The (Long) Road Home

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Cambodia Angkor Wat, Full Moon Party, Laos Luang Prabang, living in Thailand, Multnomah Falls, Oregon, Vietnam Halong Bay

The other day, on a bus in Thailand, I met a girl from England who told me she had never traveled her country outside of her own city. And a month ago, on a boat in Laos, I met a man from Germany with the same story. I too have never seen the entirety of Oregon, let alone most of the other 49 states.

Truth is, we’re all wandering through faraway lands for one main reason – inspiration. The necessary component to any creative thought process that is so often lost in the familiar confines of home. When we become too comfortable in a place, too habitual, we forget to look around on our morning walk for coffee. We lose ambition to seek new experiences and make new friends. We no longer see the beauty in the golden wheat fields we drive past each day.

But when we place ourselves in a new environment, a new culture, we open our eyes and see things – all things – in a new light. The buildings are more beautiful, the flowers more bright. Riding a bicycle is fun again. A waterfall no more impressive than Oregon’s very own Multnomah Falls is ravishing.

In just six short months, Suwannaphum has become home. I no longer cringe when I see a family of four (sometimes even a dog and a laundry basket) on one motorbike. I don’t gasp when I see an eight-year old driving his little sister.

When a truck of elephants drives past my house, I think There must be another parade in town, instead of Oh my! Elephants are passing my house! I’ve been to so many parades I’ve started to avoid them like the disinterested foreign men I thought silly when I first arrived.

Running through a herd of water buffalo, saying hello to the poor farmer droving them as I jog slowly by, has become a normal exercise routine. I automatically steer several feet clear of any orange-robed monk in my path, and it’s now second nature to hop on my scooter and drive on the left side of the road, dodging chickens and dogs as I make my way to the school or out to the countryside. A seven-hour bus journey is short.

I’ve grown accustomed to the simplicities of my one-room hut without the means to cook or previously necessary amenities such as a kitchen table and a garbage can. I’ve mastered the squat toilet wearing both a backpack and heels (thank you very much) and now, instead of just checking for my wallet before I leave the house, I make sure my purse is stocked with a roll of toilet paper too. Eating unrecognizable foods from various street vendors, often with an extra helping of protein (bugs), no more deters me from chowing down.

This is how I know it’s time to move on. I’ve soaked up all the inspiration I can from my students, my peers, my coworkers, my friends, and though it’s uncommon to feel at home in a place so far away from it, I think it’s best to walk away while I still want to do so slowly (with a few tears), before I’m ready to run.

I’ll watch Suwannaphum disappear through the bus window as I head (eventually and temporarily) to my real home in Oregon. But I’m going to make a few stops along the way.

The first is Cambodia’s Angkor Wat and then its famed killing fields. Next we’ll venture down to southern Thailand for some much deserved beach and island hopping (Full Moon Party included), before boarding the overnight train to Chiang Mai and the surrounding bohemian villages of Mae Hong Son and Pai.

I’ll wave farewell to the Land of Smiles from a boat on the Mekong River in Laos, which will drop me into the jewel that is Luang Prabang. Working our way south to Vientiane, Pakse and Si Phan Don we go before crossing over the border to Vietnam.

If you haven’t Googled images of the coastline there, do it. And picture me on a motorbike headed north, stopping in places like Hoi An, Sapa, Halong Bay and Hanoi to eat traditional Pho and take in spectacular views.

My flight home will consist of extended layovers in Hong Kong, Seoul and San Francisco before I land in Portland and drive three hours east to embrace those (almost golden, by then) wheat fields and familiar faces I’ve missed dearly.

Not only am I beyond excited to have my best friend and first cousin join me on this upcoming escapade, I’m equally overjoyed at the prospect of meeting many more locals and travelers (the ones who make it all worthwhile) en route.

Consider this my apology for not posting much (if at all) over the next two months. I hope you’ll stayed tuned for my arrival back on U.S. soil, where I’ll undoubtedly have a lifetime of memories and an abundance of photos I’ll be eager to write about and share with you.

Until then, my friends, may you seek your own inspiration.

Northeastern Thailand: A Photoblog

It’s an ongoing debate, whether tourism is helpful (development is a good thing, right?) or harmful (what about the culture and natural beauty?), and it’s one in which I’m sitting uncomfortably on the fence, one leg dangling on either side.

Forgive me if I’m wrong in saying every traveler’s dream is to step foot onto uncharted territory; to set the first footprints in white sand; to enter a culture untouched by others.

I think I’ve come as close to that dream as possible by living in Isaan – Suwannaphum, to be exact. Nobody passes through this corner of the world without reason, and the guidebooks will tell you there is no reason.

It’s why this part of the country is considered “the real Thailand,” though I had my doubts about that before I came. How can it be any more real than the rest? I questioned. Now I know.

Because it hasn’t been spoiled by tourism, and it hasn’t been affected by the western influences so many other parts of the country have seen. Isaan culture is still intact – farmers continue to push wagons and walk their buffalo to water twice each day. Rice fields are harvested by hand. Children aren’t scared of strangers.

That smalltown “family” feel still exists, and there is no crime. Here, trust actually means you can leave the keys in your motorbike, your hut unlocked and all your belongings outside, and know it will still be there when you get back.

If you’re planning a trip to Thailand, I recommend scheduling at least a few days in the Northeast. Check out the monkey temple in Ban Ku, the nightlife in Khon Kaen (Isaan’s little Bangkok) and the cock fights in Suwannaphum. Catch a festival or parade where the local dance is sure to captivate you (it’s not hard to find one – they close down entire streets almost daily). Visit Old Town Thailand in Chiang Khan or the pillow-making village in Yasothon.

Give food to the monks, pray at the temples and relish in the company of animals everywhere you look. You can learn how to cook with the locals (if you like spicy!), walk down a village street to feel like a celebrity, or simply rent a motorbike and just drive, stopping at roadside fruit stands to try something new.

I realize my urging you to visit makes me a hypocrite. It makes no sense for me to promote tourism here because the best part of my trip (and what will undoubtedly be yours too) is that lack of it.

So, on second thought, maybe you should just settle for seeing it through my eyes!

Fighting Cocks: The Real Angry Birds

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Cock fighting, cock fighting in Thailand, fighting cocks, gambling in thailand, rules for cock fighting

Out of town, past the only 7-11, when the smooth pavement turns to potholed patches of road and then to dirt, take a right. Drive through the ruts until you see a gate hidden behind several large shade trees, and park amongst the hundreds of cars and motorbikes belonging to those already in the know.

I knew cock fighting is a popular past time in Suwannaphum (if I’ve talked to you on Skype, you’ve undoubtedly heard the ones being trained behind the coffee shop I frequent), but I didn’t know every Saturday hundreds of men disappear to the outskirts of town to spend their day watching the spectacle.

It operates a lot like a Muay Thai fight, with fewer but longer rounds. The birds are divided into classes based on how well they’ve previously fought (unlike weight classes in boxing), and each duo fights for four, 30-minute rounds. When the best fighters finish Round 1, the second class birds begin their dual, and so on down the line until it’s time for Round 2.

The Suwannaphum venue is a large shed in the middle of a dirt field consisting of three rings, and spectators actively bounce between them.

Betting is rampant (despite the fact gambling is illegal in Thailand), which might explain the male-dominated crowd. The owner of the winning bird can earn upwards of 20,000 baht ($600; more than most Thais make in a month) at a weekly Saturday fight such as this. The stakes are even higher when the champions get together at larger venues – a man told me I could watch a fight worth 50,000 baht ($1,600) if I wanted to drive to Roi Et.

I imagine the fight will be quite similar to the one I viewed outside Suwannaphum, with a much rowdier more intoxicated crowd and more aggressive birds, all of which sounds like fun until you factor in how long it takes to actually determine a winner.

Contrary to popular belief, the winner isn’t decided by the only standing (or living) bird after a long and bloody battle (in fact the birds very rarely die, I’m told by the daughter of a popular trainer, and the owner of the coffee shop I mentioned).

There used to be more gore, but the rules have changed (they don’t listen to the law on gambling, but the people in Suwannaphum at least, appear to be abiding by these restrictions). Rather, the fight is over when either one bird is severely hurt or, more commonly, gives up and walks away.

Neither of which happened at the show I saw, but in the two hours I stayed to photograph the event, the second round had yet to begin. I can only watch two angry birds wing slap each other for so long before I’ve seen it and I’m ready to go. Nevertheless, it’s quite an amazing sight to behold.