After several days, I began to settle into my new country and time zone.  I was now less shocked to see four people on a motorbike or a dozen people in the back of a truck.  All the streets that had seemed so winding and confusing before, now developed a sense of organization and familiarity.

A couple weeks into the trip, I was feeling burnt out.  The end seemed so far away.  The food once so unique and flavorful, now all tasted the same.  And somewhere along the way, I felt I had lost myself in the tsunami of people around me.  One day during this time, I enjoyed KFC like I never have before in my life because it brought me a little morsel of home.

As the weeks went by, I started to feel more and more a part of Thailand as it grew to become a part of me.  When I would see white people or others who looked like me, I would condescendingly think, “farang.”  I was no longer a tourist.

A month into my journey, I was beginning to feel ready to come home, tired of short doors and stiff mattresses, but the siren call of the southern beaches kept me from homesickness.  As we said goodbye to the Rotarians, I did not feel much sorrow.  I had met many nice people and a small few who I hope will always be my friends.  More than specific people, however, I would miss all of the Thai people with their friendly attitudes and warm smiles.

During my last week in Thailand, the beaches followed through on their promise of being some of the most beautiful in the world.  The water was warm and clear, the skies blue, and limestone cliffs rose from the edges of the white sand.  No words can accurately capture the beauty of the area, and I wiled away my days frolicking in the waves and diving into the pools, each time thinking nothing could be more refreshing than where I was at that moment.  I even went snorkeling for the first time, and the first 15 minutes were some of the most interesting I’ve ever spent.  I never knew there were fish that were purple and aqua and never dreamed that I would be swimming among them.

And now I sit in an airport, waiting on the first of many flights that will take me back to Jacksonville.  I am ready.  I miss my family, my friends, my cat, and my bed.  But part of me worries that I have forgotten that life.  I have never been on holiday for so long, and I wonder if I can regain my normal life.  What will it be like to go back to work five days a week with no wats, motorbikes, or Tom Yum Goong (thank God!)?  How will I adjust to being nobody again when everyone here treated me like a beauty queen?  I will survive; I kind of like carrying my own bags and doing my own laundry. 

But I am sure that each time the scent of jasmine wafts through the air, I will remember all the garlands I have worn and know that I left a little part of myself in Thailand and carry a little part of it with me.

Post from: Thai Trek

Dogs and motorbikes run rampant in Thai streets. I can’t even imagine how people drive here as motorbike drivers use no signals and weave in and out of traffic. Interestingly enough many also do not wear helmets and bike in shorts and T-shirts (some barefoot). I can’t imagine the road rash if they would happen to crash. Most notable motorbike siting so far: a woman riding a scooter sans helmet with a baby strapped to her chest.

But I can not say enough of how friendly and welcoming the Thai people are. I love talking to them and have managed to learn about as much Thai in one night as I did in all the weeks before my journey, including soy mai (don’t check my spelling, which was solely phonetic), which means very beautiful or what I believe Thailand and its people are.

Post from: Thai Trek