The border to Laos just reopened, and I will leave from Chiang Mai to Luang Prabang tomorrow to renew my visa! I will take a bus from Chiang Mai to Chiang Khong, then I will board a slow boat on the Mekong river that will travel for two days into the northern part of Laos, to the old colonial city, which looks like this: http://www.trekearth.com/gallery/Asia/Laos/North/Louangphabang/Luang_Prabang/

After that, provided the borders are still open, I'll return to Thailand and to Mae Hong Son - I already miss the kids!

The real downside to this coup and the situation in Bangkok is the influx of irritating tourists in Mae Hong Son...

Everything feels completely normal here. The tense atmosphere and the worried looks on people's faces have disappeared. There seems to be a mixture of relief and confusion that remains. Many people are discussing the coup quietly, but they are careful about what they say. The government recently banned political meetins and meetings of five of more people, so we are all still being careful. Also, the borders are closed, which means that my trip to Laos is canceled, and my visa will expire in three days. Panic!

Hmmm...there appears to be a coup happening right now. I had a phone call from my mother last night and an hour later another one from my fiance, who were both kind enough to inform me. I had no idea.

This morning there are tanks in Bangkok and martial law has been declared, but in Mae Hong Son everything is pretty normal. There is the usual rush hour hum of motorcbikes, loaded with entire families headed to work and school. The market was busting with shoppers taking noodle soup, coconut jelly, meat filled pasties, and fried shrimps for breakfast, and the Thais as usual, are still smiling.

Everyone has their televisions on but most of the stations only show a screen of the royal emblem.

It's been a slow weekend and looks like it will also be a slow week. I had a piece of rotten fruit fall on my head while I was driving the motorbike out of town, Katarina and I delivered 12 pomelos, each the size of a soccer ball, to the shelter, and we ran out of soap for the children, as well as money to pay our staff and the electricity bill. Kham Chuen is sick with worry. Fortunately, thanks to a donation from my second cousin Davey we will be able to pay for the truck this month to get the kids to school.

Just as an FYI, these are what our most current needs are, as well as prices in Thai baht (THB)
- Used truck, good condition – 200,000 baht (about $5000)
- Staff salaries – 6000 THB
- Paper and stationary costs – 800 THB
- Intern salary – 3000 THB
- Electricity for office – 800 THB
- Fuel for the generator – 1000 THB
- Guardian’s salary – 2000 THB
- Food for the children – 1000 THB
- Clothing and hygiene supplies for children – 500 THB
- Bedding sets for cold season – 300 THB / blanket and pillow

Last night, as I nibbled on bananas and oranges and read the Marie Claire magazine that my deranged friend Pie sent to me (if only you know how I loath girlie magazines, than you will know how deranged Pie is, although since I was actually reading the English words with interest I guess it is debatable that I might be MORE sick in the head than him) I felt a familiar warm breeze on my face and the curtains jumped up in the wind - rain was coming. I thought very little of this at first. The rain comes suddenly, with a roar, not softly like in Seattle. For another hour or so I turned and read pages of vapid materialism and looked enviously on pictures of toned, tanned waifs and the rain intensified.

Then it occurred to me that rain meant more water, which meant that the already swollen river would rise and rise. First I pulled out my rain pack that I made for myself: one pair of pants, a synthetic t-shirt, headlamp, sandals with straps, passport and receipts and bank cards in a plastic bag. Note the absence of rain gear. The pain pack is for me to grab in the event that a damp, hasty exit is necessary. Next I thought about going to the school to check on the water level. Eventually I decided that it would be more of a hazard for the people to have a clueless farang in a headlamp scampering around in the dark near a flooded river than it would be to just stay indoors and hope that Kham Chuen was already at the shelter assessing the situation.

Fortunately, my cowardice paid off this time.

Kham Chuen went to the shelter at 4 a.m. and sure enough, the water was reaching the wall of the school. He woke the children and staff and they waited. The rain stopped the the water level remained steady. Bill walked to the shelter at ten this morning to look at the damage. By the time I made it to the shelter an hour later he and Han were scrambling to shore up the wall of our pig pen with boulders. The water was gushing over all of the banks, overflowing the rice paddies, eroding what little was left of the land in front of the shelter, and tearing trees from the ground at a terrifying rate. It looked brown, like Willie Wonka's Chocolate River in the creepy Gene Wilder version, only this river was creepier.

We decided that until the water level recedes we cannot risk working in the river. The current is strong enough to wash large boulders downstream – despite what my tailor might way, I am still light enough to be easily carried away. The skies are growing more ominous with rain clouds, and I think tonight is going to be a long night.

Jordan brough me a pile of teaching supplies when he visited; mostly phonics and math workbooks made by Disney. In the center of each book is a section with stickers of Disney character that say things like "Good job!" or "You're magical!" or some other such drivel. I cut the stickers out of the books, intending to use them as prizes when we play bingo on Fridays.

Last Friday, I learned something really important about Western moals and Disney porn from those stickers.

I had them all spread out on the table before class and I was busy clipping off the extra paper fom some of them. Two of my 15 year-old boys came to the office to read books. They started talking to me and froze when they saw what was lying on the table. "Stickers!" I told them, "for bingo tonight". No answer, but they continued to stare. Then I noticed that they were staring at a sticker of the little mermaid, smiling coyly from on top of a rock. The aquatic little tramp was wearing nothing but a few seashells on her proudly protruding bosoms - she is very well endowed for someone who is supposedly only 16 years-old. Then I noticed another boy fingering a sticker of minxy Jasmine in a bra and baggy pants, hugging a huge tiger. One of the boys asked if he could keep one. I didn't know what to say.

Do I tell him no? What right do I have to tell him no, I don't exactly know what is "right" or "wrong" according to the society that this little Buddhist grew up in. Then again, the way they were acting around the stickers (giggling and blushing) led me to believe that they were considered "wrong" by the standards they they were raised with. I know that Kham Chuen is in charge of giving them their moral and ethical training according to their own culture, and usually he is quite strict (the girls are not allowed to be alone with the boys, the older girls are not allowed to wear tight, stretchy pants, the boys are not allowed to swim in the river wearing only their underpants etc.) and I wished he was there to tell me what to do.

I offered him a sticker of Dumbo instead, hoping that national pride in the elephant (chang) would bring him to his senses, but no, he wanted Jasmine, so I gave it to him. I wasn't sure what to do.

Later that evening all of the boys wanted stickers of "pretty girl". I gave them Winnie the Pooh instead.

Note to self: In a country that is known as the Sex Capitol of Asia, where child prostitution is rampant, where perverts come on organized tours to abuse children, it is NOT a good idea to park yourself in an Internet café and research flower girl dresses for your upcoming wedding!


I sat in my internet café for a few hours to do some serious research (finally) to try and decide what kind of style to use at my wedding – this included looking for flower girl dress ideas. But the man next to me was instantly alarmed as I looked at photos of small girls in pretty dresses online. He nervously glanced at my screen, then imploringly looked at the internet café owner, then back at my screen again. Fortunately the owner is a friend of mine and I wasn’t questioned, but as soon as I noticed what was going on I stopped browsing for flower girl dresses. That can wait until I get home!

Yesterday Puttaraksa, my adorable, squirly little girl who never pays attention in class because she is always drawing pictures of flowers and mountains, interrupted me as I was talking. She grabbed the marker from my hand and started writing on the whiteboard: J...E...R...K...Y.

"Teacher!" she said excitedly, pointing at it, "Same same as cow?" I told her it was "same same but different" which is a bit of a cop-out, but I was caught off guard.

The day before SiHkur was reading his Thai-English dictionary and asked me if I thought I was a very good occulist. I told him that I have never been an eye doctor before (he probably got this idea because I was constantly administering eye drops last month when everyone had pinkeye). Then he told me that he wants to be an aurist. After that he asked me to explain the word "positively". I told him it was similar to "yes yes" or the Thai euphamism, "jing jing". He grinned and said that he positively had to go to English class at 6 p.m. and he would positively be back at the office after he ate lunch.

Today I went to the shelter to observe the damage caused by the flood here in Mae Hong Son. The trees have been stripped from the banks and compiled into ugly snarls of branches, mud and garbage. The banks receded towards the OPC shelter about three feet, so that in one area the crumbling bank is almost flush with our pigpen. The water line is completely exposed, hanging preciously over the brown, rushing water.

Kham, Chuen was standing in the river up to his knees, picking up rocks and flinging them towards the nearest bank to reinforce the fragile dirt holding up the pigpen. “I’ll come back and help you!” I called to him. “Mai bpen lai! You should make rest!” he grinned.

I returned after lunch, an hour later. Kham Chuen was sitting up to his chest in the water, looking depressed and miserable, slowly tossing rocks from one side of the river to the other. I walked in and joined him. He told me to go back to the bank because the water was rushing dangerously high and fast. I refused and started tossing rocks alongside him. Two of my 14 year old students moseyed past on their way back from lunch. Seeing their English teacher slopping around in the brown river bothered them, so they stripped off their shirts and joined me. Three more of my students came and helped. Soon a visible wall began to form, subtly directing the patch of the water to the left of the shelter. I looked up from my work to see that a large crowd of people had gathered to watch. Small children, a few women, a lot of men who enjoyed watching, but not helping.

I worked in the river for two hours. It was refreshing, and felt good to do some work where I could actually see a result of my labor. I would have worked longer, but one of my students started yelling suddenly “Oiii! Oh no teacher NO!” and pointing to something bluish and long lying between the rocks. Oh yes, it was an intestine. I am not sure what animal it came from, but it was a really long piece of blue entrails, that looked like it had been recently liberated from its body. I looked at the water swirling around my knees and dripping from my shirt, and fought the urge to start vomiting. We cleared out of the river and I squelched through the rice paddies to my apartment where I marinated in my precious anti-bacterial soap for 15 minutes, before collapsing on my bed and falling asleep.

Back in Mae Hong Son it is sweltering - in fact it feels hotter today than it every has the whole time I have stayed in Thailand. Currently it is 7 p.m. and apparently the temperature is only 30 c with a 72% humidity rate, but it feels much hotter. Yesterday Julia and I met in Chiang Mai for dinner and debriefing after her month of volunteering. She feels exhausted, defeated, burned out, and a little lost...which is exactly what happens to me at the end of each month. It is embarassing to say this, but I found it a relief to know that I am not the only one who feels this way. Tomorrow I will go view the shelter and see what the damage is, then I'll introduce the two new volunteers to Kham Chuen.

At the instruction of the tailor who is making my wedding dress for me, I am now on a strict diet of veggies only, no sugar, and exercise every day.

Standing in a silk shop while the tailor and her assistants pinch my hips and giggle while taking my measurements is enough to make me comply. She said that she is making the dress a tad too large in case I manage to gain any more weight by the time it will be finished in October and then she asked me "are you sure you can lose weight? I hung my head in shame and said yes, and she told me that I look pretty disgusting right now. I think the secret to having the pixilike figure of a Thai girl isn't chilli, it's peer pressure!

Jordan has left Thailand for Seattle and I am now in Chiang Mai feeling abandoned, weepy, and self-pitying. This is entirely inappropriate since I just received word yesterday that the river near OPC flooded, the bridges to the shelter all washed out, part of the building has been destroyed, and all of the children have been evacuated to the office and the farm a few kilometers away. I met with our two new volunteers this morning over coffee in Chiang Mai and as luck would have it, Bill is an engineer and is eager to get to work on repairing bridges. It's a disaster, but perhaps that is exactly what I need in order to keep my focus and take my mind off of how desperately I want to be with my fiance right now.

I suppose that many people know by now that I have decided to partake in a socially approved nuptial ritual, even though I spent the previous 10 years telling friends and family that said nuptial ritual was for stupid breeders.

As if I don’t have enough to do trying to figure out how to feed 43 children and send another 35 of them to school, now I have to plan a wedding from Thailand. My wedding! Easy enough for girls who have been thinking about their wedding since age five, but I just put my mind to it for the first time in my life. Did you know that if I wear a cream-colored dress the men cannot wear white shirts, or that most formal invitations involve five pieces of paper, or that if one of my best friends is a man (Jon) I can’t put him in a pink bridesmaid dress like all the other maids?

Jordan (who I have been dating for two years and nine months) flew to Thailand and gave me a “stand-in, anti-mugger” ring that looks low-profile, so that in the unfortunate event that I get robbed while traveling/working I won’t have my finger cut off. It will be replaced when I return home in November. We got engaged on August 27, the supposed day that my visa expired, although through some stroke of luck, my visa is good until September 24, which would have been nice to know before we spent five hours traveling to the immigration office the next day to get it renewed.

No date for the wedding yet, but it will probably take place some time in late February.

No not on Valentines Day. Don’t be cliché…

Today, to distract myself from the fact that Jordan will be here in two days and I am sick of waiting, Julia and I decided to climb to the top of wat Doi Kong Mu at the request of our teenage girl students. They said they wanted to pray or meditate, or make an offering...I couldnt really understand exactly what they were talking about. Julia and I both wore long skirts and nice shirts because we were unsure of the formality of the situation on top of the wat. The girls didn't show up, so the two of us sweated slowly up the hill, the agonizing steps to the top were each punctuated with the deafening sound of our own perspiration hitting the pavement.

It wasn't really that bad, we're just out of shape.

The wat was completely empty. We took pictures, and then skipped back downt to the bottom of the hill, only to meet six of our girls coming up. The grabbed our hands, and boundless energy, they dragged us to the top of the wat again. We decided that two trips to the top of the wat in one day merited a tasty treat, so we ate ice cream, browsed slowly through the temple shops, and took photos of our cute, wild girls while the teenage novice monks peeked at them from around trees and doorways.

A curious thing is beginning to happen to me. I am starting to develop that loathsome habit that many western parents have of thinking that “my children” are better than all other children and that the world revolves around them. I first noticed the problem when Blaise and I were leaving the public school last month and I blurted out “Blaise our children are MUCH more intelligent than these other kids!” To which he replied “Our children??!”

I hang their sloppy paintings up on my wall because I have no refrigerator. I obsessively take photos of every little accomplishment, brag to other people about how intelligent and cute they are, and if another adult so much as gives them one cross look I prickle with irritation …but say nothing. It is hard to be an irritating parent-type in a different language.

In a country full of nose pickers, why do epidemics ever suprise anyone?

After teaching at the public school last week I was accosted by a rainstorm and had to spend a half hour sitting in a noodle shop waiting for it to pass. The phone rang as I sat. It was Julia, our new volunteer from Austria. She told me that a Thai NGO was at our office with a woman and child and they wanted us to take them both. I told her to see if she could get them to leave.

After the rain calmed I drove to the office. The NGO workers were still there. Two men and two women. Sitting on the floor of the office, with a sleeping baby on her legs, was the most sad looking woman I had ever seen. Her face was badly sunburned, one of her eyes stared dully in the wrong direction. Slow tears dribbled from her eyes and made clean tracks on her dirty face. They told me she was 24 years old, but she looked like she was 40. The baby had thin, short hair and looked to be about 2 years old. Both the mother and the child were infected with HIV and had been living in a corner of the market in Mae Hong Son. The Thai authorities were worried for her safety because several men had been hanging around, taking an interest in her.

I tried to explain to them that we are not properly equipped to take care of so many people with HIV. They require special care and more attention than we cannot give. We simply do not have enough money or staff. I also am worried about the risk of having infected people near our otherwise mostly healthy children.

The NGO workers wouldn't leave, and the woman continued to sit by my feet crying. I knew that we couldn't take her, but I couldn't turn her away. Kham Chuen was nowhere to be found still. "What will you do?" they asked. I decided to let her stay for a night until I could talk to Kham Chuen and figure out what we should do. I stayed up most of the night worrying about them. Where will they stay? How will we ever be able to afford the cost of their medication? What measures will we have to take to contain the virus? Can we trust this woman?

Today Kham Chuen cleaned out a small hut that is just outside the shelter and moved the woman and her baby inside so they will not be around the other chidlren. He arranged a deal with the Thai NGO that brought her to us: if we house her they will pay for all the children's hospital visits and medical bills, so there is an upside to all of this...

Today was Tuesday which means that I teach the most difficult class of the week: public school kids aged 6 - 14, who either have no idea how to say the alphabet or can have good English conversations. I hate this class.

Today I tried to get the kids to play tic tac toe. We used letters first. I put an X in the "e" square and asked the kids where they wanted to go next. "E!" they shouted.

"Mai me E, it is already taken, try a different one".

"E" They shouted again, as if they had just hit on a new idea.

Finally one team had three in a row and all they needed to do was put an X in the J square.

"Where next?" I asked them.

"L!" they screamed.

"Are you sure you don't' want J?" I asked.

"L!" they yelled again.

After 10 more minutes of choosing every square except J, no one won.

Ok, so the next time I tried it with numbers since they can't seem to remember anything past 11. "Where?" I asked them

"Q!" they yelled.

"There is no Q. These are numbers, not letters."
They pondered this quietly for a few minutes. One kid yelled out "H!" then everyone yelled out "H!" I started swearing at the blackboard. I can't wait until school semester ends in October.

OPC's website has changed to www.opportunityforpoorchildren.com Please take a few minutes to check it out. We'll be doing a site refresh soon and there will be some new content as this current site is pretty out-of-date.

Our current needs are the same:
1. We need a truck to transport munchkins to school and to drive chicken and pig food from the market to our farm
2. We need food for over 40 little mouths
3. We need funds to cover our administrative costs (staff salaries) until we can secure another long-term donor

I thought for a few days that if I left Mae Hong Son for a few days all of the problems at OPC would magically disappear and I could return and have a fresh start. When I walked into the office on Monday morning Kham Chuen informed me that a belligerent drunk woman had come into the office the day before threatening Sonny and demanding money to buy more alcohol. When I taught class that evening one of my 14 year old boys lost his temper, picked up a chair and threw it across the room in frustration. Shortly afterwards our neighbor, a toothless, suntanned old woman, walked in. She had just picked all of our beautiful flowers that bloom outside the office. "Hey, those are our flowers!" we told her. She grinned and then offered to sell them to us for 25 baht per bouquet.

It is absolutely impossible to maintain a decent case of denial here.