Final call

So my time here is not quite up, but it’s drawing to a close. I know it’s only been eight weeks, but I’m still very sad. I’ve promised countless times to so many people that I’ll be back, and I can’t imagine failing to keep that promise. My school even offered me a permanent job here, but I figured that I should at least finish my degree before I go gallivanting around Asia on a more permanent basis.

I didn’t get a particularly impressive tan this summer (bar standing next to Neil), I didn’t go to an official Full Moon Party, I didn’t undertake a soul- searching self- discovery mission…. but my time here has wildly exceeded anything I could have imagined. I’ll never forget these past two months, the ‘Mai Pen Rai’ approach to life, and all the lovely people I’ve met. Whilst the appeal of teaching in the UK is now even further beyond my comprehension, I’ve been surprised at how much I’ve enjoyed the actual teaching aspect here. This can, to a large extent, be attributed to Piyabut School, my beyond amazing mentor, Nipa and the willingness of the majority of the students to learn. I’ve been very lucky with how everything has turned out, and I can honestly say that I have (post- Chanthaburi), loved every day here.

Whole school assembly 'The Line'

Participating in a pilot programme of such magnitude was never going to be easy; a reality that apparently ran contrary to the Thai Ministry of Education’s levels of planning and preparation. The British Council and my fellow ETAs have coped fantastically well with all manner of obstacles; from monsoons, to stray tukays, to the word ‘assistant’ being eternally buried in translation. I for one really hope the project does go ahead next year. In a nation which is clearly vying for more international recognition, especially with ASEAN coming to the forefront, it is very much a necessity that practical English language skills are nurtured from a young age. Sixty seven English Teaching Assistants does not sound especially significant, especially considering how sparsely we have been distributed across the country, however, it is a step in the right direction.

English is currently taught in schools from a fairly young age and the there’s no denying the fact that at Piyabut, the students are unbelievable at spelling and regurgitating pre-fabricated sentences.  Obviously I can’t generalise and assume knowledge of the entire Thai education system, but my experiences in Ban Mi have highlighted how little the students actually understand. On the one hand, they might be able to read a whole passage about a bird that can sew, or a tortoise laying its eggs, but the students never really seemed to engage with what they were ‘learning’.

I may not be an actual teacher, but undisputedly, my proudest moment at Piyabut School was that moment when I realised the massive contrast between the teaching methods we witness being employed in class now, compared with those that were used prior to mine and Katherine’s arrivals. Before, the teachers would stand at the front of the classroom and drone monotonously into a microphone for an hour. Half the students would have their heads on the desk and the other half would be outside playing football. Now, when we walk down the hallway, we can hear the students very much involved in their lessons; repeating words, talking to each other, and playing games. In terms of the quantifiable impact of our efforts here, this far exceeds any expectations I might have previously had. The fact that we were able to influence the very technique that the Thai teachers use in a mere eight weeks, suggests that as the project expands, the effects of the Teach in Thailand programme are likely to be significantly more far- reaching than might have at first been anticipated. It is one thing for a Thai student in a remote area of Thailand to be taught by farang and to have some nice photos of the foreigner teachers to put up on Facebook. It is another entirely to be able to cut to the core of the challenges that are faced in teaching English across Thailand.

(Neils, Sheree and I: A visit to Ban Mi Wittaya)

Welcome to Ban Mi!

Mattiyam 5/2

Mattiyam 5/3

Katherine, myself, and some of the teachers at Piyabut School

Saying a last goodbye to Mattiyam 2. The class gave me a bunch of roses, numerous cards, a handmade plant and a sketch as parting gifts. Adorable!

Hometime! Students and one of the many resident dogs outside Piyabut School

For me, it’s been an unrivalled experience, and whilst I sincerely hope the intended five hundred (!) participants next year do not bear the brunt of similar teething problems, I would nonetheless not hesitate to recommend the British Council’s Teach in Thailand programme. 

Koh Samet: A return to Thailand is definitely on the horizon!

Sticky rice is twice as nice

Thai food: It’s difficult to know where to start. I honestly think I might be in love. If I could feasibly bring anything back as a gift for my family, it would, without doubt, be almost every culinary delight I have experienced these last two months. Unfortunately, baggage restrictions and airline policy are probably going to make this a bit problematic, so I keep telling myself I’m eating for five. I don’t think I’ll ever forget my mentor’s look of utter delight when I broke the news that I had gained two kilos in these seven weeks under her guidance.

The generosity of my fellow teachers at Piyabut School has been unbelievable. Seven thirty; a standard morning at the Piyabut School gate… bleary- eyed and sweating in the thirty five degree heat, I ‘Sawasdee Ka’ – ed the pupils as they arrived at school, and casually made conversation with two non- English speaking teachers. The conversation turned to the fruit stall across the street, as the Thai teachers tried to ascertain which of the fruits one could eat in England and which were exclusively Thai. I’m not sure if it was the language barrier or my early- morning enthusiasm, but somewhere along the line, ‘I’ve tried Mangosteen. It’s nice’ got mis-translated from lukewarm appreciation into wild declarations of love and devotion to the sweet, sweet fruit, similar to garlic in its interior appearance.  Sure enough, even before nine am, five kilos of Mangosteen had materialised on my desk. A mere four days later, a different teacher brought me another bag full, accompanied by the ominous words ‘I heard you like Mangosteen’. 

5 kilos of Mangosteen... and counting 

Lesson learnt: mentioning that you like a particular type of food acts as a guarantee that never again in Thailand will you go another day without eating it.

In all fairness though, I do really like Mangosteen.

Unsurprisingly, another staple part of my diet here is rice. I still find it had to understand how it can be pleasant to routinely eat rice for breakfast, lunch and dinner… Or how the Thai people are so thin, right across the country- really, it is a mystery. Fortunately, Katherine managed to negotiate cereal for breakfast, so that’s been quite nice. The mentors often take us out for lunch, or we eat at the school canteen. Probably my favourite Thai dish is Som Tam (Papaya Salad), and my favourite fruit here is Som Or (Pomelo), but honestly, everything is just amazing.

Signature dish: Gai Pad Thai

SO MUCH FOOD!!

Due to the fact that we are essentially in the middle of nowhere, all the menus here are in Thai, which makes reading them quite difficult. The five of us ETAs go out for dinner most nights and we’ve grown accustomed to just pointing at various characters and pictures. At first, a game of charades seemed to precede almost every meal, but we’ve figured out a lot more now, picking up a few words of Thai, and falling victim to some pretty crazy chilli overload incidents on the way. We now consider ourselves locals at a few places around town, and we’ve befriended one of the restaurant owners, Ton Lor (a retired teacher from our school) who sporadically sends us emails about the birds in the morning. When we first arrived in Ban Mi, Ton Lor drew us a labelled map of the town; apparently there are five banks in Ban Mi, which does seem a little unnecessary, given the size of the place.

Ton Lor treating us to dinner!

The food in Lop Buri province is great; actually we’re lucky that people here don’t make a habit of eating strange parts of animals. The students in my co- curricular conversation class were telling me that in Surin they often eat dog. However, they also told me that all Cambodians are ugly prostitutes and that their parents are dead, and so I’m still not really sure whether we’re seeing eye to eye on a sense of humour basis. Perhaps the Thai students are just enjoying their inappropriate jokes at my expense. Quite a lot of jokes here do tend to revolve around really awkward topics, though… That’s something I definitely was not prepared for.

Our conversation class: Best students ever!

Weight is a particularly popular topic; when in Chiang Mai, a street vendor managed to offend most of us in the space of about thirty seconds when she took it upon herself to make observations about each of our different sizes. My day- and indeed life- were in tatters, after I was told in a matter of fact way that I looked like a child and was ‘not sexy’. Needless to say, I did not appreciate her sales technique, and henceforth did not purchase a bikini from her.

A problem shared is a problem…. quadrupled?

As is customary when living and working away from home, everything just seems that little bit harder than it should be (Scandinavia excluded). In Thailand however, the difficulty probably increases ten- fold. The length of time a perceived ‘everyday’ task will take is directly proportional to the number of people that are involved in the decision- making process.

Katherine’s birthday fell in late August. Cue one of the most hilarious incidents from my time in Ban Mi. Nipa, our mentor, had been talking about organising a party for quite some time, and she had decided that it would be a surprise party. Unfortunately, rather than leaving it as a nice surprise for the evening, she engaged Katherine in some sort of bizarre mind game (where she pretended she didn’t know it was her birthday at all, despite having joked the previous day about a surprise party). The situation then deteriorated into utter chaos, with Nipa insisting on driving Katherine and myself to the restaurant a half hour before the party was due to begin, thereby replacing the element of surprise, with… a thirty minute wait. When other people did turn up, it actually turned out to be one of the best evenings we’ve spent in Ban Mi, finishing up at the local karaoke bar, where we were able to sustainably re- invest our wages back into the local economy.

The Lop Buri Massive 

Nipa & family ( me included): a great time was had by all, with the exception of the fish

Karaoke!

It’s the misunderstandings and cultural differences that have made our time in Thailand so much fun. On just my third day at Piyabut school, I was fortunate enough to have experienced a school trip, Thai- style. In my entire life, I honestly think I will be hard- pressed to find a level of chaos comparable to that fourteen hour day. At five thirty in the morning, all eight hundred students arrived at the school, only to then assemble in lines in the courtyard for an hour and a half, while everyone waited for everyone else. Piling onto at least ten buses, the entire school travelled in convoy to Ayutthaya (the old capital of Thailand). That day, we were on the bus for at least six hours, and from seven thirty am onwards, the aisles were filled with students dancing and singing to what was pretty much the same K- Pop song stuck on repeat. Over the course of the day, we visited various attractions including a massive temple (complete with a British influences exhibition, many Thai soldiers, and beautiful landscaping), a university, an aquarium, we took a train ride and then spent some time at a floating market. Not once during the day did I witness a head count or any sort of registration process; the teachers got on the bus, and then the buses just moved onto the next place. It was mad. Presumably, we left hundreds of Piyabut school students stranded in various locations in central Thailand that day... Mai pen rai. Even now, I’m still not sure if there was an underlying academic reason for the school trip, or if there was any sort of cohesion between any of the stops on our itinerary, either way, everyone seemed pretty happy.    

Dancing on the bus at 7.30am

At the temple in Ayutthaya 

Chaos!

The Floating Market, near Ayutthaya

However, one thing that completely baffles me is the school uniform in this country. I’ve given up asking the students why some of them are wearing scout uniforms, some are in tracksuits and others in shirts and neckties. No two days seem to be the same, and yet, all the students seem to know exactly what to wear on which day. It really is astounding.

The Banterbury Tales: ‘You called me for this…?’ And other short stories

Ban Mi is a lovely place, small, but great. Probably its best feature is that it is also home to four other ETAs; Katleeya, Pattara, Watong and Asawin (better known as Katherine, Neil, Sheree and Oliver). Its second point of attraction is that it is incredibly safe. Despite repeated local warnings of late- night gang warfare and pick-pockets waiting at every corner, the most terrifying thing I personally experienced would have to be the local wildlife. Whilst there are a ridiculous number of dogs prowling the streets, the underlying presumption seems to be that most of them belong to someone, and as such, they do not pose a particular threat. Walking the three- minute, street- lit journey to the local 7/11 therefore seems to be considerably less daunting than facing our seven- foot long scaly neighbour (Neils and Asawin can confirm that this beast does in fact exist). Teachers at the school have recounted tales of trying to shoot the beast on the sly, only to have their bullets rebound off its insanely thick skin. Word of this crocodile- like creature’s poisonous claws has spread like wildfire. Fortunately, the only real disturbances we’ve had at number two Teacher Boulevard have come in the form of geckos, mosquitoes and spiders.

Some of the Lop Buri massive members outside mine and Katherine's typically Thai house

Ban Mi teachers with Pi Sue: (L- R) Pi Sue, myself, Oliver, Neils, Katherine and Sheree

Never having been particularly concerned about insects, reptiles, or any other type of irritating creature, it has recently occurred to me just how much of my time here has been spent embroiled in a battle against bugs. As I write this, I am still reeling from the aftershocks of a pretty drastic spider invasion. I still can’t quite believe that we called back- up, even more so that our mentor actually came to our house at 11pm on a Saturday evening to deliver us from our paralysed, torch- wielding states. Whilst this is clearly testament to our mentor’s all- round amazing-ness (equally to her pyjama- clad husband), it does give some sort of indication as to how big the spider actually was. My ‘Mai Pen Rai’ attitude to the lightbulb in my room breaking probably hadn’t helped matters either, and the cave- like appearance of my living quarters evidently played its role in luring the spider to its particularly nasty end.

Pest control aside, evening entertainment In Ban(t) Mi has included:

YouTube

A spot of ten-pin bowling

‘Lesson Planning’ (YouTube)

It quickly became apparent that extensive lesson planning was a complete and utter waste of time. I can still remember the wave of panic engulfing me in my first solo lesson, when the course of the lesson deviated drastically from my meticulous lesson plan. The pace at which ‘How are you today?’ regularly descends into anarchy really is awe- inspiring, especially in the absence of a non- computerised translator. Tangents are the Thai students’ speciality.

Similarly, the sheer volume of school trips and entire year group absences across the board is staggering. This, combined with the bizarre dichotomy between the grading system and the actual ability of the kids has rendered an in depth level of organisation wholly unnecessary. 

Something that has been intrinsically vital, however; is an open mind. A willingness to try absolutely anything… If you tried to have everything your way, the stress of everyday life would be so much, that you would probably be institutionalised within a matter of weeks. Repeating ‘Mai Pen Rai’ (don’t worry) at every available opportunity is a national pastime. It’s more ingrained into Thai culture than small talk about the weather in England, even than wild gesticulation in Italy.

It’s funny how laid back the Thai people are about some things, for example, the totally unintentional with-holding of information (such as the sports complex, just three hundred metres down the road, that remained unmentioned for a whole month), and how unbelievably efficient they are in other respects. The inspection that took place whilst we were here was indeed a sight to behold. Days before the big day, students were pulled out of class to do the gardening; spring clean classrooms and sweep the dust off decorations which had presumably not seen daylight since the last inspection. In the midst of all this chaos, the whole of Mattiyong 1 (the youngest age group) and Mattiyong 4 (aged around fifteen- enough said) were shipped off to the local temple, on a three day spiritual adventure, conveniently coinciding with one of the most important academic events in the school calendar. In spite of this level of outward organisation, a mere fifteen hours before the arrival of the inspectors from the Ministry prompted a wave of panic to cascade through the English Department. It emerged that everyone had completely neglected to write the all- important introductory speech for the welcoming ceremony. Matters that needed addressing in this speech included the school’s recent national award for their model toilets, the staggering number of pupils not using drugs, and their recent hiring of two new English Teachers (*ETAs). These seemingly bizarre priorities are easily explained by the fact that learning is listed as only the fourth most important element of schooling in Thailand, in what is the closest thing the country has to a syllabus.  With just ten minutes to go before my next lesson, paper and pen were thrust into my hand and my mentor hastily tried to dictate to me a sugar- coated spiel. Somewhere between writing about ASEAN week and congratulating myself for being a fantastic teacher, a fight broke out in the adjacent classroom; a sure sign my students were waiting for me. Vowing to finish it later, I rushed to the educational service of Mattiyong 2, just in time to see my mentor scrawl ‘Thank you for listening’ mid- way through an unfinished sentence and propel the speech into the oncoming path of an unsuspecting student, to learn for the following morning.

In any event, the inspection seemed to go pretty well and the poor girl held it together as she stood at the podium, delivering a speech in her very best ‘Thinglish’. Katherine and I were also called upon to give speeches to the visiting inspectors, but fortunately, we were spared the stress of having to prepare anything beforehand, and had to declare our love for Thailand to the expectant audience from the bottom of our hearts instead.

I’m going to miss the ‘I love you teacher’ from the adorable students in Mattiyong 1, and the obligatory after- class photo sessions. Maybe I’ll even miss the tale- telling, and the constant cooing from the armies of aspiring lady boys. After this, teaching in the UK just couldn’t compare. I’ve grown to like the chaos and uncertainty that characterise everyday life in the classroom here; never knowing if your class is going to turn up or not has become strangely liberating. Take the time when forty two Mattiyong 5 pupils were suspiciously absent from their seventh period class on a Wednesday afternoon. I managed to mobilise a pretty thorough investigation squad, involving the school tannoy system, and various other teachers, eventually discovering that the entire year group were all excused from school that day, because they were doing a test about ‘pizza’ (a misspelling, perhaps, either way, nothing more was explained, and no one else had previously noticed). The Thai teachers take it all in their stride, and now, so do I. I like that the word ‘assistant’ has clearly been irrevocably lost in translation- deciding what to teach, how to teach it, who to teach it to by myself is great, especially in the apparent absence of any standardised syllabus. Of course, sometimes it would have been nice to have had a human translator in the classroom however, Google Translate literally has been a godsend, and more often than not, a Thai teacher who makes it to one of my lessons will just assume the hugely- distracting role of photographer. An especially surreal moment was when Kru Nongrit (Nicky) marketed an individual photo opportunity with Teacher Mali Wan (myself) as an incentive for the kids, when I was struggling to elicit any volunteers from Mattiyong 3 to demonstrate their conversation about weather.     

'The Line'

Casual chat, in front of the TV cameras!

What do you do when two classes turn up for the same lesson...? Inter- class telephone conversation!!

Probably my favourite week in terms of teaching was week three, where we decided to teach the Olympic Games. The students at Piyabut School genuinely are into sports, and they picked up the vocab pretty quickly. I’m still a bit gutted that we missed the Olympics this summer in London, especially as my family had tickets, but this eased the pain a little.  

The Bangkok Six

And so began another chapter of my Thai adventure. The British Council sent a car and by five o’ clock I had bid farewell to my well- intentioned, but now, incredibly sulky mentor. I breathed perhaps the biggest sigh of relief in my life, aware that any mention of the place ‘Chanthaburi’ would forever conjure up notions of hysteria and utter hopelessness. On a more positive note, at least I saw a part of Thailand further off the beaten track; my short spell there did confirm what I had been told. It really is a beautiful region. 

During the five hour journey back to Bangkok, I couldn’t help but reflect on how lucky I had been. In recent years, the internet has obviously facilitated travel and especially working holidays, which has increased the number of Brits who accept jobs in remote locations abroad. It struck me how easy it is to manipulate a situation, and how inherently dangerous it is to just jump at any opportunity, without doing the appropriate research beforehand. With no access to transport links, total reliance on one person (who was realistically still a stranger to me), and zero ability to communicate with anyone around me, the intervention of the British Council prevented what really could have deteriorated into a situation that doesn’t bear thinking about. It might seem dramatic, but never in all my life have I felt so out of my depth. Having always landed on my feet when travelling alone before, despite not paying a whole lot of attention to organisation or forward planning; I was perhaps naïve in assuming that everything would always work out. In hindsight, I’m thankful that I’ve had this experience now, and whilst I’m not going to claim that I am now a changed person, I think it did succeed in opening my eyes to the dangers of just rushing headlong into things. Who knows, maybe I’ve even become a more sensible person these last two months.

 On the journey back to Bangkok, I was lucky enough to receive a four hour private Thai lesson from my driver Pin, which has proved invaluable throughout my time here. We also stopped off en route and she introduced to me a whole range of Thai delicacies over coffee, including durian, various dried fruits and sticky rice from a bamboo cane. The sticky rice is prepared with coconut milk, banana, red beans, and of course sugar, and is still one of the best things I have ever tasted. My journey back with this lovely woman was just so unexpectedly nice, and yet another example of the infamous Thai hospitality.

Realising that I was actually back in Bangkok a mere thirty two hours after I had left it was a little surreal, all things considered. Being met with the shell- shocked expressions of five fellow evacuee ETAs was strangely comforting, and we spent many hours recounting our similarly extreme, but differing accounts of mosquito- ridden wooden shacks, oppressive nunneries, and security- less glass buildings. Del at the British Council was absolutely amazing during our time in Bangkok, and I am so grateful for his continued support throughout our time here in Thailand. He has the ability to make light of any situation, yet at the same time, immediately setting about finding a solution. His attitude to problem- solving represents a third way, somehow managing to embrace the more intense determined- not- to- be- in- the- dark British way, and yet also the omnipresent  ‘Mai Pen Rai’ culture that permeates Thai society.

And so we became the Bangkok 6. We were determined to make the most of our extra few days in Bangkok, yet at the same time waiting for news, like conscripts waiting to be called up.   

Ten hours after having been notified that my new placement was to be in Lop Buri province, half of the Bangkok 6 boarded the bus to the next seven weeks of our lives.

After a standard breakfast of pork and rice, Chelsea and Amy were ushered off the bus and it was at this point that I met my mentor, Nipa, who had come to pick me up along with another ETA, Katherine, whom I would be working and living with. 

Chanthaburi: Lady-boys and Reluctant Slumber Parties

Considering that any discussion of Chanthaburi in Bangkok had been accompanied by a health food warning, the only real thing I knew about the region was confirmed; its local cuisine was pretty good. In spite of my apparent inevitable weight gain and the fact that my only real teaching experience was in skiing (certainly nothing academic), I was looking forward to the challenge of living and working alone in Thailand. Having just returned from a semester in Denmark, where I lived with a Danish family, I felt adequately prepared to accept whatever Chanthaburi threw my way.

We had each been appointed a Thai mentor, who had, in theory, been present throughout the orientation programme too, and would be our first point of call should we have any issues over the next eight weeks. Initial confusion arose as I tried to ascertain whether my mentor was actually a really feminine man, or maybe just a slightly masculine female. However, it quickly became clear that there were much more pressing issues at hand. Like the means of communication. My mentor was obviously very good at speaking English; in fact, he was pretty good at speaking full stop. It was more a question of making myself understood, because he literally would not listen to a word I was saying. As we made our way down South, my surroundings got more and more remote, and it all felt a world away from Bangkok.

My mentor informed me that for the next eight weeks I would be living with his friends. Upon arrival in a more remote area of Chanthaburi, it transpired that there was no one in, and after a few phone calls in rapid Thai, it seemed pretty clear that no one was expecting me either. Eventually a girl of about fourteen came to the door, holding a handkerchief to her face. My mentor later explained to me that she was off school sick, and in the apparent absence of any adult member of the family, he had instructed her to clean a room in which I could stay. Meanwhile, he showed me around the school. The school itself seemed lovely, a primary school about fifteen minutes from the house, and had other international teachers, too. The only problem was that no-one seemed to know why I was there. It was all kind of dodgy; I had absolutely no affinity with my mentor, and he was apparently the only person who was aware of me, in this foreign school, in an alien place. The other teachers that tried to communicate with me seemed to be more interested in whether I thought he was a ladyboy than anything else.

My mentor took me back to the house, and showed me to my room. However, it quickly became apparent that not only did I not have my own room, but that I was also to share a bed with the family’s fourteen year old daughter. Extremely exhausted and essentially rendered speechless by the ridiculousness of my situation, my mentor explained that he had to go but that the parents would be back from work later. To make matters worse, I realised that my new ‘roomie’ could not speak a word of English, and was painfully shy to the extent that any communication was practically impossible. The parents both worked fifteen hour days, and could not speak a word of English between them. It wasn’t the language barrier that was the main issue, more the total lack of any privacy and the intense isolation. The family tried their utmost to be nice to me, and I really wish I could thank them properly for their hospitality, but they clearly had no idea how long I was staying, who I was, and whether they would be receiving any sort of financial compensation for hosting me. To this end, I felt like a total burden, unsure if I should offer money, and not even bearing any sort of gifts, since our contracts had explicitly assured us that a host family was out of the question.  Obviously, my tiredness exacerbated the situation, but running out of credit in a 7/11- less part of town, whilst frantically trying to call home was pretty much the last straw.

Things went from bad to worse the next morning when I tried to have a sensible discussion with my mentor about the shortfalls of my accommodation. His refusal to address the situation essentially meant that by the time the Ministry of Education were involved at lunchtime, we were no longer on speaking terms. Fortunately the British Council were fantastic throughout the whole ridiculous drama, and, by early- afternoon, I had been assured that they were working towards a solution. 

Orientation

To summarise, the orientation programme was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Imagine a speed- meeting situation, involving sixty four other like-minded, jet- lagged and apprehensive students, fresh from the red- brick universities of our sunny isles. Now picture the setting. An otherwise empty hotel; a shadow of its former grand self; littered with recording equipment, important- looking people wielding unpronounceable name tags and thirty four floors of utter confusion.

I feel quite lucky in that I was one of the first to arrive. I can only imagine how tough it must have been to have been thrown into an orientation programme where other people had already met each other. I met my roommate, Carly, and, despite never having met before, we sat there in our nineteenth floor twin room, alongside our upturned suitcases, and incredible panoramic views of Bangkok, and chatted like long- lost friends. That’s been one of the greatest things about the programme, in my opinion. We’ve always had something to talk about. Things are that little bit easier when you have someone who can relate to what’s going on. In our case, we’ve always got sixty six others who are just a phone call away.

Our first experience of Thai hospitality was the lunch provided at the Adriatic Palace hotel, that first day. Whilst we were plied with a seemingly never ending stream of curious combinations of Thai food, various ETAs emerged from jet- lag induced slumbers and, by the time we had finished our meal, there were eight of us seated there. The official Orientation Programme was not due to start until the next day, so we made the best possible use of our time and went shopping.

Orientation itself was a blur of information, quick- fire lesson plans and vague memories of jolting awake to my own bleary-eyed reflection, conveniently projected onto the big screen, for all to see. Introducing us to the pilot programme were a real mix of speakers including Ministry of Education representatives, the British Council and the British Embassy in Bangkok. For me, the best part was our guided- trip around Phra Borom Maha Ratcha Wang (the Grand Palace), followed by lunch overlooking the river. The Grand Palace was spectacularly ornate, and yet so architecturally diverse. I hadn’t realised European influences had been so prevalent in Thailand, and was therefore surprised to see so many western- style structures alongside a cacophony of gold and mosaic. This first day of orientation was also when we truly experienced our first taste of celebrity treatment in Thailand. Even in Bangkok, I’m sure it’s not every day that one can personally witness sixty seven British students slowly roasting in the mid- morning sun, sporting a bizarre combination of borrowed garments (to conceal how ‘sexy’ we were).

ETAs at the Grand Palace

End of Orientation/ life as we knew it

The programme for Monday evening also sticks in my mind as being particularly insane. We had police escorts to and from the Grand Hyatt Erawan Hotel, and were addressed by the British Ambassador to Thailand and the Minister of Education in Thailand. There was also a sushi chef, an array of traditional Thai performances, and crazy amounts of cameras.  

Performances at the Hotel reception

Another Thai performance

ETAs at the Hotel reception

And that was that. Just four days after having settled into our nice, yet surreal, routine of absorbing information in the Grand ballroom by day and experiencing the craziness of the Khao San Road en masse each evening, we were shipped off to various locations around the country.