The Journal

At our international university, the transformation of our world through globalization is unmistakable. Prospective students are constantly lectured on our declaration of global citizenship and diversity. We are taught to be participants in an interconnected world, to take advantage of all the opportunities for personal growth and cultural discovery offered to us as a result of our educational privilege.

One of those opportunities is to study abroad, most of the time on another continent, free of airfare charges. I chose the Land of Smiles - Thailand - because it seemed the furthest from American culture.

Living in Hua-Hin, I am simultaneously cut off from the world and completely enveloped in its multiplicity. Being a SIM card-carrying member of the technology generation, living with no cell phone and limited internet is occasionally frustrating and yet, at times, a welcome respite from ringtones and Facebook notifications. Instead, I find myself reading up on hill tribe art, maneuvering my way through the intricacies of Buddhism or studying Thai cooking theory.

Lately, I find myself out on the balcony contemplating the view. The sun rises to my right, over the endless expanse of the Pacific Ocean. It's difficult not to wake with the sun because, even in my sleep, the sand calls my bare feet to take a morning walk with the stray dogs digging up colonies of crabs exposed by the low tide. Multicolored fishing boats are anchored all day long, waiting for sunset. Hundreds of marooned jellyfish lay washed up on the shore. And there's always the morning echo of seven o'clock Skypers in the lobby.

At noon, the sun shines directly on the jungle. And you know it's a jungle in Thailand when you see the cows. On the ride to school every morning, I drive past people's homes and shops and stalls. It's difficult to get used to the driving here, and not just because they drive on the other side of the road, but because they drive on both sides and I can't think of a road rule that applies. Looking out the window, I'll spot a couple of soccer goals tucked back into some overgrown brush. The game is everywhere here. When I was in Bangkok, I could spot the big concrete flat with two goals, no nets, under the overpass in a rundown neighborhood. Everyone plays.

At twilight, the overpowering sounds and smells of the night markets filter all throughout Hua-Hin. I follow the interesting squid smell to the tin roof market up the street and buy some dragon fruit, ngoks or chicken on a stick. The smell is coming from the buckets of fish caught a couple of hours ago and crabs dug out of the sand this morning. To live in Thailand is to always want to take pictures of your food - in Petchaburi it's papaya salad, in Market Village it's a bacon and mayonnaise donut, at school it could be a whole scaly fish on a stick, and in Bangkok you could chew a fried grasshopper or fill up on the eccentricities of American fried rice (rice, hot dogs, raisins, cucumbers, tomatoes, ham, egg and peas). Corn is a dessert and bread is non-existent. Every meal is a new adventure.

Thai people want to talk to foreigners, especially Americans. When I went to teach English to some Thai schoolchildren in Petchaburi with their teacher Jim, they were so excited to meet two people from America. The effects of globalization on this country are unmistakable. In America, we have tanning lotions and tanning beds. In Thailand, the people use whitening cream to lighten the color of their skin. In Bangkok, we drove past a billboard for a university that pictured two Thai people unzipping their faces to show whiter people with horizontal eyes underneath. The whiter a person is here, the more beautiful they are, and everyone assumes you are rich. And every old white man has a young Asian woman on his arm.

The most wonderful thing about Thailand is the people-like the Canadian from Japan who dropped his "eh," the distinctly Hawaiian (not American) professor, the American Literature teacher from Boston who spent the last six years teaching in Korea, the hardcore Norwegian kids into heavy metal and cargo capris, the quiet intelligent Chinese kid called "Ace," or the Thai people themselves. Almost everyone loves to buy some drinks and get to know each other at the Sam Sam and dance at the Hilton.

The Thai people are so nice and they want to help you learn Thai. Sometimes they'll try out their English on you and it becomes a good game of charades.

But we are all learning. We are learning to live on Thai time, which sometimes is no time at all. I am learning to dance to the beats coming from the decked-out traditional dancers on the top floor of the condo next door. I am learning to eat spicy food without my eyes watering. I am learning that the sun always sets behind the mountains, and the moon always shows its face at the bar. And that line of green lights is not a bridge across the ocean, but a thousand fishing boats stretching from horizon to horizon.

I came to Thailand hoping for a personal journey of transformation with no set goal in mind. What I've gained thus far is an obsession with interesting hats, a Thai habit of never putting a fork near my mouth, some interesting dance partners, and a taste for lots and lots and lots of rice.

Welcome to my Thai life.

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