Tisch Global Jumbos

by Syd

“คุณกินแล้วหรือยัง,” which translates to “Did you eat already?” and “ไปไหน,” which translates to “Where are you going?” might seem like questions my instructors, mother, or peers would ask, but you are wrong. “คุณกินแล้วหรือยัง” and “ไปไหน” are things people in the villages say to each other. To many, this might seem strange instead of simply asking, “How are you?” But to me, there is something more meaningful and intimate about getting to know the people in your community, where you can ask them their whereabouts without being seen as nosy, and even ask if they have eaten already to get ideas about what you are going to eat. Here, those questions are asked because people genuinely care, and perhaps because they are slightly curious, but mostly because they care. Villages are such tight-knit communities; places where anyone in the village can go to another’s property and grab fruit off a tree. I thought I knew what community was before, but as I have observed the villages here, I now understand what community truly is.

With nearly two weeks left before we move to Huai Lan, the clock ticks as I try to visit as many places as possible in the city. Being one-third of the way done with Civic Semester has made me think a lot about a lot. As I sat on the second floor of the hangout area in Maejo Baandin last weekend, I realized three things: one, that I am already one-third done with Civic Semester and there is so much left to experience; two, that once I go back to the U.S., no one will understand just how special Chiang Mai is, no matter how much I explain it to them; and three, I was most certainly falling asleep up there. We were only at Maejo Baandin for two days, but I could see how important it was to the community around it and how incredible P’Om and Mae were. I was amazed at what Maejo Baandin did with natural resources. We made seed bombs first, where we put different kinds of seeds in natural clay and then used slingshots the next day to launch them into the woods to help reforest the area. On the second day, we made bricks out of natural clay. Though I did not thoroughly enjoy mixing the dried cornhusk in the mud with my feet, I did gain an appreciation for what P’Om and Mae were doing.

Of course, I could not write about my adventures without mentioning elephants. Chiang Mai itself was (sort of) founded by an elephant; King Mangrai was looking for a place to establish a new city when he encountered an elephant. He decided to follow the elephant, which led him to a place with mountains and rivers, and that is how the city of Chiang Mai was founded. We visited two sanctuaries: one called Sunshine for Elephants, where we went on a hike with them and also got to feed them, and the second place, Elephant Nature Park, which had rescued 117 elephants and lots and lots of dogs. Unfortunately, the dogs with the red collars were not allowed to be petted, but I swear the dogs with the red collars were the cutest ones. The elephants themselves were genuinely the gentlest creatures I have ever met. Nevertheless, I found their resilience particularly inspiring; many of these animals endured logging, riding camps, and circuses, yet they continue to break through years of trauma. These animals are truly remarkable.

Reflecting on my time in Chiang Mai so far, I am filled with many emotions, one of which is gratitude. Each moment spent in the villages, with my cohort, in the forest, in the streets of Chiang Mai, and of course, with the elephants, reminds me of why I chose to do Civic Semester.

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!!!