led to a lack of rights. The Akar the poorest, most giving people I have ever met. We couldn’t enter a house without being offered tea, oranges, or rice.

THAILAND 8- The DEPDC

Who are the children of the DEPDC? They’re the ones without Thai citizenship, unable to attend government school. They’re the Burmese refugees, with no rights in either country. They’re the poor, the indigenous... and they’re the lucky ones. If they weren’t here, most would be sold on the streets as sex toys. DEPDC has bought them a little time, something remotely resembling a childhood, but there is nowhere for them to go once they leave. As Joseph so aptly informed put it, in America, children are told that anything’s possible. The sky’s the limit for your future! Here, they’re told what they can’t do. They can’t go to college. They can’t get a good job. They can’t be successful.
Despite this, they’re bright with joy. How can they face such tragic lives, with only a dismal future to look forward to, and still radiate such love?
Who are the children of the DEPDC? They’re the ones with adorable smiles, the ones bursting with affection, they are- in short- kids.

THAILAND 7- Mae Sai

The gentle slopes outside my window sharpen into steep mountains, as the bus pushes its way into the North. We stop at the Condom and Cabbage, a wayside named in an effort to reduce STDs amongst the local villagers, and our tour guide warns us of the city’s roughness. Mae Sai, the rugged outpost of the North, is the heart of the Golden Triangle. She will not walk down the alleys, and suggests we do the same.
Sure enough, as we roll onto its streets, the tension is __. We aren’t in Chang Mai anymore. Burmese refugees sell their crafts next to Gucci sunglasses and Prada handbags from China. Jade floods every stand, loosing its exotic allure. There’s a desperation in the people's faces. They depend on rich foreigners like us to survive.
Mae Sai has it grimness, but in those three weeks I managed to find a great deal of joy. The golden streetlights are far more impressive than the Christmas lights I'm missing at home. There’s little to do in the evening except eat rottis and shop for souvineers, but I make it a personal mission to have at least one adventure every night. It was how I met Annanchai, a local artist. His English was decent enough for me to appreciate his charm, and I spent many occasions in his company. I was invited to a private karaoke jam, and danced with a woman who had to be at least seventy years old.
Although the regal treatment at Karinthip Village was nice, I’m glad that I got to witness the uglier side of Thailand. Not only does it make me value my cushioned life, it makes the Thai’s loving, easy-going nature even more impressive. Somehow, admist the suffering, they still glow with joy. It puts my complaints in perspective.

THAILAND 6- Temples

Of all Thailand’s wonders, its monasteries move me most. There's more of them than bars and churches in Wisconsin, and vary from the pure white temple in Chang Mai, to the crimson red, pop-tune blaring joint in Mae Sae. All possess a unique, soothing energy- even the ones with techno-light halos.

Another commonality they seem to share is the rigorous climb required to reach their healing depths. I cherish this part of the spiritual visit just as much- if not more- than the statues. It's a test of will; only those truly seeking reach the top. On my first visit to Scorpion Mountain, I had to take two (short) breaks up the stairs. Now, I leap over them effortlessly. If only this meant I was more enlightened. Alas, I don’t think my calf muscles and consciousness are connected on such a deep level.

THAILAND 5- Hotels

Karinthip Village is a retreat center. With sunny parlors, green grass, and sculptures ranging from fearies to elephants, I’m (almost) disappointed by the luxury. It makes my three nights at the Swiss hotel in Chicago seem like Super 8! But never fear; my thirst for rough living is more than quenched at the Ying Ping restaurant and hotel. Run by a Chinese family, its peeling white walls and piles of unidentifiable will be my home for three weeks. The first floor serves as the best (and only) Chinese restaurant in town, the second floor is used by the family, and we have the third and fourth floor to ourselves. I keep accidentally climbing to the fifth floor, which is where they do the laundry. Chunks of cow flesh dry on the stairs, there’s no such thing as a running toilet, and I don’t mind in the least.

THAILAND 4- The Nightmarish Night Market

As an avid woman of the night who, I must confess, enjoys shopping, I thought I’d love browsing through Chang Mai’s Night Market. Turns out, it was the worst part of my trip.

Ask how much something costs, and you're absolutely done far. The vendors do not take no for an answer. They kiss your ass, whine, and then give the evil glare- in that order- every single time. No material possession is worth that stress.

I must have needed to pay up some negative karma points, because I end up getting lost. And, just because the Gods have a sense of humor, I’m starving. Why not buy some food from one of the bazillion restaurants, you ask? Because I’m a cheap idiot who doesn’t like eating under stress. I plow my through the stands, desperately searching for the old lady selling seafood for five baht. (Fifteen cents!) Alas, she is nowhere in sight. Neither is the hotel. I pass a homeless man, and am in such a miserable state that I almost walking. His situation puts perspective on my “suffering,” however, and I give him 50 baht. Next block over, I run into a group of teenage motorcycle taxi drivers. They offer a ride for 50 baht, but since I need 5 for my dinner, I offer 45. They mercifully accept my pitiful bargain, and I get to sit for the remainder of the journey.

I wish I could say that I learned my lesson, and will never return to that dreadful place, but the Gods really are funny this evening. While I was out, the rest of the group decided they want to visit the Night Market later on this evening. Mercifully, they get distracted at the bar, and all thoughts of shopping are forgotten.

True Beauty

Unless you live on a mountain more isolated than my hometown of Ladysmith, you're bound to notice the prominence of eating disorders in our society. I once read that Jamie Lynn Sigler was so anorexic she burned the calories she absorbed chewing gum through exercise. Well Ms. Sigler that's quite impressive, but I have you beat. Try running on nothing more than two pieces of gum for three days in a row while attending school, building a house, lifting weights, and jogging five miles a day. Who's the anorexic now?

Anna Carolina Reston, that's who. I can think of nothing more depressing than being known as the model that died on a diet of apples and tomatoes. Of course, this is coming from a person who, at one point in time, lived off on 300 calories worth of broccoli, spinach, apples, seaweed, and Boca burgers in a day.

If you ask me, the media's obsession with thin celebrities glorifies eating disorders. Maybe if we'd concentrate less on their guts and more on their talent they wouldn't do this to themselves. MAYBE we should start concentrating less on celebrities in general. Why use withering corpses as models for health and beauty? Believe me, being 90 pounds at 5'6" is neither healthy nor attractive. I've been there, and spent two months in a hospital desperately trying to regain weight as a result.

I am not alone in this. One in ten Americans have been diagnosed with an eating disorder. To combat this startling number, the Women’s Resource Center of the University of Wisconsin Stevens Point is working with True Beauty, an outreach program dedicated to raising awareness on this fatal disease. Together they will be hosting monthly support group meetings, where people can safely discuss issues with eating, body-image, as well as develop healthy coping mechanisms and ways to recover. These meetings are not excluded to people with anorexia, bulimia, or overeating, and are open to the public. True Beauty also hopes to instate a qualified eating disorder therapist at Delzell Hall for University students. In the future it would like to become more involved with the community, and raise the wellbeing of all.

Eating disorders are fatal illnesses, and cannot be taken lightly. If you or someone you know needs help, please consider attending a meeting. For more information contact bsoro437@uwsp.edu.

Peanut Power!

Peanut Butter and I have a pretty strange relationship. It started when my father started dating Karen. She was convinced that the glutinous globs were poisonous, and removed it from the kitchen. Until that moment, I had taken this nutty goodness for granted. After all, what person doesn’t indulge in the creamy comfort? From the yuppie who buys it at 10 bucks a pound to the homeless man with a jar of Skippy, every American has a place in their shelf (and heart) for peanut butter. Personally, I think it should be in the Constitution.*

Only when it was removed from my life did I realize the power of its sticky grip. My best friend at the time’s mom Kathy, (Remember this is middle school we’re talking about here; friends shifted as often as the hormones.) who- pity the soul- was allergic wakes some nights with spoon and empty jar on her bed, with no recollection of how it got there. Peanut butter kept the kids at school whose parents neglected to give them lunch money from being hungry. Cafeteria ladies allotted them a PB and B sandwich, which was more appealing than school food any day. One girl actually asked her devoted mother to stop making her lunches so she could have it instead.

My step-mother eventually left my life, but I still wasn’t in charge of the food decisions. Anorexia crept in, and proved to be a stricter food regulator. The thought of a hundred calories a tablespoon was appalling, and I couldn’t remember what anything other than certain fruits and vegetables tasted like anyway, so I didn’t miss it.

Then the hospital came. Or rather, I came to the hospital. Three-hundred calories a day just wasn’t enough apparently. (This would be obvious to most, but at the time it was a shocker.) Weight gain was clearly in order, so you’d think the doctors would be shoving peanut butter down my throat, right? WRONG. I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again; karma is a bitch. If a body becomes severely deprived of nutrition, it slows down to conserve to energy, and hoards every precious calorie it can get. At this point, food can only be reintroduced safely at a gradual increase per day. It’s a difficult balance to figure out, and peanut butter is some seriously sticky stuff. Again I was denied the God-given right to peanut butter! I’d watch lamentably as the other patients ate it with apathy, unthankful for their freedom.

Two months pass, and then I get released from the institution. If only that meant I was released from the disorder. Somehow, I managed to loose ten pounds in one week, and I got scared as fuck. One thought only comes to my mind... I need to gain weight. My dad bought a five pound jar of Peter Pan peanut butter, and I consumed every morsel in sixty hours. It was my savior, my salvation, and I worshiped it devoutly. I even wrote a poem dedicated to the goo. Peanut butter was so much more than just a condiment. It was my lifeline, what kept my heart beating, and was constantly on my mind. I gained back the ten pounds, and felt a little regret. No longer could I drown my troubles with a spoon. I had to learn how to face them myself.

I’ve been working on that for about a year now, and things are going well. I have demons to deal with, and still use peanut butter to help me from time to time, but I don’t depend on it. Nor do I fear it. I’m able to wield its power responsibly, and occasionally allow it to consume me.

*Those who are allergic get their choice of tahini or soy butter, and a trip to Jamaica to compensate for their misfortune.

THAILAND 3- Chang Mai

Enchanting. There is no other word for Thailand’s Rose of the North. Chang Mai is like a city from a fairy tale, complete with a moat and ancient wall. I’ve been searching for a way to describe its beauty ever since we arrived. The temples, the streets, the market... it leaves me spellbound. I am drunk with the color of the bazaar, the smells of the food vendors, the music of the bands, and the taste of fresh pineapple. Most powerful of all is the sense of joy. It isn’t the warm weather and exotic flora that make Chang Mai a tropical paradise; it’s the people. How can I convey their warm kindness? A part of me wishes I could capture the happiness they’ve given me, and share it, but another is selfishly content with keeping the memories for myself. Playing slapjack with children at a monastary, hanging out with the owners of Rama’s, being invited to dance to reggae... I cherish these moments far more than any souvineer.