Gnawing problem (1)

I am about to start another round of visits to the dentist, in the hope of finally getting fixed a tooth after work started on it 18 months ago.

That's right...18 months. We opted for root canal treatment rather than extraction, because I like the idea of keeping my teeth.

If I was Thai, I would have told the dentist to yank the thing out, and saved myself the bother and expense.

'You can pull it out...but if I extract the one on the bottom with the hole, I should also take out its perfectly healthy mate on top,' said my dentist, a wealthy Thai-Chinese man who runs two clinics in the market where I live.

'If you take out one without the other, your mouth will cave in.'

Okay, so maybe 'cave in' is a tad dramatic. I can't remember the exact word he used. It was more than 18 months ago, after all.

Half a dozen visits would be needed, he said. In the end, he was to see me at least 10 times. At the end of most visits, he charged me.

The roots in my tooth were long, and were hard to fish out. It didn't hurt, but it was a long and drawn-out business.

'Patients come in worrying about the price, but I tell them that I charge them just a little at a time, so they won't run short,' he complained one day, after a patient called to cancel an appointment.

He was hovering over my mouth, waiting to poke and probe. I wanted to add: 'I am one of those patients worried about money, and at B1,000 a time it is still too much!'

Needless to say, my Thai partner also worries about the expense.

'Dentists and doctors here are the same. They keep calling people back, for months if necessary, so they can make more money. They prolong the treatment for no reason,'  Maiyuu grumbled

On my last visit, the dentist declared that after months of poking about in my mouth, he had decided against giving me a bridge or a cap after all.

He would fill the tooth with temporary cement instead.

'Don't chew on that side. I will get you to come back every six months to check it,' he said.

Don't chew? That's another six months without use of one side of my mouth!

I should have complained, but I didn't. Less than 12 months later, my tooth is aching again.

Yesterday I made a new appointment to see the same dentist. This time, I will insist he finishes the job.

now, see part 2

Have passport, will travel (2, final)

Next stop, the embassy.

First, though, I needed cash.

I walked to an ATM machine, in an enclosed area outside a bank. A large man pushed in front, and coughed over the keyboard.

From where I stood behind, I could watch him make his transaction. After taking his money, he had more than B850,000 left.

I withdrew my passport fee. After the withdrawal, I had just B1000 left.

I walked back to the condo. Motorcycle taxi drivers have set up shop directly opposite, which annoys me, because another group of motorcycle guys sits not 30m away.

‘You!’ one beckoned.

‘I am going to the other side of the river,’ I said.

That’s too far to go by motorcycle.

A taxi arrived.

I opened the door, and told him the name of the embassy, in Sathorn Rd.

‘Do you know the way?’ he asked.

I could tell from his face that he was from Esan.

Many taxi drivers come from Esan, in the country’s poor Northeast. They move to Bangkok in the hope of making a living as taxi drivers, but do not know the city.

Sathorn is the central business district: everyone knows it, or should, if he wants to drive a taxi for a living. But this one did not.

‘What do you mean, you don’t know it?’ I asked.

‘Er...I drive past it every day, I have just forgotten where it is on Sathorn Rd,’ he said.

I didn’t believe him, but took a seat.

Five minutes into the journey, he called a friend on his cellphone.

‘How do I find the embassy?’ he asked. ‘It’s on the south end of Sathorn Rd.’

Pause.

‘Oh, you’re in Korat?’

That’s hours from Bangkok. How did he expect his friend to remember?

The driver himself had barely left home: sleepy Thai country music, Esan style, drifted from his car radio.

‘I will tell you where to go,’ I said, interrupting. I have seen it often enough, over the years, though this was my first visit.

When we found it, he pulled up in front.

I gave him B100, and told him to hurry. A security guard was approaching. Embassies take security seriously, and do not like taxis loitering about the entrance.

‘I don’t have change,’ said the driver.

‘Let me see...you don’t know your way around Sathorn Rd, and now you don’t have change,’ I said.

The security guard had arrived and was haranguing the driver. ‘Move down to the bus stop,’ he said. ‘You can’t stop here.’

I dug about in my wallet for loose change. I found some, but was still B30 short.

‘Don’t worry if you are short,’ he said.

‘I’m not worried. It is illegal to offer your services as a taxi driver if you don’t have change,’ I said. ‘Next time, don’t bother coming out.’

I gave him the money, and left.

The security guard smiled – something Thais like to do in the face of misfortune.

‘The driver had change...I saw a bunch of B20 baht notes in his change compartment,’ he said. ‘He was trying to cheat you.’

Gaining entry to the embassy was an experience: if anything, security was tighter there than at Bangkok’s new airport, which is tough enough.

I passed two, maybe three metal detectors, and was asked to leave my cellphone at the entrance.

Inside, I waited my turn to speak to the consular staff alongside two well-dressed Thais, and two fellow countrymen.

One, a young woman, had lost her passport. She looked like a backpacker tourist.

The other, a man of retirement age, had come to renew his passport. Unlike me, he was no stranger to the place.

‘This is the eighth passport I have renewed at this embassy,’ he said proudly.

When my number came up, I approached the booth. The Thai consular officer looked at my passport, then asked me for updated photographs.

I handed over the head-and-shoulder shots which I had taken at the shopping mall.

‘You look much more handsome, now,’ said the Thai woman approvingly, as she compared the new me with the bearded, woolly haired young man of the past.

‘I look older,' I said.

‘You are getting better with age,’ she said. ‘Please come back in 10 days.’

I walked to a petrol station nearby to find a taxi. The first one to come along was driven by another man from Esan – more pleasant than the last.

We listened to a news story which said alcohol consumption was now banned at temples.

‘Maybe they are scared that mourners, if they get drunk, will see a ghost,’ I offered.

'Yes...but it ‘s probably just the undertaker,’ said the driver, a man with a sense of humour.

The driver, aged in his 30s, switched to a radio station playing Esan country songs.

One song was about the northeastern province of Surin. The word, Surin, sounds like a Thai word for alcohol. The singer paired them to make a catchy ‘hook’ for his song.

‘He says that when you go to Surin, you have to drink,’ said the driver. ‘But you also have to pay for your own.’

‘I would rather drink at home,’ I said. ‘Why go all the way to Surin?’

My driver gave me 10 baht change. We had such a good time on the way back that I should have let him keep it.

I go back to fetch my passport in two weeks.

Have passport, will travel (1)

The shop which I approached for passport photos

It is time to renew my passport, as the present 10-year one is about to expire. The young man pictured in my passport barely looks like me: he has thick, wavy hair, and a beard.

The present-day me has no hair, and is clean-shaven.

When I was young, I would go days on end without a shave.

‘Your grandfather shaved every day of his life,’ my Nana said once, in a not-so-subtle hint that I should do the same.

If my grandmother was still alive, I could tell her that I now shave daily, and have done so for years. As for the hair, I ask my boyfriend to shave it off every week, because this fiery climate gives me a hot head.

I checked the website of my embassy. All I would need to apply is my passport, two new passport-sized photographs, and B6000.

The website explained how the photographs should look. No smiling, please. Sit square on to the camera – no artistic or gay poses allowed. We need to see the colour of your eyes, so no hiding behind sunglasses. They should also be the right size, 36mm high, and 45mm wide.

Now, where to get them taken? First, I tried Talad Phlu, the market where I live. One shop said ‘Kodak’ in front, so I walked in there. Two large, middle-aged men were seated in the shop, talking.

They looked like they might be in charge. But if the business was open, there were no signs of life. When I walked in, they stared.

‘Do you take passport-size photographs?’ I asked, breaking the silence.

‘Why don’t you go to the Foreign Affairs Ministry?’ one asked.

Maybe he thought I was Thai.

‘I can't go your ministry. I have to go to my embassy to get a passport done. But first I have to visit a photography shop like this one to get a picture taken,’ I said.

‘The photographer is not here,‘ he said finally.

Next, I tried the local shopping mall. I asked at the information desk. They directed me to a shop on the ground floor.

'Can I help you?' A young man approached me.

This store is part of a chain of photography stores. They know about service. As for those middle-aged men in the market, I am not sure what business they think they are running.

‘I would like two passport-sized photographs,’ I said. ‘Do you take them?’

The young man pointed me to the photography studio, off the main part of the shop.

A woman and her two teenage sons sat inside. They had just bought their school uniforms for the school year, which opens this month.

The boys were dressed in casual clothes, but wanted to take pictures of themselves wearing uniform.

I sat outside the studio while the photographer did her work. Casting nervous glances at the foreigner, the boys took off their T-shirts, and put on their school shirts.

Outside the shop, a big ‘back to school’ sale was underway. On the way to the photography shop, I passed stalls selling shirts, blouses, shorts, socks, underwear.

The mother of the two teenage boys paid.

‘Come back in an hour,’ she told them.

Now it was my turn. I explained to the photographer, a woman from Esan, what I wanted.

She sat me down on a stool in front of her camera, and did up my top shirt button.

‘They have asked me not to smile – but if I look too grim, please say so,’ I said.

Half a minute later, it was done.

To fill in my hour, I went for a walk behind the mall, looking for a temple which I had seen on a map.

I looked up a map of where I live on the internet. It told me there was a temple and a school behind the mall, but when I went in search of them, I found something different...apartment blocks belonging to the navy.

I have been in this area for eight years, and never knew I was living cheek by jowl with the navy. Where are all those handsome men in uniform?

I walked back to the shop, took a seat, and waited. Customers who had brought in films to be developed were viewing them on computer screens. From where I sat I could see them, too.

One middle-aged woman brought in holiday pictures. They were taken in a cold place, as the people in them were wearing many layers of clothes.

A younger woman brought in pictures of what looked like boats on a green river. That could be Thailand, I thought. Rivers are supposed to be blue, but here they are putrid black, smelly brown or sickly green.

Finally, my pictures arrived. I looked at the new me.

The middle-aged man in the pictures has no hair, and tight, mean-looking lips. It is not a flattering portrait, but at least the airport people at passport control will recognise me.

now, see part 2

Gay power

What is it with Thai guys and power bills? Or any kind of responsibility, for that matter?

My pay came out on Wednesday, and we had a power bill due. I am usually reminded when the end-of-month due date arrives, as the man from the electricity company comes to turn off our power at the mains.

The bill usually falls due a few days before the end of the month, but until my pay comes out on the last day of the month, we can't pay it.

My boyfriend refuses to arrange the finances around when bills fall due. He will wait until the man cuts off the power before paying that particular bill. Until someone gets anxious about an unpaid bill, why bother?

To be fair to him, the power man usually arrives at our condo on the same day that my pay comes out. Unless the boyfriend is up early to withdraw the money and take it down to the motorcycle taxi men - who deliver it to the power company on our behalf - then we suffer a power cut.

The power man arrives in the morning, when I am still using the computer.

I have been sitting here many times when the screen of my computer goes blank. The fan next to me stops, and the lights go off.

The man switches off our power at the mains switch in the hall, which is by the lift, only 20m away. Sometimes I run out to see if I can catch him.

Once I did, and chastised him for turning off people's power. That day, we had paid the bill, a few hours before. But the news had not reached him yet.

These days he is too quick for me. He wants to avoid another scene with the angry farang, so he runs away.

I rarely see Thais run. He must make an entertaining sight, scampering up or down the stairwell to escape my wrath.

This month, however, the boyfriend had no excuse. He spent Thursday night away from home. When he turned up the next day, he was clutching a wad of cash - money he had withdrawn to pay the power bill.

I urged him to take it down to the market and give to the motorcycle taxi men straight away, so that for once we could escape a power cut.

'He's unlikely to come today - tomorrow's a public holiday,' he said.

'So what - why not pay it?' I asked.

A couple of hours later, I tried again.

'When are you going down to pay the power bill?'

'It's too late now - the power company is closed,' he said.

Yesterday was a public holiday, so again we couldn't pay.

This morning, the inevitable happened, as Maiyuu had not paid the bill. At 10.30, the power man came and turned off our mains. I was in the shower. The light in the bathroom went off, and the music playing on my computer stopped.

The boyfriend grabbed the power bill and the money, and raced out the door. He doesn't like to feel the wrath of the farang either.

Ten minutes later he returned, panting and out of breath.

'I had to use the stairs - the lift is being repaired,' he said.

A small source of satisfaction for the farang, then - Maiyuu won't run anywhere either, if he can help it. And we live nine floors up.

Hard candy

It's the day after pay day, and all is happy in the land. Thai boyfriend Maiyuu has bought Madonna's new album, Hard Candy. He's been waiting weeks for that.

He heard about it before it had been released. Then, after its release, he had to wait a little longer, until he had the money.

The other day I asked him to buy Together, the new album by Grammy artists Peck, Aof and Ice. I am sure we will both enjoy it.

'If you want an album you like personally, then you should pay for it yourself, 'he said.

He was joking, of course. I pay for all albums in this house, whether I like them or not.

'Madonna? 'I asked after he put it on this morning. I was about to tell him that I could live without Madonna, and that if he liked her so much he should find the money to buy her albums himself.

Maiyuu knew what was coming.

'Yes - but I will look for the album Together for you today.'