Here are some pictures from the weeks just prior to the Japan Forest Conference (3/27) and during the conference itself. It was held in Morioka, at Iwate University. You can read more about it in the previous post.

On March 20th, I was also able to go to an Ainu instrument workshop at the Hokkaido Art Museum, where I learned to play the Makkuri and the Tonkori. The Makkuri, played by pulling a taut string attached to a piece of wood placed on your lips, was very difficult! But the Tonkori, a stringed instrument, felt very nice to play and perhaps because of my practice on the banjo, it came more naturally. I had found out about the workshop from a flyer at the museum, after going there the previous week to see the Ainu Contemporary Art exhibit. That exhibit, I should mention, was spectacular. There were incredible wood carvings and textiles, primarily.

Following the mid-year conference, I returned to Sapporo to attend a somewhat unexpected three day conference organized in part by my professor at Hokkaido University. My advisor had previously asked for my help in editing the English in a number of pamphlets he had written about other agriculture programs around the world, and I assumed he was preparing this for future international programs at Hokudai. He had also asked for my help guiding an extremely prominent visiting professor--one of the most prominent climate change and CO2 researchers in the world, Professor David Tissue--and invited me on a daytrip accompanying them to see Mt. Usu and Lake Shikotsu. I should have connected the dots and realized that there was a conference in the works. Therefore, I was very surprised to learn about the conference only the day before, after gleaning information from conversations during the day trip. Between myself and my lab mate and fellow international student who also attended the trip, we slowly puzzled together the schedule for the next days, realizing that Professor Koike was anticipating our attendance. The conference was officially the “International Forum on Collaborate Agriculture Education: As a Project for Promotion of Global Human Resource Development.”  Accompanying Professor Koike and the two visiting professors on the daytrip, and being invited to two dinners with them as well, was a true highlight. Although the conference itself was mostly a chance for university administrators and admissions to list of their statistics to each other, Professor Tissue had expected the conference to be more science and research oriented. Because of this, the long, dry administrative presentations were not very useful or appealing to him and he was happy to sneak out to discuss science and research one on one with my labmates and I to help pass the time. This was wonderful! I count myself very fortunate to have spent nearly three days with Professor Tissue and his wife, Professor Diamond, talking about climate change, forests, and Sapporo. Teaching in Australia, they were both fascinated by the snow at the same time I was weary of it. On their last night, I attended the farewell dinner at a very nice Japanese restaurant. The next morning, I offered to meet them a 5:45am to show them how to take the train to the airport, and then met a visiting administrator at 9am to do the same. Despite the early morning, it was pleasant to have a chance to help them and to help my advisor during the conference.

At the same time as all of these events, I received my financial aid award from Yale Forestry and Environmental School. Shortly after returning to Sapporo from the Fulbright Mid-year conference, I knew that I was scheduled to receive this information from the program, and I had been nervous about it. I had admitted my anxiousness to the other Fulbrighters and staff at the conference. On March 15th, right on time, I received the information. Regrettably, it was as I had feared. It was not sufficient for me to be able to justify attending, and covered only a small fraction of the costs. I knew this immediately upon reading the numbers, and I was crushed. Over the next few weeks, this daunting reality has hung heavy in my thoughts. If I am truthful, I was heartbroken. I had felt such joy and shock two months prior, having learned of my acceptance to a program I had only dreamed of. At that moment, I was brought to tears with happiness. So many people were proud and happy for me. I felt like I had wasted their warm words. Nonetheless, I have again found so much support from friends, fellow fulbrighters, and professors willing to offer me their advice and help. I am eternally grateful for this. I reached out for advice and suggestions and was very lucky to be met by abundant help from others. I learned that there are many people who believe in me and care greatly for me. I tried to avoid coming to the truth that I knew all along, however--I tried to avoid admitting the reality that the cost was too much. That the joyous news I had received of being accepted into the program was now an impossibility. I spent a number of days simply wandering the cold city, struggling back and forth with the decision that awaited me. It was a very confusing and depressing time for me. Although I have faced rejection from programs and applications before, this was entirely different. In those instances, despite my own confidence in myself, others made the decision to say "no." In this case, it fell to me to acknowledge that I must say "no" to myself. That was a painful, but growing reality for me as the weeks passed and the deadline crept closer.

All the while, I knew I needed to keep focused on my Japan Forest Society poster. I did my best to keep working, and I did find a sense of accomplishment in finally finishing the translation from English to Japanese of my research. With the mid-year conference and this surprise conference finished, I had one more to look ahead to. It was time to focus on my Japanese Forest Society poster presentation. After consulting with my professor, he reaffirmed that he would like me to try to present in Japanese. This was both exciting and daunting--on the one hand, my advisor’s adamant vote of confidence was extremely kind and encouraging. On the other hand, I did not want fall short of his expectations. Therefore, I set myself to the task of translating my previous undergraduate research paper--on the interaction of the non-native species of buckthorn and earthworms in Minnesota--into Japanese. Then I had to figure out the layout of Japanese academic posters, which do appear to have certain differences from those that I have seen in the United States. In fact, this was my first official poster presentation. I have only ever done power point presentations in the past, and only at my own university not at the scale of a conference. It took quite a long time to translate the technical vocabulary, and even longer to piece together strange phrases in scientific lingo. To my great surprise and fortune, after sending a version of my poster to my advisor to ask his opinions on the format, he very literally helped me to edit all of the contents for any errors. Knowing how very busy Japanese professors are, I was astounded. I must express my gratitude again to Professor Koike for his abundant support. Then came the mysterious step of actually printing the poster. I had wondered what to do--whether I could go to a print shop, or a facility on campus, and how to arrange this. I was assisted by one of my Chinese labmates, and had the proud experience of watching my gigantic 118x84cm poster emerge from an immense printer. With that taken care of, I had one less worry off my mind. Now came the task of insuring that I could actually read and remember the contents of my poster in Japanese. I made a handful of flashcards and carried them with me. If I had a spare moment, I flipped through them wherever I was, muttering such words as 有機物 (Organic matter) and外来種 (non-native species) everywhere I went.

My poster presentation itself was on March 27th, and I traveled with Chinese graduate students from my lab on a tiny plane to Morioka. The schedule of the Japanese Forest Society conference itself was a little bit confusing, with presentations and talks occurring in rooms all over the Iwate University campus and a thick, complicated conference handbook. The first evening, the other members of my lab and I all went out to try “reimen” noodles, a Morioka specialty. I was truly touched when they even changed to another restaurant in order for me to find a vegetarian option, despite my protests! The day of my presentation, I put up my poster early in the poster hall, attended my professors talk, and nervously made my last minute preparations and vocabulary reviews. The comforting aspect of a poster presentation is that it is held in a hall simultaneously with many other posters. Therefore, it feels less formal. During the hour and a half of “core” time, when I was expected to be in front of my poster and ready to explain, I initially had few stop by. The conference being mainly Japanese students and researchers, many people passed me by--perhaps assuming I could not speak Japanese. Gradually, I gained a few curious listeners. By the end, I had probably presented my poster to at least seven people. My advisor snuck by with his ever-present camera to proudly snap pictures during this time. At first, I felt that I stumbled through the explanation in Japanese. Gradually, however, I gained confidence and smoothness. By the end, I was not nervous at all. I was enjoying myself and realizing how much I like presenting and discussing. That evening, my professor even took me and my Chinese labmate to eat “wanko soba,” another Morioka specialty. With “wanko soba”, you are served an unlimited number of tiny bowls of soba noodles, one at a time, by a waitress carrying a tray of bowls. You quickly slurp up the noodles, then hold up your empty bowl for more. And more. And more. I narrowly beat my professor, eating 50 bowls. That is nothing, considering the record for a woman is apparently 550!  We all left cheerful, happy, and full. The next day, my professor rented a car in order to bring us to see the World Heritage Site of Hiraizumi! Then, that afternoon, we flew back to Sapporo.

The very next morning, I would be on an airplane yet again. On March 29th, immediately following the Japan Forest Society conference, I flew from Sapporo to Narita to meet my little sister who would be spending the next to weeks exploring Japan with me. The entire trip was undoubtedly the experience of a lifetime. I anxiously awaited my sister’s arrival at the gates in Narita. I was overjoyed to see her. We spent our first three days in Tokyo, with a side trip to Kamakura. I showed her the Imperial Palace and Shinjuku Gyoen amidst the splendor of the blooming sakura. I kept exclaiming in excitement and disbelief at the beautiful falling petals. I found it almost unbelievable to be strolling through such surreal surroundings. Surely, I said, such places exist only in paintings and film! Japan has an incredible beauty about it. As a lover of plants, I admire any culture that takes the time to appreciate the beauty of this earth. Our last day in Tokyo, we met up with Veronica and her mother at Tokyo Disneyland. It was a privilege to spend time with them, and although the lines were long, we had lots of fun. That evening, I had my first experience with Japan’s night buses on our trip to Kyoto. We spent three days exploring the plethora of temples and shrines in Kyoto--my favorites being Kiyomizudera and Fushimi Inari. On the second day, however, I twisted my ankle minutes into what I thought would be a relaxing run along the Kamogawa river. By the time we had reached Kinkaku-ji later that day, I was struggling to walk. My picture in front of Kinkaku-ji, therefore, is especially pained. Although frustrated, my sister and I could not help but laugh at the pictures and my silly limp throughout the otherwise lovely surroundings. Since we traveled almost entirely on foot in order to better see each city and to save money when we could, the possibility of not being able to walk made me extremely nervous. Luckily, my ankle gradually recovered over the days. We also spent a day in Nara, hiking through the “primordial forest” and up Wakakusa hill. My sister had to talk me out of attempting to squeeze through the pillar in Toudaiji. Primarily for children, there is a pillar with a small whole that, if passed through, is said to insure enlightenment in the next lifetime. After watching a small woman struggle her way through, I was convinced that I could too. My sister would have none of it, though later conceded that I could have maybe made it. So much for insured enlightenment! Throughout the trip, we primarily stayed in hostels. That evening, we took the train in to Osaka ands stayed in a rougher neighborhood. This was actually a rather important experience to me, because I have been interested in homelessness in Japan.

In the morning, we made our voyage to Mt. Koya. Unfortunately, the weather became rainy, windy, and chilly. We stayed the night in Yochi-in temple, and spent a great deal of our time in our room because of the harsh weather. For dinner, we were served delicious Shojin-ryouri (vegetarian food). This was such a treat and relief for my sister and I, both of whom are vegetarians. After dinner, I decided to put on the yukata. I do not often wear these, because I become easily self-conscious, but I wanted my sister to try it on for the experience. Literally moments after putting it on, there was a quiet knock at the sliding door. To my embarrassment, a monk peeked in and asked if I would not mind helping him with some guests. Confused and bashful wearing the yukata--and my sister holding back a fit of laughter at the situation--I followed after. There were two French guests downstairs ready to write calligraphy on a scroll, and the monk explained to me that he was having trouble telling them the meaning of the scroll and what they should do since he could only speak Japanese! He asked me to help translate, since he knew that I could speak some Japanese! I did my best! After returning to my room to be teased by my sister--who later admitted to being somewhat proud of me for the task--there was another quiet rap at the door. The monk had returned with a tray of tea and sweets for us as a thank you! As a thank you for his thank you, I painted a little sketch of the temple entrance and left it as a gift. Around 6:30am the next morning, we attended the Buddhist rituals of the temple, followed by another delicious vegetarian meal. An interesting aspect of staying in the temple, especially after the many other guests had arrived, was an interesting glimpse into the lack of privacy in such traditional lodgings. All the walls and doors of the room were made of paper lattice-work. And of course the baths were public. After packing our bags in the morning, still smelling pleasantly of incense, we donned our raincoats, thanked the monks, and ventured into the wind and rain. It had not settled down since the night before. We did our best to battle against the weather--shivering and wet, we watched the mist and rain surrounding the tall pines and the tall Daimon gates. We did our best to see all the temples we could, with periodic refuge in omiyage shops, where we dripped all over the floors. Determined not to let our trip to Koyasan go to waste, we forged ahead through the Oku-no-in cemetery. Already entranced by the strong scent of pine ubiquitous throughout Koyasan, I had been looking forward to meeting the towering, ancient sentinels throughout the cemetery forest. Despite the gray, the forest and graves were impressive. I hope to return in fairer weather where I can spend more time since  the rain did leave us hasty and chilled to the bone. To spend a day wandering that forest would be a dream! Such trees! That evening, we took another night bus from Kyoto to Hiroshima. Somehow, I had accidentally reserved fairly nice seats for the bus, with little domes that can be pulled down to shade your head. This made for a somewhat more pleasant ride--except for becoming car sick!

I found Hiroshima to be an absolutely charming city. Arriving at 7am from our bus ride, we slowly made our way to the Peace Park. The park itself is beautiful. We visited the museum as well, and although it was a heart wrenching experience, it was an important one. In the afternoon, fearing bad weather the next day and wanting to take advantage of the rare and glorious sunshine, we decided to see what we could of Miyajima in the afternoon. Itsukushima Shrine was beautiful. And I had completely forgotten about the tide, so I was surprised to see the floating torii without water. We came back the next day to climb up to the top of Mt. Misen and explore the beautiful forest. My sister was amused to catch me digging around in the soil, curious about the composition. Having stayed in so many cramped bunk beds at hostels up until that point--with the exception of the beautiful temple--, it was a long-awaited relief to have a hotel room for two nights in Hiroshima. The next morning, I experienced my very first ride on a shinkansen as we traveled from Hiroshima back to Osaka. That afternoon, we caught our flight to Naha, Okinawa. We arrived at sunset, to a dreary grey skyline. Both my sister and I felt uneasy in what felt like unfriendly surroundings. Our hostel was up the concrete stairs above a restaurant. In the morning, although Naha remained worn and torn in appearance, it was more friendly. We walked through the lively Kokusai-dori, then Tsuboya pottery district, and finally explored Shuri castle. Okinawa truly does have a different feel to it than the rest of Japan, and the influences of China are clear, as well as the unique Ryu Kyu history. The sun peeked out hesitantly that afternoon alone. The next day, we went snorkeling in the rain and not-quite-warm temperatures. My sister was at first terrified at the prospect of sharks. However, when the guides suddenly exclaimed “look! A whale!”, she forgot these worries. Far ahead of us, we could just see the fins and tails of two whales! Everyone ran to the front of the boat to watch them. For that sight alone, all the dreary weather was more than worth it. When we reached our snorkeling sight, the sapphire waters glimmered hesitantly. Above the water, the world was grey, but once we peered beneath the waves, there was a beautiful world awaiting us. Neither of us had ever snorkeled, and scarcely seen an ocean. We were awed by the fish and coral. Our cheerful guide (ironically, a man from Hokkaido!) helped us find three sea turtles! The next day, we took a tour bus full of elderly Japanese people towards the central part of the Okinawa main island--the highlight of which was the Churaumi Aquarium which houses enormous whale sharks, and our brief but beautiful experience of the beaches and rocks. We had an “Okinawan” style lunch, complete with bitter goya, and “sea grapes” (a type of seaweed with green little globes like grapes). The next day, we flew back to Narita. For our last hours together in Japan, we took what I thought would be a calm visit to the town of Narita. Little did I know that it was the day of the Taiko Matsuri! We were surprised by countless Taiko groups and a parade. Then, that afternoon, I bid farewell to my sister, sending her home with numerous souvenirs for my family. Our parting came all too quickly and felt sudden. I did not expect to cry, but could not help it. It felt almost as painful as leaving my family all those months ago. After having a constant companion for the past two weeks, to suddenly be so completely alone again--to make my way to my own flight alone, and to take the train alone--I continued to tear up. At the same time, I was so happy for the amazing experience that my sister and I shared. I count myself so lucky. I truly never imagined to have such an opportunity. Although there were rough patches and difficulties, I emerged from our long travels feeling wiser and more confident. After the Fulbright mid-year conference, I felt sad to have seen so little of Japan outside of Hokkaido. Now, I feel fortunate to have been able to travel to so many beautiful and historical places. I feel more complete, even if there is much more to see. I feel that I have come to know Japan more intimately. Now, I am back to Sapporo preparing for the start of classes. The break flew by, and I am excited to learn more. The grass and plants have timidly begun to green, and the snow is ever so slowly retreating. The city seems a far more cheerful place, and I am anxious to start working with my seedlings after their long sleep under the snow.

Although this past month has brought crushing disappointment as far as graduate school, it has also brought much to be thankful for. In the next months, I will have to begin planning my future anew. As far as I can tell, I will be doing my best to work and earn money over the next year and try my luck at re-applying to forest science programs for next year with the hope of better funding. Although painful, the experience has showed me just how much I do want to pursue graduate school. I was unsure when I first began my applications, but the experience with Yale has clarified that passion for me. I want to make positive change in this world, and I am determined to do so. However, as someone wishing to protect this earth, I must act sustainably in my own life. Part of that means that I must recognize when an action, such as spending so much money for a masters program or taking on such huge loans, is not sustainable.

On March 10th, I flew to Tokyo in preparation for the Fulbright mid-year conference. On March 10th, Veronica, Becca, and I went at last to see the Ghibli Museum in Mitaka. This is about a 30 minute train ride from Tokyo. On the way there, the city was consumed by a wall of smog that had just arrived from China. This was my first time experiencing such dramatic pollution. It truly engulfed the city like a brown storm cloud. The tiny particles got in my eyes, nose, and throat. I can only imagine the difficulties of living in such conditions. We were hurried inside the museum by worried staff because of the air quality. Inside, the museum was filled with children and parents, predictably. There were a few other Japanese visitors our age, though! The stained glass windows, showing scenes from Miyazaki's films, were beautiful. I was most looking forward to the sketch galleries. I tried to absorb as much as I could, from the technique of drawing and painting, to what brands of paints and paintbrushes were displayed. The museum has quite a magical feel to it. I loved the architecture of the building, and it was very well lit with natural light. Unfortunately, Becca was not feeling well. Although I tried to see if there was anything I could do, and although Veronica and I were concerned for her, she acted rather edgy towards us. In fact, it made us feel awkward, unsure, and tense. I felt worried for Becca, but at the same time confused by her attitude. I could not tell if somehow we had insulted her, or if she was struggling with feeling so sick. Therefore, although the museum was truly beautiful, my experience of it was slightly dampened. That evening, we were joined by Alex and Jim who arrived at the hotel lobby with perfect timing for me to run into them. None of us had strong feelings about what we should eat, so we wandered the area in search of something that would draw us in. After significant struggles deciding, we ended up at a Chinese restaurant. Veronica and I are both vegetarians, so we did our best to select dishes with high vegetable density. I had a wonderful time getting to catch up with Alex, Jim, and Veronica.

The next day was the Fulbright Mid-year Conference itself. We had all been anxiously awaiting this mysterious conference. None of us quite knew what the contents would be, or what was expected of us. We had all previously prepared our mid-year reports, describing our progress and our thoughts for the half-way point. But it remained illusive what we would actually do at the conference. It turned out to be very informal and relaxed. We were joined by Dr. Satterwhite and the four Fulbright supporting staff. Kevin and I had brought omiyage to share, so we snacked on these afterwards. I had been so looking forward to the conference, in order to be reunited with everyone. I had been sad to meet everyone and then part so quickly when I first arrived. All of the Fulbrighters are friendly, bubbly, supportive people with bright personalities. I enjoy having conversations with each and every one. They all bring something special to the table. So it was really a joyous occasion for me to see them all together. That evening, I tried to make sure all of us could go get kaiten-zushi together. I nearly succeeded (I got 8 out of the 9 of us!). We found an amazing little place called Himawarizushi (Sunflower Sushi). I ate so many vegetable sushi and inarizushi. De-licious. Afterwards, I was fanagled into going to Karaoke for the first time. I was not looking forward to this, because I dislike small dark rooms, and singing. But the others were so happy and easygoing, I enjoyed listening to them sing even if I was too bashful. The next day, I woke up early for a short run. My favorite place to run in all of Japan is in Tokyo. Most of us trickled in for breakfast together. Originally, my plan was to try to make it to Kamakura but after discussing this with Alex and Veronica, they said that I would probably need more time. After gathering what the other Fulbrighter's plans were, Dana, Veronica, and I decided that we would all go try to find a nice place in Tokyo to visit. Alex came up with the perfect suggestion of going to see the Shinjuku-Gyoen national gardens. This garden turned out to be spectacular. And there was the added treat of early-blooming Sakura. This was my first experience of the beautiful and much-famed sakura. I now understand why they are so adored. We had a lovely afternoon walking through the gardens and it was an excellent chance for me to talk more with Veronica and Dana. Dana, in fact, was a Mori no Ike camp counselor! She is so kind. Veronica and I also had a chance to talk about our worries about the coming year. Primarily, this centered around our nervousness aboutt the future and our paths towards graduate school. But we also were able to strike a kindred chord in our experiences in Japan, and to share words of comfort for the various struggles we have faced. I think that all of the Fulbrighters are a very supportive and friendly group, so given more time I am sure I could form strong bonds with each. Talking together, I was grateful for the chance to for a stronger bond with Veronica and to realize once more how much we truly have in common. She even asked if it would be okay to join my sister and I to visit Tokyo Disneyland, since I had shared some of my plans for my sister's visit. Of course! I was so happy about this! I wished her the best of luck, and then she was headed on her way back to Tsukuba and I was on my way to stroll through Tokyo. I had originally had plans to eat lunch with Becca and to show her my favorite restaurant in Tokyo (the EcoCafe 632 which is inspired by Dennis Banks). But she was unable to. A little deflated, I decided to go on my own anyways. The weather was warm, with a slight cool breeze, and the sun was magnificent. My only real goal for the day, I had declared, was to soak up as much beautiful springtime weather as I could and enjoy the city. Tokyo is an extremely beautiful, characteristic city in my opinion. So I walked from Shinjuku-gyoen towards Harajuku and Meiji-jingu, where the restaurant is. I made it there around 3pm, and decided that even though I still was not very hungry I should not pass up the chance. I had vegetarian curry, then I went to visit Meiji-jingu. Afterwards, I gradually made my way back towards the hotel (about a 50 minute walk back) in order to pick up my luggage. Then I was on my way to the Haneda airport, which I proudly reached successfully by train. I got on my flight with a heavy heart, still not looking forward to my return to Sapporo. Unfortunately, the winter had continued to wear on me. Although I am a hearty Minnesotan, the perpetual ice and lack of shoveling or snow maintenance in Sapporo had finally breached my patience. I still do not understand why so few people shovel. It came to such a point that I dreamed one night of shoveling the entire city by myself. In the next week or so, I tried to focus on preparing for the next conference on my list--the Japan Forest Society Conference where I would present a poster in Japanese about my undergraduate research experience on buckthorn trees and earthworms.

Day 4 (Friday, 2/22) -- On Friday morning, we woke up around 7am to go for a run, then came back and showered. The little looped courses that Laurel has to pick from are a bit monotonous. But still, to be running around in shorts and for sweat to feel good and not icey, that was still a treat. For Friday and Saturday, we were going to go on what Laurel called a "trek." These are targeted towards tourists (because according to Laurel, Thai people don't like things that involve much physical activity). For two days, we would be hiking with a group and a guide. We would stay in a 100-person Karen village. The Karen people are one of many, many ethnic groups and hill tribes in Thailand.  Many originally came from Myanmar and crossed the border to Thailand after war.  Throughout my stay in Thailand, I learned more and more that Thailand is a very multi-ethnic, multicultural place. The truck that would pick us up for the trek was scheduled to arrive between 9:30 and 10am. Most tourist events in Chiang Mai pick you up from your residence! The only trouble is that then you, and a truckload of foreigners, are carted around in the bed of a truck everywhere like a load of vegetables. A common sight, in fact. After showering and preparing a back pack we went to get yogurt (and I insisted on purchasing a cheap 50 cent poncho because I know my luck with rain). I also bought fried bananas to eat with the yogurt. Yum. I was nervous because I wanted us to be outside waiting by 9:30AM. We were, and for no reason. As Laurel had mentioned many times since I had arrived, Thailand tends to regard time very loosely. Very loosely. 9:30 came and went. 10 AM came and went. About 10 minutes after 10, Laurel decided to go and give the trek group a call. Predictably, as she went upstairs to do so, the trek group called the front desk. Only I was there to listen to the message, relayed by the desk worker. I was not quite certain of what she had said, but as Laurel came down I told her what I had heard. It seemed that the truck would be waiting for us at the end of the road. We started walking down the road, and only got about half way before a big red truck filled with foreigners bumbled past us. We waved at them, but they did not notice us. So we turned around and walked back towards the apartment, only to see the guide impatiently waving us to move faster. That was frustrating, indeed! They were the ones who were late by half an hour! The bed of the truck was packed full with eight people, so the guide opened the door, and we were squished into the back seats of the truck. For Laurel, this was appealing because of the air conditioning. For me, I love the feel of the warm wind and the view from the benches in the bed of the truck. The warm air, to me, is a pleasure and a treat. I've had quite enough "air conditioning" over the winter in Sapporo. The guide rather brusquely asked us for copies of our passport, and for payment. Laurel and I shared some glances. Fortunately, he warmed up as things progressed and was not so curt and business like, but actually a very silly, kind gentleman. It would take a bit to learn that, though. The truck drove out of Chiang Mai, and through rural, beautiful roads lined by rice fields and farms. After a little while, we stopped at a small market. There was fruit everywhere! Laurel can assure you, I was entranced. I made sure to buy some to eat. It was here that I came closest to purchasing a watermelon to stow back to Japan. We found some delicious savory rice treats instead. I can't believe I forgot to describe these! The first taste I had of them was in the Hmong village above Doi Suthep. A lady in a small shop was selling them there, for 6 baht (maybe 20 cents). They fit in the size of your palm. They are a little bit like Japanese 'onigiri' (rice balls) except instead of a ball of rice wrapped in seaweed, these are wrapped neatly in a banana leaf. Inside the banana leaf is the coconut-sweetened ball of rice, topped with a sweetened slice of egg. Next to mango and sticky rice, I think these were my favorite. Therefore, I was happy to see them at the market. Eating them, one of the other tourists in our group became curious and proceeded to buy a few. I was proud to be able to recommend them, despite how unfamiliar they might appear. We also tried something resembling a pancake. A lady was cooking giant-sized, thick versions of pancakes in a large pan, which she cut into slices layered with sugar. These were also scrumptious! Soon we were loading into the truck again. Laurel and I offered the inside seats to others, but (unfortunately to me!), none wished to switch. Throughout the ride, we could hear boisterous laughter coming from the back and I felt a little bad not to be a part. (I would later come to dislike this laughter, as you will all learn!) Our next step was to ride elephants! I could not believe it. We pulled up to a small thatched roof, next to some scaffolding. We could see elephants marching along with tourists riding upon their backs. In Thailand, elephant habitat has been so severely encroached upon and diminished that there is virtually none left. According to Laurel, tourism is in fact one of the main reasons elephants continue to survive in Thailand. At one time, they were used much like oxen and work animals on farms--especially in logging. Logging has also come under tighter restrictions in Thailand, and no longer necessary as work animals, elephants often faced slaughter. There are some elephant reserves in Thailand, and while there are also many, many poorly managed and cruel elephant "riding" groups, there are also some very kind ones. This one seemed to be someplace in between. There are also facilities where a "mahout" trainer and an elephant are paired for life. This facility did not appear to have such a system. In general, the elephants were well-treated, but I cannot say for certain. It saddened me to see elephants under a roof, with chained feet. Again, they did not seem to be in bad-condition. But it is nevertheless a rather demoralizing arrangement for such an incredible creature. Still, as I explained, at the same time without tourism there might not be any elephants left in Thailand.  Rode elephants, then waterfall, then hike for a long time. While we waited for the prior tour group to dismount, I was sure to put on a layer of sunscreen! I had been burned going to the temple my first day, and didn't want any more of that. As some of the elephants approached the scaffolding, I timidly inched towards them. I was not sure if you are allowed to touch them. As it were, in Thailand there are almost no rules so I need not have worried. Next thing I knew, we were stepping off of the scaffolding onto an elephants back. There were seats strapped to the elephant, and Laurel and I sat in one of these. The "driver" sat on the elephants head. I was so worried, because we were both wearing shoes and I thought this was rude to the elephant. Everyone takes off their shoes to go inside a house, but not to step on someone's back? Still, I was in awe. I could not believe that I was in Thailand, on an elephants back. The elephant walked along, crossed the road following the others, on a small trail through trees. Laurel mentioned to me that it is much more fun to sit on the elephant's head. Although the driver did not speak English, it was only a few seconds later that he asked if we wanted to switch spots! I wanted to shout "Yes, please!" and leap up. I turned to Laurel and she urged me ahead. The driver stood up, and to my shock we switched spots! Without even stopping the elephant completely, I climbed out of the bench and scooted onto her neck. The elephant's name was Bumi, by the way! For the next 40 minutes or so, I sat with a huge grin on my face, riding an elephant. I have probably never worn a wider smile than at that moment. Periodically, there were other scaffolding buildings with women pushing bags of banana and sugar cane at you for 20 baht. The elephants clearly knew the route and the sites for treats. They made a pretty penny off of me! Because Bumi continued to reach her trunk up every few steps for a treat. I figured that elephants eat so much in a day, and her routine must be so monotonous and endless, it could not hurt to keep giving her treats. She was carrying me around, for goodness sake. At one point, we even walked into a river. Bumi splashed us with a bit of water! But it was nice and warm out, so aside from the elephant snot, it was refreshing! As we came back to the roofed area, I made certain to give Bumi all the snacks left. Then we climbed off. I wanted to thank the elephant, and to say hello since she could not see me while I was sitting on top of her head. Unfortunately, I only got to say hello for a few moments before the next group of people arrived. I made sure to whisper thank you once more in Thai. Then we were loaded into the truck again and off to our next destination. We drove a ways before pulling up in front of an overlook of a large, dry dam. It is the dry season, and so there was only a trickle. We were told to take our things, and that we would be starting our hike. Everything always seemed quite pushed, and we never had a clear idea of what was happening next. After a moment's wait, we began our hike into the woods. And it was steep at first! Very steep! Then we came to an open area with some tiny wooden buildings and tables. And a waterfall! Not a large one, because of the season, but still lovely. This was where we would eat lunch. The guide handed us each a bag of cooked rice, and some hot sauce, and spoons. I lucked out, since there seemed to be only veggies in the rice. We ate these while watching the waterfall. After lunch, folks began to climb around on the rocks and some talked about going into the pool beneath the spray of the waterfall. I was timid about this. Though it was warm out, it was not hot. And the water was very cold. I was also nervous about the fast water around the rocks. Eventually, Laurel succumbed to the idea of jumping in. I remained hesitant. I suggested she change into her swimsuit at least, so that she need not continue the rest of the hike in wet clothes, but she went on ahead. Watching the others in the waterfall, I decided I should make the most of the opportunity as well. How often do you have a chance to swim in a waterfall in Thailand? I made my way back over the rocks and the little fallen tree that had been made into a bridge over the stream. Because it is the dry season, the waterfall was much smaller than it would be otherwise. The stream that ran from it, but walking over the large rocks it was clear that during the rainy season the water level must cover them all. I asked the guide if I could change someplace, and he indicated the little bamboo buildings off to the side. Many buildings in Thailand are built in an open-air style, because it is always warm weather. Often, they lack walls or are made of bamboo or other materials. You rarely feel that you are wholly inside, which is a pleasant change from what I am accustomed to in Sapporo and elsewhere. I hate to be inside buildings. Still, I was fairly certain that changing inside the little outhouse was about as effective as changing out in the open. I went back to the other side of the stream and the waterfall, and Laurel waved me over happy that I had decided to come in.
Hastily, I stepped into the stream where the water was just above the knees and waded through the rocks. I felt if I did not move quickly--plunge right in, so to speak--I would decide against it. I tripped on a large rock underwater and banged my knee almost immediately, but I tried to ask the others which way was best. There was a little channel between the rocks and they said they had gone through there. I moved forward to go through, but the water was rather fast, and the rocks were slippery. And suddenly the water was deep and above my head. I sank immediately underwater, than came back up. Normally, such a surprise would not be a problem. For me, however, I have a secret reason for being nervous about evenly mildly cool water. My lungs close up and I can't breath. I don't know why it happens, but without fail if I suddenly enter water, even if I want to jump in a cool lake or swimming pool, I can barely breath at all and it is extremely unpleasant. That is why I always have to enter slowly. Because not being able to breath when you have to swim, such as after jumping into deep water, is not particularly safe. Worst of all, at such moments I can barely catch my breath long enough to form sentences to explain to others that I will be okay. It takes a while, but once I get used to the water, I can gradually breath normally. Just as I had feared, however, my cautious entrance into the waterfall turned into a sudden plunge. One of the other hikers had grabbed my arm and pulled me back above water and through the short channel to cling to the rocks next to Laurel. But it was already too late, and I was gasping embarrassingly for breath. The current was very strong, and I held tight to the rock. I was so nervous that I would be pulled away by the current. There were rocks surrounding us, so I would not have gone far. But I know better than to take risks with fast water and hard rocks. After a very short time of hanging on in the rushing water, finding it ever so slightly exhilarating but mostly frightening, I nervously tried to go back through the channel, scared that I would be pulled unpredictably. Fortunately, it pushed me straight through and back to the calmer pool. I was glad to be out. We gathered up our shoes and went back to the shore--I was chased over the slippery rocks by a persistent bee, though I tried to ignore it. We packed up our things, and we were headed back onto the path.
We only got a very short distance before it was apparent that one of the hikers was lagging far behind. A larger woman from New Zealand, as she later revealed she has severe asthma but did not bring her inhaler (allegedly the tour guide who signed her up for the trek told her it would be very easy). The guide stopped us and we waited a time for her to catch up. This happened the entire trek for that day. No one seemed upset or aggravated with her, except the guide initially since she had not told him before setting out which could, for obvious reasons, be risky. There was always a clear path, but it was occasionally very steep and we were making a constant upward climb. So at times, I did appreciate the extra breaks. During that first day, I had no trouble being patient with this lady and did not mind at all taking it a bit slower if it would help. During the second day, I was less patient for reasons I will soon explain. We made a stop at a little bamboo building where an old man was selling cans of pop and water from a cooler. The guide had us rest here for about 20 minutes, and during that time made each of the female hikers rings from banana leaves. There was another trek group of about 8 people who were always crossing paths with us (the guides clearly all knew each other well) and they had arrived at about the same time. While we waited, the other guide hopped around shooting rocks at a string of water bottles with a sling shot. The rest of the afternoon was taken up by walking the trails. As I mentioned, because it was the dry season it felt almost like fall. There was the crunch of leaves under foot. Except instead of the maples and oaks I know from home, these were huge "diptocarp" leaves, bamboo, and banana leaves among others. We had a few more upward climbs, and even passed through some areas that had clearly been harvested. We crossed through some bright green fields, that I guessed were fallow rice fields, with little bamboo sheds hidden away and little raised, grass covered paths. We saw beautiful views of the land around us from our high elevation. We saw mountains in the distance. We passed oxen bathing in the mud. It was a lovely walk. From the top of a hill, we could see the small buildings of a village in the distance. It took us a long, steep walk down the road to reach. This was a Karen village, of about 100 people, 30 of whom were children. There were dogs and puppies strolling freely, and piglets and chickens roaming. Our guide (his name was Sam) showed us to the open-air building we would be staying in. If you can picture what most people's open front porch looks like, that is about what most of the buildings in the village looked like--most had a slightly more closed off portion in the back. In our little building, if you stepped towards the sleeping area, there were many mats on the ground covered by bug nets. On the more "porch-like" portion of the building, there was a long table. The view overlooked the trees, small roads, fields, and cows below. The wooden floor was creaky and uneven, and like most buildings raised up a short ways by stilts. Our guide told us we were free to go for a walk or wander through the village. Laurel and I first walked one way down the narrow road through the village, coming to the end where there was an old lady and two little boys playing outside. The little boys caught our eye and although we smiled and waved kindly at them, they actually through rocks at us as we were turning back. They didn't come anywhere near to hitting us, but it made me so sad at the same time that they were humorous. When I would turn to wave or make a face they scurried away. In Thailand, I did observe an extreme sense of ostracizing and exclusion. I was not there long enough to really gauge this, but I would have to say it was stronger even than what I feel in Japan. Still, the village was beautiful. I felt awful not to be able to speak to anyone, though. I wished sorely throughout the whole trip that I spoke Thai. If you do not speak the language, it is difficult to connect with people and a culture. Furthermore, it is a common courtesy and respect. Even if I spoke Thai, I would have been out of luck in this situation because most people in the village spoke Karen language. But I wish I knew that, too. As we returned to our building, Sam had begun to prepare dinner. I was nervous because I am a vegetarian and I was not certain if there would be any options. I timidly peaked into the little shed with the fire where he was cooking and mentioned that I cannot eat meat. He asked with a smile if tofu was ok. I was so touched and relieved. Thai people really understand vegetarianism, and they sure can cook! Not long thereafter, little candles were placed on the table since the sun was setting and it was getting dark. Sam and his wife brought out a big bowl of rice, and plates to be passed around, along with two big bowls of curry dishes. One was vegetables and chicken, but the other was vegetables and tofu! How kind! Not only that, Sam brought over a smaller bowl of JUST vegetables, JUST for me. It was far beyond what I had expected, and extremely considerate. And delicious.
Up until that point, the day had gone well. Initially, Laurel and I had been happy to be in a group of people for the chance to get to know others. There were 6 others in the group, and after dinner things began to turn sour. Very sour. Our conversations had all been pleasant throughout the day, even if it became gradually evident that we were very different personalities. However, after dinner the main concern of the other eight was how much beer was in the little cooler, and whether it would be enough to last all night. My heart sank at the first mention of alcohol. I had mentioned this concern to Laurel before dinner, but she shrugged it off. I had a deeper sense of foreboding. I have never had a good experience around people drinking. Never. Not once. Hence my foreboding. I can generally sense when things are going to head in a bad direction with rowdiness and such, and I knew that the peaceful, quiet night listening to the crickets and the rustle of the winds was going to be ruined. I kept hoping otherwise, but as the evening progressed, the others became louder and louder sitting around the table. Laurel and I stayed at the table, participating in the conversation as we could. My one hope was that there was not very much beer in the cooler, and with their combined efforts they would soon run out. Sam had mentioned that a little after dinner, the children of the village would come visit us to sing songs. It was also a way for the children to ask for money donations. Sam explained that the money would be used for their school materials, and I do believe he was being truthful. I gave a handful of baht. The children all crowded into the stairs next to the table. Sam would lead a verse, and then the children another--in very loud, loud voices. It was clear that it had all been rehearsed many times before. Some children appeared bored and disinterested, others slightly scared, and a few were very animated and sang more enthusiastically. What I was appalled by was the behavior of the other tourists in the group. Sitting around the table, they were all jovial and boisterous, which is normally good, but it was too such extremes that I found it disrespectful and probably frightening to the group of children and parents. These tourists acted towards the villagers as though they were performers. They are NOT performers, however--they are residents of the village that had welcomed us. This was their home, not ours, and by being so loud and frightening we were hardly being considerate guests. I scanned the faces of the villagers and children and I could tell some were nervous. Others, if not nervous, were certainly gaining a negative impression of tourists. These loud, drinking, indulgent westerners...No wonder the two boys had tossed rocks at us earlier. After the children left, they was trouble yet to come. Although the beer had run out, and the loudest of them all--the lady who had slowed us down all day--asked Sam if there was any more. With a surprised and somewhat strained look, Sam said he would call someone. I could tell he was thinking the same as I--my God. I hoped and hoped that he would not bring them any, but he was in a difficult position. His job as a guide, he had explained earlier that evening, was to make sure we all enjoyed ourselves. So clearly he wanted to accommodate his guests. At the same time, it was clear that these guests were going to be loud and shouting all night. Around 11PM, I told Laurel I was going to lay down anyways. Two of the other eight tourists had already attempted this. These were the two french men, who had been speaking animated French to each other throughout the entire trek and mostly had kept to themselves. They were much more similar to Laurel and I. Much more subdued, and there to enjoy the culture and the calm and had caused no trouble during the day. So if I am honest, the real problem came down to a group six--two New Zealanders, an American, a Scot, and two Australians. The more they drank, the louder they became. Especially the lady who had slowed us down. I lost all sympathy for her. Her grating laugh echoed throughout the mountain until past 1am. The six drank and drank and drank, laughing and making fools of themselves and descending into absolute debauchery as their voices consumed the entire village. I doubt a single person was able to sleep because of their racket. Certainly not me, laying on a mat not 10 feet away. Mosquito nets don't block much noise. I laid on my mat, eyes pressed closed, and furious. I could not believe it. And there was nothing any one could do to stop this monstrous behavior. I considered many times standing up and going to tell them to please go to sleep. But I have tried this before. It does not work. They would have blown me off as a "goody two shoes" or as a spoil sport. I am neither. I believe in being respectful and considerate towards others. I absolutely hate when people forget these two simple attributes. Always be considerate. Always. Around midnight, I could hear Sam return. He tried to humor them, singing a little, even playing his drum a little, but all the while trying to hint to them that they should go to bed soon so that they would be able to see the sunrise in the morning. Their whiny, loud, and down right stupid conversations went on and on. Their camera flashes kept lighting up the whole building and I could see them flicker through my eyelids. At some point, the male New Zealander even lit his crotch on fire (if I understood correctly what I could hear--I dared not look). Everyone thought this was a riot. I was disgusted and thankful only that these deplorable conversations were in English and not Thai. I only hoped that few understood the content of the shouts and cackling laughs. Finally, they collapsed into stupored sleep. Once things were silent, I fell asleep instantly. So much for a relaxing night in the mountains.

Day 5 (Saturday, 2/23) -- A little bit before the sun rose above the mountains, but just after the sky had turned slightly blue, I woke up,before everyone else. Roosters started crying by 5am, and one in particular must have walked right underneath our hut. Still, I was happy to hear them. I wanted to be certain to watch the sunrise. Sure enough, everyone remained sound asleep. I changed into some longer pants and sleeves and went out onto the "porch." The garbage can was overflowing with more beer cans than I have seen in one place in my life.  I left the building to wander through the village. There were already many people awake, quietly starting their day. I felt ashamed to be seen by anyone, however, because I am sure no one had been able to sleep on account of the other tourists. I tried to wear an apologetic look on my face to those I saw awake already. I knew that they all probably connecting me with the loudness of the night, and this made me feel terrible. Now I understand completely why there is distrust and a bite towards "farang." After I wandered back, I ran into Sam. He was getting things ready gradually for breakfast. As it came closer to sunrise, he pointed me to look in the right direction to see the magnificent orange circle ascending from behind the mountains. I was the only one to watch it. Sam called to the others to come see, and they groggily responded. A few came to watch, but only I had seen the whole morning break. I was disgusted with these tourists. What is the point of coming to this beautiful place, only to drink all night and miss the beauty of the morning, to offend the hosts, and to miss the opportunity for such peace and calm? What values do these people have? And what a shame that they are representing other foreigners on their travels.
Breakfast was hard-boiled eggs, toast, and fruit. I could tell that our guide was not quite the well-humored, smiling man he had been the day before. Though he did not say anything about it, it was clear that he was angered by the behavior he had experienced. No one even bothered to apologize--why would they? They were so oblivious to what they had done, it astounded me. When Sam placed plates on the table, they did not even bother to help hand them out. The only reason the two French men, more quiet like myself and Laurel, even received plates or had the food passed to them was because I got frustrated and stood up, walked around the whole table and the other tourists, and handed them plates myself. After breakfast, Laurel and I made sure our bags were ready. Our guide, Sam, wanted to get going right on schedule. I'm sure he wanted to get these tourists as far as he could from his home, and as quickly as possible. This was no problem for Laurel and I--we stood next to him with our bags already strapped on and ready to set out. The others were slow and took their time. Our guide kept trying to push them along. I almost felt he might take off without them (and good riddance it would be!). Finally, we were on our way. I hiked along rather quietly, doing my best to enjoy the trails and trees, whiling sticking far up front with our guide and attempting to ignore the blundering group that we were stuck with. He led us to another small waterfall and informed the others somewhat coolly that they could swim here. I did not especially want to get wet, but I walked along in the pool of water. The hike continued, and it was almost all downhill. My legs started to hurt from the constant decline, more so than going up. We caught some lovely views, but today the hike was mostly business and little cheer from our guide. He did, however, have a few jokes. Stopping at a towering rubber tree with rickety wooden pegs forming a ladder, he pointed upwards. "This way!" he said, explaining that the route went up the tree. He was joking, of course. The little wooden pegs were used to climb up to the top and collect honey! A dangerous climb, to be sure! The sun was hot that day, and the trail was dry. We emerged at the bottom at last, waited a bit, then were piled into a truck. We stopped briefly for lunch at a roadstop. The group very clearly divided into two tables. The loud group of six at one table, and me, Laurel, and the two Frenchmen at the other. It was obvious that, though the Frenchmen had not said anything, they felt the same as us. We were loaded into a truck again, and when we stopped next it was near a river. We were all going to ride on small bamboo rafts down it. Again, the group divided just like at the tables. Thank goodness. I was all to close to pushing the others into the river as it was. Goodness knows what I would have done on a bamboo raft with them. Since the weather was hot, getting wet was more pleasant. In Thailand, wearing swimsuits is not common. Rather, people dress more conservatively and generally wear shorts and a t-shirt in the water. Our guide had urged us to do so as well, in order to avoid offending Thai people, especially the many older folks sitting along the river. The bamboo raft only partially floated, so that our butts and legs periodically sank a few inches under water. Otherwise, the ride was fun. Our boatman seemed to make it his goal to try to get us as wet as possible, and to try to capsize us whenever he could. (He really seemed to enjoy this!) There were a few spots with docks up on stilts where many groups of students and picnic-ers were enjoying lunch. In two such spots, there were little kids waiting at the shore for us to float by. When we came into site, the ran into the water to have a splash fight with us. Our boatman did his best, as we came to the end, to sink us. Then we scuttled out, wet, and went up to the food and souvenir hut above to wait for the others in our groups to arrive. Although I had enjoyed a number of aspects of the trek, Laurel and I could not wait to be free of the others. Another truck arrived, we were loaded in, and then dropped off at Laurel's street. That evening we had a spectacular dinner at the vegetarian restaurant called Pun Pun. I had BOTH Khao Soi AND a banana flower salad. Normally I dislike salads. They are boring and usually just a bunch of lettuce. But this was something to be excited about. This was a Thai meal, after all. So there were tons of vegetables and a yummy sauce. It was unrecognizable to me as a salad, but so good.

Day 6 (Sunday, 2/24) -- In the morning, Laurel and I went for a run then took a shower. It is so pleasant to enjoy showers, and not freeze! Today was our trip to the organic Pun Pun restaurant's farm. The old man who owns the restaurant knows Laurel, and was driving us there (for free!) for part of the 10th anniversary celebration. The drive took about 40 minutes, and we were joined by a Colombian single mother named Debbie and her darling baby, Ananda. We enjoyed talking to her throughout the drive. Neither Laurel nor I worked up the courage to tell her that we spoke Spanish, so we spoke English the whole time. It is difficult to bring something like that up, if you don't do so immediately! The farm was complicated to farm, and they even had to stop and ask directions for the driver. But it was sure beautiful! There were mango and papaya trees, dry rice fields, and gardens everywhere. Absolutely a dream. The day before had been the main celebration, but there were still many people and visitors around the second day. Many had spent the night in tents, it seemed. There were many westerners there, and the place all around had a slightly "hippy" feel. To be honest, I could sense that many of these visitors were sorts that I might not exactly get along with. While we may have very similar ideals--such as vegetarianism, environmentalism, social activism--, once someone starts falling into the "hippy turned hipster" personality, there is just a touch too much self-righteousness (and occasionally, entitlement) for me. Such people tend to make me think that there is a lot of talk, and not so much action. That is a broad generalization, and I should not make assumptions. Still, many seemed the type that are able to travel frequently and spend their time more leisurely. Laurel and I went for a wonderful stroll through the many quiet paths, exploring all over the farm. When we wandered back around lunchtime, the old man who owns Pun Pun restaurant came up to us somewhat anxiously. It seems he had been searching for us, nervous that there would not be lunch left for us! How kind!! I had not expected free lunch, but his restaurant waiters had cooked up a big vegetarian dish and he shooed us up to the kitchen. There, we were served bowls of delicious Thai food. After lunch, we explored the dry rice fields, Papaya trees, and Tamarind trees. At the last minute before heading back into Chiang Mai, I made sure to buy some yummy organic honey peanut butter from the store, along with kaffir lime shampoo. Wow, writing that sure does make me feel like a hippy myself.  When we returned to Chiang Mai, Laurel took me to the night market in the Old City. It was so busy and overwhelming. My goal was to find souvenirs for everyone, but I had trouble keeping together with Laurel and became too overwhelmed to focus. I did my best, but I think I need to do souvenir searching solo, because I just worry that I am boring the other person. It got late quick, and while Laurel had snagged a bite to eat from some street vendors, I had been sincerely hoping not to waste a single dinner while in Thailand since the food is so good (and such an important part of any experience). Regrettably, many places were closing by that time as it was about 9pm. After a little bit of looking and even less luck, Laurel just picked a place right off of the main night market. I was extremely anxious about this impatient decision, because I knew it would be overpriced. My suspicions were well-founded, since the menu did not even bother to list prices. This is never a good sign. The waitress was a large and pushy woman who wanted our orders right away. When we ordered fruit drinks, not only did they take a long time to reach the table, but during that long wait the other waiter--a young man, lazily watching TV--refused even to bring water when we finally worked up the courage to ask. The meal, vegetarian massaman curry, came in a large, decorative stone bowl. Warning sign number 2 of an overpriced restaurant. The whole time I had been trying to hint this to Laurel, and suggest to here that we leave. She continued to shrug off my warnings. Although the meal was good, I could not enjoy it because I knew it was a bad decision. The bill, while inexpensive for a meal in Japan, was more than three times the average price in Thailand. I threw Laurel a look of exasperation. I had seen it coming. Therefore, instead of taking a tuk tuk or red truck the 40 minute walk back to Laurel's apartment, we walked in order to save money. I think that Laurel was frustrated with me that I had found the situation upsetting, since I had mentioned to her that with my Fulbright grant I am able to afford eating out once in a while. Still, that did not mean that I wanted to spend money unwisely, and it certainly did not mean that I did not need to be careful with my budget. We ended up finally getting back close to 11pm. Moreover, we had not had a chance to plan anything for what I would do by myself the next day. Laurel had to teach all of Monday, so I would be on my own. When I had first arrived, I had suggested that it would be a good idea to plan something ahead of time. I should have been more adamant about this. It is not possible to book an activity so late the night before, and there was no clear solution. I would have loved to go biking with a group, but there was nothing to be done so late. Laurel was apologetic that we had not been more proactive, and I tried to assure her that I would figure something out. Secretly, I was a little frustrated and more than a little bit worried about trying to find something by myself, last minute, and navigating the city completely alone. I felt frustrated, moreover, at the prospect of wasting a precious day. I was extremely conscious of the fact that I may never have another opportunity to return to Thailand. If I had known ahead of time how vehemently Laurel dislikes the stress of planning ahead (by her own admittance), then I would have planned everything myself. I went to sleep with these thoughts in my mind, wondering what the next day would bring.

Day 7 (Monday, 2/25) -- I woke up with Laurel to see her off to her teaching, trying to assure her that I would figure something out. Just what, I had no clue. I was even more let down to learn that Laurel planned to go for a run on her own. I had been looking forward to running with her, and of course nervous about how to find a way to run alone in Chiang Mai. I tried to do a little more research searching for tours or activity possibilities online. Ideally, I would have liked to bike to Kiang Kum Kam (the ancient city), which is a very short distance outside of central Chiang Mai. I decided to walk to the Old City and try to locate the bike tour centers. About halfway between the Old City itself and Kiang Kum Kam, I thought that with some luck I might still be able to join a bike group, and if not that I could rent a bike and make the trip by myself. After walking to the outskirts of the Old City, in order to save time and make sure I could actually locate the bike tour center, I asked a tuk tuk. After a few days in Thailand, I had learned to be more careful about bartering for fares. After showing the driver the address, he asked what price I suggested. I took a guess and said 150 baht. He outright laughed at me, even though I knew this to be a fair price. He said no way, 400 baht. I shrugged and said I would just walk. Eventually we got the price down to 200 baht. The trip turned out to be slightly farther away than I had thought. In fact, I ended up in a residential area outside of the city. It turns out, the address I had was the literal office of the bike tour. When I stepped up to the house and rang the doorbell, the young man and the woman were puzzled to have a tourist show up at their doorstep. The woman explained to me that not only were there unfortunately no tours that day, also you cannot book tours directly at the office. Usually that is done through a travel agency. I asked if, at least, I could rent a bike. She said theorhetically I could, but she did not suggest me trying to bike to Kiang Kum Kam on my own since it might be too complicated. Distraught, I thanked her anyways, and asked her how to walk back to the Old City. She too seemed to have reservations about walking back, but told me to go down the street and which turns to take. I remembered the tuk tuk driver had gone some ways down a busy highway, and I was not hopeful about being able to walk back. Certainly not in any timely manner. I really was in a residential area, surrounded by houses, very few people, and little chance of locating a tuk tuk or red truck. I felt lost and somewhat scared. As I walked out the main gate and passed the box with the security guard who had seen me come in, a little tuk tuk slowly puttered up behind me. It was a middle-aged woman driving, and she asked me where I was going.  I couldn't believe it! I was very lucky to have a tuk tuk show up, even more so a sympathetic and friendly mother. She had just dropped off a resident. She said she would drive me back for only 90baht. (A normal Thai fare, not the normal tourist fare or usual "rip off" fare) Probably part of her kindness stemmed from the fact that now she would earn a fare both from going out of the way to the residential area and from heading back into the city. I was just grateful to have a way back. The driver even spoke fairly good English. She asked me how old I was, and laughed when I told her, responding that she could be my mom! We had a very pleasant conversation, and part way into the city, she asked if I wanted to listen to some music and quaintly enough started playing Jack Johnson. She asked me what I wanted to do in the Old City, so that she could drop me off someplace convenient. I mentioned my idea of a bike tour, and she brought me to a bike rental shop. She told me that after dropping me off, she was actually heading on break. She was going to go get a massage, since her legs hurt. I had no luck finding another bike group, however.  (Turns out it was also a buddhist holiday). Losing hope of being able to escape the bustling Old City for the day, I finally stopped at a travel agency booth, one of many that line the Old City streets. I asked if there were any possibilities to salvage the second half of the day so late. He called a few places about biking, but none were available. I asked him for his advice, and he found a mahoot elephant training trip that would leave at 12:30pm and be back around 5pm. He called and they were still accepting reservations. Costing about $60, it was more expensive of an activity than I had intended, but after becoming lost, distraught, and having no idea what else to do, I simply agreed. Besides that, you really can't go too wrong riding elephants. No matter what situation, that is still amazing. And it would cost a heck of a lot more, and have a million times more safety and liability restrictions elsewhere. Laurel had also lamented that I would not be able to do a mahoot course, like she had. Thus, although it would be very short, it still seemed to make the best out of things. It was still about 11:40am, and the worker told me I should go have lunch and come back at 12:30pm. I would be picked up from there. I tried not to wander too far to find a place for lunch, snagged some yellow curry (everything in the Old City is so overpriced for so little, I did not enjoy it too much). I was just approaching the travel center at 12:28, to see the worker wave me down and usher me into a waiting car. Not a red truck, but an actual car. I was still confused about what the schedule was supposed to be, but I got in. In retrospect, perhaps not the safest thing to do. But I figured, I had booked a tour, and Thailand (at least Chiang Mai) really is a very safe place. The driver stopped at a hotel to pick up two other guests, he explained. I waited in the car as he went in, and returned with two young Chinese girls in sunhats and sunglasses. They got into the backseat, and we were off. It was about a 50 minute drive, and we left the city and continued for some ways through the countryside. I had no idea how far away or where exactly the mahoot camp would be located, so I just kept looking out the window for signs. The area became more green and forested, and I began to see signs for a mahoot camp. We took some smaller dirt roads, and then there were elephants. We got out of the car, were quickly ushered over to the main building, and hurriedly introduced to the camp by a young, english-speaking Thai man. We were given worn, blue fabric pants and large shirts, told to change, and then plopped down for a lunch after being asked if we had eaten. The Thai man seemed to zoom us through everything. He was, however, very kind to get me vegetarian curry. So I had lunch twice that day! The Thai man began to explain more about elephants (including the difference between African and Asian elephants). Then we were standing right in front of them, along with a little baby elephant named Litchee who came up to inspect us for treats. It was an hour of heaven, learning to ride elephants. We were shown how to climb up by standing on the elephant's foot, and some words in Thai to tell the elephant what to do (all the elephants there speak very good Thai!). The two Chinese girls were nervous around the elephants, and the Thai man rolled his eyes about this because why exactly would you go to ride elephants and then become too nervous around them even to approach them. But he seemed happy with me, since I was more than excited to walk straight up to the elephants and do my best to jump on. He explained that you need to sit as far up upon the elephants head as possible. We got to walk around riding the elephants for about 40 minutes, than go straight into the river with the elephant to give it a bath! It was at this time that the other man along with us gestured towards me to stand up. I was confused, and then realized he meant for me to try to stand up ON the elephants back! The elephant was still standing in deeper water in the river, so there was no risk if I fell off. I climbed aboard, tried to keep my balance, and stood up! At one point, while throwing water on the elephant, I even remember running into its foot underwater. That afternoon at the mahoot camp, despite being hurried and woefully short, was one of the best in my life. Elephants are incredible creatures, and it was a privilege to meet those that I did on my trip. That night we had our last dinner at Pun pun, fried mushrooms and khao soi. I tried to savor every bite, and sincerely thanked the owners (who had even snuck us in after they had technically closed a few minutes before). The next day, my flight was in the afternoon so I wanted to try one more time to make it to the ancient city. Originally, Laurel was going to go with me. I thought it would be fun to bike there together. However, as I tried to get an idea for a rough plan for the next day, Laurel became more and more evasive and difficult to work out a schedule. I could sense that she was not interested in going. In fact, she admitted that she was tired of "touristy" things. To be honest, this hurt me a little. I understood that she was nearing the end of her time in Chiang Mai, and perhaps just wanted to relax. However, I felt hurt and a bit insulted that she did not understand that I wanted very dearly to see the important places of Chiang Mai. I knew very clearly that I may never have a chance to return, much less to travel. Besides that, the ancient city was a place that many Thai people visit as well. I was confused about what exactly counted as "touristy" in her opinion. To me, seeing the ancient history and culture of a country does not need to be cheapened to the title of "tourism." I wanted to share in a culture, not buy silly trinkets, or stay in the Old City, the most touristy place of all.  Moreover, I was stung that she would not want to spend time with me on my last day there. Although I had come to see Thailand on the one hand, one of my reasons was also to visit her. I gave up and said that I would go alone. So I fell asleep still admittedly frustrated and a little perplexed.
Day 8 (Tuesday, 2/26) -- In the morning, we went for our last run together. I still felt a little edgy and frustrated. I continued to hope that Laurel would come around and say she would like to come with. When we got back to the apartment, we showered, and I got ready to go. In the end, I went alone. I walked to the Old City, and then, seeing how fast time was slipping by, bartered with a tuk tuk driver. He asked me where I wished to go, and named his price at 400 baht. I continued to shrug and walk away, saying I would simply go on foot. Finally, I got him down to 200baht. The ancient city has a number of extremely old archeological sites, temples, and ruins. It was originally the capital city, but this was later moved to Chiang Mai after flooding. When I arrived, the tuk tuk driver tried to convince me to hire a carriage tour but I would have none of it. I wanted to walk around on my own, but the driver kept saying all the sites were far too spread out for me to cover on foot. When I was persistent, he offered to just drive me around. I was perplexed, but could not convince him otherwise. I was also a little relieved, because I did not know exactly where everything was anyways. He brought me up to each temple ruin, let me wander a little, take pictures, and then zoomed me to the next. Most of the sites were only the stone foundations of past temples, but there were small information placards in Thai and in English that described the significance and age of each. They truly were ancient. Despite what Laurel had said about being "touristy," I was very literally the only non-Thai person throughout the entire Ancient City! There were many Thai people praying at some of the temples where there were remaining Buddha statues. At other sites, there were students and Thai people quietly working on the ruin sites, still being gradually excavated. At the last temple ruin, there was also a larger, still-used temple. It was very beautiful, and so peaceful and quiet. There was almost no one around, save for a man sitting next to a koi pool who ushered me over to admire the fish, and two old ladies tucked away behind a table providing rosaries, statues, incense, and candles. It turned out, indeed, to be the least touristy and most peaceful place on the whole trip! I felt very happy to have come to see the ancient city, and to admire the incredible age and richness of Thai history. On the tuk tuk ride back, I thought that I might as well give the driver original 300 baht as a thank you because he had shown me around. But as we got closer and closer to the Old City, he continued to try to persuade me into going to see other places around Chiang Mai to which I continued to decline. It almost seemed like I would not be able to simply be dropped off, so persistent was he! Then, when I finally became adamant back at the Old City and he pulled over to let me out, he claimed to have no bills in his wallet to make change so he could not make break the 300baht I handed him. This, despite the fact that I saw him pull out the bills to stuff in his pocket. Exasperated after arguing for so long that I just wanted to go back to the Old City, and insulted that he was still trying to make more money off of me as a "tourist", I just paid him and left. I really was insulted. One of my worst experiences with Thailand, by far, was being treated as a "farang", as a "tourist", and as a dollar bill. I had thought this driver was being so kind by showing me around and would have gladly tipped him extra voluntarily, but he had tricked me out of the extra money anyways.
Walking back towards Laurel's apartment, I made sure to eat as much fruit on the way as I could. And to stop one last time to get mango and sticky rice. Although I was still feeling a little miffed towards Laurel, at the last second I decided to bring her some mango and sticky rice as well. After all, it was nonetheless very, very, very kind of her to let me stay with her and to spend the time that she did with me. I hope that she had some enjoyment from my visit! Certainly, my time in Thailand changed my life and I will always remember it. Although I was stuffed full of fruit, I still savored every last bite of my mango and sticky rice as I ate it on the picnic table outside of Laurel's apartment. Then I went upstairs, got my bags ready, and greeted Laurel. She had, very thoughtfully, called a taxi. Originally, she had suggested that I just flag down a red truck and go to the airport but while I had been at the ancient city, she thought that a taxi would be simpler. I was grateful for this, because I had been worried about negotiating a red truck. With my bags ready, the taxi arrived. I gave Laurel a big hug, got into the taxi, and waved goodbye. At the airport, I hastily filled the remaining space in my bag with souvenir snacks to share with my friends in Sapporo. I checked in for my flight, feeling so sad to leave behind the feel of warm sun on my skin, incredible food, and the beauty of Thailand. Even walking into the airport, I distinctly remembered the last touch of warm air on my shoulders. I was not looking forward to returning to wintry, icey Sapporo.

When I landed in Kaula Lumpur, I somehow managed to leave immigration and exit the airport when I had only meant to go straight through to my next flight's gate. So I had to turn right back around and go through immigration twice in the span of 20 minutes. Then my bag strap broke. This time, the long wait in the terminal passed more smoothly, perhaps because it was the evening. Although I still spent about 6 hours there, my flight left at 1am so it felt less that I was wasting precious daylight. On the flight back to Japan, I tried unsuccessfully to sleep.

(Wednesday, 2/27) -- Arriving back at Kansai International Airport, I still had a little time before my flight back to Sapporo. I was discouraged immediately by the ever present crowds and stress, that had resumed so promptly around me. I had not missed that aspect of Japan. All I ever long for in Japan is a calm, quiet place to sit and eat a little breakfast. These places do not exist in Japan. I finally managed to grab a chair, and sat writing and drinking green tea.Then I went to the other terminal and caught my flight. I read the Good Earth on my flight. When I closed the book to prepare for landing, sure enough the old man next to me immediately asked me where I was from, was I a student, and how long have I studied Japanese. To be honest, although I often appreciate the friendliness, I do grow tired of answering this same string of questions over and over. I have thought humorously about making a shirt or a pamphlet. But he was very kind. I took the train from Shin-Chitose airport back to Sapporo to be greeted by the ice and cold. The cold itself is never too much trouble for me--I'm quite used to it--but that darn ice has worn on me over the months to the point of hatred. Lugging my heavy bag over the slippery half-foot thick layer of ice coating all surfaces, I was in a sour mood immediately. I wanted so badly to go back to Thailand, where I could find vegetarian food to eat without such struggles, where there was sun, and clear sidewalks.

The next day (2/28), I attended track practice in the gym. I enjoyed telling people of my trip. On Friday, I tried to go for a run on my own, but the temperature had suddenly peaked above freezing, and all the ice turned to a half-foot deep slush. I crossed the street, and sank into it. I tried to keep running through it, but it was everywhere. My feet were soaked and frozen. Then little pellets of rain and ice began to fall. I stopped in my tracks. For the first time in my life, I gave up. I turned back, trudged through the slush, and took off my wet running shoes. I was so upset and discouraged. That Saturday, when we practiced at Makomanai ice rink, I realized just how much speed I lost. The workout was a simple interval one, but both myself and Hanako-san (the other middle distance runner) struggled with it. It was harder than it had seemed. Afterwards, I voyaged through the snow for soup curry to try to cheer up and re-accustom to winter life in Sapporo. On Sunday, I went to weight training in the morning. Then, on Monday (3/15) I went to the Fruitscake Factory desserts buffet with Diao-san, and Yani (a Chinese international student who lives in the same dorm as I). I had intended for us to go at about 2pm, but after arriving we were met by a long waiting list and the next open table was not until 6:30pm. I put down our names, and we came back later. Unfortunately, by that time they had run out of a number of cake flavors. Still, it was delicious. We may have eaten until we felt a bit sick, but we sat and had a long, lovely conversation afterwards to recover. Then we all walked home.