The Word of the Day is "Sawai"

Me at the house on Friday with the world's tiniest banana. Or am I just a giant??
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"Sawai" (sa-WAI) means "beautiful," and it's less than sufficient for describing Phi Phi Don, the island to which nearly all the volunteers have travelled for the long weekend (it's Buddhist lent).

I'll be glad to travel back here alone at the end of my volunteering, because the dynamics of this group are starting to reveal themselves. Being one of the oldest, I generally am the one saying things like, "Hey, don't run off with that strange man..." and "Maybe you shouldn't eat that fish. Is that fish?"

Me on a swing in Phi Phi. I can't stay on them long...I get motion sick. But they're so cute.
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We have one much older volunteer, a sixty-ish guy named Gary, who keeps asking the girls to be his roommate. It sounds so sketchy when I write it, but honestly I think he's sort of paternal but doesn't have any idea where to set boundaries. He also apparently snores and has a habit of walking around with his shirt off, which might be fine if he weren't old and overweight and not related to any of us. There were several very awkward conversations on the pier when we got here and were deciding on rooms. I just said, "Nope. Not comfortable. At all." He's now in a room by himself, the boys having avoiding him by getting a room without an air conditioner, which is its own kind of nightmare.

Tiffany and Yaena on a swing built for three. There are more pictures in the "more pictures" thingy...
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I should also say that given the very, very touristy nature of Phi Phi, I have been able to eat Western food for the last two days. Naturally, the Western food is incorrect--pasta sauce is diluted ketchup and so on--but to eat and not cry has been a delight. Unfortunately, and strangely, nearly a third of the fifteen of us have gotten sick here, myself included, but nothing so serious that our bodies haven't righted themselves quickly and efficiently. We just have to remember to drink a lot of water. I left my antibiotics back in Trang, so I hope that what I've just said is true.

I love longboats.
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Last night there was a huge party at one of the bars here. I, (still) being old, avoided said party and watched twenty minutes of the National Geographic Channel before falling asleep. I woke up at 3am to Abby, an 18-year-old with, until last night, a pretty aggressive attitude problem. She knocked on my door sheepishly to say that she couldn't find her roommate Esme, another 18-year-old, and that there was an enormous bug in her room. She asked if she could sleep in my room, and I said fine since Sierra, my roommate, was also MIA. Sierra and Esme were later found after returning from the longboats in the middle of the bay, where they had been with two lovely Texan boys who will probably disappear today. Sierra made it back to our room, where the three of us slept happily until breakfast.

Phi Phi Leh in the distance. I'm on Phi Phi Don.
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Today I'm reading (appropriately) Love in the Time of Cholera and lying on the beach until I decide not to. I will also get my second Thai massage, which will be the reason I never return from here. Each hour costs 350 baht, or about nine dollars.

For those of you cataloging my culinary adventures, I will back up to Friday when Kelly and I were served stir-fried pig intestine. Since I have had the meat and poultry education of frequenting Sammy Walker's in Currituck, I recognized the little tubes almost immediately. Kelly didn't, and already had her spoon in the bowl before I could say anything. I quietly said, "Don't take to much of that." She didn't pause, a testament to her gracefulness, and quietly replied, "Why?" I whispered, "I'll tell you later..." She took one spoonful, ate it, and on our way back in the truck, she said, "OK. WHAT?" I said, "Pig intestine." She said she had a feeling. Saowapa had called it "pork," which is of course technically true, but I now realize how diligent Americans are to seperately categorize organ meats.

We've decided that when we get home, we're going on "Fear Factor."

We did get to attend the services at the temple on Friday for Lent, which was lovely. I wai'd (that's what the bow is called--a "wai." It's a noun and a verb) the head monk, and he quickly bowed his head and smiled. It was sweet. I love the monks. I'm glad I am not allowed to touch them, because I would just hug them and pinch their cute little cheeks all the time if I could.

Tomorrow, snorkeling. When I get back here in three weeks, SCUBA!

ps--they've recovered from the tsunami almost entirely. Apparently there are lots of palm trees missing, but a new farang wouldn't know that. And yes, I've had dhurian. Underripe, I can eat it, but I'd never, ever crave it; ripe or overripe, it's not so good. They mix it with coconut cream and sticky rice for dessert. It's...different.