bbq rescheduled for may 10 to accommodate kaboom-goers. evite imminent.
<3 audrey
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
3/10 - 4/7 -- Catch-up
Hi All,
Sorry for another extended radio silence...Internet access here is really unreliable, even worse than in Homa Bay. We are at this moment in the town of Mbita, but we stay about 4 km away in a village called Kisui. I can't say this with any authority, but Kisui might be one of the poorest, most disease-stricken places in Kenya. The Suba District (in which Kisui and Mbita are) has the highest HIV rate in Kenya-- one in three adults is HIV positive. There is no electricity in our village, and power comes only from big 12 V (a la car battery) units that people keep charged for some electric lighting at night.
We are working at the Mina Academy, the two-year-old project of a German woman named Mina who visited Kisui doing some volunteer work. Moved by the poverty and need here, she decided to do some fundraising in Europe to build this school and try to begin a community development project. The school provides pre-schoolers with pre-education, breakfast, lunch, health checks, twice-weekly baths, and perhaps most importantly something do to five days a week. Like many community-based projects, Mina struggles to get the community to invest as much as she has, but there are some very dedicated members of the school's executive committee. We have spent the last week and a half turning unused land into a more verdant and hospitable place: we've dug a garden and are building a fence for it, we've cleaned up the yard substantially and built swings for the children, and just yesterday we built the mud walls of a (mostly) natural-construction house for future visitors.
Like we've said, Internet access here is a bit of a chore, so I hope you'll be satisfied with this brief post. FYI, our plans are as follows: leave Kenya 4/19, fly to Istanbul, spend a couple of days before taking a train to visit our beloved friend Maria in Bulgaria, then head to Prague for a couple of days before heading to Boston on May 1. Then to San Fran sometime the week of the 4th, at the end of which will be the Welcome Back Audrey and Kyle BBQ Bash and B'nai Mitvah, a celebration of our triumphal return to the US. This is slated for the 9th of May, to take place in Livermore. Aud will send out a suitably enthusiastic and ludicrous e-vite ASAP. All our blog readers are invited, except for Willow. And Will...but he probably can't read anyway.
OK, lots of hugs, love, and probable intestinal worms,
Kyle and Aud
The whole crew enjoying dinner:
Mina, giving M'zee and Mike an impromptu yoga lesson:
A strikingly colorful day at the house:
Sorry for another extended radio silence...Internet access here is really unreliable, even worse than in Homa Bay. We are at this moment in the town of Mbita, but we stay about 4 km away in a village called Kisui. I can't say this with any authority, but Kisui might be one of the poorest, most disease-stricken places in Kenya. The Suba District (in which Kisui and Mbita are) has the highest HIV rate in Kenya-- one in three adults is HIV positive. There is no electricity in our village, and power comes only from big 12 V (a la car battery) units that people keep charged for some electric lighting at night.
We are working at the Mina Academy, the two-year-old project of a German woman named Mina who visited Kisui doing some volunteer work. Moved by the poverty and need here, she decided to do some fundraising in Europe to build this school and try to begin a community development project. The school provides pre-schoolers with pre-education, breakfast, lunch, health checks, twice-weekly baths, and perhaps most importantly something do to five days a week. Like many community-based projects, Mina struggles to get the community to invest as much as she has, but there are some very dedicated members of the school's executive committee. We have spent the last week and a half turning unused land into a more verdant and hospitable place: we've dug a garden and are building a fence for it, we've cleaned up the yard substantially and built swings for the children, and just yesterday we built the mud walls of a (mostly) natural-construction house for future visitors.
Like we've said, Internet access here is a bit of a chore, so I hope you'll be satisfied with this brief post. FYI, our plans are as follows: leave Kenya 4/19, fly to Istanbul, spend a couple of days before taking a train to visit our beloved friend Maria in Bulgaria, then head to Prague for a couple of days before heading to Boston on May 1. Then to San Fran sometime the week of the 4th, at the end of which will be the Welcome Back Audrey and Kyle BBQ Bash and B'nai Mitvah, a celebration of our triumphal return to the US. This is slated for the 9th of May, to take place in Livermore. Aud will send out a suitably enthusiastic and ludicrous e-vite ASAP. All our blog readers are invited, except for Willow. And Will...but he probably can't read anyway.
OK, lots of hugs, love, and probable intestinal worms,
Kyle and Aud
The whole crew enjoying dinner:
Mina, giving M'zee and Mike an impromptu yoga lesson:
A strikingly colorful day at the house:
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
3/24 -- The Food
I just received an email from a friend back home who wondered what the food is like. Well, it just so happens that I've been compiling a list of Kenyan dishes we've encountered. So here it is:
Ugali (ooh-gall-ee) AKA Sima (see-muh) -- A maize-meal and water, stewed beyond polenta consistency to something more like a mass. Hot, bland, a member of the "sauce vehicle" food group
Uji (ooh-gee) -- Maize flour with boiled water to form a wet porridge. A light breakfast option, but sadly sometimes the only thing available to poor children to start the day. (UPDATE) Also can be a porridge mixture of crushed nuts, spices, etc. Provides some basic nutrition very cheaply, and according to Mina it "feeds the nation." As such, it is at once the least that one can offer to a guest and at the same time an offer of uji is a great honor not to be turned down...even if your mug of bitter, lukewarm porridge isn't exactly causing you to salivate profusely.
Chapati -- Same as you're used to from Indian food, often served with meals.
Githeri (gui [like guillotine]- teh-ree) -- A stew (of various liquidity) of maize and beans, sometimes served with nyama
Mataha (mah-tah-ha) -- Githeri mashed up with mashed potatoes, plantains, or other tubers.
Matumbo (mah-tomb-oh) -- Stewed goat intestines and sundry digestive organs in an oily, stewy broth. Amazing when cooked tenderly.
White Tea/Coffee -- Instead of boiled water, (instant) milk is used. Try it if you haven't already! (NB: Kenyans take their tea like Indians, or chai-style with lots of milk and sugar.)
(M)andazi ([m]an-dah-zee) -- (Not everyone pronounces the 'M'. Fried dough, formed into either a large triangle or a solid, multi-folded mass.
Pojo (poh-joh) -- Mung bean stew
Nyama (ny-ah-mah) -- Goat meat, the most popular (and maybe available?) kind of meat here. Avoid when roof-dried.
Mboga (m-bow-gah) -- Boiled vegetables, especially shredded sukuma wiki, which is a close relative to collard greens.
Pilau (peel-ow) -- Fried meat with gently spiced rice
Amena (ah-may-nah) -- Tiny dried fish whose eyeballs are about 25% of their volume, rehydrated in salty, fishy stew with vegetables. A Lake Victoria specialty, and quite delicious when done right.
Bon Apetit!
-K
Ugali (ooh-gall-ee) AKA Sima (see-muh) -- A maize-meal and water, stewed beyond polenta consistency to something more like a mass. Hot, bland, a member of the "sauce vehicle" food group
Uji (ooh-gee) -- Maize flour with boiled water to form a wet porridge. A light breakfast option, but sadly sometimes the only thing available to poor children to start the day. (UPDATE) Also can be a porridge mixture of crushed nuts, spices, etc. Provides some basic nutrition very cheaply, and according to Mina it "feeds the nation." As such, it is at once the least that one can offer to a guest and at the same time an offer of uji is a great honor not to be turned down...even if your mug of bitter, lukewarm porridge isn't exactly causing you to salivate profusely.
Chapati -- Same as you're used to from Indian food, often served with meals.
Githeri (gui [like guillotine]- teh-ree) -- A stew (of various liquidity) of maize and beans, sometimes served with nyama
Mataha (mah-tah-ha) -- Githeri mashed up with mashed potatoes, plantains, or other tubers.
Matumbo (mah-tomb-oh) -- Stewed goat intestines and sundry digestive organs in an oily, stewy broth. Amazing when cooked tenderly.
White Tea/Coffee -- Instead of boiled water, (instant) milk is used. Try it if you haven't already! (NB: Kenyans take their tea like Indians, or chai-style with lots of milk and sugar.)
(M)andazi ([m]an-dah-zee) -- (Not everyone pronounces the 'M'. Fried dough, formed into either a large triangle or a solid, multi-folded mass.
Pojo (poh-joh) -- Mung bean stew
Nyama (ny-ah-mah) -- Goat meat, the most popular (and maybe available?) kind of meat here. Avoid when roof-dried.
Mboga (m-bow-gah) -- Boiled vegetables, especially shredded sukuma wiki, which is a close relative to collard greens.
Pilau (peel-ow) -- Fried meat with gently spiced rice
Amena (ah-may-nah) -- Tiny dried fish whose eyeballs are about 25% of their volume, rehydrated in salty, fishy stew with vegetables. A Lake Victoria specialty, and quite delicious when done right.
Bon Apetit!
-K
Sunday, March 22, 2009
mzunguhowareyou!?!
every time we venture out of our three-room, tin-roofed apartment, we are faced with the time-honored question, put to us by the children of homa bay, "mzungu, how ARE you??" mzungu being the local term for pasty white person, and the appropriate response being "we are fine, how are you?" (as if they couldn't tell we were foxy-fine just by looking). "mzungu how are you!!" they shout it from roads, trees, and rooftops, more exclamatory than questioning. "MZUNGU!" - usually we hear it before we can identify the shouter/culprit. what a joy to have entered a country where every child below the age of twelve is consistently and fiercely concerned with your well-being, or general fine-ness.
other than the obligation to repeatedly defend our state of being as fine, or adequate, meeting the children here and working with them on a daily basis has been incredibly positive. we have been volunteering for the past two weeks at the king solomon school. they serve about 400 students, 80% of whom are orphans or partial orphans (mostly from HIV/AIDS). they hold classes for children ranging in age from 2-14 years. students attend school from 7am to 6pm, with review classes on sundays and sometimes saturdays. the fourth graders have a maturity level and willingness to learn such that they can be left entirely alone for half hour study periods. i can only imagine what would have happened if my fourth grade classroom had been left along for five minutes...
we teach 4-6 half-hour classes a day. in the younger age-groups, i'm pretty sure our presence is mostly distracting/frightening (depending on how young they are). however, it has been really interesting to meet the older children. they have so many questions for us. some highlights:
- How many wives can you have?
- When do you get married? Have children?
- Anything Obama-related.
- Climate and food questions. Many of the students and teachers were under the unnerving impression that Americans eat dogs, rats, and snakes on a regular basis.
- Questions about American students, i.e. do they wear uniforms, pay fees, ride busses?
- Do you have witchcraft? (they do, according to the 7th grade class)
one issue we've struggled with is the consistent use of corporal punishment. i'm not sure if it's just this school or a kenyan thing, but i'm inclined to think it's the latter. there are print-outs all over the walls of the teacher's lounge with bible proverbs and inspirational quotes advocating strict discipline. usually, the cane is brought out for behavioral offenses (for example, when the 7th grade class locked a boy in the toilets), but one day at lunch we watched as one teacher had a group of children line up while he corrected their assignments. he read through their lessons, tallied up any mistakes, and delivered a number of blows corresponding to the total number of errors.
while i find this sort of physical punishment distasteful, i'm hesitant to pass judgment. on the one hand, it does seem to maintain a high level of order and attention (and fear). also, the stakes are much higher at king solomon than at your typical american primary school. there is a test that all students must take at the completion of their 8th grade year. because many of these students are very poor, if they do not do well enough on this exam to earn scholarship, they will have no possibility of continuing their education through high school. king solomon has only been open for three years, and this is their first class of graduating 8th-graders. the tension is palpable.
besides the behavioral strategy cues taken from a 1950s catholic school, king solomon's curriculum has impressed us by being surprisingly progressive and student-empowering. Every morning the preschool students recite a mantra. “I am a child! Give me my rights!” it begins, and goes on to list a number of things to which children are entitled, including food, clothes, education, and freedom. I believe this is meant primarily as a message for parents. You can see a progressive curriculum in the upper classes as well, where they talk candidly about issues such as domestic violence and HIV/AIDS.
We plan to stay here another few days, teaching and visiting other schools in the town, before heading to the Mina Academy in Mbita. Internet is unreliable at best, but we’ll try to update soon.
<3 audrey
We were thankful for this assurance that our train ride to Nairobi from Mombasa would be without corruption:
Somewhere in the Kenyan highlands en route to Nairobi:
A view of Homa Bay and its landmark hill, from a boat in Lake Victoria. Mr. Steve insisted that we take (him on) a short boat ride.
A morning assembly at KSJS, emceed by the One and Only Mr. Steve:
A candid of eager students:
Third-grade students. Usually the squirreliest ones at KSJS (which isn't saying much), here they appear engaged.
Little ones with their morning uji. We later learned that uji is sometimes a more complex mixture than just maize flour (sometimes containing mealed nuts and spices), and that it is a culturally significant offering of hospitality to make. Here, the recipe is just maize flour + hot water.
Reality check..KSJS houses 8th grade students if their families choose, since these students are candidates for the KCSE placement test to get into secondary school and need to focus on school. While this devotion is admirable, the school is only able to offer accommodations like these, where girls sleep two-to-a-bed (bed=flimsy foam slab, often laying on the floor, and sans mosquito net) in this tiny iron-sheeted room.
other than the obligation to repeatedly defend our state of being as fine, or adequate, meeting the children here and working with them on a daily basis has been incredibly positive. we have been volunteering for the past two weeks at the king solomon school. they serve about 400 students, 80% of whom are orphans or partial orphans (mostly from HIV/AIDS). they hold classes for children ranging in age from 2-14 years. students attend school from 7am to 6pm, with review classes on sundays and sometimes saturdays. the fourth graders have a maturity level and willingness to learn such that they can be left entirely alone for half hour study periods. i can only imagine what would have happened if my fourth grade classroom had been left along for five minutes...
we teach 4-6 half-hour classes a day. in the younger age-groups, i'm pretty sure our presence is mostly distracting/frightening (depending on how young they are). however, it has been really interesting to meet the older children. they have so many questions for us. some highlights:
- How many wives can you have?
- When do you get married? Have children?
- Anything Obama-related.
- Climate and food questions. Many of the students and teachers were under the unnerving impression that Americans eat dogs, rats, and snakes on a regular basis.
- Questions about American students, i.e. do they wear uniforms, pay fees, ride busses?
- Do you have witchcraft? (they do, according to the 7th grade class)
one issue we've struggled with is the consistent use of corporal punishment. i'm not sure if it's just this school or a kenyan thing, but i'm inclined to think it's the latter. there are print-outs all over the walls of the teacher's lounge with bible proverbs and inspirational quotes advocating strict discipline. usually, the cane is brought out for behavioral offenses (for example, when the 7th grade class locked a boy in the toilets), but one day at lunch we watched as one teacher had a group of children line up while he corrected their assignments. he read through their lessons, tallied up any mistakes, and delivered a number of blows corresponding to the total number of errors.
while i find this sort of physical punishment distasteful, i'm hesitant to pass judgment. on the one hand, it does seem to maintain a high level of order and attention (and fear). also, the stakes are much higher at king solomon than at your typical american primary school. there is a test that all students must take at the completion of their 8th grade year. because many of these students are very poor, if they do not do well enough on this exam to earn scholarship, they will have no possibility of continuing their education through high school. king solomon has only been open for three years, and this is their first class of graduating 8th-graders. the tension is palpable.
besides the behavioral strategy cues taken from a 1950s catholic school, king solomon's curriculum has impressed us by being surprisingly progressive and student-empowering. Every morning the preschool students recite a mantra. “I am a child! Give me my rights!” it begins, and goes on to list a number of things to which children are entitled, including food, clothes, education, and freedom. I believe this is meant primarily as a message for parents. You can see a progressive curriculum in the upper classes as well, where they talk candidly about issues such as domestic violence and HIV/AIDS.
We plan to stay here another few days, teaching and visiting other schools in the town, before heading to the Mina Academy in Mbita. Internet is unreliable at best, but we’ll try to update soon.
<3 audrey
We were thankful for this assurance that our train ride to Nairobi from Mombasa would be without corruption:
Somewhere in the Kenyan highlands en route to Nairobi:
A view of Homa Bay and its landmark hill, from a boat in Lake Victoria. Mr. Steve insisted that we take (him on) a short boat ride.
A morning assembly at KSJS, emceed by the One and Only Mr. Steve:
A candid of eager students:
Third-grade students. Usually the squirreliest ones at KSJS (which isn't saying much), here they appear engaged.
Little ones with their morning uji. We later learned that uji is sometimes a more complex mixture than just maize flour (sometimes containing mealed nuts and spices), and that it is a culturally significant offering of hospitality to make. Here, the recipe is just maize flour + hot water.
Reality check..KSJS houses 8th grade students if their families choose, since these students are candidates for the KCSE placement test to get into secondary school and need to focus on school. While this devotion is admirable, the school is only able to offer accommodations like these, where girls sleep two-to-a-bed (bed=flimsy foam slab, often laying on the floor, and sans mosquito net) in this tiny iron-sheeted room.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
kenyou believe it?
i'm going to start this blog post with the disclaimer that i am generally/always lazier than kyle, and haven't prepared anything. suffice it to say, we are now in kenya! here are some thoughts i have had/am having right now. all aboard the train of thought!
we left thailand on the third (one day after our visa had expired), snuck through customs without paying our $15 dollar fine (probably stupid, considering this could have landed us in thai prison, which seb assures us gets old after a few months) and hopped on a kenya airways flight to mombasa through nairobi.
kyle and i actually got our first taste of kenya before we even stepped foot in the country. we had done our best to book our tickets ahead of time, but kenya airways doesn't accept online payment, so we assumed we'd pay on arrival at the airport. upon arrival (9:30 on a tuesday), the ticket counter was closed, without any way of telling when it would open for us to say, pay for our tickets before boarding the plane. we waited for a half hour or so, before relenting and purchasing entirely new tickets through a travel agency. so much for planning ahead!
brief aside: due to the prevalence of peanut allergies among its clientele, kenya airways has the best snacks - instead of the typical honey-roasted baggie, we munched on macadamia nuts. 10 points.
kenya itself has been a bit of a mind trip. we are both trying to keep an open mind, carting as little cultural baggage/fear as possible, but it's difficult when such premonitions are constantly reinforced by the local people. i don't mean that people are scary, but that they tell us we should be scared. come to think of it, i'm not sure which is worse. for instance, the lady at the information desk at the airport advised us against taking a matatu (van/bus thingy) from the airport into downtown mombasa, because it might not be safe for us at night. ten minutes later, our taxi driver refused to drop us at a cheap hotel, because our things might not be safe. when we assured him we had no good things to steal, he paused, and warned "well, maybe they take your bodies then."
now, i would expect all this from our fear-based culture in the states, but i was actually kind of surprised to encounter it here. i sincerely doubt that we have as much to be frightened of as our taxi driver would lead us to believe. i wonder then, what creates that perception on his part. certainly, we are visible targets for crime here (much fewer tourists than in thailand). perhaps fear itself is not such a scary thing in this country, and his comments carry much more weight with us than they do with him.
in any case, besides these warnings, we've seen nothing to indicate that we are in any sort of real danger here. the people have been consistently friendly (calls of "jambo" - hello in swahili - as we walk down the street). occasionally we can sense a slight mocking tone when we are forced to ask stupid questions. this rankles kyle, but i can't help but see it, once again, as an inevitable result of our visibility.
today we head by train from mombasa to nairobi, and then to homo bay where we begin our first homestay. we will be working for a few weeks at the king solomon school, doing some agricultural work and volunteering in classrooms. we are both excited to interact with children in a meaningful way. more reports soon.
<3 audrey
> A view from a beach in Watamu:
low tide <
Watamu, though poor by American standards, is still quite comfortable for Africa.
we left thailand on the third (one day after our visa had expired), snuck through customs without paying our $15 dollar fine (probably stupid, considering this could have landed us in thai prison, which seb assures us gets old after a few months) and hopped on a kenya airways flight to mombasa through nairobi.
kyle and i actually got our first taste of kenya before we even stepped foot in the country. we had done our best to book our tickets ahead of time, but kenya airways doesn't accept online payment, so we assumed we'd pay on arrival at the airport. upon arrival (9:30 on a tuesday), the ticket counter was closed, without any way of telling when it would open for us to say, pay for our tickets before boarding the plane. we waited for a half hour or so, before relenting and purchasing entirely new tickets through a travel agency. so much for planning ahead!
brief aside: due to the prevalence of peanut allergies among its clientele, kenya airways has the best snacks - instead of the typical honey-roasted baggie, we munched on macadamia nuts. 10 points.
kenya itself has been a bit of a mind trip. we are both trying to keep an open mind, carting as little cultural baggage/fear as possible, but it's difficult when such premonitions are constantly reinforced by the local people. i don't mean that people are scary, but that they tell us we should be scared. come to think of it, i'm not sure which is worse. for instance, the lady at the information desk at the airport advised us against taking a matatu (van/bus thingy) from the airport into downtown mombasa, because it might not be safe for us at night. ten minutes later, our taxi driver refused to drop us at a cheap hotel, because our things might not be safe. when we assured him we had no good things to steal, he paused, and warned "well, maybe they take your bodies then."
now, i would expect all this from our fear-based culture in the states, but i was actually kind of surprised to encounter it here. i sincerely doubt that we have as much to be frightened of as our taxi driver would lead us to believe. i wonder then, what creates that perception on his part. certainly, we are visible targets for crime here (much fewer tourists than in thailand). perhaps fear itself is not such a scary thing in this country, and his comments carry much more weight with us than they do with him.
in any case, besides these warnings, we've seen nothing to indicate that we are in any sort of real danger here. the people have been consistently friendly (calls of "jambo" - hello in swahili - as we walk down the street). occasionally we can sense a slight mocking tone when we are forced to ask stupid questions. this rankles kyle, but i can't help but see it, once again, as an inevitable result of our visibility.
today we head by train from mombasa to nairobi, and then to homo bay where we begin our first homestay. we will be working for a few weeks at the king solomon school, doing some agricultural work and volunteering in classrooms. we are both excited to interact with children in a meaningful way. more reports soon.
<3 audrey
> A view from a beach in Watamu:
low tide <Watamu, though poor by American standards, is still quite comfortable for Africa.
Seb
Seb was arguably the best part of our stay chez Willow, or at Buti's Farm, or whatever. While we can't hope to bring the man to life with mere words, here are some images that will be with us in our hearts for a long time:
<> A brief biography, as much as we can figure: Sometime in the 1960s-70s (?) Seb is born. He spends his early childhood in an alternative hippie community in the French wilderness, where his teacher consistently leads the class into the wilderness with the intention of getting them lost so they can get to know nature and find their way out. Seb is three years old at this time. At age 17, Seb joins the French Foreign Legion and serves for five years in East Africa. Time passes...In the early 1990s or so, he begins fighting professionally as a Muay Thai kickboxer. His career lasts roughly twelve years. He used to make about $3000 to $10,000 per fight.
<> Seb insists that his diet was finicky while growing up--the only foods he would eat being goat's milk yogurt and fresh ox blood. He also enjoyed horse blood. Today his ideal diet would probably consist wholly of locally distilled rice whiskey and...goat's milk yogurt, both purchased in and consumed directly out of 2-liter bags.
<> Most of Seb's clothing was inherited from a dead man. For this reason, he is constantly cinching up pants that are 5 sizes too big with a disintegrating leather belt. When asked about an outfit he was wearing on a particular day, he responded "No, I got these in... oh no. These were a dead man's too."
<> On his first training session with the Malaysian prince: "He came on very strong...he hit me in the head. So I kneed him...in ze plexus..."
<> One day, the Prince showed up (early and loudly, as per the usual) to train with Seb after a day's respite. The two broke into an argument because the Prince was supposed to have spent the previous day securing a good pair of running shoes, even traveling to Chiang Mai if necessary; he had nothing other than his usual slip-on Keds. ... Seb made him go running anyway, barefoot, on the rocky dirt road that leads to the farm. Seb returned after maybe an hour, glistening with sweat and his muscles bulging impossibly from his sleek frame (kyle's imagery) (it's true...total man-crush). Another 45 minutes passed before the Prince returned, boastful and loud to mask his humiliation. Seb helped him nurse his wounds, but neglected to tell the Prince that the healing balm Seb had cooked up was still boiling hot.
<> After the jogging incident, the Prince asked if he could switch to half-day sessions with Seb. Seb grinned and replied, "half day is fine...but whole-day price." A sample half-day session: pummel the Prince for an hour or so, and then send him, on foot, on a four-mile round-trip journey to buy two grocery bags full of drinking water.
<> Seb served some time in Thai prison due to his predilection for cannabis. But many people in Thailand smoke and don't get hauled off to jail. Why the sour luck? Well, Seb refused to sleep with the lady boy (this is a recognized third gender in Thai culture) who managed the guest house at which Seb was employed. Hell hath no fury like a lady boy scorned, apparently. She tried half a dozen times to get the Pai police to bust Seb, but failed. Finally she called in a favor to some Bangkok cops, and one of Seb's chill-out sessions was truncated when his friend pointed out the two police officers standing overhead.
<> Seb has been retired from fighting for about six years, but he has fought more recently. On his last birthday, he was spun around and punched in the face by a large Israeli man who "thought [he] was just a little French man." Seb responded by hurling the larger man to the ground, curling his fingers around the man's trachea, and riding him down a steep embankment. When this human-sled came to a stop, Seb placed one neat punch on the man's temple. Then, just for good measure, he socked him again. And then once or twice more, maybe...Seb was mostly blacked out at this point.
<> At another point, Seb was attacked in the night by three Thai men with bamboo sticks, allegedly because the leader was jealous that Seb's Muay Thai training camp was taking too much of the local market. Seb, drunk though he was, defended himself against the three assailants, chased them off, and screamed himself hoarse calling them cowards and hurtling every Thai insult he could at them. He couldn't talk for a week.
<> Appropos Thai insults, Seb is fluent (at least to our deaf ears) in Thai language and culture. He jokes in Thai and adores the poetic constructions the language uses. He is also a de facto son of a local hill tribe, ostensibly fully integrated therein.
<> Unlike most people in Thailand, Seb neither owns a motorcycle nor can he drive one. While he often finds rides from friends, if he ever finds himself in town without one he is not concerned. He simply orders three shots of rum and an espresso, and shuffles the 8 km home
<> Seb is not a materialistic person. He does not even have an email account, and he only scarcely understands how to use his cell phone. He might have two possessions in the world that he closely guards: his bamboo bong (obvi), and his 16" (or so) utility blade, which is mounted on a smoothed piece of bamboo and which he uses for everything from cutting firewood and slicing papaya to meticulously mincing his weed-and-tobacco bong mixes* and shaving his face.
* Don't EVER interrupt Seb when he is preparing "ze mix."
<> Seb eats one meal a day, roughly.
<> One of the few other French men in Pai, a man named Jean-Luc, put a lot of his own money into an performance/installation art piece called "Cryogenic." We'll have to tell you about it in person, but basically it involved a lot of narration in English, Thai, and French about a futuristic cryogenic preservation process aimed, as most human effort is, at chasing immortality. It mostly sucked, except for when the giggling heroine put glitter on our eyelids. Audrey and Seb were among those who asked not to be included, but she just giggled and told them to close their eyes and tilt up their chins. Audrey removed her glitter that very night, rubbing her face raw with a towel; Seb wore his for a week. Seb did some of the French-Thai translation for Jean-Luc, until he decided that he liked him. "I don't work with him," Seb explained, "because I like him, and I want to stay his friend. It is like zis with French people."
<> After a family altercation in France, Seb spent a long and cold winter chopping wood and smoking weed in the French Alps, alone, brooding. "I was so angry!"
<> At various points in his life, Seb has had opportunities to reintegrate into mainstream society (i.e. not living out in the boonies, etc). He doesn't really care for mainstream society, but the real obstacle to wider social integration is the various constraints that would place on his marijuana consumption.
<> Before leaving, we asked Seb for a mailing address. His reply, deadpan and apparently serious, was, "PO Box 'Seb', Pai, Thailand."
This may have painted a shocking and comical image of Seb, which was kind of our intention. But Seb isn't just a joke to us, no matter how colorful his personality. In addition to being tough, wily, adept, and intelligent, he has an unbelievable capacity for patience, compassion, and love. He made this part of the trip what it was, and we remember him very fondly.
<3 Kyle and Audrey
<> A brief biography, as much as we can figure: Sometime in the 1960s-70s (?) Seb is born. He spends his early childhood in an alternative hippie community in the French wilderness, where his teacher consistently leads the class into the wilderness with the intention of getting them lost so they can get to know nature and find their way out. Seb is three years old at this time. At age 17, Seb joins the French Foreign Legion and serves for five years in East Africa. Time passes...In the early 1990s or so, he begins fighting professionally as a Muay Thai kickboxer. His career lasts roughly twelve years. He used to make about $3000 to $10,000 per fight.
<> Seb insists that his diet was finicky while growing up--the only foods he would eat being goat's milk yogurt and fresh ox blood. He also enjoyed horse blood. Today his ideal diet would probably consist wholly of locally distilled rice whiskey and...goat's milk yogurt, both purchased in and consumed directly out of 2-liter bags.
<> Most of Seb's clothing was inherited from a dead man. For this reason, he is constantly cinching up pants that are 5 sizes too big with a disintegrating leather belt. When asked about an outfit he was wearing on a particular day, he responded "No, I got these in... oh no. These were a dead man's too."
<> On his first training session with the Malaysian prince: "He came on very strong...he hit me in the head. So I kneed him...in ze plexus..."
<> One day, the Prince showed up (early and loudly, as per the usual) to train with Seb after a day's respite. The two broke into an argument because the Prince was supposed to have spent the previous day securing a good pair of running shoes, even traveling to Chiang Mai if necessary; he had nothing other than his usual slip-on Keds. ... Seb made him go running anyway, barefoot, on the rocky dirt road that leads to the farm. Seb returned after maybe an hour, glistening with sweat and his muscles bulging impossibly from his sleek frame (kyle's imagery) (it's true...total man-crush). Another 45 minutes passed before the Prince returned, boastful and loud to mask his humiliation. Seb helped him nurse his wounds, but neglected to tell the Prince that the healing balm Seb had cooked up was still boiling hot.
<> After the jogging incident, the Prince asked if he could switch to half-day sessions with Seb. Seb grinned and replied, "half day is fine...but whole-day price." A sample half-day session: pummel the Prince for an hour or so, and then send him, on foot, on a four-mile round-trip journey to buy two grocery bags full of drinking water.
<> Seb served some time in Thai prison due to his predilection for cannabis. But many people in Thailand smoke and don't get hauled off to jail. Why the sour luck? Well, Seb refused to sleep with the lady boy (this is a recognized third gender in Thai culture) who managed the guest house at which Seb was employed. Hell hath no fury like a lady boy scorned, apparently. She tried half a dozen times to get the Pai police to bust Seb, but failed. Finally she called in a favor to some Bangkok cops, and one of Seb's chill-out sessions was truncated when his friend pointed out the two police officers standing overhead.
<> Seb has been retired from fighting for about six years, but he has fought more recently. On his last birthday, he was spun around and punched in the face by a large Israeli man who "thought [he] was just a little French man." Seb responded by hurling the larger man to the ground, curling his fingers around the man's trachea, and riding him down a steep embankment. When this human-sled came to a stop, Seb placed one neat punch on the man's temple. Then, just for good measure, he socked him again. And then once or twice more, maybe...Seb was mostly blacked out at this point.
<> At another point, Seb was attacked in the night by three Thai men with bamboo sticks, allegedly because the leader was jealous that Seb's Muay Thai training camp was taking too much of the local market. Seb, drunk though he was, defended himself against the three assailants, chased them off, and screamed himself hoarse calling them cowards and hurtling every Thai insult he could at them. He couldn't talk for a week.
<> Appropos Thai insults, Seb is fluent (at least to our deaf ears) in Thai language and culture. He jokes in Thai and adores the poetic constructions the language uses. He is also a de facto son of a local hill tribe, ostensibly fully integrated therein.
<> Unlike most people in Thailand, Seb neither owns a motorcycle nor can he drive one. While he often finds rides from friends, if he ever finds himself in town without one he is not concerned. He simply orders three shots of rum and an espresso, and shuffles the 8 km home
<> Seb is not a materialistic person. He does not even have an email account, and he only scarcely understands how to use his cell phone. He might have two possessions in the world that he closely guards: his bamboo bong (obvi), and his 16" (or so) utility blade, which is mounted on a smoothed piece of bamboo and which he uses for everything from cutting firewood and slicing papaya to meticulously mincing his weed-and-tobacco bong mixes* and shaving his face.
* Don't EVER interrupt Seb when he is preparing "ze mix."
<> Seb eats one meal a day, roughly.
<> One of the few other French men in Pai, a man named Jean-Luc, put a lot of his own money into an performance/installation art piece called "Cryogenic." We'll have to tell you about it in person, but basically it involved a lot of narration in English, Thai, and French about a futuristic cryogenic preservation process aimed, as most human effort is, at chasing immortality. It mostly sucked, except for when the giggling heroine put glitter on our eyelids. Audrey and Seb were among those who asked not to be included, but she just giggled and told them to close their eyes and tilt up their chins. Audrey removed her glitter that very night, rubbing her face raw with a towel; Seb wore his for a week. Seb did some of the French-Thai translation for Jean-Luc, until he decided that he liked him. "I don't work with him," Seb explained, "because I like him, and I want to stay his friend. It is like zis with French people."
<> After a family altercation in France, Seb spent a long and cold winter chopping wood and smoking weed in the French Alps, alone, brooding. "I was so angry!"
<> At various points in his life, Seb has had opportunities to reintegrate into mainstream society (i.e. not living out in the boonies, etc). He doesn't really care for mainstream society, but the real obstacle to wider social integration is the various constraints that would place on his marijuana consumption.
<> Before leaving, we asked Seb for a mailing address. His reply, deadpan and apparently serious, was, "PO Box 'Seb', Pai, Thailand."
This may have painted a shocking and comical image of Seb, which was kind of our intention. But Seb isn't just a joke to us, no matter how colorful his personality. In addition to being tough, wily, adept, and intelligent, he has an unbelievable capacity for patience, compassion, and love. He made this part of the trip what it was, and we remember him very fondly.
<3 Kyle and Audrey
2/27-3/1 -- G'Bye, Pai
As we're beginning to understand, expectations are for suckers. Or, as Willow likes to put it, "the best way to make the Goddess laugh is to tell Her your plans." Our week in Pai was nearly a complete departure from what we'd anticipated, and it was better for it.
Our interactions with Willow and Buti after Day One were limited to brief exchanges every couple of days when we stopped by Buti's store to grab something from our bags (stored there) and to charge the batteries to our trusty Steri-Pen, an item of much fascination for Seb and others who depend on store-bought water for drinking and cooking rather than the Pai River.
The farm is basically an oversized garden at this time of the year, so beyond pulling some weeds and chopping some firewood there wasn't much to do. (By all accounts there are literally thousands of coffee and banana trees, as well as pineapples, passion fruit, and a host of other edibles; the dry season just isn't as verdant.) One day we visited a small waterfall and played cards with an impish, outgoing Australian named Shane; another day we paid $3 to spash around in a health resort's hot-spring pool. Some days we played Scrabble in town (Aud's streak as of 2/27 was 10-0*), and other days we did chores and read**.
The Aussies turned out to be great co-visitors, and we passed a lot of time talking and feeding hardened wax from spent candles like fodder to burning ones, fending off the boredom of dark nights. While we were initially put off by the prospect of fending for ourselves food-wise (Chabaa spoiled us, and these WWOOF opportunities are, in part, meant as a way to extend our finances through the trip), we both had a blast learning to replicate Thai cooking over a wood fire. Tentative fried rice evolved into stir fries that grew bolder each night as we experimented with turmeric, ginger, and the essential-but-finicky fish sauce. We even made some scrumptious desserts with banana flower (only I could stomach the texture) and pumpkin (damn, girl). The watershed moment came when Seb had some Thai friends over one night when we were finishing a stir fry. Aud and I served ourselves, and invited others to try some. The two Thai women had heaping plates and exclaimed "arroy mah!" ('Delicious!'); Audrey blushed a little bit. We had mixed (but mostly positive)feelings about the unavailability of second helpings.
[Oh, and remember that post in which I explained how motorcycles are off-limits in my family? Well...I kinda poked that one in the eyes by driving one around Pai for a week. It was the best way to get from town to the farm 8 km away, and it was way to much fun. This could become a problem when I get back stateside...]
On Saturday we got on a bus to Chiang Mai. Pai is quite high up, maybe at an altitude comparable to Reno's. Highway 107 from Chiang Mai is mostly a slow, spiraling climb up toward Pai at the summit. (Imagine the road up to Mount Rose, but 150 miles long, and surrounded by dense, verdant jungle.) The top of the hill, where Pai sits, is more akin to Vacaville's rolling hills fused with Western Massachusetts' dense, twiggy forest of decidiuous trees. The ride up was as slow and soothing as the ride was speedy and gut-wrenching going down. Neither of us is especially prone to car sickness, but we both had to do some yoga breathing and stare out the window part of the time. I regained my stomach when we stopped halfway down the mountain and Aud and I shared some bland noodle soup and rice. But then I nearly lost it again talking to Will.
Will was a guy I'd "your-team"-ed to Audrey back at the Pai bus station because his copper non-butt was hanging substantially and grotesquely out of his pants. He was silent with a row to himself on the bus, but once he decided to cross the aisle and strike up a conversation there was no stopping him. It soon became clear that Will was a special person, perhaps the dimmest conversationalist I've ever met. A sample exchange:
WILL: What state are you guys from?
[We reply. Time passes in silence. Will turns around again...]
WILL: Guns N' Roses just came out with a new album.
KYLE: "Chinese Democracy?"
WILL: Yeah... ... ... I like two songs on it.
KYLE: [expectant pause]
WILL: One is called "Prostitute"...
[Time passes. More time passes...]
WILL: When's your birthday, Kyle?
KYLE: February 8.
[Time passes.]
WILL: Bob Marley's birthday is February 6.
And so on, and so on. We learned that Will is 38 years old and had a son at age 20; his son is now 16 (we don't follow the math on that, either). He dislikes AC/DC but likes GNR because "they have talent." He left one Thai woman he was dating for another because the latter "was prettier...maybe that was a bad choice." Also, he was hit in the stomach in the 4th Grade. It hurt.
The whole exchange reminded Audrey of this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HuFEssDBBQY
In Will's defense, he did have a sliver of the Shakespearian Fool to him. Amidst all his mindless babble and stilted conversation, he had one little nug of insight that I rather appreciated. He said that he eats a lot of fruit, and he always saves the seeds. That way, when he is 'out in nature' (like, for instance, at a guest house in Pai) he can plant the seeds in hopes of nurturing new trees and new life. Now, that's kind of a silly idea, but here's how he put it: "If everyone would do that...ya know...'create abundance,' then there'd be no shortage of anything."
[DISJOINTED BREAK]
OK, this is the last forseeable opportunity we'll have to tell this tale (from mid-February), and even though the transition is poor it is still workable. (Think, bus=>bus)
You recall what a chore it was to find transport from the Cambodian border to Siem Reap. On the way back, our only task was to decide which bus to take back to Bangkok: the $12/person bus, or the $11. Ah, what a dollar can do!
Everything seemed normal--a small bus arrived at our guest house at 7:30 AM. It was small and cramped, and people were sitting side-by-side with their luggage, so I was certain that this was a kind of shuttle to the larger, more comfortable bus. Nope--this is ElevenDollar Land. As we drove around Siem Reap, picking up other passengers, it became clear that this was THE bus. As another load of passengers climbed aboard, our luggage was wrested from us and crammed into the rear of the bus. Luggage began to fill the aisles in the rear, and already my knees were starting to ache from the pressure of the seat 12" ahead of me. Just when Aud and I were starting to curse our decision to go as cheap as possible, the other passengers' antics made it all worthwhile...
The bus began to fill up and when the last seat was filled, the large American man waiting to board blocked up the stairs. He was thick in a former-high-school-linebacker way, and he had the same caustic swagger. With his stylish Oakley sunglasses perched atop his spikes of gelled hair, he began explaining proudly that he had purchased TWO seats and was excited to claim both of them. He insisted that the driver empty the front seat of the luggage it had been storing so he would have his seatS. The driver, obviously stressed and getting sick of Two Seats' verbal abuse, hefted the luggage angrily into the aisle between me and an Irish woman who squawked as if he'd just called her an "old bag."
Two Seats began loudly bemoaning the conditions and, relishing the captive audience of sympathetic white folks, began making loud phone calls to some kind of business associate to complain. Even when it became apparent that half a dozen other passengers would have to take expensive taxis to Bangkok, Two Seats held fast to his rightful allocation of seatage. The frustration was contagious. An Eastern European couple in front of us began to voice variations of, "Zis is not OK!" Meanwhile, Two Seats turned up the rhetoric: "me no Asian, me no sit on floor." At this point the bus company brought in the enforcer, a diminutive Thai man in his mid-20s whose job was apparently to yell as much as possible.
TWO SEATS to ENFORCER: You need to get another bus!|
ENFORCER: You don't tell me what to do!
TS: Someone should be recording this customer service for YouTube...
EASTERN EURO WOMAN with camera phone in hand: Zis is going on the Internet! You vill be famous!
ENF to EEW: You shut up!
TS: You don't need to yell!
ENF, yelling: I'm not yelling!
[silence]
IRISH WOMAN: I'm terrified...How do we get off?!
As Audrey pointed out, no one felt a need to point out to the terrified, pink woman the obvious doors, windows, and emergency exits located over the wings.
We finally got moving again, and as we moved through town Two Seats got comfy on his bench and announced to any sympathetic white ears that were listening his theory: "This wouldn't be a problem if we were Asians...they'd just stack us up clear to the ceiling."
No one found his quip clever, so he shut up (for the most part). People calmed down as they realized that the bus wasn't as cramped as it had seemed, and we moved swiftly toward the border. The Eastern Europeans complained when we stopped for lunch halfway there ("Zis is unnecessary! We're late enuff!"), but they ended up being the last to re-board, having decided to make hot tea with their electric tea kettle for the second leg of the trip.
It's not that we were entirely comfortable, and we felt our own share of the frustration. But as with people who verbally assault ticketing agents at cheap airlines and who get froth-mouthed over bargain transportation in the States, I'm endlessly amazed by the indignation of white budget travelers.
*As of 3/8 the count is 12-2, my two victories coming when she was 1) jet-lagged and 2) a bit drunk, and when I played 1) QUIRK on a double-letter (Q) and a double-word score to begin the game, and 2) MESSIAH as a clutch [and probably invalid] bingo.
**(For those who are interested, I finished Numbers in the Bible...rather than plugging through more of the Old Testament [so much begatting!], I've changed gears, ignored chronology, and jumped ship to reading the Koran.)
<3
Kyle
Our interactions with Willow and Buti after Day One were limited to brief exchanges every couple of days when we stopped by Buti's store to grab something from our bags (stored there) and to charge the batteries to our trusty Steri-Pen, an item of much fascination for Seb and others who depend on store-bought water for drinking and cooking rather than the Pai River.
The farm is basically an oversized garden at this time of the year, so beyond pulling some weeds and chopping some firewood there wasn't much to do. (By all accounts there are literally thousands of coffee and banana trees, as well as pineapples, passion fruit, and a host of other edibles; the dry season just isn't as verdant.) One day we visited a small waterfall and played cards with an impish, outgoing Australian named Shane; another day we paid $3 to spash around in a health resort's hot-spring pool. Some days we played Scrabble in town (Aud's streak as of 2/27 was 10-0*), and other days we did chores and read**.
The Aussies turned out to be great co-visitors, and we passed a lot of time talking and feeding hardened wax from spent candles like fodder to burning ones, fending off the boredom of dark nights. While we were initially put off by the prospect of fending for ourselves food-wise (Chabaa spoiled us, and these WWOOF opportunities are, in part, meant as a way to extend our finances through the trip), we both had a blast learning to replicate Thai cooking over a wood fire. Tentative fried rice evolved into stir fries that grew bolder each night as we experimented with turmeric, ginger, and the essential-but-finicky fish sauce. We even made some scrumptious desserts with banana flower (only I could stomach the texture) and pumpkin (damn, girl). The watershed moment came when Seb had some Thai friends over one night when we were finishing a stir fry. Aud and I served ourselves, and invited others to try some. The two Thai women had heaping plates and exclaimed "arroy mah!" ('Delicious!'); Audrey blushed a little bit. We had mixed (but mostly positive)feelings about the unavailability of second helpings.
[Oh, and remember that post in which I explained how motorcycles are off-limits in my family? Well...I kinda poked that one in the eyes by driving one around Pai for a week. It was the best way to get from town to the farm 8 km away, and it was way to much fun. This could become a problem when I get back stateside...]
On Saturday we got on a bus to Chiang Mai. Pai is quite high up, maybe at an altitude comparable to Reno's. Highway 107 from Chiang Mai is mostly a slow, spiraling climb up toward Pai at the summit. (Imagine the road up to Mount Rose, but 150 miles long, and surrounded by dense, verdant jungle.) The top of the hill, where Pai sits, is more akin to Vacaville's rolling hills fused with Western Massachusetts' dense, twiggy forest of decidiuous trees. The ride up was as slow and soothing as the ride was speedy and gut-wrenching going down. Neither of us is especially prone to car sickness, but we both had to do some yoga breathing and stare out the window part of the time. I regained my stomach when we stopped halfway down the mountain and Aud and I shared some bland noodle soup and rice. But then I nearly lost it again talking to Will.
Will was a guy I'd "your-team"-ed to Audrey back at the Pai bus station because his copper non-butt was hanging substantially and grotesquely out of his pants. He was silent with a row to himself on the bus, but once he decided to cross the aisle and strike up a conversation there was no stopping him. It soon became clear that Will was a special person, perhaps the dimmest conversationalist I've ever met. A sample exchange:
WILL: What state are you guys from?
[We reply. Time passes in silence. Will turns around again...]
WILL: Guns N' Roses just came out with a new album.
KYLE: "Chinese Democracy?"
WILL: Yeah... ... ... I like two songs on it.
KYLE: [expectant pause]
WILL: One is called "Prostitute"...
[Time passes. More time passes...]
WILL: When's your birthday, Kyle?
KYLE: February 8.
[Time passes.]
WILL: Bob Marley's birthday is February 6.
And so on, and so on. We learned that Will is 38 years old and had a son at age 20; his son is now 16 (we don't follow the math on that, either). He dislikes AC/DC but likes GNR because "they have talent." He left one Thai woman he was dating for another because the latter "was prettier...maybe that was a bad choice." Also, he was hit in the stomach in the 4th Grade. It hurt.
The whole exchange reminded Audrey of this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HuFEssDBBQY
In Will's defense, he did have a sliver of the Shakespearian Fool to him. Amidst all his mindless babble and stilted conversation, he had one little nug of insight that I rather appreciated. He said that he eats a lot of fruit, and he always saves the seeds. That way, when he is 'out in nature' (like, for instance, at a guest house in Pai) he can plant the seeds in hopes of nurturing new trees and new life. Now, that's kind of a silly idea, but here's how he put it: "If everyone would do that...ya know...'create abundance,' then there'd be no shortage of anything."
[DISJOINTED BREAK]
OK, this is the last forseeable opportunity we'll have to tell this tale (from mid-February), and even though the transition is poor it is still workable. (Think, bus=>bus)
You recall what a chore it was to find transport from the Cambodian border to Siem Reap. On the way back, our only task was to decide which bus to take back to Bangkok: the $12/person bus, or the $11. Ah, what a dollar can do!
Everything seemed normal--a small bus arrived at our guest house at 7:30 AM. It was small and cramped, and people were sitting side-by-side with their luggage, so I was certain that this was a kind of shuttle to the larger, more comfortable bus. Nope--this is ElevenDollar Land. As we drove around Siem Reap, picking up other passengers, it became clear that this was THE bus. As another load of passengers climbed aboard, our luggage was wrested from us and crammed into the rear of the bus. Luggage began to fill the aisles in the rear, and already my knees were starting to ache from the pressure of the seat 12" ahead of me. Just when Aud and I were starting to curse our decision to go as cheap as possible, the other passengers' antics made it all worthwhile...
The bus began to fill up and when the last seat was filled, the large American man waiting to board blocked up the stairs. He was thick in a former-high-school-linebacker way, and he had the same caustic swagger. With his stylish Oakley sunglasses perched atop his spikes of gelled hair, he began explaining proudly that he had purchased TWO seats and was excited to claim both of them. He insisted that the driver empty the front seat of the luggage it had been storing so he would have his seatS. The driver, obviously stressed and getting sick of Two Seats' verbal abuse, hefted the luggage angrily into the aisle between me and an Irish woman who squawked as if he'd just called her an "old bag."
Two Seats began loudly bemoaning the conditions and, relishing the captive audience of sympathetic white folks, began making loud phone calls to some kind of business associate to complain. Even when it became apparent that half a dozen other passengers would have to take expensive taxis to Bangkok, Two Seats held fast to his rightful allocation of seatage. The frustration was contagious. An Eastern European couple in front of us began to voice variations of, "Zis is not OK!" Meanwhile, Two Seats turned up the rhetoric: "me no Asian, me no sit on floor." At this point the bus company brought in the enforcer, a diminutive Thai man in his mid-20s whose job was apparently to yell as much as possible.
TWO SEATS to ENFORCER: You need to get another bus!|
ENFORCER: You don't tell me what to do!
TS: Someone should be recording this customer service for YouTube...
EASTERN EURO WOMAN with camera phone in hand: Zis is going on the Internet! You vill be famous!
ENF to EEW: You shut up!
TS: You don't need to yell!
ENF, yelling: I'm not yelling!
[silence]
IRISH WOMAN: I'm terrified...How do we get off?!
As Audrey pointed out, no one felt a need to point out to the terrified, pink woman the obvious doors, windows, and emergency exits located over the wings.
We finally got moving again, and as we moved through town Two Seats got comfy on his bench and announced to any sympathetic white ears that were listening his theory: "This wouldn't be a problem if we were Asians...they'd just stack us up clear to the ceiling."
No one found his quip clever, so he shut up (for the most part). People calmed down as they realized that the bus wasn't as cramped as it had seemed, and we moved swiftly toward the border. The Eastern Europeans complained when we stopped for lunch halfway there ("Zis is unnecessary! We're late enuff!"), but they ended up being the last to re-board, having decided to make hot tea with their electric tea kettle for the second leg of the trip.
It's not that we were entirely comfortable, and we felt our own share of the frustration. But as with people who verbally assault ticketing agents at cheap airlines and who get froth-mouthed over bargain transportation in the States, I'm endlessly amazed by the indignation of white budget travelers.
*As of 3/8 the count is 12-2, my two victories coming when she was 1) jet-lagged and 2) a bit drunk, and when I played 1) QUIRK on a double-letter (Q) and a double-word score to begin the game, and 2) MESSIAH as a clutch [and probably invalid] bingo.
**(For those who are interested, I finished Numbers in the Bible...rather than plugging through more of the Old Testament [so much begatting!], I've changed gears, ignored chronology, and jumped ship to reading the Koran.)
<3
Kyle
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
