Bay leaf Dad

My Thai parttner Maiyuu sent me down to the market to buy fresh produce.

Going to the market is always a challenge. Last time I was there, I accidentally told a woman trader that I was a father to two children.

Now, it was time to do battle again.

Last night Maiyuu asked for B1,500 to pay for ingredients for the meal, which he will cook for me, himself, and loyal reader Ian, who is visiting Bangkok. He went to a 24-hour supermarket to buy supplies while I slept.

Today, Maiyuu asked me to get from the market two other items: mince meat, and bay leaves.

He scribbled down what he wanted on a piece of paper. I usually hand this over to the women traders, who sell meat, green produce, and groceries from benches in what was once a thriving, covered fresh market.

More than 250 years ago, the market where I live was a favourite dwelling place of Chinese.

That was back in the times when the Thai capital was in Thon Buri. Later, the Chinese community made Sampeng their main base, and Muslims took their place.

Together with Chinese who stayed behind, they farmed betel trees on the banks of a large canal which runs through the market.

Today, no betel trees remain. I can't even find any betel chewers - the old folk you see around town with black teeth.

However, some Chinese trader families remain. Today, they share the large selling space in the market with men selling talismans and Buddha amulets; beggars, and dogs.

The beggars and dogs like to sleep on the unoccupied benches. When I walked in, one beggar was fully stretched out on a bench, asleep.

Today I thought I would be a grown up, and order Maiyuu's supplies without handing over the note. I found the stall selling green produce, and pulled it out.

I read the word for bay leaves...then stopped.

Maiyuu had written the number 5, and a Thai character which could stand for baht...or could stand for the Thai word for leaf, as they both start with the same letter.

Thais abbreviate everything. Which word did he mean?

Bay leaves - five of them,' I ordered hesitantly.

The woman trader looked at me oddly, and pulled out a large bunch of bay leaves.

'How can you order five?' she asked.

I meekly handed over the note.

'Five baht, not five leaves!' she exclaimed.

The man standing next to her laughed. Silly farang.

Where do I order meat?' I asked. My self-confidence had just taken a dive. I was back in the silly language land I occupy where I raise two children, even though I do not.

'Over there,' she said - and for good measure, called out to the woman at the meat stand that the farang wanted mince meat.

For the pork mince order, the same Thai character appeared, next to the number 30. Ah: that must mean 30 baht's worth. It could hardly mean anything else.

I ordered, and the woman put it in a bag. No mistakes, this time.

It's so much easier in a 7-11. You just walk in, pick what you want, and hand over change. In a fresh market, you have to do awkward things like read out notes, and talk to people.

I took my bags of mince meat and bay leaves down to the pier, where I put them in a prominent spot next to me, as I sat on a bench seat watching the long-tailed boats go by.

I wanted Thais to see that this farang is a clever one. He can order vegetables and meat from the fresh market!

And today, he managed to do it without adding to his already large family.

Did anyone notice? Probably not.