But then....

But in each class, there's a knot of students who want to learn. For whatever reason, they are engaged in the lesson, dutifully mime the weirdo sounds, repeat the same sentences, blink huge lightbulbs when they finally understand an instruction I don't know how to give in Thai, and dutifully help out their classmates who are on the hot seat and stuck. Deep emotions run just beneath the surface, and the devastation or elation when called out is as shocking to the culturally-insensitive farang as being called out is to the collective-thinking Thais.

There's the fantastically steep learning curve of EFL, especially at a beginning level, with tangible results to match mental leaps.

As I walk down the hall, I push a bow wave of, "Hello teacher! How are you!" as "Harry Potter Harry Potter Harry Potter!" trails in my wake.

I am the farang in the regular program, and while all of us farangs look alike, I look like Harry Potter. Everyone, everyone knows me. And I am exciting to talk to.

There is the fact that today, the third day of the term, it took more than twice as long while I drug a knot of students whispering to each other and calling out whatever phrases they knew--how are you, how old you are, where are you from, what is your name, how old are you, where you are from, in a constant torrent.

What a fantastic place to be.