Hey,

I just arrived this evening in Khonkaen, and it's very nice. After five

days in the touristy and scummy resort of Pattaya, I'm glad to finally be

among Thais who aren't constantly trying to sell me something/anything. I

met my roommate today, and he seems pretty nice. We read Frost's "Stopping

by a woods on a snowy evening," and I showed him a picture of the woods in

back of our house. The food (and drinks) here are all very salty, but the

prices are unbelieveable. We visited a monastary yesterday, and tomorrow we

will meet the president of the university. It's unbelieveable the people

wehave just met as casual acquaintances--the poet laureate of Thailand

read/sang a poem he wrote for us (I didn't understand a word of course), we

met the founder of the first critical publication against the military

government in the 60s and 70s, and one of the program directors is the

former leader of the Non-Governmental Organizations in the North. So,

anyway, things are really fun and a little strange, but I'm tired right now,

so I'll say good-bye.

Last night I spent the night in a local Isaan village (in NE Thailand--but

all the people identify themselves and their culture and language as Lao).

We were talking to farmers who had decided to dedicate part of their land to

integrated organic farming as a way to become more self-sufficient and bring

themselves out of debt to the Thai bank of Agriculture and foreign loan

sharks. They are so incredibly easy-going and generous it's

unbelieveable--like nothing I've ever seen anywhere before. We were the

first farang (Westerners) to come to the village in these people's

lifetimes, and they took us in and fed us and took us on a tour of their

fields (We were assured the program would compensate them by mail when we

send them the pictures we took of them and us). They have unbelieveable

foods, all of which center around the glutinous (sticky) rice (khao neauw)

that they grow in the fields. Everybody sits together on big straw mats and

forms balls of rice in their fists, then uses the rice to dip into the

communal bowls of food. I have been bathing in and drinking rainwater, and

I'm really disappointed to go back to the regular stuff. Last night we hung

out with some of the prominent guys from the village and drank rice whisky

with "medicine" (yaa) added. As it turns out, (and I found this out the

next morning when they broke out the bottle again for breakfast at 6:30 AM)

the yaa was the collection of herbs scraped out of a porcupines stomach.

They assured me, however, that it was completely vegetarian (this was just a

cute little incident--they were actually incredibly receptive to my needs).

Also, while in the village I grew quite fond of the pakhaoma, a wrap-around

sarong like thing that you just tuck in at the waist and wear instead of the

whole pants and underwear thing. I'm telling you, these people know how to

live. Today I am quite tired (and a little cut up) because we were jumping

off waterfalls and swinging on vines into the water and exploring caves with

people from a forest/mountain village called Sampagnah. And of course guys

get to wear just this pakhaoma thing while swimming. It was a blast, but

now I'm back at the university. Which has its pleasures, but nothing like

village life, where you get to walk around and eat wierd things off of the

trees that grow next to the streets and ducks and dogs and chickens run

around whereever they want (until somebody kicks them away). Oh, well, I

will get to go back and visit again before the semester is over.

See you later and best of luck in this coming semester,

Joe