Foreign matter (part 2, final)

Mum's husband was drinking at the same table. He found the foreigner's aggressive physical antics - the jumping up and down, shouting, excessive wai-ing - upsetting, did not know how to respond. Finally, his patience snapped.

'Thais do not carry on like this when they drink - they sit and talk politely,' he told him in Thai.

'I can't speak Thai,' said farang R. 'But-if-you-speak-very-slowly-I-will-understand.'

I bet that's how he teaches his kids, I thought. Just keep saying it slowly, over and over, and eventually the message sinks in.

A few minutes later, farang R had recovered his courage and was back on his feet again, trying to demonstrate something with his hands. He stuck his arms in the air, and started waving them about.

Mum's husband did not understand, and mistook the foreigner's behaviour for hostility. He sprang up from his seat, but found it hard to get the words out. 'Hey, you...!' he spluttered.

Thankfully, Mum's sister, Isra, was seated with us, and could step in to explain.

Isra, who has a farang boyfriend living in Britain, and loves visiting Khao San Rd when he is not here to keep an eye on her, has better English. Unfortunately, she is besotted with farang, and far from urging him to improve his behaviour, was giving farang R her undivided attention.

I was disgusted with him, and tried to avoid his company, but she was delighted: how could we get it so confused?

The farang complimented her on her youthful appearance, and asked if she could be his girlfriend.

She enjoyed the flattery, and was not at all put off by the noise he was making. Farang R carried on shouting, wheeling about, swearing. The more noise he made, the more intoxicated with his company she became.

It didn't matter how badly he behaved, at least by my standards: he was a farang, so in her eyes his behaviour was exotic, entertaining, different.

Would she have tolerated the same thing from a Thai customer? Of course not. Nor would Mum - who has almost reached my sensible age, and tolerates stupidity in no one, including me.

Farang R devoted most attention to the boys, when he was not talking to Isra, because he could tell that Mum's husband and I were not interested. When Mum's son, Som, turned up, the farang went to shake his hand - then held on and squeezed it so hard that Som seemed close to tears.

I warned farang R against doing it again. 'I do it with all the kids at school, it's nothing,' he said, while admitting he had received complaints about his prank. 'I still do it anyway,' he said.

Eventually, Mum's husband left, leaving the drunken farang, Isra, me and the kids alone. I wanted to go home too, but did not want to leave the boys in the company of this man, even if Isra was happy to entertain him.

'I love learning new things, and always have a book open,' she boasted. Isra, I noticed, had been taking a few drinks herself.

'Mum's drunk,' I heard her son remark.

Finally, the inevitable confrontation arrived. I knew this moment would come - it always does with aggressive foreign drunks. The friendly facade fell away. He turned on me, simply because he could. We speak the same language, after all.

'I don't appreciate the warnings. If you have a problem with me, then I have to tell you, I stand up for my rights,' he said, puffing out his chest.

The best way to solve this problem, I thought, is to address farang R like a child - the same way he had been treating adults and children alike in his company all night.

'Farang R - go home,' I said.

Mum keeps a dog called Lorng. When he gets annoying, we say the same thing: 'Lorng, go home!'

Thankfully, he did. Without another word, farang R stood up, and left.

Isra was disappointed. 'He didn't say goodbye. Thais have better manners,' she said.

She went back to minding the shop - while the two boys, whom I had earnestly (and for no good reason, it seems) tried to protect, hopped on a motorbike and whizzed up the street. Neither was wearing a crash helmet, of course, but in this land of excess and indifference, no one cares.

My emotional empathy for this place can get me into trouble, as it almost did with farang R, who did not appreciate my attempts to moderate his behaviour.

Mum, her husband, her sister, the kids - they have become my family away from home. I want to protect them, but at the same time do not want to interfere.

They have the right to meet foreigners, learn new things about them, and the depths to which they can sink.

It is an unenviable choice. I can let drunken foreigners such as farang R carry on with their offensive, insulting behaviour, with which (in my view) they disgrace themselves and their Thai hosts alike.

Or I can step in on behalf of the Thais - who, confounding my good intentions, may not understand what is happening, and may even be enjoying the foreigner's company.

My first instinct is to give my loyalty to the Thais. If that loyalty lands me in trouble with an aggressive foreigner one day, I might have to call on their help. Then we will see if I was wise to invest so much hope in Thais - and the extent to which we can really cross the cultural and racial divide that separates us.

I live in hope, for what else can I do?