Showing off the tail feathers

A woman I do not know insisted on being my escort to the river on Loy Krathong night, to float a small candle-lit banana boat.

Normally I go with Mum, owner of my small drinking haunt on the Thon Buri side.

This year, however, she had no one to mind the shop. She suggested that I go with a kathoey (ladyboy) friend instead.

I asked kathoey Kaow, who was drinking at a table nearby, if she cared to float a boat. She agreed.

I went off to buy the krathong. A woman in her mid-30s was selling them from a little table on the street corner. Members of her family were helping her sell.

'Who are you taking?' the trader asked.

'A friend,' I said.

Undeterred, the woman grabbed my arm and told me that we should go together instead.

'My name's Boop.'

She put her arm through mine, and propelled me down the street.

She set a terrific pace walking. For a small woman, she could certainly move fast.

We whizzed past a dozen people selling krathong...round krathong, square ones, beautiful and ornate. The density of footpath traders increased as we approached the river.

People had lit candles down there, which cast an eerie glow on the walls of sandbags erected as a barrier against floods.

It has been weeks since the heavy rains, but the water in the river is still high, and choppy.

A hundred Thais milled around, some in fancy dress which looked like cosplay costume.

Krathong makers were busy discounting their krathong, as the hour approached midnight. 'Twenty baht,' they called out.

I scaled the sandbag barrier first, and turned back to help Boop.

Couples set their lit krathong into river. They stood looked hesitant, as if they were afraid the choppy water would suck them in.

An older woman on the riverbank was selling krathong. Boop, who knew her, introduced us.

'This is my elder sister,' said Boop.

'It was nice of you to buy your krathong somewhere else,' the older one teased.

We lit the candle of the krathong.

I hopped down onto a concrete landing by the edge of the water, where I set the thing afloat.

Five metres out, an enterprising boat owner was doing a lively trade taking couples into the river to watch the floats bobbing away.

Teenagers from the local temple had waded into the water too, to gather up the floats for resale.

I didn't see any revellers leave coins on their floats for good luck this year - perhaps because they knew the boys would just pocket it.

Nearby, women were selling birds in cages, and tadpoles and turtles in plastic buckets.

A few revellers bought them, and took them down to the river to release them. This is a form of making merit (doing good), for which Thais hope to be rewarded.

Boop asked me if I wanted to set free a turtle. I declined.

On our way back - another journey conducted at high speed - Boop gave me her home number.

'Don't forget to call - we can be friends,' she said, puffing.

Back at the shop, I gave Mum a report of what had happened.

Boop, Mum told me, lives in a nearby soi.

'Don't go messing around with them,' she advised.

Boop's son came to the shop to buy a drink. He noticed me inspecting him, and looked unimpressed.

Back at the shop, I apologised to Kaow, and explained why I did not wait. 'She grabbed my arm, and off we went,' I said.

Kaow agreed the encounter was odd.

'I looked up and saw the two of you, butts wagging away, speeding off down the street,' she said.

An hour or two later, as the crowds thinned, the krathong makers packed up their belongings for another year.

Three or four pretty young gays arrived in a taxi, possibly from the Khao San Rd area.

The boys were in their early 20s. They took a table in front of the shop, where they ordered food.

Seated on the left, a boy with Esan looks, tanned skin and manicured eyebrows perched himself on a stool, like a bird showing off his rich plumage. He locked his gaze on mine.

On the right, a tall boy with striking Chinese looks sat quietly. Meanwhile, facing me, a cute little thing sat with a perky, chipmunk-like smile. The boys looked tired: Mr Chipmunk Smile had dark rings under his eyes, and I felt sorry for him.

Mr Esan, meanwhile, continued to stare. He knows what farang like. He crossed his legs provocatively, and arched his back, so I could see down the back of his trousers to glimpse his underwear.

I watched all this activity from Mum's shop, where I was talking to her husband and a couple of regulars about how old we were all getting. I tried to concentrate, but it was hard.

If Mum had been here alone, I thought ruefully, she would have let me join the boys...but with her husband there as well, I did not dare. All I could do was hope to walk past the boys for a better look.

So I did. I didn't want to talk to Mr Esan...he can find plenty of farang admirers elsewhere, because foreigners like that kind of thing. I approached Mr Chipmunk Smile instead.

'It might be time for bed - you have rings under your eyes!' I said playfully.

He squealed, laughed, and agreed.