I know what you're thinking: "It's Sunday. I'll get some new recipes from cooking class." Nope. You won't. Here's another conversation:
Me: I went to see Thuy this morning and she didn't say anything about cooking today.
Katherine: I'm sure it's nothing.
Me: Yeah, but what if it isn't nothing? What if she's tired of slaving away, making us food?
Katherine: I'm sure that's not the case.
Me: What if she is disgusted by all of the ants in our kitchen?
Katherine: Well, that could be...
Me: My neighborhood equilibrium feels off again. Maybe I'll go to the Bum Bum.
So I'm really sorry. I don't have any good stories today. It's quiet. I read the New York Times online and watched the British version of The Office.
Here's what I can write about: Thanksgiving break and Christmas break.
This Thursday at 6:00 am, I will fly to a beach called Nha Trang to stay for four days with three other teachers. It's been a long stretch with no break at school, and I am very, very excited to be here:
Many people say it's the nicest beach in Vietnam.
And then, for Christmas, here is a very short outline of Katherine and my adventure (which we have been agonizing over for weeks -- too many cool places to go, only two weeks):
1. Three days exploring the ruins at Angkor Wat, Cambodia
2. Fly to Laos and spend four days at The Gibbons Experience (I sent a posting from their website, you can access it above). It's something else. We will be staying in a treehouse and ziplining in search of gibbons. It's an ecotourist organization.
3. Spend the rest of our time in Northern Thailand. The highlight, we hear, should be Mae Hong Son, a little town in the mountains, almost on the border of Myanmar.
So, yeah, I think it sounds OK!
And I'll leave you with this: lyrics from one of 6D's Mummy Raps (Wraps) - Megan, this is from Georgina's class and it was performed complete with dance moves to rap music:
The West in the Ibu is where they take my body.
They wash me with some salt and I think they’re very naughty
All of my brain is removed through my nose
All of my brain, they throw to the crows.
They place my body on a sloping table
I lay here wishing that I had some cable
They cover me with salt and dry for 40 days
I feel really sick in so many ways.
Seal me with wax and cover for protection
If I try to get out now I won’t know the direction
Then they wrap my body with linen and string
I may try to run, but I surely can’t sing
Place that mask right over my face
Then run away with your spray can of mace
Place me, your mummy, in a cool coffin
Then go to Starbucks and buy yourself a muffin.