Boxer boys on the river

I went to see a Thai friend, Chai, who lived in a rented wooden house on the banks of the Chao Phraya river. He made his home in the middle of a slum community, but turned it into his own magical place.

The house had everything: polished timber floors, an open-plan sitting room, lush indoor garden, modern kitchen, and private jetty on the river.

The ferry used to stop at the pier right next to his place, but gaining access to the place by foot was awkward.

It took me 20 minutes to find it. However, the people living in the heart of the slum knew the house, so were able to help with directions.

I went with a woman friend. We fumbled our way through narrow alleyways leading to the river. Once clear of the slum area picked our way across abandoned property, past ramshackle homes on stilts.

Eventually we found his place, close to what looked like an old palace, an enormous wooden structure with ornate windows which friends tell me is defence property. Chai's place was in semi-darkness.

When we arrived we found three or four young men sitting outside playing guitar. When Chai opened the door to greet us, he invited the boys inside, too.

Even at that hour, the river was busy. Together we sat at a dining table on the jetty, watching boats go by. The boys and I sang Thai and western tunes, as the illuminated cables of Pram Ram 8 bridge shimmered in the distance.

Chai wanted me to write a tourist magazine with him, which he would give away to tourists in Khao San Rd.

'If you help me, I will do good things for you. I know many important people,' he said.

If that's the Thai way of doing business, it doesn't interest me. In fact, Chai's talk of calling up favours and exploiting 'connections' immediately put me off.

I turned my attention to the young men he had invited to join us.

Aged in their early 20s, the boys were simple, easy-going kids who loved their sport, beer and music. They didn't talk about young women, but I imagine they did not have much exposure to them. Perhaps they were too poor to interest women.

The boys wore football T-shirts and boxer shorts.

Space was tight. When the boy sitting closest to the river wanted to get back to the house, he simply crawled underneath the table.

He appeared to be wearing nothing under his boxer shorts, but obviously felt relaxed in our company, so did not care.

'I think he likes you,' said my foreigner woman friend.

I have not seen those boys again, nor that airy riverside house. Chai went to the islands to work, and leased the place to visiting foreigners. By the time he returned 18 months later, they had ruined the place.