The Worst Trip to the Hospital Yet

In an instant, a 7.8 magnitude earthquake leveled Nepal's capital with over 4,000 in casualties. By grace I had changed my travel plans to visit the country in mid-May instead of throughout April (aka right now). After I read the news of the natural disaster, I couldn't fathom exactly how terrible it was, or what I would have done if I was there. In a macabre mood, I watched online footage of the 2004 and 2011 tsunamis, trying to instill a sense of horror in myself so I could take in the magnitude of such devastation. It only served to make me feel more numb.

One should not seek the horrors of death.

Since returning to Thailand I've been working at the KUMON tutoring center helping children learn English. As a reward for the teachers and student assistants' hard work, the principal decided to have a pool party at the local "resort." It's been over 100 degrees everyday since the oppressive hot season began, so when we arrived at the pool six of the boys and I jumped right in. The other teachers and guests sat around the perimeter watching us splash around.

We were in the pool for what felt like less than ten minutes when I saw the oldest – Tete, 19 – swim out to the center. Someone was floating there, so I called out he was going to swim right into them, which he did. Tete pulled the person – Ford, 12, another student – to the side of the pool. He tried to push him up the side, but Ford slid back in. It was then I realized what was happening.

I raced over as the other teachers pulled Ford's body out of the pool. Now on his back, water streamed from his nose, then gushes of foamy blood poured out of his nose and mouth. He was unconscious and not breathing. I thought, He is going to die.

What words can describe what that moment felt like? I remembered you're supposed to do CPR, but... There was a short in my brain circuitry. I couldn't tell right from left to know what side to press down on Ford's heart, or even if that was really the correct thing to do. I didn't think I could breathe into his mouth with all the bloody foam pouring out of him.

A teacher pushed down on Ford's belly, trying to get the water out. We shouted his name. Bubbles came from his nose – then his mouth opened and he suddenly gasped in a breath. Then another. He was alive. A few moments later his eyes fluttered slightly open. The teachers struggled to carry his heavy weight up onto a pool lounge chair, where he proceeded to throw up blood. His eyes were open now, and he was talking a little.

My arms were shaking terribly. I couldn't do anything except rub his back when he sat up. His hero, Tete, stood beside the scene watching it all. Some time later the paramedics arrived and carried Ford away into the ambulance on a wheelless rescue stretcher. The younger boys were standing on the opposite side of the pool, dripping wet and watching in a stunned daze. Everyone at the resort had evacuated the pool, regarding it with a sense of distrust.

The principal went with Ford to the hospital. When she returned in the evening, all of us went together to visit him. In the open-wall hospital, families had set up bamboo mats and mosquito netting tents along the cement "patios" to spend the night near their sick loved ones. In the pediatrics ICU, only three visitors could go in the small enclosed room at a time. The boys took turns with the teachers first, then I walked in.

I passed incubators of impossibly tiny babies to reach Ford's bed. He had a tube through his nose and another down his throat. He was hooked up to a machine that kept beeping warnings about his frequency of respiration. His lungs still had water in them, so the hospital was waiting to give him medicine. However, his eyes were wide open, aware, and teary. His mother – a nurse who was on duty when her son came in – stood at the head of the bed. His father was behind her, his body tensed with so much worry he looked crumpled in on himself.

I said a few words to Ford; it was all I was capable of. His parents and the hospital staff were there, he was under good care... I couldn't do anything for him. His mother pulled out an extra large adult diaper from a bag at the foot of the bed; it was our signal to go. The principal, teachers, students, and I left and went back to the resort to sleep the night. And by sleep, I mean watch foamy blood pour from Ford's nose and mouth a hundred, hundred times in my mind's eye.

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Finding a Direction

I returned to KUMON in time for one of Thailand's biggest festivals, Songkran, the start of the Thai New Year. Children stood along the streets with pails of cold water to splash over passing bikers and motorcyclists, instantly cooling them down from the soaring heat.

At the beginning of 2015 I stayed at a temple for a meditation retreat, and here now at the beginning of Thai New Year I was doing it again, this time for five days of individual practice at Wat Naluang. KUMON Principal Jiab took me there because she is devoted to the temple's abbot, Luang Phor Thonbai, who is considered by many to be a living enlightened monk. She encouraged me to take the opportunity to learn from him.

At the mountain top temple, Jiab and I poured bottled water on Luang Phor's and other monks' hands for purification. To keep Luang Phor pure himself, a large twin Naga (dragon-snake deity) water slide bedecked with flowers was constructed for devotees to pour water down to be received by his hands.

During Luang Phor's speech in that hot, open-air hall, I was wrestling with the fear of uncertainty – of what I should do for a living/graduate study after this trip is over. I've been telling people I'm going to be a librarian because it seems the safe, practical choice; it's "what I know." But every time I told someone this, I felt shame and uneasiness. It didn't feel right in my gut. If I took that path, would I be living up to my full potential?

While mulling over this, I gradually became calmer as I began to meditate in the hall. I centered my thoughts on the question: "What do I really want to do?" It became apparent, when I listened inside myself, the answer was I want to study mythology.

This is not a new idea, but I always shot it down in the past because: (1) it doesn't lead to a practical job; (2) it's $90,000 in tuition alone; and (3) only one university in the US has it, and they only meet for three days a month for instruction.

"Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors where there were only walls." –– Joseph Campbell

Where is my bliss? My heart's center is in STORIES –– from animated feature films to epic mythology; from the narrative of our lives to a friend recounting a recent experience. Stories are how we making meaning of our lives.

I'm leaning towards pursuing an M.A. in Mythological Studies because I believe it will help me to be a better storyteller – I will be able to better grasp the depth psychology of the universal human story: of how we live and dream.

This doesn't answer all my questions, or quell my fears of uncertainty, but at least I have a direction. I'm going to make an effort towards it, and see what doors will open...

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Tots, Tutoring, and Tying the Knot

Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the messages, heartfelt support, and long conversations after my trip through hell. Since returning to Nong Khai, Thailand, my spirits have been nourished and lifted considerably.

I spent the first week back Skype-ing family and friends everyday, chowing down at the fantastic vegetarian restaurant in town, and riding my bicycle to the neighborhood massage parlor more than a few times. A friend at Mut Mee Guesthouse invited me along to the town orphanage where she spends her mornings volunteering and I jumped at the chance to play with adorable babies for a few hours.

At the orphanage with baby buddha.

I thought this would be how my entire time in Nong Khai progressed until...

At aforementioned vegetarian restaurant, I met an older gentleman who invited me to sit with him at lunch by asking, "Would you give me the pleasure of sharing lunch together with me today?" With such proper, old-fashioned English coming from a Thai man, how could I refuse? Mr. Jeyasak, I soon learned, was a native of Nong Khai who had become an engineer, and he traveled the world through his work. He emphasized his desire to understand and communicate with other people, thus why he can speak a bit of each language of every country he's visited.

We spoke about the Dhamma (Way/Law) in Buddhism and I was really touched by his compassionate nature. Mr. Jeyasak had started a KUMON center several years ago that his daughter now runs, right here in Nong Khai. He encouraged me to visit her there when I had a chance. A few days later, I did just that.

Ms. Porcupine Head checks the kids' comprehension skills.

Ever since meeting his daughter, Teacher Jiab, I've been taken under wing by this "mother" of the KUMON family. She is an embodiment of wisdom, sincere effort, and generosity. She also speaks English fluently at a very high level, and is eager to absorb more. She has dedicated her life to doing the best for her students and putting sincere practice into Buddhist meditation. On the third floor of the tutoring center she has her own mediation room which she openly invited me to use anytime.

Wow, universe. Just wow. How you provide!

Teacher Jiab took me through the course material, and I was so impressed. KUMON is a private company that began in Japan, and you can find their tutoring centers all over the world (including Southeast Michigan). What I found shocking was the lesson plans are...effective; the stories and dialogue practice are interesting and practical, and students have regular speaking practice beginning at the kindergarten level. This is an utter disconnect from my experience teaching English in the Japanese public school system.

If a student completes the entire KUMON program, they will have read O. Henry, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Charles Dickens. Dickens for goodness sake!! This really squeezed at my heart, knowing that my own students in Japan struggle so much. It's a completely different atmosphere and culture, and it's not fair to compare of course, but I wish I could make it easier for my Japanese kids all the same.

Nowadays, after correcting homework and tutoring the kids in the afternoons, the other teachers and I go out to dinner at a local restaurant. Over several savory dishes of tom yum, green curry, and sticky rice, Teacher Jiab tells me about the mythic history of Nong Khai, the living Arhat (a revered enlightened monk) who resides in Udon Thai, and the local parks and temples she wants to show me around town. After the feast, Teacher Jiab always insists she cover the cost herself. I am overwhelmed by her generosity.

Literally sitting in the street, passing out party favors.

One evening I left the center early so I could go to a wedding reception at Tim's (the coconut soup lady). It reminded me a lot of Kaori's wedding reception in Japan––the couple's main job for the night was standing in front of their guests, smiling for photo ops. Only this time around, in Thailand, it all took place at Tim's restaurant, with guests spilling out onto the sidewalk and streets. The gathering had an "aliveness" to it; celebrating alongside the busy street, dressed up among the grit, eating dish after dish of spicy pork and fried noodles in the open air under the stars.

I ended up working the "reception" (AKA the fahlang "foreigner" table) collecting money envelopes and offering out party favors to the guests. Two young girls took the karaoke stage and sang traditional regional songs (much like enka in Japan) with a subtle political undertone* to them.

[ *It is illegal for me to comment on their political message, because anything directly or indirectly spoken about the King could get me (or anyone else in Thailand) sent to jail. If you're interested, you can read about the imminent political change here. ]

These past two weeks have been exactly what I needed to lift my spirits. I think Thailand, especially Nong Khai, is one of "my places" –– somewhere I naturally fit in and get a special energy from being around; everything seems to fall into place with ease and satisfaction here.

Failing in my attempt to cycle through Laos to Vietnam forced me to turn around and go back to Thailand. A death in the family propelled Mr. Jeyasak to visit Nong Khai at the precise same time. From these sorrows, new joy was born that couldn't have taken place without them. From every death, there's potential for new life. How true Rumi's words are in his poem, The Guest House:

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival. 

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor. 

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight. 

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in. 

Be grateful for whatever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

–––

Goodbye Nong Khai ~

I’ve never been in tears to leave a place before; the week spent at Mut Mee Guesthouse in Nong Khai, Thailand has by far been the best travel experience I’ve ever had. This blog post is dedicated to my friends Jenn & Harry, who encouraged me to visit Nong Khai, start cycle touring, play ukulele, and a mass of other new interests – I can’t thank them enough.

The open-air garden at Mut Mee is special all by itself: it overlooks the Mekong River, with lounge chairs and shared tables underneath the thatched canopies. There's a restaurant, book shop, yoga/meditation studio, and bike rental all on-site. And it’s $6 USD per night for a beautiful single room. No, I didn’t forget a zero – that’s six dollars.

The people make the place though, and that’s why Mut Mee is truly special. The guesthouse is so genuine that it attracts like-minded individuals. Never in my travels have I stayed at a place with so many incredible people all gathered together, and returning guests at that! I aim to be one, too.

Nong Khai is a countryside town, so it doesn’t take long to walk from one place to another. Soon we were well-acquainted with the best places for coconut soup, generous dishes of fresh vegetables on rice, and Thai tea. We met other regulars at these places, and our friends grew. We talked about our travels, our insights, music, food, and yoga... we became a community.

As Jenn, Harry, and I we were discussing cycle touring at the iced chocolate cafe, a couple we befriended there said they had a bike they wanted to sell for a very reasonable price. It was in good condition, came with a few bells and whistles, and would I be interested?

I’m just agape at how the universe provides.

I bought the bike from them. Now I had no reason not to go cycle touring! A whole new world was opened up to me. Harry & Jenn gave me their unneeded bike bags and gear, demonstrated how to repair a flat tire, and even helped me clamp everything down so the bike was weighted evenly.

All these things coalesced at the perfect time, much the way the people at Mut Mee all came together at a specific place and time – separate threads that weave a pattern in an infinite tapestry; this is the spirit of the meaning behind “Mut Mee” in Thai. It’s like compounding miracles.

I know it will never happen again like this; that even when I return to Mut Mee, these people in this place belong to this time; it’s what makes every moment so valuable, and why it's important to appreciate it as it's happening.

Jenn, Harry, Ray, Diane, Ine, Andy, Tommy, Julian, Pao, Ben, Desi, TJ, Xavier, Duke, Fernando, Petra, Simeon, Amy, CJ, Connor, Catherine, “Grandad”, Pancho & Beatrix, the French couple, the Spanish-French couple, the bookshop lady, the coconut soup lady, the vegetarian restaurant lady, the iced chocolate guy, the back kitchen ladies… so much light and love - thank you from my heart!!

When it was time to leave, I looked out over the Mekong to Laos — a country beyond everything that I know. I felt like Sam following Frodo beyond the farthest step he'd ever taken from the Shire. And, like Sam, I’m not alone: after I checked out, Jenn & Harry cycled with me to the bridge that joins the border between the two countries.

Saying goodbye to them was hard – we’d been together  4 weeks (only two of which we spoke to one another, after the silent meditation retreat). After a big group hug, I crossed the bridge over the Mekong River and into Laos. I’ve heard from others what’s beyond this point, and now I go to experience it for myself. After passing immigration, I cycled 26 km to Vientiane and straight into the next adventure…

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NOTE: The internet is a luxurious commodity Lao’s small villages go without — I don’t know when I’ll be able to update again, but I’ll keep you posted as I can. In the meantime, imagine me the redheaded Mad Max of the dusty Laotion roads.

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Bangkok Body

After renouncing worldly ways at Wat Suan Mokkh, I jumped right back into it when I took the overnight train to Bangkok – Thailand's bustling metropolitan capital.

The Reclining Buddha of Wat Pho, Bangkok

During the 10-day meditation retreat, the teachings expounded on the structure of
effort --> nature/law/way --> wisdom (Sangha --> Dhamma --> Buddha). Everything is Dhamma, all connected to the Supreme Dhamma. In other words, everything has its own nature, all connected to the supreme law of nature. A physics law of centrifugal force, the nature of how a tree grows, the way our bodies age – whether we understand them or not, they are there, following their own "Dhamma."

So one question I asked myself at the retreat was: how much effort do I put in to understanding my own body? Most of the time, I don't – like most people, I view my body as what lugs my mind around from place to place. So I decided to spend the week in Bangkok focusing on my health, to learn the "Dhamma of my body." Why Bangkok? Because it has cheap, high quality medical care. If there's anywhere in Southeast Asia you want to visit a clinic, it's Thailand.

Perhaps the Dhamma of my own body is not so interesting to other people, so I'll paraphrase my journey into the useful points I discovered:

Neck/Shoulders

I carry stress in my shoulders, which causes a lot of tensing and neck pain (I'm sure if you're reading this hunched over an iPhone, you feel this, too). Swedish massages are very popular in the Occident for their relaxing nature. They're nice at the time, but as soon as I leave I feel my muscles tightening back up again.

Yoga and meditation have helped correct my posture, but I still had set-in muscle ache. Solution? A Thai massage. It's firm and painful and holy cannoli you feel blissed out by the end, like your body's made of jelly. At one point the masseuse asked me to turn over and I realized I couldn't! Her elbow under my shoulder blades had loosened such tight muscles that I couldn't get them to tense again just to move.

A well spent $24 USD for one hour.

Teeth

Do: visit a dentist in Bangkok.
Don't: walk into the first one off the street, without Googling their community reviews, and make an appointment on the spot (like I did).

The dentist pointed to every tooth with his metal cleaning pick and said it obviously had a cavity (even the teeth with fillings already) and he'd be happy to fill/re-fill them all in for me for –– wait, he had to get his calculator –– $264 USD. Um, no thanks. If I'm gonna spend serious money on my teeth, it's going to be a dental office where I can actually swallow the tap water.

As it was, I got my teeth cleaned and polished for $32 USD.

Henceforth I'll be adding more Vitamins A, D, and K2 to rebuild tooth enamel, and see if I can't prevent having to get any more fillings. [If you're interested, here's an article about how to rebuild tooth enamel.]

Foot Reflexology

Pressure is not pain, pressure is not pain... I had to keep repeating this to myself as the Thai-Chinese reflexologist (the "Foot Master" and no, I'm not making that up) squeezed the muscles in my feet with his strong, precise grip.

Reflexologists believe that areas and points of the feet are connected to different organs, and that by putting pressure on these areas it has a beneficial effect on a person's health. I felt tingling in my organs, but was I imagining the connection? I wasn't sure.

At one point I did feel pain, under the pinky toe of my right foot. I winced and reflexively pulled my leg away. The reflexologist was surprised and kept the pressure there extra light. Later I looked up what part of the body it corresponds to: the shoulders/neck. Hmmm. It seems stress and improper posture alignment in one area have a larger effect on the rest of our body than I realized.

$22 USD later, and I floated out of the shop with "happy feet" and a new subject to research. [Here's an article I'm reading on how to improve posture.]

Check-Up

I went to one of Bangkok's Westernized international hospitals for a cancer screening check-up. I have never had this type of check-up before, and I was very anxious. I'm young! I'm not sick! Why was I bothering to go in at all? I felt like I was imposing on the doctor's time while a lobby full of middle-aged patients waited for their turn. The nurses who took my vitals seemed surprised when I said I was only here for a check-up. I felt surprised too, thinking what am I doing here?

The answer came back just as strong: I don't want to be a "if only we'd caught it earlier, we could have saved your life" case. The check-up was uncomfortable, time-consuming, and expensive ($90 USD, all told). The results came in an email a few days later: all clear. Was it worth it?

Yes: I started a healthy yearly routine I must continue for the rest of my life. I'm 26 – there's no more delaying my responsibilities to my own body. My grandmother had (and survived) cancer; it runs in the family. I'm not "above" getting it just because I willfully don't want to. That's youth talking, not sense.

Sleep

Zzzzz.... On the meditation retreat, we all slept by 21:30 and woke with the 4:00 morning bell. I thought this would be the hardest part of the experience, but I soon learned that the mind can be trained to wake, alert and aware, even without an alarm. Even after the retreat, I'll wake up at either 5 or 6 am, wide awake and ready for the day. This has truly been an immeasurable gift; it's these morning hours I use to write on my fantasy novel.

What I learned from this experience is our addiction to the snooze button is more psychological than physical. Of course, sleeping on a wooden pillow at a monastery does decrease the desire to go back to bed, but for us mere mortals, I think a few minutes after the snooze button isn't so bad, either.

I've found the benefits of waking up early far outweigh the extra hours of sleep... There's something really special about the soft darkness before dawn, the light of sunrise coming in through the window, hearing the birds start to sing. After I've written 1,500 words I can start the day with a feeling of satisfaction – I've already accomplished something important before breakfast. I feel happy everyday... and that in itself is a small miracle :)

~ ~ ~

Insights from Ten Days of Meditation

As the surrounding Thai countryside welcomed the new year with gunfire and fireworks, I laid my head down on a wooden pillow and tried to fall asleep before the 4 am wake-up bell rang. So began 2015, the first of ten nights at a vipassana meditation retreat.

Suan Mokkh International Dhamma Hermitage

To write one post about all the experiences, epiphanies, and difficulties of those ten days is impossible — so, I'll share with you one of the major insights I had near the end of the course:

One monk showed us a mandala (image of the symbolic universe) with the realms of hell all the way around to the heavenly abode of those who solely practice loving-kindness. He explained that even those in this heavenly realm suffer from dukkha (defilement) because they love “too much.” The Buddhist ideal is to be neither sorrowful nor joyful, but instead completely at peace ‘in the center, following the Middle Way.’

This was a crisis for me!

Before this retreat I would have told you I didn’t have any anger or fear (save for the occasional furry spider, of which the hermitage had plenty). Through the ten days, I realized that everyday my mood would follow a cyclical pattern of alertness, joy, contentment, boredom, anger, and sleepiness; emotions that play out in the background all the time, but I was quiet enough inside and out to be aware of them. I found that I did have anger, and I was especially afraid of anger because…

Everything I do stems from this fear of potential physical or emotional pain.

For the monk to explain that even loving-kindness can bring a kind of suffering, I had an inner crisis: if even compassion can cause harm, must I throw it away in order to completely protect myself from all forms of pain and suffering? If practicing peace involves strict discipline cutting off all your attachments, where does compassion for others spring from?

These thoughts began to form on the evening of Day 8. Day 9 was the only day that practitioners couldn’t ask questions to the coordinators during meditation break; I had to wrestle with these questions alone. And I did wrestle with them. I felt myself pulling away from Buddhism, as if it had hurt me with its truth, and I was going to avoid even such a thing that had helped me find peace and guidance along the path of spiritual awakening for years... Where could I turn now?

Then, I thought of my Takashina babies — those wonderful, joyful, full-of-love-and-energy elementary students I had the blessing to teach and play with in Japan. Every time they come to mind, I smile from way down deep in my heart. Was there suffering in my loving them so much? Of course; when I had to say goodbye, or when one of them was hurt, or when I thought of them going through the rigorous Japanese academic testing system, my heart squeezed with ache. Does this inclusion of “suffering” change my feelings about them, or how I would have been around them? Never, ever in a million years!!

So, if living in this world means that to give up suffering you must give up joy, I accept both of them. I willingly suffer to increase love for others, and willingly love to decrease others' suffering.

In other words, I choose to live this life!!!

I chose my life!! I don’t have to renounce the whole world — what a revelation! I was trying to be the perfect bhikkuni (Thai Buddhist nun) by shaving my head, locking away nearly all of my belongings, and even brushing my teeth with my fingers at one point because I saw a video once of Zen monks living that way.

I went to an “extreme” to learn that perfection (even in the “Middle Way” between extremes) is not the way to peace. As another meditator at the retreat aptly put it, ‘Maybe there’s a middle way to the Middle Way.’

At times during the retreat I thought, ‘This is incredible! I want to stay here forever!’ Other times I felt so much fear at the prospect of further delving into the mind I wanted to quit before the ten days were up. (It’s not until Day 11, when the silence is finally broken, you learn you’re not crazy because everyone else felt the same way through their experience.)

When the silence was over, the people I’d been meditating, eating alongside, and doing chores with felt like old friends… though we hadn’t exchanged a word, only gentle smiles. It wasn’t until after ten days I learned their names, or even their nationalities. Instead of the customary, ‘Where are you from? Where are you going?’ we asked each other questions like, ‘What were some of your insights during the retreat? Did you find it as hard as I did?’ Sharing our experiences and insights with each other deepened the entire retreat experience. We were deeply present in our conversations, and it felt safe to be open to each other about anything and everything.

I learned that the smallest things I did had big effects on the people around me, from knocking on my neighbor’s door at 4 am to make sure she had woken for the morning bell, to volunteering to read a morning passage to the entire group of 160 people. And I was affected in return; the same neighbor came armed with a broom to help me shoo the spider living beside my doorway, and another girl approached me after the retreat to tell me my morning reading was so gently spoken and well done that when she meditates she hears my voice! (I’ll carry that compliment in my heart forever.)

At this very moment I’m in Bangkok, and every day I meet up with another friend from the retreat, and I can see the joy and light pouring out from their faces. How incredible to be a part of their lives!!

This is my present life: joyfully aware and content to put my effort into living open-eyed, open-hearted, and open-minded.

~ ~ ~

Are you aware of this present moment? Take three deep breaths. Each new breath is a new beginning. <3

~ ~ ~

2015

Happy New Year!!!

2015 is already underway, and I hope it's been a great new start for you! I've just returned from a two-week meditation course at Suan Mokkh International Dhamma Hermitage. I plumbed the depths of my mind and found that what I felt I was lacking from the world was within me all along. This sounds like a cliché, but I found it to be true. I would love to tell you more about my experience in the next post.

Before I left for Thailand I wrote for the blog explaining my lack of internet for two weeks, but didn't get a chance to publish it (*headsmack*). Sorry about that! Allow me to backtrack a little with a snapshot of my time in Singapore:

Christmas 2014

Christmas Lunch (while you could still see the table before we piled on the platters)

Current and former Ishikawa JETs reunited in Singapore to celebrate Christmas together! なつかし！

Thank you Nat, Anna, Thor and Faith for showing us around your fascinating city-state; and Clarissa and Martin for the memories stand up paddleboarding and watching the sunset from the futuristic Skywalk [below]. I love y'all so much, and look forward to when we reunite again to speak "Japanglish" and reminisce about our special piece of inaka (countryside) Japan.

Supertree Grove at Gardens by the Bay

~ ~ ~

MEMENTOS: Boxing & Massages

With our trip to Chiang Mai coming to a close, we had to see two of its biggest attractions: massage parlors and Muay Thai boxing.

Our feet were really aching from walking all over the city, so we stopped by a small parlor along the street and had the most painful foot massages. The ladies jacked up every poor bone in our toes. When Olivia looked behind her head, there was an open jar full of crawling bugs! We learned our lesson, we won't go for the cheap parlors ever again.

The pain!!

Enjoying dinner from the patio of a Middle Eastern restaurant (oh shawarma, I missed you!).

A normal, everyday sight: people riding along in the bed of high speeding trucks.

Muay Thai!

The girls boxed first.

We cheered for the red team because they were in our corner of the ring.

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Then, we came to the last day. I had originally booked a massage with the #1 parlor in Chiang Mai. Unfortunately, that was the evening I went to the hospital. Instead I found an opening at another parlor, which was beautiful but their massage itself was pretty ineffective. I was also really sad we had to go soon, and my whole mood was close to tears. It was snowing and cold back in Japan; I wanted to stay right there in Thailand!

The inner walkway between the lobby and the rooms of the spa.

The massage room. The door in the back opened up to a private courtyard with a shower.

The masseuse braided my hair and looped in a fresh flower.

And so ends the adventures in Thailand. I can't wait to go back to Chiang Mai again :)

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Wat Walking, Part II: Chedis

There are a lot of photos to share of these beautiful wats - enjoy!

Nagas in colored glass, lining a temple roof.

A small ancient chedi.

A chedi is a a mound structure (like a stupa) containing Buddhist relics, typically the ashes of Buddhist monks. Just like the inside of the wats, this is a place Buddhists go to meditate.

A Buddha inside the chedi's alcove.

A relics hall.

A lotus pond.

Thai flags leading to the wat.

Inside, hundreds of Buddha statues sat in a golden glow under the banners of the zodiac.

The gigantic stupa of Wat Chedi Luang, originally built during the 14th century.

Seven-headed nagas at the stairway to the stupa.

Most wats reflected the light with colored glass, but this one absorbed it with its dark panels.

A Buddha reclining on his right side, depicting the moment of his "death" and entering Nirvana.

Different statues of the zodiac were placed around the giant stupa to celebrate the new year.

Instead of a dragon, my zodiac animal was a large naga.
(And that's the dress I haggled for at the night bazaar)

Buddha meditating on "the other shore."

Taking a tuk-tuk to Wat Umong, the temple of caves.

A cave network on the temple grounds, tunneled in 1297.

Like most wats and holy places, you must take off your shoes before you enter.

A monk down a long tunnel, sketching the Buddha with a reclining dog beside him.

The large stupa of Wat Umong.

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The Night Market Cabaret!

After I was released from the hospital, the three of us went back to the bazaar to see a live dance show. I was skeptical at first, but Olivia was right - it was amazing! There's something special about these dancers - can you tell what it is?

Sawa dee means "hello" in Thai.

The dances ranged from show girl to racy to modern.

You go, Tina!

"You're gonna love meeeeeeeee!" At which point the singer jumps off the stage and kisses a guy in the audience.

This guy was Olivia & mine's favorite!

Lip-syncing a Rihanna song.

"I'm a one-man woman, but I'm a two-timing man."

Incredible makeup job, right?

Have you guessed the twist yet?

Every dancer in this show is a man!



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