I've been wrestling with how to integrate my 3 or 4 blogs into ONE, and this is probably the best impetus for me to do so. Heretofore, I've split up my blogs dependent on the topic -Kettlebell related stuff in either Myspace, blogspot, or 360 blogs, and martial arts/medical/personal stuff in this blog. Screw all of that. It's going into ONE blog.... my KBLA blogspot blog.

The new URL is http://kettlebellslosangeles.blogspot.com/

I'd be grateful if you'd visit me there often and keep in touch.

Best always,

Sifu Mark Cheng, L.Ac., Ph.D., RKC II

One thing I've learned to appreciate is when learning occurs. I love seeing the light bulbs go off in people's heads. I first had that experience when I started the UCLA Kung-Fu Club, and the experience has never stopped since. Today, I had the chance to see it intermittently all day long.

Roy Harris, my ground grappling instructor, has said many times that if you want to improve your own game, spend a lot of time teaching white belts. And this morning, I had my intermediate level Tai-Chi students teach my beginners. It was a blast to see them catching all sorts of errors and making detailed corrections time after time. Teaching others and emphasizing proper technique, the intermediate students were forced to demonstrate proper technique in and of themselves. And for some of them, you could tell that little epiphanies were occurring as they finally figured out how to do some of the techniques properly.

This afternoon, as I was teaching a kettlebell workshop at the Inosanto Academy, I was working with Greg Nelson again. Coach Nelson is one of the highest ranked instructors in the Inosanto fold, as well as one of the most successful coaches in the MMA world. He is enrolled in the April 2008 RKC in St. Paul, and I'll be on hand to cheer him on.

For someone who has had relatively little KB training, in just a few hours of working with me, he developed a keen eye for making corrections in others and himself. He was catching errors that even level 1 RKCs sometimes miss. That ability to spot imperfection and figure out ways to shore up those deficiencies is what makes him a prodigy. He will be an amazing asset to the RKC community, just as the RKC methods are helping him rehabilitate himself.

Exciting stuff I get to do! I lead a blessed life sometimes. :)

Yesterday was a buzzkill. I've been looking forward to Coach Greg Nelson's clinch seminar for months, only to have to sleep off murderous jet-lag yesterday late afternoon & evening. Adding insult to injury, I woke up today at 1:30am and couldn't get back to sleep no matter what the heck I tried. Absolutely foul.

Perhaps it's for the better. I've got a mountain of paper on my desk, another mountain of mail on my wife's desk, and all kinds of other little things to handle that will nickel & dime my time away today. I can't wait until my body reacclimates to this time zone and the cooler temperature, and I get back in the swing of things.

It's chillier than I thought it'd be back here in LA. While I had the urge to do a quick run before KBing this early morning, the chill in the air and the slight hack in my throat made me realize that discretion may indeed be the better part of valor. I'll be easing into training and rehabbing my left side more & more over the next few days.

Better hop into the shower & give Greg Nelson a call... With his RKC coming up in April '08, I want to make sure he's completely prepared!

The day starts off pretty much like yesterday’s. However, I get out to Nonthaburi right after breakfast to grab my suit. The Veronica’s resident manager, Mr. Chaiyamas, is a very pleasant and helpful fellow who calls the shop to see if it’s open, ascertains the location, and after deciding that it’s too much of a crapshoot for me to risk taking a Bangkok taxi to a neighboring city to find the tailor, takes me out there himself in his own car. He suggests that I can repay his kindness by putting a bit of gasoline in his car and is shocked when I have the attendant fill the entire tank.

The suit is exactly what I’d hoped for – a beautiful jet-black Mandarin collar. It’s so nice that I have to ask how long it would take to have another made, but when the chief seamstress says 1 week, I have to shake my head and roll out. I like it so much that I have to try to find another tailor to make one in white. That, however, will take some doing, and may be quite impossible on this particular trip. I have only 1 more full day here to not only source such a thing, but also to have it made. God-willing, I’ll find a white one that’s ready made and fits me passably.

After returning with the suit, we are off for a late morning massage and more shopping. The massage protocols seem very “paint-by-the-numbers” for the most part. Regardless of what source the masseuse seems to come from, whether a spa, a recommended massage establishment, the hotel, or whatever, there’s very little variation in this stuff. But for the price, who cares?

Shopping is VERY productive today. I not only manage to get a bag that’s big enough to put two people inside of, but also several collarless shirts that have either the perfect fit, or very cool designs. Just need to find some long sleeve collarless shirts and hopefully that white Mandarin collar suit and my shopping will be complete here.

During the late afternoon, as we sit down for a bite of food, the sky darkens dramatically and the heavens pour down some serious rain. Within minutes, the water is ankle deep at street intersections, and we kill about an hour under a long tarp waiting for the rain to subside just a bit. Walking back after such a deluge, it’s unavoidable that we’ll be doing some wading through the streets. By the time we arrive back at the hotel, all 3 of us are too drenched from sweat, rain, and filth to do more than crash out and hope that our shoes dry out overnight.

Day 11: October 15, Monday – The wind-down

It’s the last full day of our stay here, and we’re all too damn lazy to do much more than walk around. We make a trip to Lumpini to see about Thai boxing, but realize that it’s closed on Mondays. At 1pm, almost nobody selling Thai gear is open yet, and the few that are open are asking prices that sound almost identical to US prices and more in some cases. This is foolish. Any monkey with ebay can (or should) check their prices before getting carried away buying stuff on Bangkok streets, so we head off to see the Chao Phaya River. The smell coming off the tributary streams is immense, and by the time we get to the river itself, the water seems a bit choppy for our liking, and we head off for another few plates of $1 pad thai.

Back at the hotel, it’s time to pack. I’m eager to get home and back to Los Angeles. This trip has been most of what it’s supposed to be – a way for me to study an ancient combat art at the highest levels, and a way to recharge my spiritual batteries. My aches still need some attention, and my shopping could have been a bit more productive, but overall, there’s nothing to complain about. It's 5pm here, and a long hot shower beckons. I'll look forward to being back in touch with you all when I get back to LA!

Addendum......

On our way out to have a few drinks on our last night together as a group in Bangkok, we arrive a bit too early at one of the clubs. This club, located in the basement of one of the hotels, doesn't open for another hour, so we're reduced to killing time by walking around and looking at the hotel's boutique shops.

One of these shops, run by a couple of Indian tailors who speak flawless, crystal clear English, catches my eye, and the tailor calls me in and exclaims confidently that he can make any suit I desire and it will fit better than any other I own. Quite a boast!

I don't see any mandarin collars in the window, but I tell him what I want. He tells me very matter-of-factly that those are easy and that such suits are common in India. The price he quotes is even better than the last tailor, and his service is very accomodating. I gamble and tell him that I'll go for 2 suits and 3 shirts at the price he's giving me.

If they're anywhere near as good as he claims, I'll be posting his information here on this blog, along with a picture of the suits!

The breakfast buffet here is OK… nothing to write home about, but not too lacking either. The service, however, is outstanding. The attitudes of the staff are excellent when it comes to service.

After a long post-breakfast nap, we head out again to look at clothes. James needs shirts for work, and I want to buy some random stuff like collarless shirts. James tells me that the department stores are really the best way to go. There’s one, he says, that’s basically Thailand’s answer to Walmart. It has everything in there, and the prices are already what you’d get after wasting plenty of time haggling to the best of your ability.

During the day, we make a few forays out to shop – first for water & snacks for the room, then for clothing. I’m still in serious need of a big duffle bag to throw the swords into, but hopefully I’ll come across one in the next couple of days.

The Walmart-ish store is all James said it was. The only downer is the selection. Since it caters more to the locals, certain clothing items and sporting goods that I’d be looking for are noticeably absent. There are no Thai boxing shorts or gear, only a couple of collarless shirts, and no bags much bigger than a standard suitcase. The food selection, however, is righteous! Being on vacation, I allow myself a bit of a vice that I’d almost never in the US – a Dairy Queen soft serve cone. That sort of nonsense will stop when I return to LA and try to reinvent a new training schedule.

The high point of the day comes during a Thai massage that we book. Not expecting terribly much because of the relatively low price and because the Thai style of massage is more of a shotgun approach rather than laser-beam medical system like Tui-Na, I am in for a real surprise. The masseuse takes her time, “reading” my body and telling me that my right hip and lower back have some old injury. Score, one.

I reply that I’d rather she work on my left neck, shoulder, and arm, which are still not quite up to snuff and still bother me occasionally. She complies with my wish, going over my left side several times, but then returns to my legs, hips, and lower back. Too tired and perhaps too lazy to argue, I relax and let her do her thing. Falling in and out of sleep, I feel myself moved gently into a lumbar twist position. CRACK, CRACK, CRACK!!! CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK!!! Ahhhhh, the feeling of relief at the hands of someone both capable and strong is a wonderful thing. Like Tui-Na, her technique is not reliant on speed or abrupt motion, but rather total, perfect, gentle control. I’m impressed.

As I rise up from the mat, I realize that I’m moving far more freely from my lower back and hips. There is no discomfort or fatigue at all, and I realize how much I must’ve been guarding that area in the past few weeks or months. Now to just find someone that can do that to my left shoulder & arm. But that won’t be today.

After a nice, cheap street dinner, it’s back to another night of blowing off steam via Jack & Cokes, eventually returning to the hotel and off to sleep… after e-mailing and writing these blog entries first. J

This is my final day of training with Ajarn on this trip. After checking out of the hotel and bidding Nunthida goodbye at her office, we head off to the National Stadium to train again, albeit with heavy hearts.

We review all of the Wai Kru & Mai Raam routines, all 30 of the line drills, and then cover fight strategy. Most of the double sword stuff, Ajarn has already covered in the previous week’s worth of instruction. Today is daab mue diao or single sword fighting. The way Ajarn teaches it, the strategies and techniques can apply to any mid-length weapon, whether it be sword, machete, stick, umbrella, or toilet plunger. And in typical Thai fashion, this stuff is no joke.

Like Tim Larkin’s Target Focus Training, every shot, every motion counts. The motions may be athletic, but they’re all geared towards totally disabling the opponent or shutting off the central nervous system. This is not about “polite” fighting, but an art of war. Instead of an inordinate focus on disarming the opponent or fighting for control of the weapon, the fighting strategies that Ajarn teaches me are focused on simply killing the opponent.

Interestingly, after one of our brief rests, Ajarn tests me on the Muay Boran techniques, asking me to review each of the 15, calling out the names of the techniques in Thai randomly. I’m surprised that I recall all of them without a hitch. He walks over to the bench and picks up a wooden sword, gives me a few words of instruction before each attack, and then has me defend his attacks with straight Muay Boran.

I’ve been taught unarmed versus armed attacker techniques plenty of times before. This is the first time I’ve felt like I could actually pull off the techniques in a real fight. As my responses get more fluid and powerful, Ajarn holds his words and gradually increases the pace and combination of his attacks, eventually switching over to his sword with the serrated edge. In several minutes of exchanges with him coming at a moderate to fast pace, I’m shocked at the comfort and confidence that I’m able to deal with the challenge of facing a long blade while unarmed. However, this has been a week of mostly weapons training. I’ve never focused this closely on such training ever before. This must be the test he was talking about.

After a final lunch at the Stadium’s cafeteria, we hop in his truck and head to the new hotel I’ll be staying at – the Veronica Residence on Radchadapisek Road – where I’ll be meeting up with my Shuai-Chiao master’s sons. During lunch, Ajarn asks me about my other martial arts training, and I tell him about Master Lin. It’s surprising how much they have in common – both men who teach martial arts with a passion and have put in their time training their country’s elite armed forces & police. I have a feeling that, were it not for the language barrier, they’d get along quite well.

Ajarn drives me all the way to the Veronica and gets me checked in. The room (which is something like US $42/night) is the finest accommodation I’ve had in Thailand. There’s a DSL line (although the actual download speeds seem a little more like dial-up), a fridge, a nice shower, a TV, AC, bottled water, and a huge, soft bed. The grin on my face is irrepressible.

But the moment is bittersweet. For the last week, my whole existence has revolved around Ajarn, and his around taking care of me. He has accepted me as his disciple, and I him as my Krabi Krabong master. As it is time for him to head back to Nonthaburi before the Friday traffic turns to a rain-soaked gridlock, he gives me a hug much to my surprise. With some sadness, we both walk back to his truck, where I bow deeply as he drives off.

After having my pile of filthy clothes sent down to be washed, I indulge in an extra long hot shower – the first I’ve had in almost a week. The hostel in Nonthaburi had only cold water, so showers were more “exhilarating” than I’d normally prefer. This shower, however, is pure bliss. I am so ready for a change of energy that I shave off my goatee and let the warm water wash over my face for quite some time.

A few hours later, I meet up with James Lin to see the other side of Thailand – touristy. James has been to Thailand maybe three other times, so he knows the mass transit system and the streetside shops that I’ve been completely sheltered from up ‘til now. James has been visiting his grandparents in Taipei, stopping off here for a bit of vacation with his younger brother before heading back to work in LA.

Like a seasoned pro, he guides me through the train station and off to the streetside shops, where I end up haggling with little progress. The dollar has nose dived so badly thanks to the current administration that the vendors’ prices seem quite high compared to those I was paying in Korea for similar goods just a couple of years earlier. There is quite a bit of walking that we do, and the fake leather sandals that I wore barefoot are tearing a sizeable blister on the bottom of my left foot. Desperate for relief, I go into a shoe store and do not even bother to haggle with the whiny shop girl who quotes me an outrageously high price for a pair of sneakers & pair of socks. Just to walk in comfort without having to limp for 3 more days (not to mention risking infection from an open wound exposed to the filth of Bangkok’s streets) is reason enough for me to throw down far more than the shoes are worth.

Footwear handled, we make our way along the streets to enjoy a few drinks at the local bars. I’ve heard some interesting stories about the bar scene here in Thailand, and James & I go to check it out. Some of the local watering holes range from black tie to downright seedy. We sample several of them just to see the sights, leaving a bar if the atmosphere is pushy. Some of the bar matrons want to see their bar girls disappear for a few hours to service the customers in ways that go beyond simple “service with a smile”, so they hover about, eager to facilitate the transaction and collect their fee. It’s amusing to watch at first, until it’s directed at us. A dozen or so rounds of drinks into the night, we sit down at one place, and after rejecting Mama-san’s pressures for just 2 rounds of drinks, she starts interrogating us in a sharp tone, saying “Ohhh, you gay boy, eh? You lover, lover, eh?” That, coupled with a conspicuous absence of Crown Royal, is enough for us to close the tab immediately and call it a night.

-----------------------------

I find the attitude of some Americans incomprehensible. Six years ago Muslim Terrorists attacked and murdered thousands of our countrymen. It wasn't an earthquake or a fire. Nor was it an accident. While it certainly was tragic, it was also a deliberate act of evil men. Today, if you go by what the mass media is saying, it is as if it never happened...or as if it was some sort of natural disaster...or even that it was the president's plan all long. There is all manner of hand-wringing and memorials, but little desire for reciprocity to those who did it. It makes you wonder if Americans are the stupidest people on earth. And the cherry on top of the terrorism sundae is that there is now intelligence about their intent on attacking our schools. Here is my take on that issue.

The world of Ozzie and Harriet is gone. We are a culture at war. Tell your kids that and let them understand who the enemy is. The time for fairness and equality and all of that other business is past. We know who attacked us and we know who is bent on attacking us again. If you are not profiling you are stupid. Let us name the enemy even if our leaders will not. The enemy is Radical Islam. I hear from many sources that there are non-radicals in Islam. Great...I hope so. They are advised to get on every TV station and write letters to every newspaper condemning Al Qaeda and Bin laden and all of the religious leaders calling for jihad. And they need to do it NOW! Until then, we will be very suspicious of all of them. I also think that they may become unfortunate targets of blind revenge should a school be attacked.

Tell your kids that if they are at school and hear gunfire or anything like what we are discussing they are to run and get out of the school. If they can't run, to go hide somewhere. Their well-meaning, but tactically-inept, teachers will only be herding them into lockdown so hadji doesn't have to hunt for them. Lockdown is a stupid answer for teachers that don't want to lose control of the classroom. Tough Crap! Tell your kids to disobey. Tell them to violate the rules. Tell them to RUN OR HIDE.

Tell them to draw you a map of the school...according to their perspective. Name the rooms and likely hiding places. Get (or steal) a map of the school at the next PTA meeting. Memorize the layout as well as where you might enter the grounds unseen. Plan your infil and exfil routes accordingly. The traditional response will probably be to contain the place and talk to the terrorists. Rubbish. While the negotiator is jabbering at them to surrender they will be cutting off ears while they pray.

Give the kids a cell phone...keep it charged. School doesn't allow it. Tough crap. Rules are meant to be broken. Teach them that as well! Tell them that if something bad happens they need to call you. Tell them that you WILL come and get them.

The call they place to you (heaven forbid) should include in this order:

1). what happened
2). Where they are hiding...or better where they went once they left the school
3). Possible number of bad guys

if your little darlings can't be taught to do that, drill them until they get it right. This is a world at war now and there is no room for weak kids. Teach strength.

Your plan. Get to the school. Infiltrate and move to the hiding place. Go through anyone that wants to stop you. Grab your kid and exfiltrate the way you came. Did I mention to kill anyone who wants to stop you on the way out?

Your kit should include enough ammo to overwhelm the terrorist and still have enough to keep up a good fight. This ain't the time for the one magazine, liability-averse, legal eagle CCW stuff. This is aggressive attacking with gunfire. Pistols will still be in order but several high capacity magazines will be mandatory. If your state disallows hi-caps, travel to a free state and buy them there. Things in your kit should include ammo....lots of ammo. Clothing suitable for infiltration of such a place...perhaps an FBI raid jacket or something like that, and a trauma kit....and bacon for the dead terrorists.

If I worked at a school, I would carry my gun with me. Conceal it well. It is a risk, but I'll bet there are plenty who will be doing just that now. Obeying rules will not help you when they are herding you into the gym for beheading practice.

This is ugly business, but I doubt anyone here will consider sitting helpless outside the wire while the whining negotiators try to talk to those who are not listening while murders and rapes are occurring Beslan style in the name of jihad. You may die trying...but then again, you may prevail. Incredible odds have been surmounted before...perhaps now it’s your turn.

And if we die, we die as men...as warriors, not as nutless, sexless liberal poltroons unworthy of the nation whose tit they suck on daily.

And then...after it’s over...the hunting begins....until there is no enemy left.

Keep Your Guns Loaded, Your Knives Sharp, Your Eyes Open and Your Warrior Hearts Red!

Gabe Suarez

I’ve been here in Bangkok for a week, but I’m still slightly jet-lagged… no doubt because of my early sleep pattern here. Up at 4am, I’ve discovered that I can indeed send text messages to the US from this rented Thai cell phone. After remembering that I have some of my contacts saved in an old version of Outlook on this laptop, I shoot out several of them before contemplating the morning shower. Hopefully this attempt at saving a few coins doesn’t end up bleeding me worse in the long run.

Suddenly it dawns on me that I have The Police’s The Singles album on my Windows Media Player. Brilliant! The day’s off to a good start! Now I can wail out Can’t Stand Losing You while shivering in the morning shower!

The day, however, is off to a very late start. Ajarn awoke in the middle of the night with severe stomach pain, so we’re pushing back the start time from 7:30 to 10am, and finally to 2pm. I walk over to Ajarn’s house to begin my training there. First with the wai kru dances in the 6’ x 6’ clearing that he’s made in his living room, and then outside in his garage to finish with the line drills as his dogs bark at me incessantly. Ever the tender-hearted kind of guy, Ajarn buys a scoop of ice cream for his dogs, but evidently they’re snobbish about their ice cream and prefer vanilla to the chocolate that he’s bought them.

As he teaches me, he is clearly in notable pain, grimacing and rubbing his now bloated stomach. Ever the soldier, he carries on with his task. The sequences from 20 – 30 are bloody hard to keep clear in my head. I screw them up constantly, and part of me is thanking God Almighty that tomorrow is my last day of this instruction for a while. My training partner, Genelle Gaudinez said before my trip that Ajarn moves slowly in his instruction, but that’s only compared to Guro Inosanto’s warp speed teaching style. For me, this is some serious knowledge being poured into an unpracticed vessel.

Nonetheless, when his daughter comes home from work, he heads upstairs and comes down with the traditional Thai clothing that I’ve seen in KK photos. He instructs me to wear it, and I know that we are about to perform the wai kru discipleship ceremony in his house. He lays prepared wreathlets of flowers around certain of the weapons in his collection, prepares two bowls, and lights a candle. We kneel, give 3 bows to the weapons, give three longer bows to portraits of the king, and then begin the blessing.

The blessing ceremony is like a baptism of sorts. Ajarn says a long incantation over me and then lays the mongkon around my head. Once the mongkon is placed around me, he takes a dab of some chalky paste and makes 3 markings on my forehead, and I drink from the ceremonial bowl. He then unsheathes the oldest of his swords, the likes of which seem utterly priceless. With his left hand on my head, he continues his incantation and lays the blade on my head. Increasing the speed of his mystical mumbling, he starts sawing back and forth on my crown, and I feel imbued with a strange energy. The sawing continues for what seems like forever, and he finally ends it with a firm tap. (Later as I run back to the hostel to grab gifts for him, I’m shocked to find that there’s no sign of any cut on my scalp despite the sharpness of the blade.)

He performs the Prom Naang version of the Wai Kru for me, and I reciprocate. Worried about twirling a steel blade into a flat screen TV, I am slightly paranoid while doing the Wai Kru and Mai Raam sets in his living room, and I stifle my movements. Despite a couple of mistakes, he accepts me as his disciple, and gives me 2 ceremonial swords along with the mongkon.

When Ajarn picks me up, Nunthida gifts me with a compilation CD of Thai “easy listening” songs. For a guy who is 63 years old, so fearsome in his own right, and known for training killers, Ajarn is surprisingly fond of pop ballads. He hums along with songs as we drop Nunthida off at her office in the Auditor General’s.

When I left the hostel in the morning, the sky was quite dark, looking like it’d be cool like yesterday. But by the time we got to the National Stadium, I felt like a cha siu bao. Training in the shade of the overhang was nice, but the air was still and damn hot. The shade made it hard for my eyes to see that the maroon Pavel RKC shirt I was wearing had darkened considerably with my sweat. As I slip occasionally on the dirty cement, I look down at the well-worn Adidas that I brought with me and think eagerly of disposing of them on Friday afternoon when I get to the next hotel. God-willing, they have laundry service there too, as my pile of horridly stinking clothes is growing steadily.

By the time we break for lunch, Ajarn has taught me the last 2 Mai Ram progressions and 4 more line drills. This may not seem like much information for a day’s training, but keep in mind that I have to keep each day’s stuff in memory and be able to recall it both in and out of order. Each line drill requires knowledge of both sides – attack & defense. And on top of all of that, I’m trying to learn the terminology and commands in Thai. While my accent is good, I wish to God that I could read this language. Trying to Romanize something that you can’t read is a dicey proposition at best.

Shortly after sitting down in the cafeteria, I see a flash in my peripheral vision and a deafening crash of thunder follows soon after. Despite seeing weeks of rain forecast for Bangkok while I was stateside, this was my very first rainstorm in Thailand, complete with serious thunder & lightning. However, it blows over by the time we return to training, and Ajarn does a quick review of the line drills, followed by 5 more Maa Mai Muay Thai (Muay Boran) techniques.

The Muay Boran techniques are all named in a manner similar to the Chinese stances & techniques. With colorful names that reflect both Hindu and Buddhist influences, Muay Boran strikes me as a kind of “applied kung-fu” with an emphasis on quickly incapacitating an enemy. The percussive Chinese martial arts are full of techniques that seem “polite” by my standards. Many of the techniques impress me as little more than warning shots over the bow or saber rattling. A palm strike to the chest is nice, but an elbow to the eye socket is a whole new ball of wax. Kung-fu is artistic and holistic. The martial aspect seems to be secondary to beauty, considering what I’ve heard out of the mouths of some Chinese masters. On the other hand, Muay Boran is about war. Beauty is measured by the amount of damage you cause to the enemy rather than the floweriness of your hands. Maybe that’s why I love Fut Ga so much.

For whatever reason, I feel my temper start to flare during the afternoon. It might be the heat. It might be the slippery training floor. It might be homesickness. Who gives a damn? The point is that something negative inside of me is coming out, but I recognize it as my own weakness. I’m frustrated with my errors, my lapses in memory, my inability to understand Thai, and my physical shortcomings, and it’s manifesting as irritability. Overwhelmed by shame as soon as I realize this, I resolve to never let it happen again for the remainder of my trip.

By the time we wrap up for the afternoon, I’m soaked, and my shirt hangs off me like a week-old dish rag from a restaurant in Monterey Park. My faded UCLA shorts are now a dark navy again. Still needing to change some money, Ajarn takes me to Khaosan Street, famed for its shops and foreigners. Farang are everywhere, and I see more white folks in 5 minutes than I have in the rest of my week here. No shortage of every non-Thai language around either. At the exchange booth, I hear British English, Hebrew, and a couple of Americans behind me. The exchange rate here seems a lot nicer than it was at LAX, and I leave pleased with the transaction.

On the way back to the hostel, we stop off at the shops that line the street where Ajarn lives. I buy some bananas, which have sustained me for breakfast this past week, and decide to splurge on other food as well. Spying a toffee peanut snack, I grab a bag and another bag filled with some peanut cookie-ish things. The scent of all the food cooking around me is intoxicating, and I give in to the urge to buy a pad Thai. “What the hell… make it a double… ahhh! Who cares? Add in 2 fried eggs!!!” Ajarn looks at the smug look on my face as I walk back to his truck with 3 bags of food and smiles, knowing that I will indulge in serious gluttony in the privacy of my little cell.

Back at the hostel, I inhale one order of the noodles right off the packing paper. There were no utensils included, and the noodles were wrapped in a sort of plastic lined paper, allowing me to eat them almost like a sandwich out of deli paper. Good stuff. A shower, writing out my training notes, and penning this blog entry while listening to Nunthida’s CD help me kill time until I start eyeing the second serving with a questioning eye.

Although the second batch barely makes for an American-sized serving when added to the first one, it proves to be the straw that broke the panda’s stomach. I felt fine after eating just one of the pad Thai packets. But having paid for two, I simply had to eat the second one, and now, I’m lying here on the bed like a bloated, beached whale. I feel quite full, but a little too full for my liking. Thailand has shrunken my stomach, and hopefully that’ll be a trend that continues even when I get back to LA.

I’m wishing I brought along the compilation CD of The Police songs that Anton & Kate Summers gave me. As much as I’m growing fonder of this place (in spite of its third world insect situation), I miss home. As I check the camcorder DVD and prepare it to record Ajarn’s demonstration & our partnered line drills tomorrow, I check the DVD that’s already inside, finding clips of my son. I blurt out a loud “Squealie!” which echoes off the linoleum flooring and probably raises a Thai eyebrow or two in the neighboring units. I miss my son. I miss my family. And I miss those closest to me. What I wouldn’t give right now to have them with me on this adventure. But then again, it wouldn’t be the same experience having to be concerned about them here. These few days on my own are a reprieve from all of my responsibilities in LA, and I’m so grateful for the peace of mind and calmness of spirit that this has brought me.