Here's the latest Ladies and Gents,

I arrive in Surin at 4:30am and hit the ground running...literally. There's a mad dash, which resembles a march of determined zombies (everyone is completely exhausted) to find a room in the sold out town. My blurry eyes meet with a soft-faced man whose sagging skin is loosing a battle with gravity. I knowingly make the fatalistic decision to go with elderly rickshaw peddler, while the more lucid of the tourists jump in a tuk tuk and zoom away. The old man peddles slowly, but with painful determination. We arrive at my first choice for accommodations and to both of our dismay, we see that it's been relocated to another part of town. Fifteen minutes and two cigarettes later, the exhausted man decides he's ready to push on to the new location. At this point, I know the race is lost and that any chance to get a room at any of the ten or so guest houses hailed by Lonely Planet has rolled away at a far quicker pace than we were moving. It's at this point I offer to switch places and peddle the rest of the way (a gesture that is far more selfish than philanthropic). He declines and we make our way through the list of places offering cheap rooms, and as expected, everything is full. I watch as those who led the pack from the train station roam around the courtyards and gardens congratulating one another on "how lucky they're to have found a room." This is a case were the tortoise did not win the hare. The tortoise got tired and needed to take smoke break. GRRRRRRR!!!!

As we roll away, with all affordable options exhausted, we find ourselves equally drained and wishing we'd have looked the other way at first glance. The patience I feigned for the first hour we rode around in darkness has now become authentic and I'm resigned to pursuing other routes or even asking him if I can stay at his house if I cannot find a place of my own. My final option is to start checking out hotels. Up to this point, I've avoided this course, but left with no other alternate, I grab my credit card and walk in looking tired and hopefully a little pathetic. I'm told I must wait until 10am to check in, but that if I pay 4X the going rate I can assure myself a room. The city is packed and I'm wiped out. I give into the extortion and sit on a hard bench as the sun begins to rise. In the corner of my eye, a grey mass, the size of a truck comes into view. My weary eyes focus and I realize that massive elephants have begun to pull up like cars parking curbside. The riders command the elephants to kneel down so they can peek into the hotel lobbies and begin to solicit potential costumers. I take a couple photos and run my hands along the course skin of the grey monsters.

The festival began at 8:00am so I grabbed my camera, a map and hired a tuk tuk to get me to the arena. The streets leading to the venue are lined with a fantastic collage of vendors. Booths selling food, balloons, souvenirs, and cold drinks are already in full operation. The people wander around in anticipation and excitement for the show to begin. Days of the annual round-up and the prelusion of events have prepared them for this final theatrical performance. The streets are packed with a pleasing combination of locals and furongs (foreigners) and a nice amalgam of languages can be overheard mixing with the playful wailing of the elephants. Despite the contrast in size, the humans and animals mingle with ease and both seem pleased to interact with the other. I buy my ticket and securing a good seat.

The performance is a three-hour tribute to the Surin people and the historical link to their native elephants. A dramatic story unfolds through ancient songs, languid dance, and explosive battle scenes. It's a true exhibition of companionship and skill between the masters and their beloved elephants. This rich parade of costume and traditional music paints a vivid picture of the symbiotic relationship between the elephants and the Thai people. The festival serves two purposes; woven into the retelling of the regions abounding history, is the display of the elephant's skills and the masters' sportsmanship. The round up is the occasion to perform all the technical and zany tricks the elephants have mastered. Both elephant and owner seem up for the challenge and it becomes apparent that the elephants in fact spur one another on. We watch them dance with amazing grace and style, moving their massive bodies to match the movements of their masters. Some elephants show us their agility by walking on their front legs while others balance on their hind legs illustrating they can be both formidable and massive. The elephants are led to balance on small objects and to simulate a soccer game. They use their trunks to paint with incredible accuracy, spin rainbow painted hula-hoops, and pop balloons with darts. For a while, the field is transformed into an impromptu circus making the Thais and furongs laugh and cheer loudly. The audience is clearly captivated at this magnificent demonstration of training and trust as the intensity of the man/animal bond is displayed.

Throughout history, these elephants have been utilized in war, development, farming and established as domesticated members of many families. At birth, the baby elephants are assigned to a young Thai boy and they begin the process of training as they grow up together. They bath in the same rivers, often sleep together under the same star filled sky and ferociously provide and protect the other from any adversarial elements. The magnificent performance is a clear illustration of this process and the cohesion it's created.

Once the performance is over, the crowds file out of the venue and make their way across the street where a massive area has been constructed for the next phase of the festival. The elephant bizarre has the all makings of a country fair. More food, live music, people selling traditional crafts, and even some As Seen On TV booths pawning off the latest Thai craze. Kids run around with their newly acquired hamsters and goldfish. They wait in line for their turn on ancient looking carnival rides, play the obviously rigged games and gorge on all the sweets they can talk their parents into buying. It's a pretty typical and lovely scene and I enjoy being part of the celebration. Not to be disappointed, the travelers do not escape without experiencing a small dose of the atypical. The army has set up a target shooting station with your pick of weapons; there is a healthy buffet of machine and handguns to choose from. Three guns and 300B later, I left with ringing ears, proudly carrying my target sheets as though they were a returned homework assignment with a large gold star. I was told that if not for my gender and citizenship, I could enlist since my score comfortably met the standards required by the Thai army. The fair would not be complete without the token snake charmer, a freak show (that is more humorous then shocking) and a haunted house comprising of one man in a mask that sent the Thia's into hysterics. Needing a reprieve, I left in the late afternoon to get a little rest before returning for the evenings bizarre and concert.

The sunlight dimmed and the spirit of the night filled the festival goers. Since the people of Surin and the surrounding areas has been waiting all year for this event, their interest, participation and energy appeared relentless. The evening's festivities felt less like an occasion of veneration and more like a party where rowdiness flowed as generously as the alcohol. I wandered around the perimeter of the arena taking in the scene; Thai families betting on bingo, a dreadlocked acoustic guitarist performing Bob Marley covers and waves of kids sneaking off into the shadows to take shots from whiskey filled water bottles. All were biding their time for center stage to take life in the form of a concert featuring the Thai rock group Loso.

Before I proceed, I must preface the following story. As we know, the United States has the unique feature of having possibly the most eclectic looking society in the world. This characteristic doesn't limit itself to the physical features of the citizen; it also extends itself to the language and the dress. You never know if the person waiting to pick up their dry cleaning behind you was born in Southern California, or just arrived from Malaysia the week before. While we are numbed to the beautiful flags of our citizens' diversity, other countries are not. When a foreigner walks down the streets of Thailand, it's clear they're not of Thai decent and it's safe to presume they're merely enjoying the cheap shopping and cultural richness that a vacation in Southeast Asia promises to provide. That being said, it is safe to say that a "furong" (foreigner) standing front row at a Thai rock show is bound to draw some attention. The problem is that I tend to forget…I forget that I tower over and clearly outweigh the Thai people. It slips my mind that I'm the only one with a camera clicking away and I'm certainly the only one who is limited to English and oblivious to most of the conversations around me. That being said, I will tell my latest feat of self-deprecation of public humiliation.

It seemed as though the crowds arrived all at once. The stadium was way over capacity and I couldn't believe how many people had shown up for the concert. Once the show started, I was excited to see how hard the Thais rocked out and from the start I was having an amazing time. Needless to say, I was shocked when the Thai police weeded through the masses only to escort me out and explain that being in the crowd was no loner safe. Thinking that I was being led away from the show, I tried to protest, but realized quickly that I was in fact just being brought to the other side of the barriers, directly in front of the stage. It took about two songs for the singer to point me out and drag me on stage. Obviously this would never happen at home, but per the above preface, a tall white girl seems to jump out from the throngs of kids. The story goes down hill from here. Once again I tried to slip away, but this time, with a little more force I might add, I'm dragged by the baton carrying police to the stage. By some ironic twist of fate, the Thai singer asked me the two sentences I understand clearly in Thai. I was able to tell him my name and where I'm from. This gave him the impression that my Thai was far superior then its severely limited range actually is. So as I stand up in front of a packed stadium with about 10,000 people, he begins to address me as though I can understand him and hands me the microphone expecting some kind of intelligible response. I shrug indicating I'm lost, he shrugs back, says something that brings the crowd to hysterics and hands me the microphone once again. He's encouraging me to say something…anything! Without knowing what else to do, I had no choice then to defer to one the great movies of our time...Billy Madison. In a moment that felt nothing less than a desperate measure to escape, instead of chanting "O'Doul Rules!" I scream into the microphone, "Thailand Rules!" Simple, universal and complimentary, the crowd goes nuts and continues the chant. Red faced I wave, turn around to run out of site and almost fall flat on my face as I trip on a pile of cords taped to the stage.

*Please note I'm completely aware of how lame I am, and I plan to use the update as an apology to all cool-under- pressure Americans who would have made our country seem a little more awesome than I did. That being said, I am not the ambassador of hip and I certainly do not claim to be the most coordinated cat in the corral. I tell you this story in complete humility knowing I will not hear that last of it anytime soon.

Later, the concert did get out of hand and I watched the police on several occasions use their batons liberally, with unrelenting force. I was amazed to watch the irreverent behavior of the kids as they both instigated and fought back. This newly employed empowerment against authority is something new to this generation. Since my arrival in Thailand, I've noticed several stark differences. Besides the full bloom of 7 elevens on every corner, and the disappearance of the natty dreaded, backpack wearing, weary traveler and the arrival of its Louis Vuiton sporting, suitcase toting replacement, the most dramatic of all developments is the rebellious nature of the Thai kids. There is a cultural crisis and the younger generation is leading the way into some potentially devastating territory. This counter culture movement is written on the faces of the Thai youth and their anger is palpable. They've taken the hipster dress code to a whole new level, putting the most tight jean, ironic t-shirt wearing Brooklynite to shame. They sing loudly to their music and frown at any form of convention. That alone is to be expected, but what accompanies this is the abandonment their cultural responsibilities which is hitting hard at the center of the Thai infrastructure...The family unit. They're rejecting the very configuration that has held Thailand together for centuries. They jump recklessly head first into the westernized culture without the direction or boundaries that keep us from disentanglement.

I left the concert asking myself, if this is the product of progress, does it merely amount to a series of complications and setbacks? What happens when it unravels rather than constructs, when it muddles rather than elucidates? Like all developing cultures that are walking the perilous tight rope of transition into a modernized world, and they'll have to find a balance sooner rather than later. A leader will emerge to guide and instruct, to anticipate the pitfalls and address the elders in the language of the youth. There will be a compromise, but I wonder if anyone be happy?

The rest of my time in Surrin is spent touring the temples and shopping for silk and silver. I leave on an overnight train after three days of the festival. As I approach the train station, I watch the festival goes pile off the backs of the beautiful grey giants, grab their backpacks and board the train back to Bangkok. As I take my turn to climb into the car, a memory of something I heard in Nepal comes to mind. The Nepalese believe that humans should try to be more like the elephant. We should have big ears so that we are able to listen well to others. We should have small mouths so that we do not offend by saying unnecessary words, and we should be as sensitive as the tip of the elephant's trunk so that we know our environment and are able to avoid hurting the ones we love.

I think the Nepalese are right.

I miss you all.
Heather