The tooth fairy

Today is payday, when the boyfriend likes to get up early to go shopping. He rises at 5am to visit a supermarket, and stock up on household supplies which have steadily depleted over the last two weeks since my salary last came out.

It is always fun to see what he brings back. Today, I get a bottle of body cream, and a handful of toothbrushes. In this hot climate, I use the body cream often, to keep me smelling good.

As for the toothbrushes, I get through them at a furious pace, as I brush my teeth too much.

‘You get holes in your teeth because you brush them too hard,’ says the boyfriend, who rarely brushes his at all.

‘You also visit the dentist when it is not necessary. See – my mouth is full of holes,’ he says, opening it for my inspection.

He exaggerates, but he does have a few holes, because he refuses to visit the dentist to regularly to get work done.

‘One day, you will need to go, and I will be faced with a huge dental bill,’ I said.

I visit a dentist in the market where I live. The dentist, a Thai-Chinese man in his 50s, runs two clinics here, which suggests he is busy.

In this market, some Thais, at least, go to see him regularly.

As the farang in this relationship, it falls to me to be the worrier and planner. Today, I worry about the boyfriend's teeth, and wonder why he won't go to see the dentist.

Dental care kit for the elderly in Talad Phlu

I am waiting for someone to invent a Thai-boy wand, which I can wave at the boyfriend when I want him to do something. Then I can stop fretting.

‘If that ever happens, I will get them all pulled and put in perfect false ones instead,’ he said.

My boyfriend believes this is the solution to his dental problems – yank the lot out and start again.

‘I will have perfect teeth, like an actor, while you will be stuck with your old ones, which still cause you trouble,’ he said.

‘I would still rather keep my real ones,’ I said.

My boyfriend makes a sucking noise with his teeth, which helps alleviate pain in those teeth which have holes. I have urged him to visit the dentist, but he will not go.

He puts up with toothache, because he does not want to waste money. I admire the sacrifice he makes on behalf of our relationship, though I suspect he would avoid the dentist even if he lived alone.

My boyfriend is lucky – has has one of those magnificent smiles for which Thais are well-known.

‘Thais are famous overseas for their bright smiles,’ I tell my young students, when I teach them English.

They look at me passively.

‘But to keep them looking bright, you should visit a dentist.’

Actually, I don’t say the last part. My dentist makes enough money as it is, without me helping his business.

It's because I don't like giving him money unnecessarily that I want my boyfriend to go. Prevention is better than cure, ongoing maintenance better than big repair jobs.

Now, if I can just work out how to do it...

Noisy paradise

It’s 7.30 in the morning, and my familiar sources of noise aggravation have started for the day.

Below, along the railway line, roosters are crowing, or whatever it is that those birds do. The sun is up, but these birds are so stupid, they keep making noise.

The passenger trains have also started. The driver keeps his hand on the horn as the train approaches the station, which lies just beyond my place. That’s intended to warn monks and school children walking along the railway tracks that a train is coming.

The locomotives are old and noisy. According to a report in the papers this month, the nation’s stock of passenger trains is in a poor state – aged, poorly maintained and inclined to break down.

The local station

Occasionally they run out of puff before they reach the station, and come to a stop in the middle of the tracks. The driver revs the engine, trying to get it moving again. The folk who live along the railway line come out to watch.

If it was a car, they would give it a push, Thais being helpful types. But the train, which has three or four carriages, is too big. So they just look at it.

Eventually, the driver gets it going again, and the school children and traders who travel on it breath a sigh of relief.

Meanwhile, back in the condo, life is stirring. Across the hallway, the Chinese man with two wives has fled for the day, but his mother and two wives are trying to dress his two young offspring. The baby is compliant, and screams only occasionally. The first-born screams whenever he can, as an attention-getting device.

The boy does not like being dressed, so kicks up a ruckus. The Chinese family knows he does this every morning, as regular as clockwork (or as predictable as those birds cackling), but they leave the door of their place open anyway, so we can all hear.

It opens into the hallway which we share, and which the boy regards as his personal play space. His screams echo down the hallway, and wake up tenants.

Well, they wake me up. I haven’t conducted a poll. But as they are the only young family on the floor of this condo, their presence must have been noticed by other tenants. Thais, however, are less inclined to complain than foreigners, so the Chinese get away with it.

I am reading a dictionary of ‘new’ Thai words, published by the Royal Institute, keepers of the nation’s language. Most of the new loan words which make it into that dictionary are Chinese, or English in origin.

Each word is illustrated with an example in Thai. In one, two Chinese enter a bus, talking obliviously at the top of their voices, annoying the Thai passengers.

Even among Thais, Chinese are known for being noisy. Reading that cheered my spirits.

Postscript: Now they are arguing. The granny is getting stuck into one of Mr China's two wives (he has one child by each). They are going hammer and tongs at each other in Chinese. Of course, their door is open. I have put on the Eagles, turned up loud, to compete.

Pressure points (2, final)

'Politicians should try to create things, not just destroy them,' she added, surveying the quiet streets outside her little shop.

''We can worry about these things later, once the economy is right again,' she added.

Tuean, who also teaches massage, is popular. Other masseuses sit idle even as she has customers waiting.

‘You have a large lump of tension on the right side of your neck,’ she said said approvingly. ‘You must come back regularly.’

‘Once every two weeks?’ I asked.

‘No, once a week – every fortnight won’t help,’ she said.

Teuan knows how to drum up business. That’s just as well, as I saw few signs of economic activity as I walked to the shop. I passed small shops selling food, one or two engineering shops, temples and schools. Hardly anyone was on the streets, and this was a weekday.

‘My name is not Robert,’ I added, just to observe her reaction.

Teuan looked surprised.

‘The mor nuat (masseuse) who saw you last time told me that you were called Robert,’ she said.

I gave her the correct name.

‘Everyone thought you were Robert, but you weren’t at all,’ she said. She still looked serious.

I assured her that I was not troubled. In fact, I thought it was funny.

As I left the shop 10 minutes later, Tuean was chatting to another mor nuat, when I heard her refer to me again as 'Robert'. It was almost as if we never had the conversation earlier in which I gave her my correct name.

When I heard that, I felt sorry for poor Jakrapob. The communication barriers between us may be too big to surmount, especially in times of economic hardship such as these, when we are fully occupied just trying to make ends meet.

I was Robert, and Robert shall remain, until the Thais around me have a chance to consider the alternatives. Anything else is just too hard.

Pressure points (1)

‘Do you think we will have another coup?’asked my masseuse, called Tuean.

At this massage shop, about 15 minutes’walk from my place, I am known as Robert.

That name has stuck since my first visit a few weeks ago. It is not real name, but my last masseuse must have misheard me.

She passed it on to other female and kathoey masseuses at the shop, so ‘Robert’ I became.

Tuean was bearing down on my back. She had just asked me what I do for a living, which in an indirect way sparked a discussion about politics.

‘The economy would go down again. Thais would not stand for it,’ I said.

Tuean agreed. ‘My family is hurting so much at the moment. At this massage shop, customers have fallen away, because they are saving money. The cost of living keeps going up, but politicians can’t stop attacking each other,’ she complained.

‘Politicians like to tear everything apart,’ I said.

Police want to charge a man who served as PM’s Office Minister with lese majeste, for a speech he gave about Thai politics and patronage.

A busy-body investigator at Bang Mod police station in Bangkok was the first to lay a complaint about Jakrapob Penkair’s speech.

The opposition Democrat party saw their chance. Claiming his speech was a veiled attack on the monarchy, they seized on the issue as an opportunity to appear at one with the people, and attack the government at the same time.

Jakrapob, whose speech to the Foreign Correspondents’ Club was conducted in English, has now quit his post. The charge carries a potentially lengthy jail term of up to 15 years.

A lively side-debate opened about what he really meant to say. Jakrapob’s English is not perfect, but the average policeman has even less idea.

At least three translations into Thai have been sought by police as they assemble a case against the MP. They can’t rely on what the meaning might be in English- the language in which the speech was given – but insist on translating it into Thai. Only then will they know what he really intended to say.

Tuean and I decided that Jakrapob deserved sympathy, not necessarily because of what he said, but the way the system appeared to be victimising him for having the courage to say it.

now, see part 2

Conversations with a taxi

I hopped in a taxi.

I sat in the front, as I normally do when I travel by taxi. I can respond more quickly if I think the driver is about to mow someone down.

'Stop!' I will say.

I might even grab the driver by the knee to drive home my point - regardless of how good he looks.

The other night when I sat in front, my taxi driver wasted no time in putting his hand on my knee instead, where it rested for most of the journey.

'You like lady?' he asked.

He pulled out a brochure advertising the services of a massage parlour. Pretty girls were on the front.

'They have everything - girls, boys, ladyboys...'

He looked at me.

'You like girls...?' he sounded doubtful.

'I have someone already,' I said.

The hand stayed in place on my knee.

I returned the brochure. The driver switched to talking about his sex life instead.

'I am single,' he said. 'Women are hard work.'

He was once married to a woman, he said, with whom he had one child. He made her pregnant, and her family forced him to marry her. He still supports both mother and child, even though they now live apart.

His cellphone rang, and he answered. He spoke in the kind of silly, cutesy talk which some men reserve for the women in their lives.

'Who was that?' I asked when the call finished. 'That sounded like a girlfriend. I thought you were single.'

'I am. That was just my kik [close friend on the side].'

'If you are not married, then how can you call her a 'kik' - there's no one else,' I said, confused.

'True, but she doesn't qualify as a girlfriend. She sells her body for sex. I pay her, too,' he said. 'We've known each other for years.'

The next night, I hopped in another taxi.

It was an old one. The driver was old, too.

My Thai partner, who was not present, is good at telling from the street the old-model taxis from the new ones.

The new ones are wide inside, with plenty of legroom and good seating. The old ones have tiny seats which are hard to move.

I can't tell which one I have flagged down until I open the door; by then it's too late.

I hopped in the front.

Most Thais get in the back, even when they are in a group.

Drivers keep the front passenger seat pulled to the front as far as possible, so passengers in the back have more leg room.

When I get in, I have to push the seat back again.

If I get in and cannot move the seat back easily, I get cross, and swear.

The driver seldom realises I am swearing. I am just talking farang-speak.

After I hopped in, I found I could not move the seat back, because it was broken.

'No way,' I said.

I hopped straight out again, and slammed the door shut.

The taxi drove away empty.

I refuse to ride in a taxi with a broken seat. Cars in that state should not be allowed on the road.