Faced with my Visa’s approaching renewal date, I decided to make this obligation into an adventure. (First, let me preface this with some advice: never engage in adventuring or border crossing hungover.)

So the day before this adventure it was Halloween (see where I’m going with this?) and, dressed as a panda, I think I drank more than I have in the past 6 months, which for me is 2.5 drinks apparently, but for Panda that was obscene. Let’s just say that when people buy you drinks of their own volition flattery begins to outweigh good judgement.

Anyhoo… I got hooked up by my local travel agent lady here in Chiang Mai. The day before I was to leave she let me pay the standard Visa run bus ticket price, but she also threw in:

• A visit to The White Temple;
• a natural hot spring;
• an Akha village;
• The Golden Triangle slow boat ride to Laos, and;
• a buffet lunch

… all for free. So with about 1 hour of sleep and eyeliner clinging to my worn-out eyes, I embarked on my adventure.

The White Temple was probably the least holy temple I’ve seen so far – unless you consider a mural with images of the devil, Spiderman, and a gas pump Divine – but fuck if it wasn’t cool! Built only 12 years ago, it was clear that the Thai gentleman that commissioned it wanted to show off while earning some grade-A karma at the same time. Mission: accomplished. People actually take pictures with a cardboard cut-out of this man while the temple interior remains empty. Thirty minutes and 2 liters of water later I’m realizing just how badly I need sunglasses.

Back on the bus and I knock out! I think I even dreamed of sleeping. Even my subconscious was exhausted. The next memorable destination was Laos. We arrived by slow boat, gliding down the Mehkong River dividing Burma, Thailand, and Laos and headed straight into a tourist trap of cheap souvenirs and food. And I totally bought stuff. And drank. Technically, this was a “it’s part of the experience” beverage, meaning it included such refreshments as:

• Turtle whiskey
• Scorpion whiskey
• Tiger penis whiskey (WTF?)
• King Cobra whiskey
• Gecko whiskey

…all animals dead and floating in a vat of their supposed co-creations. Opting to not drink a penis that day, I had my favorite animal, the King Cobra whiskey. It had a bit of bite to it, not gonna lie, and it may have knocked my subconscious out for good.

Getting my Visa was no trouble. Two more months in Thailand so I’m good to go and can now say that I’ve been in 3 countries in 1 day. When that would come up in conversation, I do not know, but hey: “It’s part of the experience!”

My favorite place, however, was the Akha village. The Akha are a hilltribe here in Thailand and as soon as we were guided into their village I saw two little girls playing. I kneeled down and starting playing with them, tickling them and pretending to take the little flowers they were picking out of their hands. Their laughter was contagious and, as the sun was setting, the first I had uttered the whole day. They acted almost of though they knew nothing else of the squalor we perceive them as living in or the pain assumed of not having any shoes to wear. As I was tickling them and getting ready to move on with the group, one of the little girls threw her arms around me and gave me the sweetest hug ever, almost as a tacit “thank you”. The kindness and beauty of a child’ love was worth every effort made to get there.

I believe we can all learn so much from children and that little girl taught me that nothing, not a hallmark holiday or the flattery of a new friend, can compare to the innocent, endearing, fun-loving nature of a child.

Chances are, when you visit a traditional Vietnamese village, you will encounter the adorable, dirty, pantless village children on your journey. I used to have a tradition of sending my mom a postcard of such a scene, which I knew always made her inevitably cringe as she gazed upon their dust-smeared smiles. While in Sapa, we were not let down. Perhaps most importantly of all, I was very happy to find that they didn’t once approach us asking for money or candy but simply waved, grinned and yelled “HALLO!”

I’m glad to see the no-pants-dance is still going strong in Asian villages.

* * * * * * *

La plupart des orphelins de Ky Kuang ont été abandonnés par leurs parents parce qu’ils étaient anormaux à la naissance. Certains ont une malformation physique, d’autres sont aveugles et d’autres encore ont un handicap mental.
Certains d’entre eux sont encore les victimes de l’agent orange, une arme chimique utilisée pendant la guerre du Viêtnam, et qui a eu des conséquences dramatiques sur la santé des populations locales.

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BONHEUR CHEZ LES TOUT-PETITS

En résumé, je dois me lever très tôt le matin pour être au travail de 7h15 à 13h. Il faut être tout le temps vigilant pour éviter que les enfants s’échappent de l’école. J’aime mon job. Et je pense que les enfants m’aiment bien. Le bonheur! (Du moins pour l’instant!)

The other day, one of the teachers came into my classroom and handed me a stack of papers, each bearing the outlines of four flowers. She explained that we needed more decorations for the third floor, and even though the kids had colored at least 8 of these flowers each already, we needed another 8 from each of them. I gave her a funny look and told her that I’d do my best but I couldn’t promise I’d get a page from each kid, much less two.

Our school suffers from a serious flower deficiency

When I showed the kids the pages and asked them to color the flowers their responses ranged from groans to outright refusal. I felt so bad for them that I finally conceded that if they’d color just two flowers each, I’d color the other two flowers for them and we’d throw the other four in the trash.

Now, you’d think it would be easy to simulate the artistic style of a 6 year old, but you have to forget a lifetime of pesky adult coloring habits, like staying inside the lines and using colors actually found in a real flower. Some of the kids were much easier to emulate than others: for example for one little boy uses a style I’m going to call ‘the lazy rainbow’. You just grab, roughly, one of every color crayon and scribble in circles until… well, I’m honestly not sure… he always manages to stop at the point where it’s not quite finished, but close enough that nobody will call him out on it.

The most difficult style to fake was that of one artistic little girl who draws princesses on everything (this includes her desk, chair, books, arms, etc). If my flower didn’t have a princess on it, nobody would believe it was her work. I decided I had to use a bit of trickery here… I started coloring in some flower petals and then told her that I really wanted a princess on my flower but didn’t know how to draw one. Before I knew it she’d grabbed the crayons and not only drew a little Cinderella, clad in blue, but also finished off the rest of the flower in pink and rainbow colors.

Compare my flowers (top) to actual children's artwork (bottom)!

Now, I know I could just have forced them to color the flowers, or told the other teacher that they refused, but she’d only have forced it on them later and as much as these kids drive me crazy, it’s sad to watch the fun and creativity sucked out of something as simple as coloring.

Things Korean children are more likely to know in English:

Hello!
Colors (red, yellow, blue, etc)
Numbers (1-10)
Fuck You
Kidneys (really just that one child)
Harry Potter
Break Time
Water
Bathroom

Things Korean children do not know, at all, ever:

What’s wrong?
Why are you crying?
Please stop crying
It will be ok
Don’t do that
Stop
No
That hurts me/other children
Stop/Don’t/No hitting/screaming
Quiet
Stop talking
Sit Down
God help me
Just stop fighting/screaming for three minutes and then class will end

Just a heads up for anyone planning on being around or teaching Korean children.

I am now an English “Teacher” in Korea.  I use quotes because I am not, in fact, a teacher at all.  I am a day care attendant for an endless miserable stream of kindergarteners who have been raised with nothing but spite and malice in their heart for both me and my intentions of teaching them.

Each day I get up at 7:30 AM, I leave my “home” (tiny box, not home), at 8 and then I take a train for about an hour to bum-fuck Egypt where I teach 8 classes over 9 hours.

Most of these classes are 40 minute blocks where I “teach” (once again, in quotes) about a dozen children who punch me in the junk, scream at me, punch each other, cry, shit themselves, scream more, run, break, thrash, bite me and cause general anarchy.  After 40 minutes of me running through pleas for help to a list of gods and spirits that I think might be listening to Asia, the children leave, and I reconsider my life choices while walking to get the next group.  Eventually I make it home at 7:20 PM.

Today was the first day a child bit me.  Also I met a child who only said two things in English: “FUCK YOU”, and “kidneys, kidneys”.  After his second statement he proceeded to punch me in the kidneys.  He is 6. I hate him.

I leave you with this picture of a painting of sunflowers.  They represent hope.