Bradley Vs. The Mini Thais: Round 3

Mickey

With the start of the new school year came four new classes of tiny Thai babies. During morning assembly I gawked at how big my students from last semester had gotten over two months of summer break. I also gawked as they didn’t seem to remember who the hell I was. It’s to be expected but still stings.

I set my sights to the new kids. When I walk into the classroom I always lead the kids in some fun exercises to help them realize class is about to begin. Nothing I did knocked these kids out of their silence, including flapping my arms like a bird which usually gets some laughs. Some of the kids are barely two years old. If they can’t even speak Thai very well I kept wondering how it was I was suppose to teach them any English. I teach K 1, which would be considered pre-kindergarten 2 in America. The classes are separated into K1/1 – K1/4, with K1/4 home to the youngest students. I thought this would end up being the most challenging class but K1/3 exceeded all my challenging expectations. K1/3 is home to two new Chinese students. These two kids, Chun-Chun and Mickey, came from Taiwan when their parents moved to Thailand for business. Neither child speaks Thai and the teachers, with the obvious exception of the Chinese language teachers, don’t speak Chinese. Although the K1/3 homeroom teacher, Cru Behn, speaks a few Chinese phrases. It’s a recipe for a fantastic kindergarten disasters. 

Chun is the pouty one in the middle

K 1/3 is my first class of the day. I walked into the classroom and Chun is sobbing. Behn and her classroom helper are doing what they can to try and calm her down. Their tactics include gentle cooings, stern Thai phrases that translate into “stop crying” and “sit in your chair” to just leaving her in the corner to cry. I was totally unprepared. I’ve spent a lot of time with mothers who discuss their child melt-down horror stories but I’d never seen one. When I walk in the room, Chun takes one look at me, raises her head, opens her mouth in a perfect cartoon character way and lets out a banshee of a wail. Her face turns bright red within seconds as she dramatically throws herself to the floor and starts beating the hardwood floor with her hands and legs. Nothing will calm her. She is wailing and screaming and screaming and screaming and sobbing. I’m more frazzled than Chun is at this point. Behn tells me to start teaching my class but all the other kids are sitting at their desk, watching Chun in horror and confusion. A few of them walk over to get a closer look at the carnage. It’s heartwarming to see the kids speak to her, tell her “mai pen rai” (it’s okay) and try and rub her back, only to have her scream even harder. I tried for a few minutes to get up in front of the class and get the kids to sing a song with me but no one was paying any attention, obviously. How can I compete for their attention with a horrific meltdown occurring right before their eyes. We start gaining more attention as other teachers from nearby classrooms come to see what the fuss is about.  Eventually someone gets one of the Chinese teachers but they aren’t having any better luck. The class is a dud.

Mickey spilling most of her popsicle.

Two hours later, I’m sitting at my desk in the foreign language department the English and Chinese teachers share. In walks one of the Thai teachers from the front office clutching the hand of a girl who looks like she has no idea what planet she’s on. I’m instantly in love with her. Watching her as she assess the room it appears her eyes are taking in everything and seeing something unseen by anyone else in the room. Her smile is a wide, open mouth grin of pure excitement and glee. Mickey has arrived. The Thai teacher is blabbing something in Thai to my boss, Mrs. Khim, known to Jenna and I as the master of languages as she reads and speaks Thai, Chinese and English. When the Thai teacher is through speaking Mrs. Khim is talking to Mickey in Chinese. Mickey grabs Mrs. Khim’s hand and spends the day dragging Mrs. Khim all over the school. As it turns out, Mickey is the most rambunctious child I’ve ever encountered. She’s unable to sit still, follow directions or care about anything for longer than two seconds. And the Thai teachers had had enough of her after a few hours, bequeathing all responsibility to an already overworked Mrs. Khim. Mrs. Khim will end up spending a better part of the week be dragged around by Mickey when Cru Behn can’t take anymore of her.

At the end of the first week I walk into K1/3 to the now expected sound of Chun’s sobs. Only this time she is sitting in the “crying corner” red faced and snot covered sitting next to a bewildered Mickey. Mickey is rapidly explaining something to Chun in Chinese as Chun continues to cry. Mickey couldn’t look more thrilled as Chun looks as though the world is coming to a painful end. It’s a match made in heaven, though not for Cru Behn. 

Prem

The younger kids, K1/3 and K1/4, prove to be the hardest classes to teach. As the first month ends I realize I’m learning more Thai than they are English. I can tell them to stand up, sit down, listen, color, raise your hand, finished and stop talking. After a student peed on my foot I quickly learned that “pooshee” means “can I go to the toilet?” I begin to work out a system in my head of the phrases the kids say often so I can try and understand them better but I’m not doing very well. It’s horribly frustrating not being able to talk to the kids. Recently I tried to separate two students, Glo-gi and Prem, who, when put together, can be the devil incarnate. I moved Glo-gi’s chair next to mine to get her to come sit next to me. She decided “hell no” and tried to move her chair back. I held on to the chair with ease as she tried to move it, watching the focus and determination in her face as she set about proving her point: that I can’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to do. I continued to hold on until she stopped. Not defeated, she then let out a scream so loud she would have scared the hell out of Chun. She started sobbing and screaming. As I went to comfort her, feeling wretched, she ran straight towards the door, opened it and went screaming, crying and running down the hallway to her old classroom and teacher. I stood standing in the hallway watching her run and scream with all the other Thai teachers, feeling horrible and wondering what I had been thinking when I decided teaching at a foreign school when you can’t speak the native language was a good idea. Second semester stats: Teecha Bad 0; Mini-Thais 1. 

Guide and behind him, JR.

Best. One of my youngest. 2 1/2

Eiffel. He only likes me when I rub his belly.

Mickey

EQ giving me flowers on Teacher Day

Oops. A very fitting name. Brother to Erk, who I had last year. Also a fitting name.

Pin

Ek and Mai-ji

Fatty

Tian in the hat and Pear

Mickey, Bell, Mai-Ji and Pai-lin

Katherine, Sin-Jay, Jee and Ek

 

Songkran Part 2

Only in Thailand can different cities have different dates for national holidays. The followng weekend was Songkran in a town called Phra Phadaeng, a predominately Mon populated town (all I know is Mon is somewhere up in the northeast.) We had heard that this Songkran gets really wild every year. When Katie and I mentioned it to our Thai friends they looked terrified for us.

“They will try to feel your chest, it’s okay to hit them,” one said.

“They will rub mud all over you,” said another. “You tell them to get away very strongly.”

We were a bit more intrigued then deterred from this idea. And as luck would have it we had two OEG friends living in The Daeng. And so the next weekend we grabbed our water-tight money/camera bags and headed to The Daeng with the new farang teacher at Sunflower, Joe.

There are many reasons that this celebration was probably my favorite Songkran (poor Joe getting a surprise fat kiss from a lady boy on his first weekend in Thailand being high on the list.) Chiang Mai was crazy-party-madness everywhere. While the Daeng was quite mad it was traditional madness. Along with our OEG friends we were the only farang in the town, which meant we were very popular. While water was still thrown everywhere and hoses were still conveniently placed the local tradition was to spread a watery clay all over everyone you saw. It’s blessing is similar to the one my kiddos received from their elders with the blessed water. The parade was more Macy’s Day then spiritual Buddha. The procession began with a float carrying a blue-grassy band instead of traditional Thai music. The king and queen’s float came next, followed by the beauty queen float. Balloons and crazy paper-mache statues were attached to each float carry Buddha's from the different temples.  And unlike Chiang Mai, the parade only lasted about half an hour. The people weren’t nearly as grabby as I’d been warned and overall, they enjoyed the farang making a spectacle out of ourselves as we rubbed clay over everyone as they rubbed it on us (one of our co-workers even saw us on the news.)

Katie, Joe and I

Perhaps it’s because I like being surrounded by Thai’s having a crazy time on their holiday instead of crazy farangs that I enjoyed this celebration the most. Clay was rubbed over almost all uncovered parts of my body. The day was blissfully hot instead of chilled, though the buckets of ice water didn’t feel nearly as refreshing as I thought they would. The Mon people were going nuts. Even after the parade in every driveway and alley they were blaring music and throwing water and clay at each other. Every place we passed while walking around people tried to wave us over for food or drinks. Amongst all the madness you could still feel a bit of the gentle tradition of washing away the old and welcoming in the new. Although when we finally made it back to the dorms and stepped into the shower to clean off the crusted clay the only thing I felt was finally dry after weekends of being soaked to the bone.  

Hannah and Alana, our lovely hostesses.

We crashed the beauty queen dress rehearsal.

Random pictures of The Daeng.

Songkran Part 1

Hammas taking careful aim from his lookout.

Every religion has used water at one point or another as a symbol of cleanliness and renewal. Buddhism is no different. Thailand calls this time of cleansing “Songkran.” Songkran is the Buddhist new year and just to make sure everyone is left awash in the newness, the Thais celebrate with a three day water festival. Almost all countries in SE Asia have some kind of water festival during this time but Thailand is the place to be for the celebration that most resembles MTV’s Spring Break. I was lucky enough to experience three different Songkran traditions. 

When last we left off, our travel team was splitting up. Allison left for a week long motorbike ride, Elena prepared to head back to Spain, and Martin was finally getting out of the hospital. I left Molly with our Canadian brothers to head back to school for a week and celebrate this holiday as traditionally as possible. The children were all wearing Thai colors and Hawaiian looking shirts as we gathered out in the school’s driveway for the traditional parade. Holding flowers and cups of water, I walked with the children to the end of the drive, where chairs had been set up next to a statue of the Buddha. Flanking Buddha were two large bowls for water with flowers in them. We all kneeled before Buddha as the school owner and manager took turns having a chat with Buddha. Then they took their empty silver cups, dipped them in the blessed water next to Buddha, and washed the shiny little guy while praying. 

The alter. The two bowls are filled with water and flowers.

After prayers parents in the crowd came to sit in the chairs along with the manager and owner. When they didn’t have enough elders to fill up the chairs I was ushered in with another farang teacher to fill in the gaps. Slowly the children filed by, dipping their cups in the blessed water next to Buddha then pouring a little water over the extended hands of the seated elders. With our hands wet, we then touched the foreheads or cheeks of each passing student. This allows the students to honor the elders with the blessed water and in return, the elders bless the children with good health and a clean slate for the coming year. Having no idea what I was suppose to say to these little monsters I pinched their cheeks or tickled them with my wet hands. When the last child had passed through the gauntlet, the elders started getting up and filling their cups from the still very full bowls of water. I was too busy watching to make sure I was doing everything correctly to notice one of the bowls had disappeared and was sneaking up behind me in the arms of Nong, the teacher who drove me home everyday. She dumped the almost full bowl of blessed water on my head. I was able to throw my camera onto the lawn a few feet away just in time. Then all the elders were throwing water on my face and body and the spiritual cleansing ceremony turned into a (water) gunfight. Suddenly the kids all had buckets filled with water, huge guns, hoses attached to water packs on their back and they were aiming it at me then at each other. My favorite guns were the ones that had an umbrella attached to the nozzle so as to use as a shield. Someone had started running the hoses to big barrels where you could fill up your gun or bucket. I grabbed a bucket and stood guard over one of the barrels, trying to fiend off my attackers, before I was conquered. It was splendid pandemonium, children running everywhere, adults running among the kids with bigger guns. I got to throw a bucket of water in my boss’s face. Felt great. I felt an intense jealousy towards my kids as I watched them hurl water on their parents, teachers and peers: they get to look forward to this every year. I can only imagine what it would have felt like as a kid to look forward to a three day country wide water fight every summer.

 

 

I changed out of my soaking wet clothes and was given leave to go met Katie at the high school. After she finished up her water fight with the high school kids we loaded up our bags and headed to the bus station.

Quick parade to the end of the drive.

Buddha gets a quick bath.

We met Molly and the Canadians in Chiang Rai two days before Songkran officially started.  Martin had recovered from his pneumonia, Pat his sinus infection and Molly’s burn was looking disgustingly scabbed, which is a good thing (three days later she would get a message from me telling her I found the scab on the floor of our hotel room, which we all had assumed was lost to some dance floor in Chiang Mai.)  We spent two days sight-seeing and catching up before heading to Chiang Mai for the official Songkran. Getting off the bus and into a large tuk-tuk we realized the 3 days of Songkran rule meant nothing in Chiang Mai. Here it’s a weeklong celebration. We were sitting ducks for the bucket throwers and gun holders with nothing to defend ourselves with. We got to the hotel and waited till the 6 pm cease-fire before wandering out for guns and food.

The next morning was the first real day of Songkran. Buddha had decided that this had been a particularly dirty year for Thailand and started dumping buckets of icy rain water on Chiang Mai. Buddha also thought the inhabitants of Thailand really needed to be taught a lesson so he also made it cold, really cold. The coldest I’ve experienced in Thailand. On a holiday where it’s usually so hot you beg people to pour ice water down your shirt our little group sat on our balcony wrapped up in whatever we could find, trying to psych ourselves up to step into the mess we could hear going on just outside the hotel courtyard. It took some coaxing. Pat dug out his surf gear, designed to be wet and keep you warm. Martin took it like a man: lit a cigarette and walked into the frenzy to buy whiskey and guns. Molly, Katie and I eased into it a bit. By ease I mean we stepped outside the hotel gates and were immediately doused with buckets of ice-cold water from the people standing next to us. The most popular commodity for this celebration happens to be giant ice cubes being bought and placed into the tubs of water each family places outside their business or home  so the water they are throwing is extra cold.

The view from our position at the bar.

It’s hard to properly explain what we walked into when we left the hotel. We were on a four lane street that normally received a good amount of traffic. It was grid locked. Pick up trucks were everywhere. Kids, parents, teenagers and grandparents were stuffed into the back of these trucks with trashcans filled with water (mostly ice water). Those who didn’t have a gun or bucket used their hands to throw water on the truck filled with people next to you, on the person zooming through traffic on a motorbike, on the pedestrians trying to nail each other on the sidewalk. I got nailed a few times by people who were stuck in traffic and would role down their windows just enough to stick the nozzle out. Before you could retaliate they had rolled their window back up. It was chaos. You would never have known it was raining, there was so much water being thrown everywhere. Being in the trucks was the best and worst idea: when they got moving they were fun for the sneak attack but mostly you became a sitting duck for everyone else. And it’s not like you hit someone, they respond in kind and you walk away. No, no, you go and go until someone runs out of water or your attention is drawn to another attacker. There is no safe moment.

The Eastern Gate

We got buckets and guns and navigated the crowds and traffic to the ruins of the East Gate where it looked like a MTV holiday. Stages had been erected, hoses coming out from everywhere to spew water or allow you to refill your gun or bucket. Thousands and thousands of people, Thai and farang, soaked this small area. Traffic was again a gridlock so you were engaged in constant warfare. The three of us hopped on a random tuk tuk for a few minutes but couldn't handle the exhaust fumes, bailed and walked back into the mess of people to get the full impact of the experience. Freezing, we started walking back towards the bar that was across the street from the hotel. Martin and Pat had already set up camp in the bar and were helping the staff man the buckets, barrels and guns outside the door.

Irish coffees to try and stay warm!

The parade started right as we got to the bar. The street was blocked off so that every temple in Chiang Mai could lead their Buddha in a procession down to the East Gate. Suddenly flowers were poured into all the barrels of water on the street and we were throwing blessed water on every huge Buddha that was wheeled, carted or carried down the street. I began to feel sorry for all the people involved in the procession: if I was freezing they must be worse. And I was really cold. My teeth were chattering and my hands were going numb. Martin kept running back to the hotel to fill up his water pack with steaming hot water from the shower then spraying all of us when he got back. Soon everyone was running back to the showers at least once an hour. We ate noodles and soup, drank whiskey straight out of the bottle (no use in making a drink as water would fly right into it), danced and fought to try and keep ourselves warm but nothing really worked. Two hours before the ceasefire we returned to the hotel to warm up.

The next day we explored other parts of the city, sticking to the back roads to try and not get as wet. Another futile endeavor. After another day of fighting we packed our bags and said our goodbyes. Molly, Martin and Pat would spend their final week in Thailand on my favorite island, Koh Chang, while Katie and I went back to work. Molly and I stared at each other for a minute before hugging. No words were necessary. Kisses were given to Martin and Pat (who will remain my two favorite travel buddies met on this wild ride) and Katie and I boarded the bus back to school.

 *Thanks to Pat, Martin and Molly for the photos, as I was too scared to risk my camera!