Noise wars

A single guy who likes Korean soap operas lives in the room next to us. I know this, because he wakes me up with them every weekend. They appear to be rented ones, because I can't hear any television commercials. All I can hear is the dubbed soundtrack, of people talking in serious tones.

If it was a Thai soap, we would have sounds of chaos - people tripping over each other, fat guys bellowing at the top of their voices for light comedy relief, sharp-tongued women getting into fierce arguments. If it's a domestic soap,  as opposed to a foreign soap with a Thai soundtrack, I would be able to hear a variety of voices, not just the half dozen or so who appear to do all the dubbing work on soundtracks here.

The soaps which my neighbour likes are mercifully free of such nonsense. They are too focused on the romance of the unfolding drama. That's what sets them apart from Thai soaps, which are not good on adult romance. Thais think it's cuter to have young people in their 20s fawning over their parents in big mansions, talking down to servants, strutting around big offices, and driving smart cars. But romance - I mean kissing, hugging, and all that stuff? God forbid. That's what common people do.

Of course, I exaggerate. Ocassionally, they do kiss in Thai soaps, despite the tendency for culture censors and ratings inspectors to frown on such things during family viewing time. I know when an actress has to plant a kiss on an actor's cheek, because the Thai media will rush to ask her actor boyfriend if he minds. And the actress herself will usually have to get her parents' permission.

On the other side of me lives a family of Thai-Chinese. Actually, family is too precise a word for the loose living arrangement which has taken hold over there, which comprises two women in their early 30s, an old woman, and a ghastly, self-indulgent child with tinkly bells on its feet, aged about two years. They are noisy, too. They rise early, and like to keep open the door of their room, while they talk and argue loudly. If the sound doesn't come through the walls, it comes out the door.

They have a room on one side of me, and another across the hall. I am sure if I moved out of my place, they would take over my room as well. But for as long as we live on the same floor together, we have to respect each other's right to peace and quiet, foreign though that concept is to most Thais, who are not happy unless they are surrounded by noise.

The women used to live alone, and loved to argue. Back then, Maiyuu and I assumed they were lesbians. Directly opposite us, we had another lesbian couple, and they loved to argue, too. Now Maiyuu thinks they are sisters, or perhaps just two women who share the same husband.

A couple of years ago one fell pregnant, and the old woman moved in. Occasionally a guy in his 30s visits. He is solid, with a deadpan, humourless face. I assume he is the father. He and the old woman speak Chinese. The two women speak a mixture of Thai and Chinese.

I complained to the mother months ago about the noise they were making, but it made no difference. I do not believe it is right to raise children in condos, as they make too much noise. But the people who run this condo like money too much, so let anyone move in.

Last week I tired of the racket, so decided to send them a message. When I came home from Mum's shop about 3am, I put on a CD - and turned up the volume loud. I kept the thing on for an hour, occasionally banging with my first on the wall, so they would know it was not accidental. Then I went down to the office the next day to complain.

That day, they were strangely silent. I suspect they were catching up on the sleep they missed. But then yesterday, the noise started again.

About 9am, I was woken by the sound of the mother hollering. She had opened the door of her place, and was talking in loud, angry tones to another woman about some problem in her life. I presented myself in her doorway, but she didn't look up.

'We're trying to sleep!' I said angrily.

She stopped, but did not look at me. Then she carried on her conversation, as if it was normal to have foreigners turning up cussing in your doorway.

'Would you like me to complain to the office again?' I asked.

Again she stopped, but still refused to acknowledge my presence. I returned to our room.

Later the same day, Maiyuu complained to the office, but they told him the Chinese never listen to them, so we would have to fix the problem ourselves.

The old woman appears to do most of the child-rearing, as the mother appears bothered by the idea that she has a son. She never looks happy. I have never seen her smile.

The old woman, who has a tiny frame but a voice as raspy and penetrating as a chainsaw, likes to take the child on little walks, up and down the floor of our condo. They put little bells on its feet so it sounds cute. The child likes to scream - not in pain or displeasure, simply because it likes the sound of its own voice.

About 6pm every day, she takes the child outside to meet other children who live in the condo. There, she has befriended a woman in her 40s who lives with a small dog.

This woman is another oddity. Like many around here, she can speak Chinese. Every day about 6pm, she goes down in the lift carrying a bucket, a small wooden stool and her dog, tucked under one arm. The dog wears a pink bow in its hair.

The woman fills the bucket with water, then stands on the stool to wash the car. She does this every day, presumably for the exercise, because I have never seen her actually using the car. However, like most Thais, she is happy to leave the engine running idle for hours. Maybe the sound is reassuring, or she enjoys the smell of diesel enveloping the carpark.

Maiyuu dislikes the tinkly bells on the child's feet, but is generally impatient when I complain to him about the noise. 'I have told you to wear your earplugs!' he says to me angrily.

Yesterday he was more supportive. 'They are lucky I didn't go in there and complain to them myself,' he said indignantly.

That would have an unusual sight, I thought. Maiyuu will try to avoid confrontation if possible. He knows the Thai-Chinese are more likely to listen to me than they are to another Thai.

In fact, I feel a little sorry for them. If I made a noise in my place, they would be defenceless. Few Thais would ever think of criticising a farang - not to his face, anyway. I can't see them turning up in my doorway to deliver a verbal reprimand. They would just have to put up with it.

As for my neighbour on the other side, he only moved in recently, and we haven't yet had the chance to talk. I feel sorry for him, too. He lives alone, and has only Korean soaps to keep him company. A solitary pair of sandals sits outside his doorway.

Next time I see him I shall ask him innocently if he enjoys watching the soaps with the sound turned up loud  - and hope he gets the message.