Tay and I eagerly trade in our loose tourists’ ramble for a temporary structured life of routine; we’re still on the road, still far away from home, but content to settle into a brief expat’s existence here in Chiang Mai.
We rise at seven each morning, eat breakfast in our $6-a-night guest house garden, kiss-kiss “have-a-good-day;” then she’s off to Thai massage school (another certification in her quiver of healing arts) and me to the Internet cafe, to finish my book, February deadline fast approaching.
In the meantime, our next assignment with AJWS Volunteer Corps hangs in the balance as Sri Lanka’s security situation is assessed from Colombo and New York City. The proposed job, supporting a non-profit in the tea-growing hill country, would be a fantastic link to our previous assignment in India, but recent Tamil Tiger violence in the north necessitates caution.
Alternative tourism, indeed: I work abroad, my wife studies abroad, and we both get ready to, once again, volunteer abroad.
In the meantime, Chiang Mai is so damn comfortable and accommodating that really, the only thing we’re missing are family and friends. The rest—our life here—is gravy.
Oh, and the book I’m writing? It’s another project with The Randymon, for a guidebook series called. . .you guessed it, “Living Abroad.”
