June 22nd - Exeter, England

Fasten Your Seat Belt! 9 June
As we flew westward across Europe nearly a week ago, we anticipated a dose of reverse culture shock, but some of the jolts were cushioned by our stay in Bangkok, where we embarked on our journey through transitions. Our return to Britain contained some unexpected first impressions, many of them gleaned during those first hours as we travelled by bus along the M4 motorway.

Bangkok overwhelmed us yet again:  vibrant,  modern, prosperous, stimulating, colourful, full of smiles. We were met at the airport by Nueng, one of the first UWC students to come from the Mercy Centre, and one of the reasons we were so eager to spend time in Klong Tooey during our 2-year leave. To recap what we’ve said before, while we were at the Norway college Nueng and Wanwisa, the very first RCNUWC student, regaled us with tales of their lives and the Human Development Foundation, and their amazing presences convinced us that the organisation was one worth an investment of our own time and energy. Nueng is now studying at university in the U.S., and as always, we reflected together on what a remarkable story his is – thanks to the Mercy Centre and people who believed in him, he’s been given opportunities to grow into his potential, to “expand his horizons”, to travel and live and study and work in many different situations he could never have dreamt of. Once living on the street, sleeping under cars, Nueng has come a long way in every sense, been entrusted with a great deal of responsibility, and was a great pleasure to see again. A perfect start to our short week in Thailand’s capital.

We had generously been offered accommodation at the Mercy Centre, and extremely comfortable accommodation at that, so we based ourselves there and spent the first few days enjoying  reunions and catching up on as much as we could, hearing about new and anticipated projects, shifts in personnel (many of the staff are now in new positions), and other developments. At the end of each day we collapsed into bed thoroughly happy, touched by the warm welcomes and excited conversations we’d had with friends at the foundation. It’s a happenin’ hub with lots of spokes all humming with activity, with promise, with dedicated staff. We were excited to be there, to feel the buzz, to hear about some of the changes which are taking place, as well as the ongoing programmes.  There are continued efforts in the post-tsunami south of the country, plans to develop a bridge project to help Mercy adolescents build skills which will ease their passage into the world outside, and much more. We urge readers who haven’t become familiar with this organisation to take a look at the website www.MercyCentre.org and get involved if the spirit moves them. We can certainly vouch for the tremendous work which is going on at the centre, and we hope to remain involved, even from a considerable geographical distance.

We feel very fortunate to have had the chance to revisit SMD in Kathmandu and HDF in Bangkok, our first two bases in Asia. Revisiting brought somewhat faded, fuzzy images back into sharp, vivid relief, and for this we were deeply grateful. The sights, smells, sounds, and tastes of Bangkok swept through us powerfully, moving memories to the surface, tapping into storage spaces that had been gathering dust since we left Thailand. It was simply wonderful to be back.
But being back also brought back some of the issues which volunteering invariably (for us) throws up.

Our room at Mercy was just metres away from Mercy VI, where the children with HIV live, tenderly cared for by their houseparents and medical staff. The kids crave and thrive on attention.  As soon as you walk into the room, your hands are full, someone snuggles up to you, another leads you to an area where an activity is taking place, a third engages you in some mischievous encounter, and you immediately feel at ease. It’s not entering their world that’s a problem; it’s the leaving that isn’t comfortable, especially if you know you’re only around for a few days, a few weeks, a few months. Is it fair to visit the children, befriend them, and then disappear? The questions insists itself, and despite my strong desire to spend more time at Mercy VI, I wasn’t at all convinced it was best for the kids. One day I spent some time with a lovely wee girl who has no sight, but is very keen for physical stimulation, so we walked and rocked and babbled at each other for ages. When I left, however, she howled, and I felt terrible. What’s best to do? Best for whom? How much time and commitment is enough? How much too little? How can you measure it? Who should be the guide for contact with the kids? They’re used to visitors appearing with different degrees of regularity, so perhaps I shouldn’t worry about it so much and should just follow my heart in situations like this and hang out with the kids as much as possible. But the mind hesitates and questions. I don’t want to cause distress; I simply want to express what’s in my heart, but these kids have been abandoned, and although they have a secure, loving environment in which they thrive at Mercy Centre, I’m aware that loving them and abruptly leaving them is not the kindest thing to do.

We flew Air Emirates from Bangkok to Dubai, then from Dubai to London Heathrow, beginning our journey at 3am. local time, anticipating some sleep before we landed on British soil. What we hadn’t counted on was the entertainment screen built into the back of each seat, with over 500 TV selections, films, documentaries, stand-up comedy acts, and music channels to choose from. We had complete control over the programmes we watched, and after nearly two TV-less years, sleep was elusive. By the time we were approaching England, I was glued to animated Penguins break-dancing with Spanish accents. It definitely helped ease the transition. Another feature of an Emirates flight – and perhaps many others, but it was new to us – was the opportunity to observe the take-off, landing, and flight as seen through the lenses of cameras mounted in the cockpit and the undercarriage of the plane. We tuned into this channel as the planes descended through cloud at Heathrow, then headed for the lights strung along the runway. Amazing.

Once back on the ground, we paid the cost of a full meal in Thailand for a pack of Polo mints and set about catching a bus to Exeter. Here’s where the transition hit in earnest. “Fasten your seat belts please, everybody!” the bus driver calmly intoned. And everyone obeyed. Wow! It was astonishing for us to discover that we had working seatbelts, never mind the order to use them and the unquestioning response. Tucked safely away, we watched the well-groomed fields roll past us, huge expanses of green. But where were the people? There simply weren’t any, and this was another cause for thoughtful pause. In all the countries we spent time in recently, the agricultural land has been worked exclusively by people and animals, usually water buffalo. Here in England, the only signs of life we saw were enormous combines and tractors.  The difference was striking. Another huge contrast that was evident from the start was the blur of private cars speeding along the M4. In Nepal the roads were host to lorries, busses, motorbikes, and taxis, with private vehicles few and far between. Ditto in the countryside everywhere we went.

Jet-lagged but eyes wide open, we arrived in Exeter, where a seatbelt-related incident brought home the chasms between where we are and where we’ve been. At the bus station in Exeter, there are clearly delineated areas for vehicles and bipedals. I put a foot down off the pavement and was immediately warned in no uncertain terms that I was standing in an area reserved for moving vehicles, which I was not. Nor were there any genuine moving vehicles in sight, but that didn’t seem to matter. My trespass had been observed and I was soundly told to keep my feet in the area specifically reserved for feet. Two years ago I wouldn’t have thought twice about this. Now my feet are accustomed to roving in all sorts of vehicular areas, weaving in and out in city traffic, ignoring crosswalks and pavements and making up rules for themselves.

England seems to have a lot of rules. People seem worried that something might happen, and someone might get sued. This is a real possibility that we have yet to grow used to, and in a way, I hope we never will. Walking past a dairy farm entrance a couple of days ago, I noticed a sign to visitors which made it clear that they pass through the gate at their own risk and the farm owners’ cannot be held responsible for any mishaps which may occur once outsiders are on their property. A necessity in this age and place, perhaps,  but a shock when you come from outside, where such exhortations would be considered ludicrous.  I guess that being away and coming back to our own culture is giving us a tiny glimpse, a shadow glimpse, at how things must look to people who have spent their lives in other cultures. What must it be like for students from rural Vietnam arriving at Heathrow and driving cross-country to Wales, following the route we took last week? How much more shocking must the first impressions – and the second, and the third, and the next – be!?