My sense of time has been turned inside out and upside down since arriving in Thailand, shaking out any ideas of pace or punctuality that governed my previous life. In America, the train to 30th Street arrived in Exton at 7:08 AM. It was late an aggravating one in ten times. In Thailand, the van comes to Donchedi whenever it gets to Donchedi. My timing is perfect a glorious one in ten times. How’s that for an outlook one-eighty? I used to anticipate timeliness and resent delays. Now I expect randomness and relish rare precision. Looking at life through this new lens, I’ve found that where delays abound, so does time. The inevitable time lost to that fickle van in Donchedi is a chance for me to get some sun on my face and the roundabout ride that follows is a perfect opportunity to study some Thai. I’m learning to bask in the shine of that often overlooked silver lining, where I hadn’t even noticed a glimmer before.
At William and Mary, five minutes early was on time, and on time was late. Actually arrive late and the lecture’s started, the bus is gone, the meeting’s commenced, and you’re in trouble. At BanharnJamsaiWittaya 1, five minutes late is early, and ten minutes late is still early. I catch myself questioning the motives of students who show up only five minutes late to class. Shouldn’t you be lounging outside? Trimming your bangs? Eating a meal? Is this an ambush? If time is money, then we’re “making it rain” at school on a daily basis. Schedules are suggestions and punctuality is just not a priority. Meandering is the norm. It’s certainly taken some getting used to, but the more time I spend among these time-less folk, the more the hurried, hassled pace of 30th Street Station starts to seem abnormal.
This laid-back lifestyle is epitomized in Thailand’s famed southern islands. Days of the week are irrelevant. The tide tells the time. In March, I kicked off my summer vacation with a trip to the south, spending a few blissful days exploring the Ko Tarutao Marine National Park. One morning I hopped on a long tail boat with the aforementioned Californian bro, and headed out among the constellation of islands for a day of snorkeling. After a 20 minute ride, the hum of the motor filling my ears and gratitude filling my heart, we approached a pristine island that looked like something out of Jurassic Park. Flippers on and goggles ready, we hobbled over to our veteran guide to see how long we’d be staying at this spot, the first of five. “What time should we come back?” I asked through a mouthful of snorkel. I received a non-committal shrug in response. Brow furrowed, I offered, “Like an hour?” Another non-committal shrug and a giant grin told me without words, “whenever you feel like it!” I laughed to myself and plunged overboard, free of the restraints of time and gravity.
Only days before I embarked on the trip that would lead me to Tarutao, I had the opportunity to tour an orchid nursery at the home of a former Banharn teacher. Bringing up the rear of the pack of Thais that was our English language department, I snaked through row after row of orchids of all varieties and stages of development. The gracious owner acted as our tour guide, and though I appeared to be listening intently, I was totally lost in thought, her speedy Thai zooming in one ear and out the other. I was caught up in the raw beauty of the blossoms, wishing desperately that my mom’s footsteps were crunching along in the gravel beside mine, knowing she’d have a deeper appreciation for the magnificent nursery. I was also noticing that as we wandered, no one checked their watches, sighed impatiently, or seemed preoccupied by the inescapable list of “better things” they could be doing with the time. They were fully present, admiring the flowers, snapping peace sign pics, just enjoying the epic scenery. My coordinator, a teeny, adorable, laugh-out-loud hilarious woman, who takes care of me at all costs, knelt to examine beads of dew, fluid pillows scattered atop a bed of moss, a beautiful detail that could have been so easily overlooked in this massive nursery bursting with life. I’d been asked earlier in the week to explain an English idiom. “What does it mean to stop and smell the roses?” Exactly this, I realized. To take a hiatus from the hurry and haste, to kneel and notice the beauty that exists below your feet, alongside the path.
This American girl has been shocked to discover that there are greater things than efficiency and worse things than wasted time. Immersing myself in Thai Time has stretched the limits of my patience, flexibility and sanity, making space for the possibility of a pace other than high-speed efficiency. It does seem to be true that time flies when you're having fun, so, much to the chagrin of my 82-year-old, Flyer fanatic grandmother, I’m sticking around for another 6 months. Why, you ask? I’ll respond with a non-committal shrug and a giant grin. Because it’s Thailand.
