Last Moments in Bangkok

On the rooftop garden at Mahidol University International College (MUIC)
with one of our fantastic SEAS student coordinators, Pin Aramwittaya.

What would you do during your last days in Bangkok? A group of Carolina Southeast Asia Summer Program (SEAS) participants decided to spend those final days in luxury: going to the spa for 2-hour full body Thai massages (only 450 baht, the equivalent of about US$16), indulging with ice cream sundaes served in cut glass at Swensen’s (109 baht, or a little over US$3) and treating ourselves to manicures and pedicures (120 baht, or US$4) at the salon across the street from Mahidol University International College (MUIC).

Knowing we could never afford such luxury back in the states, we went from one shop to the next, relaxing first with the soft melodies, chrysanthemum tea and back-cracking wonders of the Health Spa. We continued on to Swensen’s, where we enjoyed ice cream sensations, like Chocolate Crunch (a mound of chocolate ice cream, drenched in hot fudge, sprinkled with chocolate chips and Cocoa Puffs and crowned with whipped cream and a chocolate-covered cherry). And then we spent a good hour and a half at the nail salon, picking through sheers and pastels, debating the merits of sparkles and veneers.

I tried my hand at beautiful cut fruit: cantaloupe roses and honey dew leaves.

But luxury aside, the most special last moments in Bangkok were spent with our new friends from MUIC. We spent our last afternoon at the university taking a cooking class, learning how to make some of our favorite Thai dishes, like Pad Thai (of course), but also mango salad, spring rolls and even how to cut fruit in Thai style, forming cantaloupe into roses and honey dew into leaves. And our new friends were with us, making intricate cuts into pineapple and watermelon and rejoicing and lamenting over each misstep as often as the rest of us.

Two friends in particular have stuck out in my mind, as I’ve returned home to the states. Pin Aramwittaya and Plai Kunjara, our student coordinators in Thailand, showed us around the university and Bangkok and truly made us feel at home in our new surroundings, while immersing us in Thai culture. Twiddling our thumbs with an entire blank Sunday in front of us and no idea what to do in Bangkok? They suggested shopping at the weekend market, told us how to get there and pinpointed particular shops for that perfect tea set for our moms or the best Aladdin pants for our friends (or, more likely, ourselves). Middle of the afternoon with nothing (aside from piles of school work) to do? They suggested taking part in dance and art club activities. Dinnertime, hungry and no idea how to read a Thai menu? They took us across the street to the best restaurants, described dishes, and, ultimately, ordered our meals. All this they did while balancing classes and midterms! (MUIC is on a trimester schedule, so students don’t get out for summer break until August.)

On our final night in Thailand, MUIC took us to Ban Nam Kiang Din, an excellent German restaurant with outside seating, overlooking rolling green lawns and a pond filled with black swans. At first we thought: this is our last night in Thailand. Why are we eating German food? And then we were told that the Thai royalty frequent the restaurant and our anticipation rose. Dishes of sausages, spicy crab meat, grilled bread and seafood fried rice came out on large white china plates, and our questions were silenced mid-gulp, our expectations more than met. We’d expected to feast on all our favorite Thai foods one last time, but I guess that’s why we took the cooking class. After all, when you can dine with royalty, who cares the origin of the cuisine?

Ultimately, that was my big take-away from Thailand: we could schedule activities and expect certain experiences, but ultimately when those initial plans fell through, different experiences – probably better experiences – were enjoyed.

Now that I’m back in the USA, I can even better appreciate the treasures of Thailand. We touched down in New York around lunchtime on Thursday, July 19 with a single mission in mind: to enjoy some good, American food. I ended up at an overpriced restaurant, where I spent $15 on a sandwich and fries. My friend, Lisa Li, quickly reminded me just how much that would have bought in baht: a Thai massage, for instance.

But while I certainly miss the lifestyle I could afford back in Thailand, baht aside, I find myself thinking not so much about how many manicures and pedicures I could afford back in Bangkok (is every week too much?) but rather where I would be and what I’d be doing with my new friends. Half a world away, it’s a question I’ll be asking ‘til our next visit, and whether in the USA or Thailand, I know that we’ll have no trouble finding things to do when we’re together again. Still, my vote is for Thailand. I could really use another massage!

What You’ll Find in the Forest: Notes from Trekking Through Erawan National Park

An all-natural alternative to the spa: Dip your feet in the falls at
Erawan National Park and let the fish eat away your dead skin!

After the hectic crowds of Bangkok what could be better than an escape to Thailand’s countryside? Better yet, why not really escape civilization for a few days with a trek in Erawan National Park? That’s exactly what the Carolina Southeast Asia Summer Program (SEAS) did for our last weekend in Thailand before returning to the USA.

Now I’m not an outdoors person, but I’ve been known to enjoy a few days in the wilderness (especially when a shower – hot or cold – is at my disposal), so I’d been looking forward to our time at Erawan National Park. I was especially excited when I learned that the word “erawan” in Thai meant “elephant,” and I had visions of awaking to the nuzzling of a long trunk. (I later learned that elephants can be quite vicious and was thankful that I never even saw an elephant – let alone was awoken by one – at the nature reserve.)

Saturday morning we arose early for a hike to a seven-tiered waterfall. On the way up we passed a number of gorgeous trees, one with a thick vine protruding several inches from the trunk and providing support for the tree. Each ascending level was more beautiful, with the water cascading over large rocks and trees bowing over the falls. We only shared the view with the monkeys, who peaked from behind tall branches.

In front of Erawan Falls.

We stopped at the third tier to dip our feet in the water and for some free spa treatment via Garra Rufa. These fish feast on your dead skin, leaving your feet baby soft. While SEAS was in Singapore we’d seen advertisements for this expensive treatment and had watched enviously as more affluent Singaporeans forked over their credit cards and took their seats by large tanks filled with the flesh-eating experts. That had been one experience we’d had to pass up, so I was overjoyed to have the chance to try Thailand’s free version.

The fish tickled as they kissed my feet. I shrieked and removed them quickly, but then dipped them back in the water and persevered. It was well worth the initial discomfort, for when I removed my feet a second time they were incredibly smooth.

I shoved my wet feet back into my socks and shoes and continued the hike. Later that afternoon we piled nine people to a truck bed and took a rocky 30-minute ride up steep roads and past beautiful rolling hills and farm fields to a peak, where we stopped for a quick picnic lunch.

Then, we continued our hike, this time up over 500 stairs to the mouth of a large cave. The entranceway was quite narrow, dissuading several of our more claustrophobic companions, from coming in. But once inside the cave proved humongous, our voices echoing off the stalagmite-covered stonewalls. Our imaginations were illuminated in the eerie light of our kerosene lamps and iPhone flashlights, making the stone protrusions look like climbing turtles and bearded men.

Stalactites hung thick from the top of the cave, but we were more interested in the floor. Our guide ducked under a small fence surrounding the foot of the cave and hopped to the lowest level, his chest just peaking out from the surface. Then, dramatically, he raised his lantern above his head and slowly lowered it to the ground. The light went out and we were in complete darkness. And then came the glimmer of a very small light, from the top of his cigarette lighter. We watched as the light descended and then flickered out. Our guide told us that the depths of the cave contained little oxygen and were unable to sustain fire. Still, despite that danger we were reticent to leave the cave.

We exited back through the mouth of the cave, blinking in the bright sunlight. Another 30-minute truck ride over hills dotted with temples brought us back to the seven-tiered waterfall, where we changed into bathing suits for a refreshing swim under the cascading water.

Once again, I awoke early for our last morning at the national park, where my friend, Pooja Kodavanti, and I took a sunrise walk through the forest, watching the sun peak over the edge of the horizon from a comfortable seat in the dewy grass. It was the perfect end to our sabbatical from civilization, and then it was back to Bangkok for a whirlwind last few days in the city.

When the Sun Comes Up at Amphawa

A Buddhist monk rows toward the dock for the early morning alms giving.

I’m not a morning person. At all. I’d much prefer to stay up half the night and wake up about 10:00 a.m. Still, under certain circumstances I can be persuaded to get up. To watch the sunrise, for example. Or, to take part in the alm’s giving ceremony in Thailand.

When the Carolina Southeast Asia Summer Program (SEAS) traveled into the countryside of Thailand, we got to do both. At Amphawa we awoke at 6:00 a.m., dressed in the dark and crept down the stairs of our homestay and into the early morning light. But our creeping was for nothing. Our homestay was already cooking breakfast in a large pot over the stove and women were socializing on the front porch. As we passed down a quiet lane, heading towards the riverfront, we saw many food vendors well into the cooking process, roasting kabobs over open flames.

A view of the river, shortly after sunrise.

The town seemed wide awake as we rubbed our tired eyes and wandered to the dock. Others were already gathered by the water front, legs crossed behind them (pointing your feet at another person is considered highly disrespectful in Thai culture), awaiting the monks who would row up to the dock in their canoes in order to collect our offerings of food and lotus flowers.

The first monk to approach us came with a driver and a canoe already laden with toast and sweets. An elderly Thai lady walked forward and handed him freshly baked bread, smoke issuing from the top. She presented the offering on a large banana leaf to keep from accidentally touching (and thus tempting) the monk. Upon receiving the bread, he blessed us all, holding up his hands and chanting rhythmically. The sun’s pale rays reflected over the water as the monk pulled away from the dock.

Later, we stuck out like a soar thumb as we descended the hill to a nearby farmers’ market, teeming with locals. We picked from roasted corn on the cob, bubbling in butter on the grill; chicken and pork kabobs; pineapple and watermelon bursting with sweet juices; mango sticky rice and sweet breads still warm from the oven. As we feasted, we returned to the waterfront.

Pad Thai, anyone?

As the morning deepened and more and more people awoke, so too did life on the river. Vendors selling fresh rose apples wet with dew and steaming Pad Thai rowed toward us, offering the later risers breakfast from a boat. We swung our feet from the edge of the dock as our friends enjoyed tiny dishes heaped with noodles and shrimp along with freshly cut fruit.

As I chatted with friends, I noticed a few young boys playing with reptilian toys as they awaited their own breakfasts. (While we seemed only able to order Pad Thai from the vendor who had pulled ashore, they all ended up with plates of roasted chicken over rice, an excellent alternative had we been able to communicate with our boat chef.) Suddenly, one of the kids let out a cry, and I watched as a crocodile flew overboard. All three boys flipped onto their stomachs and stretched their arms to catch the falling reptile, but to no avail. He sunk into the murky depths and they were left with one less crocodile and zero appetites.

We returned to our homestays shortly before 8 a.m., with an entire day stretching before us. And yet we’d already seen so much! I was almost ready to become a morning person. Except … except … except for the heavy weights that pressed against my eyes threatening a (mid?)-morning nap before I’d normally even wake up! 

They Called Us, "Beautiful" But ...

With students from a junior high school in Samutsongkhram.

Our last weekend in Thailand, the Carolina Southeast Asia Summer Program (SEAS) left Bangkok for the countryside. First we traveled to Samutsongkhram, where we visited a junior high school. We’d taken a tour bus, but the roads were so bad in Samutsongkhram, that our bus couldn’t make it over the bridge leading to the school. So, we got out and walked the rest of the way to the school, passing by houses with elderly women waving and smiling at us from the porch steps.

Our first view of the school upon our arrival was that of a large green with a flagpole in the center. But then we were welcomed by several teachers and directors, as children (the youngest were not yet five) in black and white uniforms peaked their heads out from behind the swing sets. The directors offered us cold glasses of homemade juice naturally died with the pigments of Thai flowers, which we gulped appreciatively. Then, unable to resist the quiet smiles of the younger children, we started a game of tag.

Most of us hadn’t had recess since graduating from elementary school, but we quickly discovered that it was still just as much fun (and rather similar) to how it used to be. We taught them London Bridge and Ring Around the Rosy, the latter of which was a rousing success despite the language barrier, which meant that we “all fell down” at all the wrong times.

The children spoke very little English, their vocabulary limited to “hello,” “what is your name?” and “beautiful,” the latter of which they called us for the duration of our stay, despite our flushed cheeks and sweaty everything.

With my special eight-year-old friend!

One beautiful eight-year-old girl with large dimples and hair cropped short attached herself to my side and never parted. Eventually, she led me to the seesaw, where we played, six children to a side. When we tired of that, we ventured to the swing set, which proved more fun in theory than actuality; as the swings had been made for little children, my feet scraped the ground with every push, no matter how far I drew up my legs.

Like always, recess ended all too quickly, and we were called into lunch: a beautiful feast of rice, vegetables and Tom Yum soup with shrimp. At first we assumed that the meal had been prepared for our visit, but then we discovered that this was only a slight alteration to a typical cafeteria meal; we overheard the teachers explaining to the students that today’s lunch wouldn’t be spicy because it had been especially made for “our American friends.” Still, this un-spicy meal had half our group glugging water and wiping their brows.

We ate at long wooden tables with a great view of some of the boys taking up a game of basketball. They played according to traditional rules, with two boys standing on chairs and holding baskets for the goals. Those not playing basketball amused themselves by setting magnifying glasses over little piles of sticks, and, unlike the countless failed attempts that I made in my childhood, they quickly had tiny bursts of flames at their disposal.

Several of us considered lunch an excellent time to take a bathroom break, but upon visiting the restroom we discovered just how wrong we had been: a gigantic fist-sized spider sat twiddling its legs from the toilet bowl. Each of us entered the bathroom sure that we could handle a small spider and left moments later assuring the next person they were better off squeezing their legs together.

After lunch, we toured the junior high school portion of the school. We were told that typically students in the country quit school after about the age of 14, when the expense (transportation and even school uniforms) become too much and they drop out to find jobs to help support their families. Therefore, in the last year of schooling at the junior high school, they put away the math, science and literature textbooks and instead hone vocational skills, learning how to sew, perform basic mechanics and prepare preserved eggs.

The girls spent a good deal of time in a classroom, which had been turned into a tailor shop, making hand-stitched shirts, as well as using sewing machines. Meanwhile, the boys congregated in the mechanics shop, where they learned how to make working light switches and other “basic” tasks, which would have fried my brain and set my hair on end.

Students demonstrate how to prepare the preserved eggs,
which they sell at a local market.

But my favorite station was where the students demonstrated how to make preserved eggs. When I’d arrived in Thailand, I’d heard rumors about something called 1,000-year-old eggs, a Chinese delicacy in which eggs are buried for a long time (I’m not sure if 1,000 years is exactly accurate) and then uncovered, cooked and served. I’m an adventuresome eater (during this trip alone I tried chilie crab, barbequed stingray and chicken’s foot as well as chicken’s butt), but an egg that old just didn’t sound appetizing. After all, I’ve seen the remains of eggs that stayed but a few days too long in the fridge; I didn’t particularly care to see the double curse of an extended period of time under the soil and subject to all the elements. So, whenever I’d ordered lunch at the university’s canteen, I’d always avoided the hardboiled eggs with the bright orange centers, assuming they were 1,000 years old and thus 1,000 times gross. However, at the junior high school I learned that they were no where close to 1,000 years old; caked first in a thick layer of dark, saline mud and then covered in a lighter layer of soil, the eggs are buried for a mere 28 days before they are unearthed and cooked. The director of the school explained all of this in Thai (while our own director translated), and then went on to describe how the children prepare the eggs to sell at a nearby farm stand. We were all eager to prepare the eggs ourselves, but were too afraid of the consequences of our unskilled hands. I contented myself with trying one of the eggs on my first opportunity. After all, a month under ground is nothing compared to 1,000 years!

As the afternoon came to a close, we had to leave the school for a second tour, this one at a posh secondary school. We were excited about the second tour but sad to be leaving our new friends. We walked hand in hand back to our bus (still parked just beyond the bridge). Most of the students walked barefoot, not taking the time to grab their shoes, which they remove before entering the classroom. The little girl who still stood beside me hopped from one foot to the other, the concrete burning the soles of her feet. One of the older boys slipped off his own shoes and gave them to her, so she shuffled along in shoes about five sizes too big until we reached the bus. It seemed like a scene from half a century ago, until extending her arm she asked me to write down my cell phone number and email address.

SEAS participants with the junior high school students.

“Beautiful, beautiful,” the students called to us, as we ascended the bus. But their compliments could as easily be returned, for I never spent a more exquisite afternoon with such pleasant, easy hospitality.

We were later told by our director that the students had been surprised and overjoyed that we’d taken the time to play with them; normally, those who toured the school looked down on the students’ poverty and didn’t socialize. All weekend the students had talked about what fun they’d had with their American friends. I was shocked and saddened to hear how others before us (none former SEAS groups) had reacted to our kind friends. After all, who could help but enjoy a game of Ring Around the Rosy, no matter your age, socio-economic status, or language abilities? It was indeed a “beautiful” afternoon, which left the faces of each of those special students forever imprinted on my mind. I doubt my eight-year-old friend has access to a computer, but I also have a feeling she kept my email address, and I wouldn’t be surprised to hear from her several years from now. I won’t have forgotten. You just can’t forget something that beautiful.