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Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Bangkok, Bangkok, Thailand
   After two years in Thailand, I find myself settled into a cute 2 bedroom condo called "The Next" on Sukhumvit Soi 52, right off the skytrain in Bangkok. I've been through two schools and four classroom assignments and two apartments . I've made friends with an assortment of students and teachers of all nationalities. I've learned to navigate Bangkok transportation fairly well and can even use the confusing but more economical bus system. I have amassed a mental list of favorite restaurants, massage parlors, and nail spas.  I have learned several techniques to get past my language limitations, such as translating and printing instructions out in Thai, writing down what I am saying in English, as it is often my accent, not my vocabulary, that the Thais can't understand. I always keep a notebook and pen on hand to draw pictures when necessary, I have become quite adept at charades, and I make a point to keep the phone numbers of a few good Thai friends with excellent English skills on speed dial.      
   Yet I still can only speak Thai in broken, caveman-like spurts ("Where bus Kong Kaen?"), and Thai tones totally ellude me. I suspect I've made some naughty faux-pas on occassion, based on the Thai reaction. I avoid conversations other than functional speech with my Thai friends. Even when I know the vocabulary, I cannot understand native Thai speech. I still go out of my way to seek out Western food, and order what few clothes I need from LLBean online, mailed to Pennsylvania, which Joe then repackages and forwards to me, only to discover in our amusement that the labels read "Made in Thailand." I still have not worked up the courage to join a pricey Bangkok gym at double US prices. After much concentration and four long suffering tutors, I can read limited Thai script but don't have enough vocabulary to make sense of anything but the names of towns and businesses.

    And still, after all this time, not one of my American friends has come to visit me despite repeated invitations. Their excuses range from the mundane "I'm afraid", "I don't fly", "I can't afford it", "What if I get sick?", "What if I get robbed?", to the ridiculous "I'm afraid of snakes" to my personal favorite, "I have naturally curly hair so I could never travel to a tropical country because it gets frizzy." All bizarre ways to avoid confessing the real reason - they're scared. The thought of traveling to any other country, no less Thailand, is so incredibly foreign to them that they cannot even envision it. If only they would try to break out of that American complacency, but I gradually recognize that this is never going to be a part of their experience and I have to accept that. I question my rationale in renting a two bedroom condo when no guests will ever visit.
     Some days I am a walking billboard for America - in US we do this, why don't you try that, at home we have many x, these are much cheaper in America. Other days, I am almost ashamed to be an American. Why don't we travel more? Why is it so hard for us to tolerate other cultures? Why are we the only mono-lingual country? What is it that makes us think America is the center of the universe?
     As time goes on, Thailand , and especially Bangkok, looks more and more American to me. Nothing seems strange or foreign at all. I can get Starbucks here, go to mega malls, eat a Big Mac. The stars are gone from my eyes. Bangkok is just home in a different place.
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