This school is amazing. There are 55 students and they are all so adorable (apart from when they bring enormous insects into the classroom with them...) and generally seem to enjoy learning English... Or maybe they just enjoy shouting A B C D as loud as possible. Maybe it's the same thing. I don't know I'm not qualified.
We sleep in a disused classroom, huddled under mosquito nets to try and avoid a variety of terrifying bugs, many of which are literally the size of sheep* We use the school kitchen to cook our meals, and the staff room to updated our travel blogs. Right now it's just me and a bloody loud geko.
The town is really small, and we were told that no one speaks any English, though upon going for a stroll one evening we were invited onto the porch of an ex monk who had very good English indeed, and the next day Dinana met a fella from Sheffield. It wasn't Sean Bean.
The kids are at school from about 7am, sweeping up the place and weeding then they come back after school to play in the playing field. Mad for it. Also doesn't lend to much privacy, and a lot of conversations consisting of "Hello teacher", "Hello! How are you?" , "I am happy!"
This evening the grade 1 teacher took us to a Thai massage place then taught us how to cook green curry back at her house (which is also a computer shop and has a stall that sells pizzas in the front garden. naturally) Not being one for having a strangers hands all over me I opted instead for a foot massage. Having a Thai massage after some medium being a large touristy box just ripe for the ticking.
While we were chatting the teacher was telling us about where the snakes live in the school, and how they come out at night. I'm comically huddled on an office chair which slides around every time I jump. Which is often, and at the slightest sound. Ridiculous.
Think it might be time to escape to the relative safety of my mosquito net and watch fire flies til I fall aspleeps.
Sweet dreams all.
*not literally
Thanks for the postcard! I think it's very clear the woman is some sort of Scottish Widow. Remembering...
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