Thai dinner drama (2, final)

While I waited for loyal reader Ian, I went for a walk. I discovered a shopping area at the back of the mall which I did not know about before.

A long pathway behind the mall took me into a busy housing area resembling a slum, where I dodged youngsters zipping about on their motorbikes. There were no exits, so I just kept walking, looking for the main road.

Finally I made my way out into a large vacant area of land under an overrpass, where young Thais were playing football. By the time I found the road, I had almost walked the whole distance back home again.

I was hungry, but would have to find food elsewhere.

Before leaving home, I ironed one of the shirts in a large pile which the boyfriend had promised to do for me the night before, but did not. After my walk, it was now drenched in sweat.

Back at the mall, I found Ian, who had a head cold. I took him to a shop behind the mall which I had found moments before. It sold chicken on rice.

A fan on the ceiling spun slowly, moving around the hot air in the shop. Staff busied themselves cleaning, as the shop was about to close.

Ian probably wondered why were eating in this rough place rather than at my home.

'He hasn't cooked anything, and the place is a mess,' I said.

My guest was polite. He did not complain.

'I asked myself where I could take you if I couldn't entertain you at home, but around here, other than the mall, there is nothing,' I said.

We went to Mum's shop in Thon Buri instead.

More Real Thailand was on display over there: noisy customers smoking away furiously, wobbly seating too small for Western-size bodies, squat toilets in primitive karaoke shops and eateries where you knock your head on the ceiling if you forget to duck.

'This is the way Thais live. It is a world away from the tourist spots in Silom. I hope you don't mind,' I said.

Ian was diplomatic. Not a word of complaint passed his lips. He pulled out a towel, to mop his face. I bought him some talcum powder from the 7-11 behind Mum's shop to help him cool down.

Mum stopped at our table for a chat.

'How long have you been coming to Thailand?' she asked.

I answered on Ian's behalf.

'Over 20 years.'

'Do you have a Thai girlfriend?'

'No.'

'So what's wrong with Thai women?' she asked.

'The farang prefers men,' I explained.

'Oh...so he's like you?' she asked.

We passed a few hours over there, seated under a large tree on plastic chairs at a flimsy plastic table. The setting was not much, but at least we could enjoy the evening breeze coming off the Chao Phraya River.

'Shall we go back?' asked Ian. He had brought his camera to take a picture of the happy couple.

In a text message, I asked the boyfriend how he was going.

'I am cooking curry and pasta,' he said.

About 11.30pm, I took Ian home. When I opened the door, I found not chaos, but a picture of order and serenity.

Gone were the ugly black rubbish bags, packing boxes and other clutter which had sat in the middle of the condo for months.

Now, there was open space. I could walk around again, without fear of knocking into things.

But for a vase of dead roses which I had forgotten to replace, it looked perfect. The smell of paint thinner hanging in the air had also vanished.

I thanked the boyfriend, who was dressed in ultra-short clingy cotton shorts, and a loose T-shirt. He looked as relaxed and rested as if had just risen from 12 hours sleep.

Ian, bless him, can go with the flow. He's used to Asian ways.

At midnight, we ate what he called the main course. Never mind if it was five hours late...at least it arrived.

The chicken and rice dish which we took at the shop behind the mall was simply the entree, he said.

I asked Maiyuu to talk to our guest. A perfect host, he was charming. He did not join us at the table, but chatted as he watched TV.

At 12.30, I took Ian down to find a taxi.

His parting gift? A magazine containing pictures of Love of Siam actor Mario Maurer. On the front cover, he is taking his shirt off.

A sight for sore eyes, after the maelstrom of the last 12 hours. Thank you, Ian - and may you enjoy the rest of your stay.

Thai dinner drama (1)

The dinner date was for 7pm - not midnight!

I had invited loyal reader Ian, visiting Bangkok from his homeland Australia, to dinner at 7pm.  Boyfriend Maiyuu offered to cook.

An appointment for dinner carries heavier overtones for foreigners than it does for Thais, for whom time is highly flexible arrangement.

For the foreigner, 7pm means just that. We can turn up a little late, but not so it is indecent.

For a Thai, 7pm is just another point where the big hand of the clock stops during the day, or night. No reason to get stressed.

I suggested Ian catch a taxi to the local shopping mall, a landmark in these isolated parts, where I would pick him up. When I left home at 6.50pm, Maiyuu was still in the middle of cleaning.

Chairs were strewn about. Rubbish bags where he had stuffed his clothes were overflowing. No food had been cooked.

Maiyuu rose the day after 12pm. He had promised to tackle a large pile of ironing the night before. He had not started that, but I put it out of my mind.

For days, he had promised to tidy the place, which has looked like a bomb hit it since we started decorating months ago. He hadn't started that, either.

In mid-afternoon, he finally started to tidy. I withdrew for the day, to let him get on with it. I went out for a few hours, to teach English.

When I returned at 6pm, he was cleaning CD covers. Really, I think I would have started on a bigger task, such as clearing the floor of obstacles, particularly as time was now closing in.

'Would you like me to call it off?' I asked.

Boyfriend Maiyuu was angry.

'That's up to you. I don't care. But what makes you say such a thing, when I have already started cleaning?'

'When will you cook?'

'When your friend is here...or do you expect me to start serving the meal as soon as he arrives?' he asked waspishly.

'Well, I thought we could all eat together.'

Boyfriend Maiyuu wanted to do the poor Thai houseboy act...slaving away in conditions of servitude, making a meal for two foreigners, while we sat and enjoyed ourselves.

Our place is not suited to that, as the cooking area is right next to the dining table. Apart from that, I wanted Ian and Maiyuu to get to know each other. He can hardly do that if he has to cook.

I took a shower. When I emerged, the boyfriend had opened a bottle of paint thinner, which he was using to scrub paint stains off the floor. The air was filled with the heavy smell of mineral turpentine.

Things were getting worse, not better. No one can eat in such conditions.

I gave up, and went to meet Ian.

Before I arrived at the mall, I received a text message from the boyfriend.

'So, I take it you're not bringing your friend back now?'

I replied saying I would take Ian to Mum's shop instead, then return later.

now, see part 2

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 still live here. 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.

Scenes from the market

As I mentioned the other day, this blog marks its second anniversary this month. To mark the occasion, I thought I'd open up a little.

These images are taken from Talad Phlu, the fresh market were we live in Thon Buri, starting with the local railway station, perhaps its key feature. Like the gaudy purple?

The market is well known for its traditional Thai dessert shops (see above), and sleepy way of life.

Nearby, locals gather by the overbridge each day to drink coffee, which is brewed in a traditional style.

Handsome Thai-Chinese lads run the coffee shop. Unfortunately, I have none of their pictures to show you.

I have seen these guys gather there for years; I remember their faces, even if we have never met.  For more, try this site.

Under a bridge next to the canal are basketball courts, where local youngsters also kick ball. I head down there often to watch the long-tailed boats whizz by and chat to passersby. Below is a scene from Bangkok Yai canal, which runs along one side of the market, and where betel traders used to gather many years ago.

Gay monks rampant in North (part 2, final)

Phra Payom says that on his travels of the nation's temples, he has found most gay and kathoey monks in the North, though he has no idea why. The South has very few, while other regions contain a mix.

The Northeast has many gay and kathoey monks whose heart is in it, but who have yet to master the graceful body movements, he says.

'They are an eyesore. They want to be gay, but haven't worked out how to do it yet.'

But gay monks are not confined to the young. Some temples have gay monks aged in their 50s and 50s, who have been in the monkhood 10 years or more. If gay monks are caught doing anything naughty, they can be chased out.

'However, they are often clever at arranging flowers, speak nicely to people, and can help senior monks putting on functions, so they end up staying.'

Phra Payom says Thai television soap operas, which often include gay characters, offer role models to Thai youngsters, and might explain the increase in gays and kathoey.

He suggests television stations show social responsibility by airing viewer warnings after raunchy TV soaps have aired, to remind viewers about Buddhist moral precepts, and the importance of doing the right thing.

'Chasing other people's partners and going crazy over sex [as the characters do in soaps] can lead to confusion overs sexual identity,' he says.

He also urges temples to impose tougher screening on young men who want to be monks - even if they end up losing supporters as a result - and more guidance from state cultural watchdogs.