Ping Pong, Oh, Ping Pong

Last week Matt and I taught the kids about haikus.

The opening slide of our PowerPoint (or in the Orient they're simply referred to as ppts) gave students a "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" about the meaning of HAIKU:


1. Mr. Matt's nickname in college.
2. The capitol of Tokyo.
3. A simple Japanese poem.
4. Something polite to say after someone sneezes.


Anyway, we had the kiddies write a few haikus at the end of class and one fella named Peter read his haiku about Ping Pong. The last line should have 5 syllables, so little Pete read his final line with dramatic effect, "Ping Pong ... (Oscar-worthy pause) ... Oh, Ping Pong." The entire class was rolling, including their teachers.

- m -

Pilgrimage of a Packer

Muslims make a pilgrimage to Mecca during The Hajj.

Horse racing fanatics make a pilgrimage to Churchill downs on the first Saturday in May.

And obese teenagers make a daily pilgrimage to Burger King seconds after the school bell rings.

Hear now the Pilgrimage of a Packer.

We were in Ao Nang, Thailand living the life of a sun-burned vagabond when the Green and Gold chromosomes in our blood sent out an urgent news flash to our cerebellums, informing us of an upcoming pilgrimage that needed to happen. No questions asked. There was no alternative.

The Pilgrimage of a Packer.

And so our pilgrimage began dark and early on Super Bowl Monday Morning (not as catchy). We unzipped our tent at 5:12 am, but I blinked awake, heart pounding, mind tingling with anticipation at least four times during the night. And so we began our hike into town with only the stars to guide us.

The Pilgrimage of a Packer.

After hiking on the beach for a mile-ish, we came to a 100 yard channel of salt water that was at least 20 feet deep. Along the beach we hit some muddy slush. Nature was rearing its slimy head and trying to sabotage our pilgrimage. Matt was up to his northern thighs in muck, Ted looked like a rare breed of rhino doing a rare breed of ballet, and Dani’s “Ghandi pants” will never be the same.

The Pilgrimage of a Packer.

There were no boats to take us across the channel. All of their drivers with calloused feet were sawing wood. My yells of urgency and my polite pleas were met with silence. As the sun crept higher, so did our anxiety – kickoff was at 6:25, it was only getting lighter. Finally someone stirred and a little Thai man in a kayak paddled to take us across one at a time. Little did this man know what a monstrously vital role he played in our pilgrimage.

The Pilgrimage of a Packer.

The final leg of our pilgrimage was me persuading a groggy Thai fella who owned a nice pickup truck but no dental hygiene habits to truck us into town. In the back of the pickup we were all smiles, G-shaped hearts thumping to the same beat – Bum, Bum, Ba da dum dum…

The Pilgrimage of a Packer.

And so we sunburned and sandy pilgrims sprinted into O’Malley’s Irish Pub at 6:37 in the am. Rejoicing that we made it to the promised land and were able to cheer on our boys as they finished a 20 game pilgrimage of their own.

The Pilgrimage of a Packer.

Mr. Ji, My Hero...

We teach 440 of them.

Now we are two of them.

We won't blend in, but we can try...


Here's how Matt and I scored the holy grail of Beijing - two Junior One (7th grade) uniforms.

We were locked out of our office. So I found Mr. Ji's office (the headmaster) and asked if he had an spare key for us, but our minuscule tragedy morphed into a gold rush when I noticed a box of over-sized Junior One uniforms lying in a box. I asked Mr. Ji if I could have two of them and he smiled and nodded, not knowing that with a bob of his head made dreams come true. So I snatched two 3XL unis and giddily trotted back to Matt to show him the treasures we had found thanks to our own stupidity.

- m -

P.S. - On a less joyous note, Mr. Ji did not have a spare key. So I hoisted Matt into the adjoining classroom and by some gymnastic feat he vaulted himself through the window into the office. But, I would rather have a priceless polyester red and white uni than easy access to my office...

Hong Kong

HONG KONG - Chingland

Hong Kong was the final destination of our three week gallivanting across Southeast Asia. We reunited with our FOC (Friends of China) brethren from across China at a retreat center and got to forge and strengthen some friendships with some amazing and selfless people.

I didn't know what to expect from Hong Kong. This is what I did know:

1. "Batman the Dark Knight" shot a few scenes in Hong Kong. May Heath Ledger rest in peace...

2. The island was a British colony until 1997.

3. One of my best friends, Ruby calls the HK home.

4. Hong Kong rhymes with King Kong.


This is all I knew. Here's what I learned:


1. "Batman the Dark Knight" shot a few scenes in HK. The tallest building on the skyline is affectionately called, "The Batman Building." Health Ledger is not resting there...

2. The island was a British colony until 1997, which means that HK is China raised by British parents. That means that it is cleaner, the people are more polite (no spitting (the fine is $1,000), no honking, no yelling, "Fuyarrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!" at restaurants when you need the waiter or bill), people drive on the left side of the road, and their is religious freedom (check out ALS: Asia Lutheran Seminary - a fantastic place with fantastic people). Chingland: where China and England collide.

3. I got to meet and eat with Ruby's awesome family and go to her church and her house and she got to show me around her town.

4. Hong Kong still rhymes with King Kong.



In keeping with the tradition passed down from the ancient Nordic marauder Erik the Red, the men of FOC let their mustaches bud and blossom in all their manly glory. We grew out our staches in training, but that was like a preseason game - this was the Super Bowl of facial hair. In China, 2011 is the Year of the Rabbit, but to the manly men who teach English and share the Water across this grand land, 2011 is the Year of the Stache.

After a four days in the HK I was hooked. I'll be back; but maybe sans stache...

- m -

Ao Nang, Thailand

AO NANG - Where Your Stress Melts Away and So Does Your Pale, Ghostly Pale Flesh That Hasn't Seen the Sun for Five Months


We officially found paradise: Long Beach Krabi Villas in Ao Nang, Thailand.

We had our own private stretch of beach, our bamboo bungalows were 157 meters from the ocean, and Mama Da (the cook / head honchita) fed us Thai food that I still dream about. Matt and I stayed here 7 nights and it cost a whopping $50; although we did sleep in a tent on the beach for the last 3 nights, but I prefer having the surf lullaby me to sleep anyway.

We would wake up late - no plan, no agenda, no deadlines, no stress, no shirt, no shoes, no worries, no problem. It was a great way to peal back layers of stress and layers of seared flesh.

The little town of Ao Nang was about an hour hike away - walk along the beach for a mile then catch a long boat across a channel then hoof it along the beach another mile and you're there. This is where we:

1. Scarfed down countless Thai pancakes - fried cakes of greasy glory with anything you want on / in them: Nutella, freshly shaved coconut, tuna salad, Johnsonville brat (ok, maybe not the last one, but they were addicting).

2. Went to a Super Bowl Eve all-you-can-eat buffet called, "The Fish." Well, I think we got the better deal. My goal was to eat 10 plates of food, but only made it to 8. I was finally full. I adore Thai food, but usually the portions are the size of my fist and my colon was not a happy fella. There was a man and woman serenading us as we gorged. The guy looked like a Thai Santana. Becca requested, "My Heart Will Go On," and as any devout Lutheran knows, you need leverage when requesting a Celine Dion song. So she said that it was my birthday. Well, when that little lady said into the mic, "And this next song goes out to a very special person in the tank top. Happy Birthday!" The other people erupted in applause and cheering. They were yelling at me to stand up and accept, so I blew the naive tourists kisses and took my bow as I was laughing like a Scandanavian school girl. That was rather memorable.

3. We watched the Green and Gold achieve immortality at O'Malley's Irish Pub at 6:25am (for a more detailed and emotional retelling, patiently await: Pilgramage of a Packer).

4. Probably the highlight of the bungalow week was eating with my fisherman friend Mohamed Ali. To catch a glimpse of Thai hospitality, check out an older post, "Mohamed Ali."

Here's to you Ao Nang...
- m -

Kho Phi Phi, Thailand

KHO PHI PHI - Island Paradise Overrun by Aussies on Summer Holiday

I think the words of Naughty By Nature's catchy hip hop hit should have gone like this, "Who's down with Kho Phi Phi? Yeah, you know me..."

This little island in Thailand is truly a beach paradise (I am 96.3% sure that the Leo DiCaprio film, The Beach was shot here). With turquoise water that shimmers and taunts silhouetted my massive cliffs - almost like earthen dorsal fins of some ancient stone dolphin. The kind of beauty that boggles the mind.

We stayed here three nights and the highlight was the day when we went rock climbing, snorkeling (I saw 4 sharks and only lost one finger (what does the pinkie really do anyway?)), cliff jumping (I wasn't man enough to jump from 18 meters into the wavy sea below, but after jumping from 10 meters twice, I was man enough to tell myself that jumping from 18 wasn't going to make me any more of a man...), and watch the sunset from Maya Bay. It was an unforgettable day.

But alas, we could only take so many drunk and hormonal Aussies so we fled to the serenity of our own private bungalow a boat ride away.

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Laos

LAOS - the most bombed country on the planet.

During the Vietnam War, while we were trying to beat an invisible enemy named "Charlie," we bombed the Ho Chi Minh trail without stopping for a breath. The HCM Trail ran through eastern Laos and the number of bombs we threw earthward was the equivalent of dropping 1 bomb every 8 minutes for 9 years... I would rather build schools.

We did not spend a lot of time in Laos, but I wish we would have. It is not as touristically (I think I just made up a new word) savvy and not as popular as Vietnam, its kind of like that mellow middle child who quietly observes while the older brother and youngest sister hog the spotlight. Laos has such a horrifying history, but as our 24 hour bus ride wound through the mountains to the Mekong River we saw families living simply and happily. The Lao people offer a genuine smile and the monks wear the brightest orange robes. It is kind of an addicting place to be. One of our travel books said that Vientiane is the "sleepiest capitol on earth." That is the truth. You gotta love sipping iced coffee (its not as good as yours Mom...) along the Mekong as teenage kids play soccer in the park as the sun sinks low.

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Sapa, Vietnam

Sapa - the City of Mist and Artistically Gifted and Rather Generous Minorities with an Exemplary Mastery of the English Tongue.

Supposedly Sapa is world famous for its rice terraces that carve up the green mountains that surround this mountain village. But the mist veiled the beauty - which gave it a mysterious and moist aura. According to Theadore Rattei and his recent Wikipedia search, "There are 160 days of mist in Sapa."

Here are a few highlights:




1. Running into Marie, a French damsel we met on our flight to Hanoi. We were hiking in the mist to a waterfall and we passed 3 people, then over my shoulder I heard a curious voice of French influence, "Mika?" And it was Marie with her French compadres. Truly crazy.

2. Hiking up the muddy slopes to Ku's house - a Black Hmong (there are 5 distinct Hmong ethnicities in the Sapa hills) lady whose English was nearly flawless because she has been selling hand made jewelry and scarves to gringos for 17 years. We had lunch with her family in the hills. It was so cool to see how they lived and how generosity doesn't really depend on the girth of your wallet.

3. Drinking Vietnam coffee - French drip style with sweetened condensed milk. Bliss in a cup.

Good Night Vietnam...

- m -

P.S. - More photos: Micah's Online Albums.

Ha Long Bay, Vietnam

Well, after a month of vagabonding across Southeast Asia during a month of freedom (I love Chinese New Year) I am back in the Jing.

When I opened the door to the Cloister (our apartment) I got that faint whiff of Lutheran man - mix of musk and Folger's and fried onion and knew I was finally home. I love to travel - the intoxicating smell of a new country, the pride of a tattered passport, and the freedom of the open road, but I'm really glad to be home.

I've decided to briefly blog about each place we went to on our trip - share a few pictures and a few memories...


HA LONG BAY

Ha Long Bay is a 4ish hour bus ride from Hanoi and is an otherworldly place. With its karst mountains that resemble earth's acne, I'm reminded a bit of the geysers in Yellowstone - spewing smoke and the smell of sulfur makes you doubt you're even on earth. Kind of like Ha Long Bay, the mountains are so unique and other-worldly you're not quite sure if this is earth or not.

The highlight of our day on the Bay was kayaking. It was only 47 minutes and 23 seconds, but it was so cool to explore the caves and bays that were hidden by these massive stone walls. Matt and I paddles right past an octopus (for proof, look right) and the girls got t-boned by a motorboat (no injuries, just laughter and screams and then laughter).

Ha Long Bay: in case you need more proof that our God is an awesome God.

- m -

P.S. - Johnny Yuma and the fish (Seabiscuit and O'Henry) are still alive! Talk about a miracle...

P.P.S. - If you want to see some more pictures of Ho Chi Minh's homeland simply click on Micah's Online Albums.

Mohammed Ali

Last night I had dinner with Mohammed Ali.

No, twas not the great boxer, nor was he formerly named Cassius Clay. He was a Thai fisherman. I was strolling on the pristine beach of white sand in Ao Nang, Thailand when I came across a man cleaning his nets. He introduced himself as Mohammed Ali. I smirked and shook his calloused hand. Thus a friendship was forged.

We wandered out in the sea and fished together for the next hour. He strung out his net and smoked 14.3 cigarretes as we talked. Mr. Ali knows roughly 52 English words, so our conversation was a wee bit limited and repetitious, but thankfully a smile needs no translation. After catching maybe 11 little fish and a few unlucky prawn and crabs he invited me to dinner at his place. I said, "Giddiup!"

So Mohammed Ali picked up Matt and I on the beach on his little motorcycle as we sped off to his little cement block house with the tin roof. The floor was clean and Mama (Mrs. Ali) was so happy to have us as guests I think she squeezed my butt more than once.

They brought out a huge tray of food: pineapple chicken, spicy squid, some sort of mollusk or mussle, and the fish that were swimming innocently a few hours ago. It was a fantastic meal but their hospitality and love for complete strangers is what blew me away. Our plates were never bare for more than 2 seconds and our glasses were always filled to the brim with green Fanta.

Although the conversation was more like sign language, being in their house with these poor people who offered us all they have while their friend Abraham (who looked like a Thai version of Crazy Horse) and their pot-smoking son Ishmael was a meal that I will never forget.

- m -

P.S. - A few more days till the biggest game of all time! We inquired in town today about a pub that would show the game at 7am ... we'll find a way to root for the Green and Gold!

P.P.S. - It seems like a year ago, but I did not throw up on the bus ride to Laos, the fireworks took place in the taxi on the way to the bus station. Just thought you should know...