Tisch Global Jumbos

by Avery & Brandy

Upon our arrival into Chiang Mai, the first word that popped into my head was familiar. Everything I laid eyes upon was alien and new, but evoked a sense of nostalgia and gave me the impression of home. Have I been here before? Was I a resident of Huai Lan in my previous life? That’s not quite the case.

See, because I have relatives in Malaysia, a mere 3 hour flight from Chiang Mai, I’ve spent a lot of time in the past snooping around the pasar malam, eating street food, and romping around the country. That’s why even though I had never been here before, stepping through those doors at the airport felt like stepping into a second skin. The hot and muggy air, the messy and chaotic traffic, the hawkers selling street food, all of it felt familiar and yet different at the same time.

Chiang Mai is not Kuala Lumpur. Even as I appreciated the similarities, such as in the way the air clings to your skin and soaks into your clothes or the sight of what feels like 100 mopeds darting through traffic, I was immediately drawn to the differences. Things like the unfamiliar script scrawled on all the traffic signs and store fronts, the food which tastes sweeter and burns with a different intensity, the trees that have grown into the buildings and are an inseparable part of their construction, not to mention the language which feels lighter and has a softer lilt, though admittedly is equally incomprehensible to me. And it is these differences which fill me with a sense of euphoria.

The reason I chose to come to Thailand isn’t because it is the same as Malaysia but because it is different. I came to Chiang Mai with the goal of devouring this city whole. I intend to walk until my boots crumble to dust, eat until I am a complete sphere, study until my eyes bleed, and (attempt to) pet every single cat I see. While the similarities to Malaysia are nice to see and help with my transition to this brand new environment, there is nothing more boring than a well worn path and it is what I don’t know that truly excites me.

We will be spending 3 months here in Thailand, half of which will be in Chiang Mai, and half will be with our foster families in Huai Lan. In this time we will have the once in the lifetime opportunity of completely immersing ourselves in a new environment at our own pace and without any urgency. I am incredibly excited to study the Thai language and culture as well as to live with my host family and take a glimpse into what it is like to live as a resident of Huai Lan.

By the end of this trip, I hope to have familiarized myself with even a fraction of the rich and storied culture of this country.

The ocean of the unfamiliar stretches far beyond the eye can see. And nothing pleases me more than the thought of diving right in.

Cheers,

Avery

It’s strange how first impressions can weave together a threshold between truth and falsehood.

Understanding isn’t like a wave that emerges you and your friend into cold, salty water before you’re ready to be cold or wet.

It isn’t like your vision settling after waking from a very, very long nap. So blurry at first, you wonder if you’ve gone blind overnight (excerpt from a true jetlag tale).

For me, it’s much more gradual. See, when I first walked out of the airport, I was met with muggy air, a travel-sized van, and a kind van driver. The bright sun didn’t remind me I was so far from home (or a humid Florida summer). My first Pad Thai didn’t taste particularly “Chiang Mai” either.

I was surrounded by a sense of familiarity in the English street cafe signs, gentle bushes, and relatively tended roads.

The sporadic movement and drumming of the motorbikes rang familiar, like the deranged, chaotic traffic of Morocco—the Chiang Mai sidewalks—a sister to the sidewalks of Mexico City. The rolling hills and mountains west are a gentle reminder of Chapulhuacan.

• I can see resemblances between Florida, Morocco, and Mexico. True

• I am eating Thai food. True

• This place is like everywhere else I’ve been. False

A gradual understanding drastically shifted my perspective from Wat Lam Chiang to Wat Chiang Man to Wat Lam Chang to Wat Phra Lat (yes, they are all distinct). Slowly, each temple visit reminded me that the ancient history that defined Chiang Mai was unique to Chiang Mai alone.

At Wat Lam Chiang, the first Buddhist temple I visited, I noticed and learned how the design of Chiang Mai’s streets made it so that directions to 7-Eleven (where you can also pay your rent??) could take you through the temples. City planning highlighted the integration of Buddhism into daily life and the omnipresence of temples.

At the oldest Chiang Mai temple, Wat Chiang Man, I observed the story of the Buddha and the significant impact of gendered roles in Buddhist culture, particularly in the emphasis on monk education.

On a late-night walk, Wat Lam Chang shone brightly in the night, and the beautifully (suai) tailored man reminded me of the gravity of belief, faith, and trust.

A day on the highly elevated, revered temple of Wat Phra Lat immersed me in a meditative, peaceful state. In which I began to understand the significance of meditation in life, as well as its philosophical and spiritual aspects for others.

The deeply fascinating complexity of diverse ethnic identities and Buddhist influence is something I couldn’t taste in my first pad thai.

On my first day overlooking the warm, busy streets, I couldn’t yet fathom the complexity and uniqueness that interwove itself into the subtleties of Thai society. The wai, a clear example, is a lotus of Buddhism. The greetings which motioned my two thumbs from my eyebrow, nose, and mouth, indicating respect to monks, teachers, and parents. The word “jai”, encompassing the central value of the “mind and heart”, in the way it is used to describe feelings, characteristics, and emotions. The way “naam jai”, directly, the “water of the heart” is expressed as kindness. Or the way “suk jai” translates to “happy heart” and is meant to express deep contentment.

The dissonance and wonder of Chiang Mai extend far beyond an observance of the weather.

It can be lost in Google translation, but still can be retained by a careful eye, a careful ear, and an eager “jai”. Buddhist influence, ethnic ties, movements, and historical context are just below the surface of every facet of society I touch, every “Chaa Thai” I drink, and “Khop Khun Kha” I speak.

I understand that now.

Now, I look back at my clueless nature when I first arrived. A bright smile and an overly energetic wave, I gave to a Thai woman on the street corner.

I’ve seen her a few times since then. My smile is just as bright, but now I say “sa wat dii kha”, ever cognizant of the unspoken story the wai greeting I give tells.

I’m on my way to truly grasping the significance of being here. And I am incredibly excited for all that I have left to learn.

Smiles,

Brandy Gutierrez

by Yeili & Flora

Hi everyone, It’s Yeili and Flora!

It’s been about 4 days since we first stepped foot on the damp, welcoming earth of Chiang Mai. It’s been 100 hours since our first taste of Pad Thai and Thai tea in the quiet little restaurant right by Doodle Lodge. And yet, if you asked me what I’ve learned in this time, I’d likely pause, searching for ways to put my memories into words. Because no words could hold all we’ve felt in just half a week beneath these skies.

On my first morning in Thailand, I found myself wandering through the Ming Muang Market at 7:30 am with a friend, an hour unfamiliar to me, especially after a summer of slow, sleepy afternoons. Jet-lagged, hungry, and excited, I didn’t hesitate when I spotted the freshest-looking durian at a fruit stand. The moment I took a bite, I felt like I was ascending– the sweet aroma, the soft-custard texture, and the rich flavor exploded in my mouth, stimulating all my senses. As I enjoyed the sweet fruit, I learned that the durians here are considered some of the best in the world because of Thailand’s ideal climate and the government’s careful regulation of durian agriculture. Turning to my friend, who was tasting durian for the first time in her life, I caught the same gleam of surprise and joy in her eyes. When we thanked the fruit stand owner with our newly learned Thai (khop khun ka), we were met with a warm smile and a gentle wai, the traditional Thai gesture of respect. We finished the durian just outside our lodge to not bring its lingering smell indoors. In the simple act of trying out new things, whether it’s tasting a new fruit, speaking a new language, or honoring an unfamiliar local custom, we learned.

Through food, we began to see daily life in Thailand more clearly. Each meal showed us something new: the way lemongrass adds freshness, how coconut milk balances spice, or how basil and pork come together in flavorful dishes. We learned that many of the ingredients we were tasting, like durian or coconut grow easily here because of the warm climate and rich soil.

Eating in Thailand isn’t just about the food, it’s also about the people. In small restaurants on quiet streets, we were welcomed with kindness and care. Many of the places we visited were family-run. We saw mothers cooking, kids helping with tables, and grandparents nearby, watching it all. The food wasn’t fancy, but it was thoughtful and made with pride.

We slowly started learning the names of dishes in Thai—khao soi, moo ping, som tam—and tried our best to say them. Each word we learned made us feel more connected to the place. Through meals shared and tastes explored, we were learning about people, place, and presence. The table became a classroom. Every bite is a lesson.

Here in Chiang Mai, most of our learning doesn’t take place in a classroom with desks and whiteboards. Instead, it is through bowls of steaming Khao Soi or the steps leading up to a temple. We’re realizing that a big part of learning here comes from our senses, our questions, and our openness.

Food has been our first teacher. Each meal is layered with flavors we’ve never experienced together before: sweet, sour, spicy, salty. Tasting them invites us to learn about history, trade, and culture all at once. Something as simple as Pad Thai becomes a lesson in seasonality, hospitality, and the rhythm of daily life.

Temples, on the other hand, have been spaces of both quiet and discovery. Walking barefoot across cool stone floors, we’re reminded of respect and how to carry ourselves with humility, how to listen even when silence fills the space. The temples don’t just hold spiritual meaning; they hold stories of resilience, art, and values that have shaped Chiang Mai for centuries.

Together, food and temples are teaching us to see learning as a lived experience. They ask us to slow down, to notice small details. It’s not the type of classroom we’re used to, but maybe that’s the point, knowledge here isn’t abstract. It’s tasted, touched, and felt.

Bye!!!

by Syd & Kaliyah

Syd:

I have always been someone who needed a strict routine and appreciated structure. For so long, I always had a routine made for me, but here in Chiang Mai, I have begun to make my own.

Before I left, I was worried I was going to be jet-lagged for days on end, but when we landed in Chiang Mai, I could only think about the warm air on my skin, all of the green surrounding me, and, of course, what delicious food I was going to try. Maybe I didn’t feel tired because I slept eleven hours from Boston to Hong Kong, but I would like to think my excitement for a new environment and routine diminished my feeling of sleepiness.

The cohort has a pretty good routine: we eat breakfast, then do some orientation or have class, then lunch, then some free time (which I have been using to walk around and do some work), dinner, and then some more free time to walk around. However, our routines all look a little different. We all do different things during our free time, especially after dinner, but I think that is the beauty of having a routine you create. For the past two days, I have been going to the gym in the morning, which I have really enjoyed. Walking at 6:50 a.m. and watching the busy road, which for some reason I thought would not be as busy at 7 in the morning, has allowed me to observe so much of the city during my ten-minute walks to the gym. For me, it is those small things in my routine that keep me grounded.

I grew up in a city, so I am very much used to the hustle and bustle; however, there is a difference in the hustle and bustle here. It is a busy city, but it has so much green surrounding it, with parts of the ancient wall scattered throughout. Yet, there are so many side streets that serve as a quiet retreat from the busy main road, where there are coffee shops, smoothie places, restaurants, and, of course, many massage spots.

Adjusting to a new routine in Chiang Mai seemed daunting before I arrived, but I could not feel more differently about it now. Chiang Mai has welcomed me with open arms, and that makes all the difference when experiencing a new routine in a new place. There is something truly special about Chiang Mai, and I cannot wait to see what else it offers!

Kaliyah:

Traveling to a new continent doesn’t seem real yet, surely not one 9,000 miles away from home.

Yet it isn’t scary.

My sleep schedule over the summer was, however. But virtual class with my cohort and in-person orientation prepared me well for starting the day earlier than usual.

But this time, it’s not waking up in a restless yet still-sleepy excitement to see my friends of years, or months, on the first day back- for the 4th, 5th, 12th time.

It’s not the same singing in the shower (well, maybe it is), grabbing my already-packed backpack in a slightly-unsuccessful measure to save time the morning after.

It’s not grabbing snack-size cereals saved from summer camp or filling up my water bottle halfway out the door as I hear the rickety yellow-bus screech down my street, even though I know my bus driver will wait just a few extra milliseconds courtesy of sharing a home country.

It’s not arriving at school and being surprised by my own elation early in the morning at the sight of my curly-haired, incredible best friend who I know can’t see me clearly till I’m 4 feet away at full spring and bear hug awaiting.

This being different, is an understatement. And it’s a pretty cool start to my first week of college.

It’s been more than waking up to sit in another classroom; rather, it’s more like waking up to ride in a bright red tuk-tuk with the life-halting view of the earth stacked upon each other to form the most incredible view of mountains- simultaneously on the way to hike, or take an exciting, lengthy walk upon one to see the city.

It’s more like stepping foot – and I mean foot, not shoe – into a temple or three, where numerous people find guidance and wisdom for their lives all across the country, and doing so, they find unity within community.

It’s more like being fulfilled and equally exhausted after a long day, yet being re-energized at the sound of a lovely walk to acquire my favorite drink- no, not Thai tea, but iced cocoa mint with 50% sugar. YUM.

Yeah. Different doesn’t even begin to describe it.

by Lucy & Axelle

Lucy:

Here, warm rain falls on quiet paths steadily throughout the days. At home in Northern California, we’re lucky if we get one rainy day a month. Here, cars, motorbikes, and pedestrians intermingle across the streets freely. At home, everyone follows orderly traffic rules, red lights, stop signs, crosswalks. Here, I feel the hours of my day blend into a whole, not rushing to complete the next task, settling into the flow of just existing where my feet lie.

Here, we’re always eating out–but not in the way we go to eat out at home. We’re going out to eat because that’s where you go to eat. It’s as simple as that. At home, eating out involves driving to the city or Telegraph Ave in Oakland or Berkeley, and spending $20 USD on a plate of salad and $10 on a mocktail. Here, we step outside Doodle and turn left to the road that borders the moat encircling Old City and are immediately sitting down at a restaurant. Food is consistently $3 USD for a plate of crispy pork and holy basil with a generous mound of white rice and a drink from the red cooler. The food tastes like the pan has been seasoned with the souls of past meals, rich and hearty, leaving our bellies aching from the blessing of being stuffed with good food.

At the same time, I love home for its diversity in food. On one street, I can find Burmese, Indian, Mexican, Chinese, Nepalese, and Ethiopian restaurants. Before coming to Thailand, I had to actively avoid Thai restaurants (there are so many…) to save my taste buds for when I got to the country. In this way, home has taught me the comfort in appreciating variety, difference, and delicious flavors. Maybe Chiang Mai is the same, with its plethora of vegan restaurants, smoothies and juices galore, massage places every other storefront, cafés, and the Grazie restaurant which actually serves Thai, not Italian food.

I think being here will deepen my appreciation for home in separating me from what I may have sometimes gotten too used to, like the temperate 65F days 365 days a year in the Bay Area. While the sticky humidity may leave my forehead dripping and hair constantly uncomfortably moist, it feels more and more like a comforting blanket, nourishing me in this new land.

Axelle:

I left Kigali for Boston, and it felt like going to an entirely new place with a different frequency. In Boston, life seemed to run on schedules and high precision; subway timetables, calendar reminders, and even coffee orders rushed. Being late by one minute felt like breaking a social contract. People move quickly, focused, often with headphones in. It is a place of structure, where social interactions feel more planned than spontaneous.

Then came Chiang Mai. What surprised me was not how it was very different from Boston, but how much it reminded me of home. In Kigali, everything is about community, conversations with moto drivers, greetings are so natural, and meals bring everyone together. I found this in Chiang Mai: the easy smiles of strangers, the warmth and messy markets, and the sense of closeness in every place.

Chiang Mai’s night market food reminds me of Kigali’s brochettes and endless Fanta varieties. Both are inexpensive, flavorful, and just give you the joy of eating. Even the streets in Chiang Mai, with its unpredictable sidewalks, remind me of Kigali’s late-night walks.

There is a lot of order in Boston; transactions are handled by machines, sometimes leaving little space for surprise. Kigali and Chiang Mai, on the other hand, make space for small human moments, bargaining in a market, and sharing a smile with a stranger.

Though I am far from Home (Rwanda), being in Chiang Mai, I find myself closer to its spirit than I ever expected.

by Nelson

Dear Mae Wan Deeh (Host Mom),

Can you believe it has been a month and a half already? It feels like just yesterday I was nervously wheeling my suitcase from Mar Tim’s house into your house, unsure and nervous of what to expect in the next month, and now, I’m writing this letter imagining what life will feel like without you and Pho Wan Lip.

I know you might never get a chance to fully understand what I wrote in this letter, but I hope you can feel the heart behind these words, even if a phone translator doesn’t get everything quite right. After all, some feelings go beyond language, don’t they? That’s something you’ve taught me every single day, living in the Huai Lan community.

I’ve learned so much from you, Mae Wan Deeh, not just about Thailand’s rich culture and delicious food but also about the small, everyday ways we care for each other despite our language barrier. You have shown me that language barriers should not be a wall but an opportunity to build a bridge––something that connects us through patience, kindness, and shared moments.

You reminded me that social change doesn’t start through wordy conversations. It starts with connection. It starts with understanding one another through shared experiences and goals, even when words fall short. Your generosity, patience, and openness have inspired me to approach my own social change journey with the same attitude––focusing on the simple ways we can connect and build relationships with those around us.

Because of you, I’ve learned that social change isn’t about imposing ideas and trying to solve a big problem at once. It’s about creating a space for mutual respect and collaboration. It’s about valuing the unique strengths and perspectives that everyone brings to the table and finding ways to work together toward a shared purpose.

Your quiet leadership and everyday acts of care have shown me that social change doesn’t need to be loud or grand––after all, actions speak louder volumes than words can ever do. I hope to carry these lessons with me as I continue my journey, striving to build connections that foster understanding and inspire growth.

I’ll miss both you and Pho Wan Lip than words on this paper can ever say. But I promise I will carry everything I’ve learned here with me back to the Tufts Campus. I hope that one day I can come back to visit––maybe this time, my Thai will be a lot better. Until then, please take care of yourself, and know you and Pho will always have a special place in my heart.

With so much love and kindness, your host son,
Nelson Chen