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Carson Christiano - This afternoon, on my way to yoga class across town, a group of five apprentice monks and their teacher, all clad in bright orange robes, hopped into the back of my songthow. These trucks are equipped to hold four people on each side, but because monks are forbidden to sit next to women, they all had to crowd onto the opposite bench. There I was, riding along face to face with six monks sitting on top of one another, with a whole bench to myself. While it was certainly an interesting sight to behold, I don’t think I have ever felt more powerful in my womanhood than I did at that moment. I couldn't help smiling the whole way.
Two weeks ago I left my new Language Corps friends and the pulse-pounding streets of Pattaya and boarded an overnight train to Chiang Mai, the alluring cultural mecca of the North. Knowing basically nothing at all about my journey or destination other than it felt right (someone must have told me they had mountains up here), I tried to cover my insecurities by convincing myself I could handle anything the wind blew my way. This has, more or less, been the case (an exception being last weekend's motorbike ride to the elephant camp, when the wind blew a substantial amount of dust in my eyes. I had some trouble coping with this at the time).
I stumbled off the train at 9am, squinting in the hot sun and cursing myself at the amount of stuff I brought into this country. I swear the entire contents of my luggage I could have done without (except maybe my new Leatherman knife, it has come in handy for many a mango peelin'). Forty-five minutes and about eight songthow rides later, I was standing at the doorstep of the Pagoda Inn, which I was lucky enough to be introduced to by a fellow Language Corps alum...
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