Sandy Does Southeast Asia

The similes I’ve often heard applied to children are not, as it turns out, quite true. Children are neither like blank slates waiting to be written on or like clay that can be molded. From my experience in the past few months, I’d say a more apt comparison would be to that one god that sprang fully formed out of that other god’s forehead, or whatever. Which is to say, you can give them knowledge in the form of information and maybe point out new ways of using their minds, but other than that, they simply are who they are and even a toddler already seems to have as coherent a personality as many of my adult friends.
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Now I’m thinking maybe I should stay in Nong Khai until my lease is up in April. Sigh. Why can’t it be like good ol’ ancient times when you could just slip some cash to a guy who would sacrifice a goat to the gods and throw its guts around on the ground, then tell you what to do. I can see him standing there, long of robe and wise of visage, poking a toe around in the viscera. “Yep,” he says, “the signs are clear. You should…” Then I give him 500 baht and go merrily on my way.
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Yesterday emerged straight out of a Smiths song – a Sunday, silent and gray. “Hide on the promenade, etch a postcard,” I hummed to myself as I sat at the computer trying to find an ending to a new story. I wondered if maybe today was the day I’d get to experience the often referenced ‘mango rains.’ I dearly hoped so. Not that I wanted rain so much as I longed for an excuse to not shut up about ‘mango rains’ this and ‘mango rains’ that for weeks.
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In the past three months here I have nearly bitten my tongue clean off trying not to scream, “Please God, no!” when people put on Dave Matthews. What I never knew is that he’s made so many records that, by my rough estimate after glancing at a friend’s MP3 list, it would be possible to listen to them back to back for approximately 40 years straight without hearing the same song twice. And every single song I’ve heard is horrible. It is amazing.

I have heard shit music at people’s houses. I have heard shit music in cafes. I have heard shit music in bars, restaurants and guesthouses. I have never heard so much bland, boring and straight-up bad music in my entire life as I have in the past four months in Thailand. And it’s not the Thai’s fault.
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Here are my current Top 5 Very Favorite Things in this glamourdise that is Nong Khai…

1. Melty grilled ham and cheese sandwiches from 7-11

2. A’s Italian boyfriend Antonio playing tres Parisian songs on his accordion from their back porch, which is basically my backyard. It’s like living in the Amelie soundtrack – perfect for French movie star like me! I mean, moi.

3. Spending an entire day laying around hopped up on cold medicine (yes, I had another cold last week), reading back issues of US Weekly and eating mini candy bars while listening to Smog (Charlotte’s care package ruled)

4. The katoi who works at the open-air kitchen I pass on my way to get fruit every morning (it is so cool and so typical that the tallest, most masculine asian in Nong Khai is a transvestite – I call her Lola)

5. Long, sunny afternoons spent reading Don Quixote* – I love this book! Why didn’t anyone ever tell me it was laugh-out-loud hilarious? I am beyond pleased that – according to the back of the edition I’m reading – it was “voted Greatest Book of All Time by the Nobel Institute.” Those guys must be a lot more fun than I’d assumed because this book is non-stop slapstick humor and all sorts of silliness.** It’s less like trudging through 1,000 pages of 17th Century Literature and more like giggling through a really long book version of Monty Python and the Holy Grail (voted Greatest Movie of All Time by the Sandy O Institute).

* The cold medicine, the katoi and the book (damn, now there is a title just waiting to happen) have all combined to create a recurring daydream about how Lola and I become bestest girl friends and roam all around Nong Khai having the most fabulous adventures.

** And The Sandy did decree: “Whosoever shall send unto my email inbox a smartypants literary analysis, let that person’s name be stricken without delay from the Book of Friends.”

Have you ever had an anxiety attack? No wait, have you ever had an anxiety attack that lasted for six hours? If so, you will understand how very, very not cool my day has been. I have no idea what the heck happened. It could have been the really strong coffee I had at breakfast (after who knows how many cups of regular coffee at home). Regardless, I got the feeling that I call the “Something Really Bad is About to Happen” feeling. I call it that because it’s basically an overwhelming sensation that, um, something really bad is about to happen. The last time I had it was on Thanksgiving, so at least I don’t get it often.
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Last week I went to the immigration office in town to apply for a visa extension. It was a breeze and they even gave me a few extra days to push it to a Monday. Unfortunately, because I expected a lot more bureaucratic rigamarole, I had told the tuk-tuk driver not to wait, which left me fifteen minutes later on the outskirts of town with not a tuk-tuk in sight. The kindly immigration official told me to go about 200 meters down along the highway, although he was more reticent on the subject of what I might find there.

There was nothing to do but hoof it back to civilization, and so I off set along the highway. At the first roadside food stall, after about a ten minute walk, I inquired about tuk-tuks. They pointed in the direction I’d just come from, saying it was very close, which means I’d passed it. But why hadn’t I seen anything? So off I went again in the direction from which I’d just come. The whole thing felt awfully familiar.
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So you know that two-month writing binge I’m on? Apparently it doesn’t involve blogs. But I have been writing short stories up a mother lovin’ storm. I’ve finished five in the past month. This doesn’t sound impressive unless one takes into account that I am the Slowest Writer Ever Of All Time.

Write for three hours, check email, eat lunch, read, teach, write for two or three more hours, read, sleep. That’s been my daily routine since Christmas. I’ve barely left my house in three weeks. It’s not the most exciting life but it’s doing right by me.

And what have I learned in this time?

1. Writing is fun
2. Other people are just a drag
3. Hunting mosquitoes is a perfectly amusing hobby

I’m pretty sure there’s a self-help book in there somewhere.

Here’s my address again for reference since all y’alls seem to keep misplacing it…

Sandy O.
c/o Mut Mee Guesthouse
1111/4 Kaeworawut Road
Nong Khai 43000
Thailand

The current plan is to leave Thailand mid-February so if you’re planning to send me something, hurry! I won’t have a mailing address for the rest of my trip.

xoxo

It was about three o’clock in the afternoon when I decided to start a new story. After finishing one last night, I had let myself slide this morning. My heart froze when my computer didn’t respond to being plugged in. But then neither did the lamp. I’ve grown used to my water being turned off at odd times since construction began on The Great Wall of Thailand, so I figured this was related.

I have so far avoided talking to the workmen. This accounts for their surprise when I walked out into the yard and greeted them, “Sawadee kah.” “Sawadee krap,” they returned, looking at me like I’d just sprouted an extra arm or two. I held up the lamp for their inspection. “Beautiful,” one of the men said, smiling at me. I looked at the lamp. Well, I thought, it’s just an ordinary desk lamp but it is quite a nice color, isn’t it? Then I realized he wasn’t talking about the lamp, of course. I ignored him and held up the plug, pretended to plug it in a few times, then sort of shook the lamp in their direction, in a gesture I hoped would say, “Turn my goddamn electricity back on or else.”
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