As of Friday, we’re officially moved out of Suphanburi and we’re currently hanging out, once again, at our camp in Bangkok. As per usual, the people here are making me wish I had been able to make it down more often, but we’re a bit past the point of being upset about it. We head to the airport on Tuesday night, and then we TRAVEL THROUGH TIME AND SPACE TO THE PAST. Also known as flying back to New York through several time zones. It’s crazy to think that it’s time to go, but here it is, and very soon now I’ll be completely miserable for a full day on a plane again. I’ve really been looking forward to that part.
One thing I keep getting asked is if I feel like I got what I wanted out of my time here, and if I felt like it was worth it, and yadda yadda. I know it’s the end of a major trip that we planned for a long time, but to the surprise of nobody, I just can’t really wax too lyrical on getting beat up by Thai teenagers. At least not to people who don’t get it. I got punched in the face a lot, thrown around like a rag doll, lost a crapton of weight, am reasonably sure that I’ve improved, and will cheerfully continue on with training once I get home. I don’t really know how to respond to that with anything other than what I just wrote, and that’s not really the stuff of a 40 stanza poem, if you ask me. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll have plenty to say about it to all gym-related people at home, but they’ll also have more of a reaction when I describe technical details than a look of vague confusion and a nod to hopefully move the conversation on.
Two of Tryn’s older coworkers, who we both got along with fairly well, were a little concerned that we were going to have negative memories of the trip. I thought about it for a second, but most of the bad crap that happened wasn’t really that awful. And really, it could have happened anywhere. Yes, my wallet got stolen, our bank account got frozen for a few weeks, and I got hit by a pickup truck. But none of those are really Thailand-specific incidents. Now, if I’d been attacked by a pack of stray dogs while going to the hospital for dengue fever, maybe then I’d have more of a reason for a terminal case of screw this country-itis, but it helps to keep things in perspective. I think the wallet incident more highlighted how bizarre it was that I’d never been pickpocketed before after living in New York my whole life.
I think the thing it’s going to take the longest to re-acclimatize to is going to be speaking the same language as everyone around us again. I anticipate sticking my foot in my mouth a few times while forgetting that yes, everyone around me can understand what I’m saying. Hopefully I’ll muddle through with a minimum of black eyes. Also strange will be the ability to actually read signs and labels again, but that’ll be more in a good way. Oh, and trainers who speak English! For as much good as that does me sometimes, anyway.
What else is there really to say? We’re enjoying our last few days here, but it’s just about time to go. I’m glad we came, but I’m not shedding any tears about leaving, either. And you know what’ll keep me from doing it? Pizza. All the freaking pizza in all of New York city is going to be subject to the gaping void commonly referred to as my stomach. ALL OF IT. I’m going to eat, roll over, and pass out into a cheese-induced coma, wake up, and do it again the next day. And then maybe call up some people I haven’t seen in half a year and we can all do that. It’s going to be glorious.
We’re coming home.