When Jackie and I first started searching the tide pools near our house we found several stunning shells (Fredrick and Mr. Trout being perfect examples) and ended up returning them to the ocean. Fredrick in all of his red and speckled-gold awesomeness probably would still be returned to the the tide pools, Mr. Trout however wouldn't stand a chance. It's odd how quickly things have changed. We went from leaving any occupied shell, to collecting dozens and dozens of living mollusks to look for pearls or just because they had a more than averagely interesting shell. I have had to cut down on the amount of oysters I collect on any given visit to the tide pools since our first harvest. It took me three days to get through all of the shells (more because I just didn't get around to then the shear amount of them), so now I'm trying to collect only what I feel like cleaning that day.
(And that is why my right hand keeps getting stabbed)
(Give Jackie some time and I'm sure these will be turned into something beautiful)
Walking through the water at sunset and listening to the muezzin reciting the adhan is as enchanting as Jackie described it in her last post. During these outing pure logic seems to slip away from me. An oyster will be clinging to a bit of rock, wedged in deeply. I'll go to pluck it and more often then not it comes free easily, but there are those that put up a fight, as much of a fight as can be expected from a tiny mollusk. That's the moment when logic seems to be sent to the penalty box, for suddenly I become almost convinced that leaving behind this particular mollusk is as good as leaving behind a pearl. In my head there is a link between the quality of the struggle and the value of the item, which, as I sit at my computer, doesn't seem to make much sense when it comes to collecting mollusks. I feel it necessary to keep up to date that, which I assume many people are very curious about. So, I'll be honest - I've still not found a single pearl, lots of pretty shells though!
Originally I was going to leave for Penang, Malaysia Wednesday night so I could get a two month tourist visa. However, because I would need to go there again, if I got the job at the Phuket Gazette, to get a b non-immigrant visa , Chris recommended that I just go to Ranong, Myanmar and get 15 day visa exemption, which is similar to the what I have now. The main difference is that when I first got here I arrived by plane so I got 30 days, but the trip to Ranong is over land, so I only get 15 days. I was delighted to just get the 15 day exemption, because it allowed me to do my visa run with Jackie, who needed to get the 15 day visa exemption for a similar reason and because it seemed like a very good sign about the job. After my interview Tuesday, Chris told me that they would try to get back to me sometime Thursday.
Five in the morning Thursday, Jackie and I stumble through our morning routine and walk to the nearest 7/11 to meet our ride to the minibus that will be taking us to Ranong at the boarder of Thailand and Myanmar. The minibus was probably more comfortable then my bed. It was wall to wall big reclining seats. The seats actually laid all the way back and the air conditioning was blasting. The Phuket Gazette didn't open until 9:00am and who knows when they were going to have the time to look over everything and make a decision, so I just went back to sleep. If I wan't such a pro sleeper I think I would have lost a little hair from my head because of nerves, as it was I slept off most of the nervousness. I unconsciously waited to hear back from the Gazette to see what track my life was getting ready to be thrown across. The time slipped by. It was 10:00am and then 11:00am and then noon and still no word from the Gazette. I worried that people might save bad news for the end of the work day, putting it off for as long as possible.
We got off the minibus at a gas station/parking lot. Passing through a walkway cut in a cement wall we headed towards, what I assumed was a river. On the other side of the wall was a street full of food vendors. A variety of kebabs, fried chicken, and fresh fruit were out on display. I would have never guessed that we were approaching the Thai immigration office. There were no gates or guards.
In front of us the broad roofed walkway went down a series of steps and ended in heavy boat traffic and a small muddy waterway. What was across from us, battered shack like buildings on high cement pillars was identical to what was on our side. My first thought was, "What a shit border." Of course being a farang and new to this sort of thing I had no idea what I was talking about. The waterway itself was no wider then a a baseball toss from center field to home-base - I was not impressed. We stood in line with our departure slips (We have been told that it could cost up to 20,000 Baht if we didn't have them, but a woman traveling with us got hers replaced for free, along with bunch of grumbling from a border official.) and took in the nauseating smell of the river. If I was a man with a keener nose I'm sure I would have noticed the smell before the size of the waterway, but as it was I mostly just unimpressed with the waterway. Passports stamped, we loaded up in one of the few covered boats at dock and headed for Myanmar, which I had very wrongly assumed was just across the waterway. Eventually, we pulled away from the majority of boat traffic, which consisted of traditional Thai longtail boats. These wooden vessels, which had enough wear and tear on their painted hulls that they could have all been built in the 40s, were powered by fascinating outboard motors. The shaft of these motors is close to ten feet long, which created some interesting maneuvering techniques that included swinging the the spinning propeller across the front side of the boat. I couldn't help but imagine that people get clipped and lose a chunk of their face or shoulder from time to time.
The worn buildings and tin roofed shacks suddenly gave way to an expanse of water dotted with tiny lush green islands and larger mountains that were part of the main land. It would have been breath taking if our plastic chairs that had been hammered into place inside the boat weren't so close to the engine, which thundered away like the most haphazardly built and defunct robot of the 1960s. The sound, pounding away in our ear drums and shaking us in our seats, made it nearly impossible to be awestruck my the majestic mountain sides and islands. Somehow the engine served as a constant reminder of a harsher reality that from our distance we were at could have been ignored. Golden statues and temples sporadically peaked out from the dense green mountain sides. One island, not much bigger than our house was home to an enormous golden statue with an elegant Chinese dragon wrapped around its base. That's when it occurred to me - Chris didn't have my phone number, he had Jackie's phone number, because that was the number on my CV. Jackie got out her phone - three missed calls. I was ecstatic! A closer look at the phone revealed that two of the missed calls were from me, which left one missed call from an unknown number - Chris.
That damn thundering engine would made it impossible to call Chris back from the boat. So I had to wait. Sitting there unable to do anything because of the noise I tried roll playing both of my reactions, depending on the news. I was so anxious. I had actually brought along the editing test I had taken during my interview. I guess the interview could have been broken up into four parts: talking about my CV with Chris and Steven, taking a "How well do you know Phuket" test, meeting some of the upper management (Ann), and most importantly an editing test. Chris had been very positive through the whole interview. Constantly he was helping me spin things to look their best. So often he just saw the positive aspects of what I said and did. My meeting with Ann, the managing director, was very short, but seemed solid. Earlier I was left alone for ten minutes to take the "How well do you know Phuket" test and I apparently I don't know squat. There wasn't a single question that I knew the answer to and only two that I ventured guesses on (which after some research turned out to be entirely wrong). But learning about Phuket was going to be part of the uphill battle if I got the job and probably one of the most exciting aspects it. Lastly, there was the editing test. I had gone over common grammatical errors the night before. They gave me a "live" article that one of their reporters was currently working on. It was nothing like what I expected. Three paragraphs into the article I still wasn't sure what the main controversy was about. Without trying to edit anything I read through the article. I made notes on what the article was about and then I started selecting sections of quoted texts that I thought were grammatically sound enough to use in the article. With that done, I launched into re-writing the article. I felt exceptionally lucky to have just recently gotten experience doing article re-writes as a free lance internet content writer. Softly to myself I read each word out loud, over and over again. I struggled with determining if certain places should have commas or not. The editor behind me who was actually a graduate from Indiana University suggested that I talk with the reporter if I needed any clarifications, so I did. An hour later I figured I was done. They had wanted me to finish in 45 minutes or so, but nobody came by to check on me and I had been so immersed in what I was doing that I hadn't paid any attention to the time, not that the time really mattered. Chris printed off two hard copies one for me and one for him.
Had I parked in the front or back? he asked. The back was the employ parking lot and the front was for visitors. I smiled and told him the front, I hadn't wanted to be too presumptuous. He gave a small laugh. We spoke in general about how long I would stay with the paper and how far away I lived, which would eventually put me in some nasty spots due to the fact that I was on a moped. He had a lot of small worries that made me feel like he was getting ready to take me in under his wing.
"Feet up," he said as I was taking off. He'd once been with a girl who had her foot impaled by stick while driving a moped and dragging her feet, so feet up it was.
We arrived in Myanmar. I hadn't had the nerve to look at the edit I had done for the editing test. Throughout the interview Chris just kept telling me that it all boiled down to words, how good I was with words, how good I was at finding the story and editing it. So it all seemed to come down to the editing test and I couldn't look at it. What was done was done. I wouldn't even let Jackie look at it, but I had brought it along so when I got the news good or bad I could let Jackie read it and explain to me how big of an idiot I was.
We got off the boat and headed towards a small building at the landing. Over the open entrance and into a dimly lit blue building that had a sign, which informed all visitors that they weren't permitted to go no further than 5km or 3 miles from that point. Myanmar obviously isn't eager to have guests at the moment. The guys who were in charge of our visa run handed a thin stack of crisp, new ten dollar bills to a man behind a small table. The man slowly looked at the front of each bill testing for counterfeits, then he flipped the stack of bills over and slowly looked over the backs of each bill. During this time our guides were using the official stamps on the table and stamping our passports and then passing them to the official who was quickly signing off on them.
I couldn't wait any longer. Stepping outside I called the number back. A Thai man answered the phone. Chris is a wild haired Australian. After some confusion it was established that the man had been calling for Jackie, apparently someone from her school. Disheartened I passed the phone off to Jackie.
Thursday passed without a call from the Phuket Gazette. And now, as I write this, Friday has passed without a call. I assume that Chris and Steven will be in touch with me one way or the other, so maybe no news is simply no news, but in the news business it strikes me that no news has to be bad news for a paper and it's potential editors. On the bright side, I should mention that they were hiring for two positions, so if I don't get the job I actually will have failed twice, but it also means that I am more likely to get the job.
The job itself sounds incredible, but for fear of jinxing what little hope I have left I'll wait before I share. Currently, however, I am back to working on my TEFL certification and preparing to start passing out my resume on Monday.
