Sometimes I have trouble giving words to what I see. This is one of those times. We are at Nat's village of Ban Nong Po, in Buriram province, population 500. I have passed through villiages like this in a bus or on a motorcycle, but I have never stopped to stay, and I have certainly never been a guest of a good friend at one of the village houses.
Everything here is foreign to me. I try to put myself in Nat's shoes; try to imagine what life was like for him growing up in this small town with no stores -- just a temple and a few houses along the road. But it doesn't compute. I see it all, but I don't understand it. My mind has trouble grasping what it is like to live in Ban Nong Po.
Nat has been telling me "I don't think you can stay at my house." At first I thought that he meant "not allowed", but instead he thought that I would be too uncomfortable there. Understandable, I suppose, since it is true that I am not used to sleeping on the floor with other family members and I am not used to "showering" by pouring cold water over myself with a bucket. But mai bpen rai; to me it is actually not as bad as one (as I) might think. But it is different and it is strange to me.
