The song of a thousand tree frogs wakes us from a foggy sleep. We unglue our bodies from the sheets and say hello to the 6-inch gecko that sleeps behind our headboard.

We throw our bodies into the ice cold shower, accepting the fact that the shower drenches our toilet, as part of the price you pay for a room in paradise at $12 a night. I don’t even mind dipping water from the pail and pouring it into the toilet to make it flush.

After trying to dry ourselves with tiny damp towels, we squeak on our bathing suits and sandals
and climb down the rock from our hut and saunter onto the beach. The warm sun and Panni’s serene smile greet us, “good morning Schilders.”

At our bamboo table on the warm sand, we adjust our chairs to watch the fishing boats. A coconut falls to the ground with a thud.

“Pad Thai please Panni” mouth watering in anticipation.

“Toast and coffee for you?” Panni asks. Drew nods.

I put my bare foot on top of Drew’s foot as we watch the waves tease the shore, feel the breeze on our skin, soak in the space between us and the end of the ocean.

Panni’s mother emerges with my Pad Thai and grandly places my plate before me.

“You eat like Thai,” she beams and pats my shoulder. She scrunches her face and bends to whisper, “you not like other tourist. You one of us.”

She watches me dig into the tangy lime-drenched, peanut-encrusted noodles. “Aroi” I exclaim, toes curling in the sand. She hugs me, pats my cheek, and disappears into the grass hut.

I think of my visits to my grandmother in Kentucky. To a California girl, it was a foreign country: cow tails swatting flies, merciless mosquitoes, glowing fire flies dancing in the night.

I told grandmother that I never ate breakfast. She said, “breakfast makes you big and strong” and hovered as I choked down runny eggs, crumb donuts, lukewarm bacon. When my plate was clean, she hugged me, patted my cheek, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Maybe I am Thai?

I find that traveling often brings back old memories and that comparing experiences brings a deeper appreciation of both the old memory and the current experience.