My body has been in constant motion for so many days that I hardly know what to do with myself now that I have a chance to settle down, kind of. Arrived in Chiang Mai at the crack of dawn, after a relatively sleepless bus ride from Bangkok. Three things redeemed the bus experience: the pink of it all, the elephant that sauntered by while we were waiting for take off in Bangkok, and the fact that it brought me closer into the local's life than any other experience I could have concocted or paid for. Oh, and the stewardess who worked so hard to make it all feel as monumental as an airplane ride.

The only other foreigners on the bus were two Germans, a young man in his late teens or very early twenties and his mother. I had decided in Bangkok, outside the tourist agency that sold us the overpriced bus tickets, that I was far more interested in sleep than conversation, but when we disembarked in Chiang Mai I turned to them in hopes of sharing a taxi. Alas, the teenage boy was convinced that the 60 Baht offer (about $1.85) was the tuk-tuk driver's attempt at a tourist rip off and that according to his map we would be better off walking. Walk we did, and in a moment of exhaustion I thought I might continue walking with them to their guest house, as I had no idea how to get to mine, but the young man offered me his cell phone and Florence was awake and taking calls, so it was off to the Boonmee Mansion with a 20 minute detour figuring out just which left I was meant to take. I happened to run into the German pair over breakfast, three or four hours later, with little fanfare.

The food is great and the first couple of days in Bangkok I was relishing the foreign sights and smells but today I've had a hard time figuring out what to eat. I am equally turned off by the restaurants catering to tourists as I am to the various street offerings which, having lost their sense of novelty mainly seem to remind me of how far from home I am.

Home is a very funny word. I guess I was referring to the little apartment I share with Lorenzo in Brooklyn. I've been answering the question "where are you from" with "new york" and quietly musing. By home I mainly mean Lorenzo, who more than any place in the world has come to house my spirit. Even our fights, or maybe especially our fights, are a reminder of my address: this is where you live these days, Ophra. So there is some cleaning and re-modelling to be done, it's true. Today is my first day on my own and it is taking a bit of effort to settle into this state but I have wanted it and needed it for a long time now.

Another run in, just now, as I attempt to write about how alone in the world I am: Laura, the American studying with Pichest whom I met earlier today happened to be at this very internet cafe. Our second encounter is very friendly: she can see that I am a little out of sorts and assures me that all will be well. This takes about 8 minutes of my last half hour of internet time, so the stories will stay short.

After my morning nap I went out to roam the town, in search of a cheaper guesthouse and new adventures. After the sensory overload that was Bangkok I am finding myself hard to impress. My tired head seemed to latch on to the idea of doing a three day jungle trek, which would mean leaving tomorrow morning, as that would be my only chance to leave for three whole days. I asked at different guest houses about my options, only half understanding what the various fliers were trying to sell me: elephant rides, whitewater rafting, jungle hiking, wow wow wow. Anyhow, luckily I allowed my brain to enjoy the task without actually accomplishing it, for to have signed up for one of these adventures would have been sheer madness as far as my body and soul are concerned right now. Stop thinking, Pichest said to me later in the afternoon. If only I knew how.

But the idea that I might be leaving tomorrow led me to decide to go visit Pichest and ask permission to study with him asap, this very afternoon. Crackbrain logic being that this way I could leave early the next morning and come back Sunday night in time to begin my studies Monday morning. Madness.

I had explicit instructions to Pichest's place, about 25 minutes out of town, and asking permission was quick and simple, so I went in to observe and was immediately taken by one man who turned out to be his son. His movement was so relaxed! Another new student arrived about forty minutes after me. Pichest sent his two newest students out to meet him and I joined them a little while later. He was training them in observing and diagnosing and I was the next guinea pig. Look at my right wrist, he tells them: blocked (oh, thank you thank you for noticing, and maybe you can help?). She looks like she is in good shape on the outside, he smiles, but hard on the inside, why? he asks me. Now this is a master, so I don't waste time with excuses like sleepless bus rides because who knows better than me how deep this strain goes. He goes straight to my neck, he knows where the pain is hanging out. And then tells me to stop thinking. Now this is the kind of adventure I've been looking for. And maybe I'll make it out to the jungle at some point yet...