How I Ended Up at a Gay Bar

“It’s the first weekend all together in the apartments, we should go out and explore. There’s this bar around the corner, let’s go check it out!” said no one in particular, but it sums up the start to our night. So it’s maybe 9 pm, and a group of nine of us head out in search of this bar, called “The See man’s Club”. It’s a very short walk away, so we’re there in no time. All the windows are blacked out and there seems to be no one outside, so we’re a little confused, but go in anyways. In true club fashion, there’s very low lighting, music pumping, and laser lights going on. And there was the occasional spurt from a fog machine which seemed to be on no particular schedule.

We seat ourselves in the comfy couches in the upper section and order a round of drinks (okay so we ordered a fifth, but whatever let’s not get too technical). We’re drinking our way through that while carrying on with conversation and singing along to the English music. Then one of my group-mates says “hey there are only dudes in this club and there’s a stage. I think we might be at a gay bar…” which we all laugh along to. When one of the guys comes back from the bathroom he informs us that there are posters of nearly naked attractive men in the bathroom. We’re definitely at a gay bar. But what do we care? We’re out together having a good time so it’s all good.

We’re sipping on a second order of drinks when all of a sudden the club changes. Lights set up on stage and the curtains open. Out struts a woman in high heels and a tight dress, dancing and singing. Yep, definitely a gay bar. We cannot contain ourselves, now cheering and singing along with her (genetically male, but mentally female). We even got a shout out from one of the women on stage. They were speaking to the audience of maybe 40 men, when the woman turns to us we heard the word “farang”. Immediately, of course, we stand up and cheer for ourselves. No idea what she’s saying, but she’s gesturing to us and talking to us and it sounds positive, so we embrace it. The show goes on into the night, but after spending a few hours at this club we decide to move on. Who knows what the finale might have been. ;)

It was definitely not what we expected to find when we set out, but it turned into a really fun night.

Saying Goodbye

I stepped off the plane in Thailand and was greeted by Ajaan Mark and some of the Thai Pi’s. They dropped a necklace of flowers over my head and said “welcome to Thailand!” We stayed that evening in a hotel and the next morning were taken to ISDSI for orientation. By 5 pm our host families began arriving to come pick us up. I hadn’t been in the country a full 24 hours by this point and had learned only one word in Thai (sawadee-ka). Then all of a sudden there I was standing face to face with a Thai couple in their 50’s. They smiled at me and spoke some Thai; I just smiled back and got in the car. I had no idea who I was with or where we were going. We drove through the city (a scary experience, to be sure), all the way through the city, then started coming upon some rice fields and orchards. Where are we going? I wondered the whole time. I had no sense of direction, no way of communicating, no knowledge of appropriate behavior. All I had right then was my Thai parents. They were my only foundation and source of help, comfort, and conduct and so to them I entrusted myself and my wellbeing.

The fields across my house

For five weeks, I’d woken up to these parents and my two sisters in a house in the country. I’d learned (very slowly) what to expect as normal Thai behavior and began to feel more comfortable in their house. My pa woke up every morning around 5:30 and showered. By the time I got out of bed at 6 the front doors would be opened with light streaming in. As I showered he or my maa would cook me breakfast. Different dishes at first, sometimes it was a full meal, other times it was a piece of fruit. Eventually they settled on hot-dogs and a fried egg, which I would routinely couple with hot chocolate. My sister would wake up and when she put on her backpack I knew we were leaving for school. I’d walk outside and down the steps to where all of our shoes sat. They’d unlock the gate and out we’d go. When school was over my parents would drive up and if I didn’t see them first and walk out, my maa would come find me. She’s ask “wan ni koon le-en aria ka?” and I would take out my notebook and butcher the pronunciation of about every word I tried to say. “Kao jai?” I’d add after long silences after I’d read a word. (Do you understand?) to which the response was usually “mai kao jai” (I don’t understand) and a chuckle. I’d then try it in a sentence, if I knew enough vocab for it. But oftentimes I had to resort to pointing at the Thai spelling of the word (while I had English phonetics written beside). Once she realized what I’d been trying to say she’d laugh harder, pronounce it correctly for me, and I’d repeat.

We’d get home and I’d retreat to the air conditioning in my room (yes! I had a small AC unit in my room! It was absolutely wonderful) to cool off and unwind from the mentally taxing day of learning Thai. I’d come out a little bit later and practice my Thai or watch my mom cooking dinner. I’d ask “ni arai?” (what’s this?) and she’d tell me Thai word that I’d repeat and usually forget within 20 seconds. I do regret not writing more down about what she was cooking. Many of the ingredients were different and not common/available in the States so it was hard to figure out what she was making and how I could copy it. I did learn general trends in cooking, how things are cut and prepared, how foods are cooked, and whatnot. Then I’d gather five plates and place some heaping mounds of rice on them. We’d eat dinner in Thai fashion: fork in left hand, used to push food onto the spoon in your right which you then eat from. There were multiple dishes, all placed in the middle with little serving spoons. You’d take one or two bite portions at a time from a dish so eating was a communal affair. Some night’s I’d do dished, if not then my maa would the following morning. Then came karaoke time, which was after dinner most nights. I sang some English songs for them and even a Spanish one, while they sang many in Thai. We also listened to a lot of K-Pop while my sisters would dance to the music videos. My maa would say “ap nam” (shower) and I’d be soon showered and off to bed. They day would repeat for nearly every school day.

On weekends, they took me to meet the grandparents and see the piglets, chicks, and puppies that had just been born on their little farm. We went to many shops and markets. I went to Pa’s retirement ceremony and a funeral. I met many policemen at my pa’s station, and the students my younger sister went to school with. I was introduced as their “luke sow” (daughter). Sometimes they would tell me we were leaving, so I’d grab my things and hop in the car without any idea where we were going. Show up, have no idea what was going on, and end up back at home (sometimes still clueless). Sometimes my maa would sit down and talk with me. This was an entirely Thai conversation, as she speaks little/no English. It was a long, long, long process to express a few seemingly simple ideas. One time there was straight-up charades, which actually went over pretty well. I went to the mall with my sisters and had my pa help me in the evening with my homework. It was truly a part of their family.

But after five weeks, the homestays were over and the students had to move into apartments. I was sad to leave my family but excited to gain some freedom. I spent most of Friday night packing, which was a much less organized affair then my packing to come to Thailand a month before. Saturday morning I’m served another fried egg and make myself some hot chocolate. It’s pretty low-key and doesn’t even seem like I’m leaving or my family is too concerned about it. I’m actually ready early so we load up the car and set out. Then I realized I forgot my Karen bag so we had to turn around. Setting out again I realize we’re turning onto the small street that my grandparents live on. We pull in and I’m ushered over to sit next to my grandfather. I greet him appropriately and smile, sitting wondering what’s going to happen. My maa has me hold my hands out in front me, side by side, palms up. My grandpa pulls out some white string and takes a short piece (maybe 6 inches) and drags in across both my palms, chanting. He then takes one of my wrists and, with more chanting, wraps the white string around it three times, ties a knot, and blows on it. He then repeats on the other wrist. When it’s all said in done my parents tell me to thank him, and then we’re back in the car again.

I think my grandpa might have been a monk previously. I think he was Bali chanting, because I couldn’t understand any of it, which is what monks chants and blessings are in. I’m pretty sure I was just blessed by an 80-something Thai monk. Words could not describe how I was feeling at that time. I just felt really great and kept smiling. It was a great send-off from my family, blessing me with good luck and fortune for the rest of my adventures in Thailand and America.

We reach the P&S Mansion Apartments (yeah, say P&S five times fast. You’ll be laughing too). My family helps me take my things up to my room and they check it out to make sure everything is working properly. After so long, there’s not much else to do but for them to leave. I walk them back down to the front door and we stand there for a while, greeting other families as they drop off their host-children. I could tell they didn’t want to leave me, and I knew I was going to miss them, but I was ready to unpack and see where the other students were living and settle into our new apartment life. I also wasn’t sure what correct protocol was for saying goodbye in Thailand, so I just stood there. When it comes time they and give me wai’s and ‘sawadee-ka’s and we just stand there looking at each other.

“Can I have a hug?” I say to my host sister Fern, “That’s what we do in America.” She translated to my maa, who promptly ran forward and threw her arms around me and started to cry. “No, don’t do that. You’re going to make me cry too!” To which the tears immediately started swelling in my eyes. I buried my head in her hair and hugged her, both sobbing. I didn’t want to leave this mother who has had a hand in helping and guiding me during my first very confusing five weeks in Thailand. She’s helped give me a place in society and ground me within Chiang Mai. She’s taught me when to wai, how to eat Thai style, and taken as good of care of me as I could have ever asked (actually she was a little too caring, and it sometimes felt a little suffocating to have such lack of responsibility and freedom, but I know it was only out of love). She steps back, still crying, and I hug my sister Fern as well. Men and women don’t really touch in Thailand, so I didn’t hug my pa, but he did give me a smile and a nod. Then my family walked down the steps, got into the car and drove off. My safety net and security blanket, and most of what grounded me in Chiang Mai had suddenly been ripped away in a very emotional morning.

I walked back upstairs, trying to dry my tears along the way. After sitting in the air conditioning for a little bit, I decide I should unpack. After all, it will be a Saturday night and the first night all the students are together with our new-found freedom.  I would much rather come back in the night to an organized, unpacked, and put together room. I open my backpack and start to unload my books when I come across something I don’t remember seeing before. I pull it out and find a hand-made card written by my host sister Fern. It’s so touching and sweet, full of pictures of me and the family (and my classmate Reid, who my sisters think is incredibly attractive and looks like Justin Bieber. Reid disagrees with the JB part, as most American boys don’t want to look like him). Reading this brought me to tears again.

Sara Do not forget my family. I hope that you will be successful. I hope we can meet again and teach me to sing again. Some call me back. If you come to Thailand again. Families are always welcome. Goog luck! Fern and family <3 Ps.. My love won't accept to change... "love you"

They really cared for me, as a family should. I’m happy to be moving onto the field excursions courses, but I’m very sad to leave them. I have my family in the States. I then have my Prairie Lane family, whom I address as Aunt, Uncle, and occasionally Cousin. A brand off of that is my longest-time friend Leah’s family in southern Ohio, with people like my Uncle Richard, Aunt Pam, and my cousins Josh, Sean, and Nate. They treat me like family and love me just the same. I’ve also adopted two step-families into my life (one’s Italian, now that’s at least five times the size of my blood-related family). Now I’m adding another group of people I can call my family. Having these six families have led me to develop a new definition of the word “family”. A family isn’t only a group of people to which you are genetically related to. Families do not have to be born through blood. A family is a group of people who support one another. They teach the young together. I know I was always safe in the care of any of my Prairie Lane family members. I don’t think there was much worry in my parents mind if I were to be left with any of them. My step-fathers family taught me much about cooking. My southern Ohio family taught me how to ride four-wheelers, shoot guns, throw knives, and drive a car. A family is a support network of people who love and care for one another, and who would drop all they were doing to come to your side in time of need, even when you don’t ask for it. A family is above all, a group who loves one another. I love all my families and am so grateful that I’ve grown up in each of their lives. It’s given me a large safety net to fall back on, a place to be grounded, and an environment to feel safe and comfortable. If I should come back to Thailand, I’ll definitely be visiting my Thai family again. We may be physically apart, but they’ll always be a part of me. To maa, pa, Fang, and Fern: Thank you for such wonderful hospitality. I miss you already, and I’ll never forget you. 

Traditional Lanna dress for the farewell dinner

Retirement Part 2: Fish or Pig?

The sword bridge and red carpet.

So after learning that the Thai police force does NOT speak Russian on Fridays, the pre-ceremony mingling session is over. We go upstairs and sneak through a door to get into the main room. It’s large (about the size of half a soccer field), dimly lit, wonderfully decorated, and full of people. We get a prime spot just as the action is about to begin. Around 20-25 police are included in the retirement ceremony. They’re escorted in in procession under a bridge of swords, announcements booming. After a brief stop in front of over a dozen flashing cameras and one video camera showing their image on two giant screens along the walls, they turn and continue along the red carpet towards the stage. And no retirement ceremony is complete without fog machines. So, of course, there were two situated with fog tumbling down the staircase (and by the looks of the room, they had been running long before everything began). After a speech with all the retirees on stage, they were let to mingle again and we snacked on more food on small plates.

The Family!

A slide show came on of all the retiring officers. When it came time for my family, they showed a family photo I’ve seen many times hanging on the wall at home, taken maybe 10-12 years ago. Then comes up the family photo we took when I first arrived! There I am, on two big screens, in the middle of a classy ceremony. I’d heard that our host families would consider us a part of the family and not just a temporary guest, but I wasn’t quite expecting this. One a very important day for my pa, they showcased to the entire Police Region 5 community that they had a host daughter. And I noticed every time I’ve been talked about/introduced (at least, every time since I’ve learned the vocabulary, and introductions aren’t really a thing in Thailand…) they’ve called me their “luke sow” (daughter). They say they have three luke sow. Sometimes I’m given surprised looks, the new person stairs at me a little longer and says asks something along the lines of ‘ if they truly said luke sow. Really? she’s a farang… ?’ and my parents just smile and say “yes, a farang. She’s our daughter.” They’ve also told me to come back to Thailand when I’m married and have a child, because they want to see it. I explained that I worked three jobs all summer long to pay for this trip and severely depleted my bank account. It was unlikely that I’ll have the funds to come back, but if available I’d definitely love to. If nothing else, I think I’ll at least send them some pictures. We might not understand one another all the time both in language and customs, which can be incredibly frustrating,  but they care for me dearly and I love and appreciate them and all they’ve done to welcome me into Thailand and into their family.

Back to the story… This seems to be a common theme when I’m writing blogs. There is so much happening that I don’t write about but is useful backstory or side notes so I include it. Sometimes it makes the posts quite a bit longer, but I figure if you’re reading through these in their entirety, you probably care about me the most and are most interested in what I have to say. You’ll probably love living vicariously through my stories, so the longer the better, right? Maybe not, but I always write more than I intend (one story was three pages in Word, single spaced… whoops) and that’s just how it is. I really did intend to get back to my story at the start of this paragraph, I don’t know what happened. I think I’m turning into Christine Kasprisin. Her stories are famously long. A complete package includes a map being drawn. Once she used object to explain the orientation of eight desks. In a rectangle. Two by four. It was a difficult concept to grasp… maybe…? (Not, and I called her out on it). But it’s a Christine story and I love her all the same.

BACK TO THE STORY! So more mingling which for me included eating, talking to Fern, standing, and sitting. It was a lively time in the life of Sara Green. Lanna dancers came on stage and danced a beautiful performance in Lanna costume. Later on some men came out and performed drum music for us, complete with mini-gong, symbols, and tumbling across the floor. This was the drumming we learned while visiting the Lanna village during lecture. I’m not sure if I ever wrote about that day, but I have pictures that I will one day hopefully make into a scrap book. (I have lots of paper I’ve bought, piles of pictures, and a scrapbook. Somehow gluing the pictures in is too strenuous work for me. They’ve been accumulating more pictures and more papers since high school graduation. I swear I’m going to get to it someday!) Even later the women performed with a larger-than-necessary amount of flower petals and sparkly confetti, and eventually the men came back for a partner dance (I see an awesome Lanna/K-pop fusion dance coming together in my head for the spring showcase. Mixing old culture with new, it’s gonna be great.)

Pa receiving his award.

The retirees were sent back on stage again to receive awards and drink to a toast. My pa doesn’t drink, but everyone else partook. This time on stage was so long, my host sisters and I had time to go to the bathroom, fix our hair, and meander around before anything exciting happened. I didn’t understand any of the Thai speeches, so it was just as well that I missed most of it.

It was a great night. I’d never been to such an affair before in Thailand and probably won’t get to again. The vibe of the venue and decorations seemed like a lot of money was spent on this night. The food was delicious, all hors d'oeuvres (spell check didn’t even recognize that when I tried to spell it. Thanks Google search, for pulling me out of that one). There was a red carpet that didn’t actually seem out of place, a grand stage, tons of flowers and many were real. Everything was just pretty to look at and well thought out. The whole night took us about two and a half ours. We left after the band started playing (for more mingling time after all the ceremonies were complete).

By now you’re wondering why has she gone through so many words and none of them have been “fish” or “pig”? Well, to be honest, I forgot about that. I named the blog first, as I usually do, then write my story to share my experience and highlight a usually funny experience that is the title. And now you’re thinking so why didn’t you just work that back in somewhere? I’m a no-edits kind of writer. If I can’t think of what to say right then, it just get written right then. I’ll edit a sentence as I write, usually in my head, and once it’s on the page it usually stays as is. That involves the least amount of time spent working on a piece. No pre-planning and no editing afterwards (maybe a read through). I swear I get good grades in school! A little more thought and time is put into graded assignments. But this is a blog, and it’s mine. I’m the only grader, and if I say it’s good enough, hoorah! It’s published. A for making time to write this (aka not singing karaoke with my host family tonight and staying up a little later than preferred) and A+ if it’s got a little bit of funny somewhere it in. See? Now everyone wants me as a prof, foolproof grading scale.

So about the fish, or pig… In the dimly lit room it was a little hard to tell what we were eating all the time. The lights went extra low as well when something was happening on stage. Fern and I were eyeing the new food that the kitchen crew set out. It looked kind of good so I was to be the one to try it. It’s a breadish substance, with a pink meat on top, and some mayonnaise/tartar sauce-esque topping and maybe a little scallion garnish. I chew and taste, taste and chew. After a long moment of tasting, thinking, and a bewildered look on my face, I turn to Fern and announce “ni aroi” (this is tasty, one of the only ways I remember how to describe food). She just stares at me for a second.

“Fish or pig?” she asks.

“I can’t really tell… I think… maybe… I don’t know. It could have been either. It fell apart like fish, but it could have been pig. What do you think?” Really, I couldn’t tell if it was fish or pig. An odd thing to be unsure of, I’m sure. We both go for them and try to figure it out. Long pause after chewing. “I still don’t know, but I’m leaning towards fish”.

“It’s… fish? Maybe.”

“It falls apart easily like fish. I think its fish.”

“I think… fish.”

I guess we’ll never know for sure. But I think it was fish… I think.

Retirement Part 1: Only on Fridays.

After spending the day at the fish farm, I’m slightly clean but still smelling of fish and mud. I pin my hair back as best I can to cover up the mud I received during the mud fight, and don my glorious attire for the evening: jeans and a pink short-sleeved button-down my host mom gave to me (I don’t like this one, you have it!). Here’s my host dad dressed in pure white police ceremony uniform, and me in jeans and sandals, smelling like fish. Very classy. (but it’s the best my host mom could find out of my clothes. my dress pant capris weren’t suitable because they showed my ankles, so dirty jeans it was.)

We arrive at the Grandview Hotel, receive a warm greeting from the police on staff that night, and are ushered down to the mingling area, complete with delicious appetizers on adorable little serving spoon-things. My family and I sit at a table and I converse with Fern as my host father greets his fellow policemen. This retirement ceremony is for all the policemen in region 5 who are retiring. For the police force, that means they are turning 60. At 55 early retirement becomes available (as so I’m told by Ajaan Wilasinee, my language teacher), although I only heard the age 60 tonight, so I’m not sure if there were younger retiree’s here or not. I notice the police wai is different than a normal wai. Similar to the military, a military member will do a sharp, ridged salute whereas a civilian will mimic a much lazier motion if they so choose to use a salute. The normal wai is very relaxed, with many smiles. The police wai is a sharp, ridged wai and some men make a short “huh!” sound, instead of “sa-wa-dee-krab”.

Fern

Fern, Fang, and I spent much of the time taking pictures of ourselves or grazing on food and drink. At one point in time a 30ish aged man in a brown police uniform (not retiring yet and not a part of the ceremony, therefore he’s in a more usual brown) approaches and asks “may I sit here?”

“Of course!” is my reply. Being the only farang amongst many native Thai’s, all I’ve head was quiet Thai chatter for the evening. I was quite excited this man spoke English. He sits and we talk about the food, the venue, America and Thailand (he’s been to America three times, and his English is excellent). He inquires about my reasons for coming to Thailand, and is curious to learn more as I explain the type of school that ISDSI is. I talk to him about the police force and where else he’s been, and if he’s seen snow (I think he has, but I don’t remember anymore. I waited too long to get to writing this blog post). I like asking about snow.

Two ladies approach and gracefully interrupt our conversation. They speak with my new friend for a few moments and depart. He turns to me and says “I’m sorry if you don’t understand. We speak Russian on Fridays. It’s an old tradition that we haven’t rid ourselves of yet.” I didn’t even notice the Russian! I get so used to tuning out conversations I hardly notice what they are saying. When I feel like practicing my Thai and I can understand some of what they’re saying, I’ll listen in. But sometimes the vocabulary and sentence structure is far above what I’ve learned, so I tune it out and use that time to think about things. Thai’s do much of their activities together leaving little time to be by yourself, so that has to come mentally even while you’re with other people. It’s a more complicated topic that I could expand on, but not in this post. Inquire further if you’re curious. Anyways… back to the story.

“Oh, I have a friend who will be studying in Russia soon!” And our conversation continues. We talk for another 10 minutes maybe until we’re interrupted by the gentlemen sitting across the table talking to my pa. They talk to my new friend (who I’m going to continue referring to as ‘my new friend’ as I forget his name and don’t know what else to call him) then turn back to one another and discus something further. I wasn’t paying attention to this conversation either.

New friend turns to me and says “See? They speak in Russian. Old police tradition, we do it every Friday. But only on Fridays.” I nod along, smiling.

“That’s awesome, I wish I spoke Russian.” I turn back to listen to the conversation this time. Miss Rachel Myers is learning Russian and has practiced speaking a few words when we were room-mates freshman year. I love foreign languages as well (actually I wanted to be a translator if I didn’t go into the sciences. But the sciences seem like they’ll hold more sure job opportunities, so I’m majoring in Biology) even if I can’t understand them.

I listen in.

“That’s Thai! I understood the words ‘X, Y, Z’. That’s not Russian.”

“Sure it is! We speak Russian on Fridays, all policemen. I’m sorry if you can’t understand it” is his reply. He’s grinning all the while.

“No, that’s definitely Thai! You don’t know any Russian, do you? Psh, I head Thai’s liked to joke, I didn’t realize it’d go so far. Yeah, that’s definitely Thai. They’re talking about ‘thing-that-they’re-talking-about’.” I feel a little silly now. Why would the Thai police force speak Russian on Fridays? English is taught in schools, not Russian. And they were talking so fast, they’d have to have been fluent. Really, like there’s a Russian speaking test before being granted into the force. And I didn’t even catch it the first few times he talked about Russian! To push a little credit my way, when he mentioned speaking Russian to the two women, I assumed they must be his sisters or very close childhood friends. Who else would know such a language as Russian in a country like Thailand? But when he said later on it was the whole police force, I nodded along and thought Oh, what an interesting tradition. How splendid! I’d love to learn (said in a British accent, of course, because just seems like it fits here).

Yes. Thai’s like to joke around. But Thai’s seldom joke to me in English, as it’s not their native language so sometimes things get lost in translation and jokes become very confusing. I felt like a fool for believing it for so long. But I smiled and laughed at myself anyways. After all, I’ve convinced people of odd things before too (I’m Canadian! -> Still haven’t figured out who I convinced of that, but I think they were an Ultimate person, and it was definitely a guy.) It’s definitely entertaining to see how far you can take something like that before the person realizes you’re joking with them (Broken Rocks people LOVE to try that on me, I’m too gullible sometimes. At least now I’ve learned think twice before I believe anything Logan or Devon say to me. Plus Logan can’t keep a straight face, so always look to see if he’s smiling).

Back to my story: So after a good laugh at myself, he has to go because the ceremony is about to start. That, you can catch in part two “Fish or Pig?”.

Me, in jeans and smelling a little like fish and mud, as well as my pa in his white uniform and my maa.