Excerpts from Jonas Traxler-Ballew’s Letters from Chiang Mai, Thailand:

Leaving home: The process of getting ready was very compressed. I worked at a summer camp in Maine up until a week before I left. I basically unpacked my bags, washed my woods-scented clothes, and packed again. I almost immediately found myself on a plane heading to Los Angeles, which was a bit of culture shock in itself, as I had spent the previous month and a half taking kids off into the Maine woods on camping trips, quite separated from civilization. I quickly went from being a confident, bearded wilderness guide to a wide-eyed clean-shaven American college student navigating LAX airport while traveling exactly halfway around the world to live for the next six months. Definitely a shock to the system.

When the breakfast on the flight from LA to Taipei was Dim Sum, rather than a bland muffin and a patty of scrambled eggs, I knew I was on the right flight.

Leaving the comfort zone behind: On the flight to Malaysia, I sat across the aisle from ten or fifteen Muslim men in long tan frocks with full beards. Someone mentioned that they were Pakistani. In the past, I would have been pleased to have been in their company, and interested in speaking with them. In light of world events in the past year, however, I was suddenly very conscious—in an uncomfortable way—of being an American . I hate to admit it, but all the images I have seen on TV of angry Pakistani men protesting against the U.S. have made me very concerned that I might be judged and looked-upon poorly simply for being an American. But these thoughts struck me as a very prejudiced reaction—the fact that I assumed that they were judging me. I found my assumptions even more unsettling.

Impressions of Thailand: On the way out of the airport, I saw a sign that affirmed everything I had heard about Thailand’s firm stance on drug trafficking. On a large wooden gateway arching over the drive was written, “WELCOME TO THAILAND, except drug traffickers!” Driving home scared me half to death. Lanes in Thailand are apparently more suggestion than serious demarcation. The whole road, including the shoulders, was used by everyone. My host brother (my mother told me he was just getting his driving permit, which didn’t help settle my nerves) kept swerving into the oncoming lane to pass cars, or taking to the shoulder to get around. Motorcyclists zipped by on all sides of us on small Japanese-made bikes—helmetless, wearing shorts and sandals. Ralph Nader has clearly never spent much time in Thailand. At stoplights, motorcycles crept up between the lanes of cars wherever there was space, until everyone was released by a green light in a mass rumbling of diesel, and the herd slowly separated out at different speeds.

Once we turned off the main road, I was stunned by how narrow the streets were. All the houses and their yards were surrounded by five-foot walls, which made the already tiny streets seem even narrower. There was no more than three feet of clearance on either side of the car, and these were two-way streets! We had to stop and pull into people’s driveways three times on the way home from the airport, in order to let other cars pass. I couldn’t believe that my brother was navigating an extended cab pickup truck though those streets.

Soi dogs: Another thing I noticed immediately was that Thailand has dogs. Not house pets as you or I know them, but real dogs, with developed genitalia, eating table scraps and fighting and mating with each other in the streets, and generally living beyond the desires of a household. They lie down on the sidewalks, walk through outdoor restaurants looking for scraps, and cross streets on their own. They are just part of the landscape here.

My host family: Arriving in Chiang Mai, I was swiftly rushed off by my host family. As we walked around collecting our luggage, all of the families seemed to be hovering about, picking their student out of the crowd, obviously excited to see us. My host mother came up to me and took me by the elbow (a Thai way of holding on to someone affectionately), and introduced herself and my host brother. She was a short woman with a bright gentle smile and bobbed permed hair. My host brother was taller than I (which shocked me, seeing how small his mother was), and was dressed in his school uniform…

Arriving at their house was a nervous-making experience for me. I was very concerned about making a good impression, and a little bit paranoid about doing something wrong and offending them. I was surprised by how well my brother spoke English, which was comforting, as I knew no Thai at all. My host father, though, spoke no English, and I felt very disconnected from him the whole time I lived with my family. I have a difficult time staying in other people’s houses for long periods of time without feeling intrusive, and not being able to communicate with him just made that worse.

One thing about Thai culture that I appreciated right from the start was the emphasis on family togetherness. My host mother lives in a walled family compound with two of her brothers. Although they have separate houses, they see one another every day, and are very involved in one another’s lives. Since my own parents are divorced, and the various members of my extended family live hours—or days—apart from one another, I have been very appreciative of the intactness of my host family. Other people on the program have had similar experiences with their host families.

Daily routines: I had a hard time adjusting to my host family’s schedule at first. They all wake up at the crack of dawn every day, whereas I tend to go to bed a bit late and sleep in when I can. One weekend morning, I woke up at 8:00 because I had heard everyone moving around for an hour already. I met my host uncle in they kitchen, and he asked me why I sleep so late and told me I should get up earlier. Not wanting to appear lazy, I’ve been struggling to change my schedule ever since. I often find that I do my best thinking and working at night, and my best reflection while sleeping in the morning, but I made sure that I was up early enough to at least eat breakfast with my family from then on.

The language barrier: Language has definitely been the largest barrier to connecting with people I meet here. So much is expressed in language that trying to communicate is impossible beyond pointing at a menu if you cannot speak the language. It is a very isolating feeling. When I go out with my host brother, I want to interact with his friends and the people around us, but I have no way to do so. Furthermore, linguistic subtleties and slang are such that even after years of study, they may be beyond the grasp of non-native speakers. Not speaking Thai has made me wholly dependent on my host brother, who, by age, should be my little brother. When we go out, especially since I do not know the city yet, I stick to him like glue. It has been difficult for me to feel so vulnerable and dependent.

Drinking: In Thailand, drinking is commonly conducted around a square table with four or more chairs, and a bottle of whisky in the middle. Generally, everyone drinks until the bottle is gone, and then, if they’re still not satisfied, another bottle is purchased and placed in the middle again. It is generally good drinking courtesy to stay on with everyone else until the bottle is gone. A good amount of peer pressure is used to make sure everyone sticks together to empty the bottle.

A group of students who live in my dorm run the small convenience store on the ground level of the dorm. They are constantly drinking together in this fashion. One day, when returning from dinner, three of us K students suddenly found ourselves sitting down at the table with them, whiskey glasses in hand. It was really fun to meet all of them, as we had spoken with each of them briefly, but had never hung out together. It was good to be making Thai friends, which has been one difficult aspect of being on a program where you study separately from the rest of the university due to language barriers and scheduling differences. It quickly became apparent, however, that getting up and leaving would be a difficult task. I don’t know how many, “Oh, just one more”s I gave in to, but I was definitely more intoxicated than I had wanted to be that night. They seemed crushed every time we tried to get up, pointing at the bottle and saying, “Help us finish it!” But the bottles kept being replaced with new ones, and my glass was constantly being refilled as soon as I took my eye off it for a second. It was clear that this wasn’t going to end anytime soon. I finally resorted to holding my glass in my lap and insisting that it was time for me to go to bed (it being a school night). It was a fun night to be sure, but the amount of peer pressure and pleading to drink more caught me a bit off guard. It was especially difficult to put my foot down as I was concerned with not offending anyone here or seeming ungrateful, as I hadn’t pitched in any money for all the whiskey I had consumed.

After that night, whenever we’d return to the dorm at night while they were drinking (which they did several times each week), they’d holler at us to come drink with them again. I’ve often been very good at weaseling my way out of it when I don’t want to drink—I’ve even crawled underneath the windows of the shop, out of sight, up to where the stairs start (which they found very amusing). But the number of times I gave in for a drink or two, to hang out and chat, left me feeling in their debt, hospitality-wise. So I purchased them a bottle of rum and presented it to them, for which they were all very grateful. This seemed to make up for all the times I turned them down, or ran out early on them.

[In Thailand, the Kalamazoo College students are encouraged (but not required) to walk through the red light district of Chiang Mai at night, accompanied by their Resident Director and his assistant. It is hoped that by speaking with some of the young women in the so-called sex industry, students will be able to put a human face on prostitution, and understand that it involves real people who have few choices in life.]

One of the hardest aspects of Thai culture for me to adapt to is the prevalence of prostitution. Prostitution is rampant in Thailand, despite being officially illegal. It is hard to drive down a street in the city without seeing brothels, massage parlors, and karaoke bars with the telltale Christmas lights, tinted windows, and women sitting outside on benches. It has been estimated that almost 90% of Thai men have used prostitutes in their lives, and it is not uncommon (or wasn’t a few years ago, anyway) for fathers to introduce their sons to sex by bringing them to brothels. This has been especially hard for me to encounter and learn about, as it flies in the face of my values concerning sex, love, and affection, not to mention the father and son bonding experience.

One night, we went down with our Resident Director to the Night Bazaar area downtown to talk with prostitutes and study the scene on a first-hand basis. I went into (or, rather, was pulled into) a small bar with five women standing near the front of the place calling at me as I walked down the street. I ordered a “lady-drink” [the price one pays for taking a woman’s time] for one very beautiful woman and sat down to talk to her. I asked her about life, how she was doing, whether she had any kids or not, whether she liked her work, what she does when she’s not at work, and other questions. She answered my questions and talked to me, making fun of me for being younger than she was, but she clearly wasn’t interested in talking. When I asked her what she wanted to do in the future, she’d joke with me and whisper in my ear, “You.” The whole time I talked with her, she was trying to wrap herself around me, tangling her legs with mine, putting her arms around me, kissing my neck, apparently desperately wanting to leave with me. What was hardest for me about the whole experience was just how nice it was. Affection is wonderful. It is a good thing. I love being touched, hugged, and kissed, especially by beautiful women. When sincere, these are all very good things, essential things, which is why the whole situation seemed so awful to me. Furthermore, she seemed like someone I would be interested in knowing as a friend, under normal circumstances; but here she was, throwing herself at me, desperate for what was in my wallet, feigning attraction and affection.

Especially hard for me has been the role of foreigners in the industry. Walking down the Night Bazaar area on any night, you see all sorts of foreign men, young and old, with very pretty women sitting with them, or on them. It is assumed here that if a foreign man is with a Thai woman, she is a prostitute—and that assumption is alarmingly accurate. Probably the most disturbing aspect of this is just how many Thai men I’ve spoken with who have teasingly asked me if I like Thai women, giving me a wink and a nudge. It is not uncommon for people to assume that the reason I am studying here is for the prostitution.

Learning about the situation of the women in the industry—where they come from, and why they are in this line of work—has been absolutely heartbreaking. Most of the girls are from poor farming families, usually from ethnic minority hill tribes. They come to Chiang Mai seeking better lives, or are even sold by their families to agents working for brothels in town (often, their parents aren’t aware of exactly what the girls will be doing). Given the value placed on virginity and modesty by the cultures here (which is, ironically, why young virgins are worth so much to brothel operators), it is hard to think of the psychological impact prostitution has on the women involved. Furthermore, some are practically slaves, and others are tied to the industry by heavy debts. It is a horrible situation. Still others begin prostituting themselves out of sheer materialism. College women are known to offer sexual services in order to be able to afford clothes that would otherwise be unaffordable for them. This intense materialism is reflected in—or perhaps caused by—the media here, which are full of images of wealthy Bangkokians and Westerners living lifestyles far beyond the reach of most Thais.

Wealth and poverty: I have a hard time dealing with the massive wealth disparities, particularly in Bangkok. This is especially hard for me to see as a foreigner, walking around with a $150 camera in his pocket. I am constantly aware of my wealth while I am here. Though back home I tend to consider myself a poor college kid, this simply isn’t true. I go to a ridiculously expensive private college, and I own more clothes that I just use for playing sports than many people here have in their homes. Being here has definitely changed my perspective on wants and needs, and my perspective on wealth.

I just returned from a trip to a few tribal villages where I interviewed a number of villagers about their agricultural practices. Many of the people I interviewed were barely scraping by, living by growing corn and peanuts for sale at low market prices. One man planted 360 kg. of peanuts last year, but only got a harvest of 17 kg. back. He is now heavily in debt, and is burning corncobs for cooking and heating fuel. My monthly stipend while here is probably larger than what he’ll make in a year. At the village I met many people in similar situations, fleeing the economic impossibilities of Burma, with few places to go, and few opportunities. I had one young father approach me with a can of baby formula, asking me to read the directions for him because he couldn’t read Thai. I had a hard time figuring it out as I don’t really read Thai very well either, but we eventually got it sorted out. The visit made me feel very guilty for not having gotten an A in every single class I’ve taken since I was 11, and for not having a doctorate by now, given the amazing opportunities that have been handed to me throughout my life. These visits to the tribal villages were excellent. I was astounded by how warm, fun and generous every villager I met was, but it was a bit hard on my heart.

Thai sports culture: One place where I’ve been very successful in integrating into Thai culture is on the basketball court. I often go down to the University’s courts, where informal pick-up games are played every night. Basketball in Thailand is a much less competitive activity than it is in the U.S. No one takes it seriously, and everyone is always playing around and having fun. I fit right in in this scene, as I hate it when sports are overly competitive, and I can’t play basketball well enough to take myself seriously. The value placed on social harmony and enjoyment was very clear to me while playing basketball, and I felt very comfortable playing in that atmosphere. It also helped me make some Thai friend.

Physical contact: Public displays of affection are an issue in Thai culture. I have had some difficulty adjusting to this, but I’m beginning to appreciate it. In the U.S., physical contact between friends of the opposite sex is very normal, and hugging your friends is commonplace. One thing I have definitely noticed here is that Thai people hug much less than Americans do. There is more handholding, elbow holding, and other touching here, though, particularly among friends of the same sex, than there is in the U.S. More distance is maintained among men in the U.S. I rather like being able to walk down the street arm in arm with a male friend without drawing any funny looks. Although I miss hugging my friends, there are other ways of showing affection in Thailand that I have grown to appreciate, including that "elbow grab."

At one point, I made a large cultural faux pas with a public display of affection. Another American student and I were playfully tickling and poking each other, which was apparently offending some of our Thai student partners. I was approached by the program director about it, which shocked me, as what we were doing seemed to me like innocent play between two friends, and neither of us considered it sexual.

This was also difficult for me because the problem was presented to me in a very Thai way. The person who had the concerns didn’t confront me directly and explain what I was doing wrong. Instead, the problem was brought to an intermediary, who spoke to me about it days later. While I understood and appreciated why this was done, as it would have been embarrassing to have been confronted about it, I still wasn’t fully aware of what I had done wrong [since the person speaking to me was passing along someone else’s comments]. This made it difficult and confusing to try to correct my behavior.