Site Seeing
Some staff writers share their community’s hidden gems.
Olivia Fee, 137 TESS
A quick 10-minute bike ride from my site and you will find yourself among peacocks and monks in the beautifully serene layout of a forest temple. It was one of the first places I discovered upon arriving at my site and I instantly became fascinated by it. After graduating college in the spring of 2025, I traded a forested mountain town in the rural Appalachian south for the hot, tropical Thai climate. Although I love each in their own way, this temple fulfilled a part of myself that deep down missed the greenery more than I realized. For a moment, I was transported back in time. The familiar remnants of folk songs and babbling mountain goats resurfaced in my head, but eventually gave way to the characteristic Isaan sound of the khaen instrument and sonorous “moooo” of the cows in my village.
A dirt path that stems from the main road that passes through town gives no indication of being anything other than an ordinary hiking path. That is, until you take note of the two mythological yaksha statues that stand guard on either side of it, warding off evil spirits.
The complex is tucked away, hidden from plain sight, and enclosed in a concrete wall. It houses a multitude of peacocks whose sing-songy calls whistle through the cool forest air. They move slowly and gracefully, but will raise their green feathers at the sight of an outsider, reflecting how perfectly harmonious life inside these walls strives to be. My favorite part of this temple is its color palette. The architecture features a satisfying combination of brown and green that is fitting given the surrounding nature. It’s all the more complete with the occasional gold accent on one of the buildings and the crystal blue waters of the nearby pond.
In the few times I’ve visited this temple so far, I can’t help but think about the contrast of the past and present. Two places I either used to or currently call home may be strikingly different in terms of geographic qualities, but nonetheless, I can appreciate my newfound capacity for finding a community on opposite sides of the world.
Hana Walsh, 137 YinD
Here
I usually walk everywhere at my site. To the SAO, school, market—even if it’s three kilometers away, I’m walking. But when I go to my favorite place, I prefer to bike. It's only a 1.5 kilometer journey, but the route requires steep climbs I’d rather face on wheels. crosses multiple terrains. Just the act of putting on my helmet and mounting my bike reminds me where I’m heading.
I turn left off my street and pedal along the main road for about a kilometer before crossing a small bridge. After the bridge, an incline begins. Gently at first, as if the road is trying to earn my trust. It begins slowly, posing as only a brief interruption in an otherwise easy ride. Then a sharp bend reveals its true identity—a monster of a hill, maybe 300 meters long.
Even though I’ve never—not once—made it to the top of the hill without having to walk the rest of the way, I begin to accelerate, hoping to beat my own record for an invisible audience. I climb, lifting myself from the seat, feeling the burn in my thighs and the threatening cramp in my calves until, inevitably, the bike slows and finally stalls. I put my left foot down to keep from rolling backward, quietly admit defeat, and walk the rest of the way.
Only then do I realize how out of breath I am. I close my lips, forcing myself to breathe in and out through my nose. Sweat beads on my brow, occasionally slipping into my eyes. I welcome the burn.
Ahead, the road plateaus and I know relief is coming. The peaks of a temple emerge above the hill, reminding me that I'm almost there.
When I reach the top, I reward myself by turning around.
The view is incredible. The patchwork of fields, rooftops, and distant mountains makes me feel small. Not in a confining way, but in a freeing one. Then I look at the hill I just climbed. Somehow, seeing its steepness from above fills me with a quiet sense of triumph. Nothing can stop me. Atop this hill, I am everything. I am nothing. I'm the freest thing in the world, yet completely at its mercy. Maybe this is what freedom feels like—to be insignificant in all the right ways.
Or maybe I'm just a girl standing on top of a hill.
Either way, my mind drifts to the ride home, when I'll lift my feet from the pedals and fly down the hill, letting the wind cool the sweat gathering on my forehead.
I shake my head, remembering I have somewhere to be. I climb back onto my bike, steal one last glance at the expanse, and turn left past the temple. The smooth concrete gives way to rough gray gravel, and I’m amazed I haven’t gotten a flat tire yet.
And finally, I see it.
My favorite place.
It waits for me in the distance, as if daring me to come closer. There’s nothing remarkable about it. There’s rarely anyone inside, and the air conditioner is probably broken.
But by the time I arrive, whatever problem I left the house carrying has fallen away. Somewhere between the bike, the hill, the temple, and the view, I’ve forgotten why I came here in the first place.
Nicole Hamner, 137 TESS
I bring my clothes to the new laundromat every Saturday morning. This place has kind of saved my life. The universe, God, or my village has shown me the suffering of hand washing clothes and rewarded me with a weekend routine that now brings me so much joy. Because it’s within biking distance I only pay for washing before returning home with my backpack full of soggy clothes that I can then hang up behind my house. It’s totally reasonable for me to pay for drying, but this way I justify two more coffees in the week. Every volunteer’s got their priorities, right?
After two weeks of this new routine, and yes I was there on opening day, the owner never asked about drying my clothes again. I think we're both aware that I’m not her target audience and my request to abstain from using the drying machine is a bit absurd. But she’s still excited to chat with me and all of my broken-Thai glory. Each time we part ways with “We will meet again next week”. She giggles as I clumsily get on my bike with an overstuffed bag and I smile to myself every time I get to learn something new about her. More relaxation time for me and a friendly face makes the laundromat my favorite spot at site.
