Camping Trip in Ratchaburi

Recently we went on a camping trip. Like most Thais, Poo's idea of camping is completely different than mine. I come from the Western United States, and "camping" invokes big mountains, wild rivers, bears, strenuous hikes, and a sense of danger.

The typical Thai "camping" experience is driving your truck to a beautiful spot in a National
Park, pitching your tent next to about 100 other tents, and occupying a sala, or a campfire, for the next 15 hours with dozens of other people. It involves immense quantities of food, ice, stoves, alcohol, portable tables, etc. In other words, it's just an outdoor party. There is always a guitar, often amplified music draining the battery of some unsuspecting truck, and there absolutely must be a huge public toilet provided by the grace of the Royal Park System -- plumbing is the sine qua non of Thai camping.

As we were driving to the National Park, Poo was bubbly, but I was already grumpy. "It will be so much fun!" she said, as she described the profiles of her online camping group, "K. Nid, he's a good singer and he plays the guitar, and . . . "

"ARRGGHH!" I blasted, "I go camping to get AWAY from people, NOT to meet new people!"

We got there and the online camping group had already secured the best spot -- in the sala. It was 11:00 AM but they were already drinking and laughing. I refused to drink, because I wanted to be sober in case I felt the need to drive to the nearest hotel. I had a good book so I perched on a rock near the river to read my book.

By late afternoon, I had surrendered. I was now drinking and I had pitched my tent, but I was still reading my book. When the light faded, though, I had no choice but to join the group. Of course, the men were all drinking and telling stupid jokes while the women were cooking and gossiping. I joined the men and they were happy to have me, because it gave them a new activity -- Tease the Farang! They wanted me to drink whiskey, but I refused, and I drank my own beer at my own pace.

"MICKEY!!" shouted one of them -- "I can tell you're not a W & W guy -- you're a B & B guy!"

"What's that?" I asked.

"You don't like Wine & Women -- you like Books & Beer!"

"That's true," I observed.

On the way home, as I was complaining to Poo, I told her the guys were teasing me mercilessly -- "for example, they said I'm not a W & W guy, I'm a B & B guy!"

"That's true!" said Poo, "Boring & Boring!"

Teaching Digital Natives

Here is what is like to teach the "Digital Natives":

Today I was lecturing about two Chinese warlords -- The Old Marshal, Zhang Zuolin, and his son, the Young Marshal, Zhang Xueliang. Maybe it's boring for Digital Natives to listen to an old guy lecturing about two guys named Zhang, so I tried to spice it up a little:

"Old Zhang was subservient to the Japanese, but they were still suspicious, so they killed him and gave power to his son, Young Zhang, who should have been easier to control, because he was a womanizer and an opium addict."

"Oooooohhh" said one of my students, "sounds like fun!"

"Dude!" interrupted another student, "Americans are so busy and stressed out that they make their own meth!"

"Wait a minute," said another student, "they're so busy . . . . so they make meth . . . doesn't that take time?"

"Dude," continued the questioned one, "they're so pro at Chemistry that they take a little time to make their own meth, and then they use the meth to stay up all night studying!"

"Oh," continued the corrected one, "that's smart!"

"Proposition 19 Failed!" added the original interlocutor.

Finally I had to explode: "NO THAT'S NOT SMART!!! SPEED WILL ROT YOUR TEETH!"

The kids looked at me like I'm crazy.

One of the more sensible students brought the conversation around: "Mr Mick, How do you spell his name -- Zhang . . . the old one?"

"I don't know," I responded, "just google 'Zhang old marshal' -- you'll get it. I think it's X - I - E . . . . or something like that ."

"I got it!" he said, "Z - O - U . . . . you were close!"

East Timor

Today Thun began his Exam Week. Jason had his "exam" too.

I came rushing home to ask Thun: "How was your exam?"

"Easy."

"YES!" I threw my hands into the air. Jason was watching carefully.

"Jason, how was your exam?" I asked.

"Easy!" Jason knows how to please his Dad -- wait 'til he gets 24th place out of 25.

I continued, "Thun, which subjects did you do today?"

"Mathematics, easy, Science, easy, History, I'm not sure."

I interrogated him: "What was the topic -- Thai History???" I was ready to quiz him about the kings of Thailand.

"No," he said, "ASEAN."

"Well, that's easy," I said, "name the eleven countries of ASEAN."

"No, Dad! -- only ten."

"OK, name the ten."

"Indonesia, Philippines, Malaysia, Brunei, Singapore, Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, and Burma," he said correctly.

"Good!" I said . . . . . "WAIT A MINUTE!!" I had a brainstorm, "what about East Timor? I think East Timor is part of ASEAN, too."

"No, Dad," responded Thun, "They are not ready yet. They are too small and too poor. Brunei is small, but they are rich, so they are part of ASEAN, but East Timor is not ready to be part of ASEAN yet."

"Thun," I concluded, "you are so smart and I love you so much. You are such a good student and you can even teach your Dad about ASEAN -- that's why I'm so proud of you . . . . but, still, I think East Timor should be part of ASEAN."

"Yeah," said Thun, "me, too."

Family Quarrel

Today we had a little quarrel:

It is Sunday. Thun, who goes to school Mon -Fri, and who goes to "extra school" on Saturday, was supposed to go to "religious school" this morning, on Sunday.

It reminded me of my good mother, who was a Sunday School teacher. It reminded me of those miserable Sunday mornings when I was required to go to Sunday School.

Isn't Monday - Friday enough? Why was I required to go to School on Sundays? Of course, what my Mother was trying to teach at Sunday School (be nice) was more important than what my teachers were trying to teach me at school (algebra!). But forget that.

Anyway, today Poo went to the wat to pray. She dropped into the Sunday School class to see her beloved Thun studying. He wasn't there! Obviously, he was skipping and he had gone to play video games. So, she went to all the internet shops to find him, but he was nowhere to be seen. I was worried - Thun might be lying to us, or he might have been run over by a truck.

Finally, he came home.

Where have you been? we grilled him.

"At the wat."

"But we went to the wat, and saw the class --you weren't there!!!!"

"No," he told us, "you went to the beginners' class, on the 1st floor, but I was at the advanced class, on the 2nd floor."

Gangsta Handshake

Tonight I had a good conversation with Thun . . . about the comparative prices of Thailand and America . . . the real shit.

It began with: "Dad, can I borrow your backpack tomorrow?"

"Sure."

"Dad, how much does this backpack cost in America?"

"Cheap -- maybe $17, about 500 Baht."

"REALLY! America is cheap!" chimed Thun.

"Yeah," I said, "America is cheap for things, but not for services, like . . . a boy's haircut . . . $1 in Thailand, but how much in America?" I asked.

"I don't know" opined Thun, honestly.

"About $17 -- 500 Baht -- same as that backpack!"

"Really??" asked Thun. "Dad, I know about America . . . my friend likes to do this -- "

And then Thun grabbed my hand in an old-fashioned handshake, which he slid into a thumbs-up handshake, and then we snapped our fingers, and then he pulled me towards him into a chest-thumpin' gangsta-hug.

"I love you, Dad!" he concluded.

Bilingual Brain

Bilingual children are a trip. Jason's brain is all messed up -- now he can read (in Thai) and he is fluent at speaking Thai. He can understand English (though he never speaks it) and whenever he writes -- he wants to write in English.

Furthermore, when writing in English, he often writes nonsense words, but he does so with careful deliberation and great sense of purpose. Recently, he drew a picture of two cartoonish characters, and then he labeled the drawing:

JASON

DADDY

OXICN . . . . .

then he paused, scratched his head, thought deeply, changed the "N" to an "M", and then completed the word he was trying to spell:

OXICMD

What the world needs is a little more OXICMD!

Burger Boy

When I got back from America, Thun was eager to tell me:

"Dad, while you were away, and Mommy and Jason went to the country-house, I stayed in Bangkok by myself!"

I looked at Poo and she was nervous. She knew that I might not approve of an 11-year-old staying in the big city all by himself. But, what-the-hell, Bangkok is safe, at least compared to LA or NY, especially for an 11-year-old who has street-sense, like Thun.

"So, Daddy," continued Thun, "guess what I ate?"

"Fried rice!" I guessed.

"Nope."

"Pork necks?"

"Nope."

"Noodle soup?"

"Nope."

"OK," I gave up, exasperated, "what did you eat?"

"Burgers!" replied Thun.

"Really?" I asked.

"Yes, burgers! three times a day -- burger for breakfast, burger for lunch, and burger for dinner -- I went to 7-11 and ate microwave burgers!!"

"Look at this silly boy!" interjected Poo, "he wants to be a farang!"

"But, Thun," I asked, "why did you eat so many burgers?"

"I am practicing!" he responded.

"Practicing for what?" I asked.

"Practicing for living in America!!!"