Wan Sat Jeen: Messing up my Thai duck offering

Young man in the market

Walking in the market, I came across a man selling whole duck.

His sign said ped palor (เป็ดพะโล้), or stewed duck. He was on one side of the old covered fresh market close to my home. I pass it on my way to a nearby canal.

The duck trader called out to me as I walked past, on my way to the canal to watch the long-tailed boats race by.

'You!' he said.

Thais sitting nearby looked up. They saw that I was a farang, and smiled. A small communications gap, they were thinking.

At home, I asked the boyfriend if he knew ped palor.

'You should go back and buy some - half a duck or a whole duck will do. Just ask for the meat, not the bones,' he said.

I did as I was told.

Six or seven middle-aged Thai women had gathered around the duck traders' stall when I returned. They were waiting for their orders.

He called out again. 'One!' he said, holding up one finger, and looked hopeful.

'No...half,' I said. 'How much?'

He looked at me oddly.

'We don't sell it in halves,' he replied. 'You buy them to pay respect to your ancestors, on wan sat jeen, which falls tomorrow. You offer a whole duck to your ancestors, not a half portion,' he said.

Earlier in the week, I saw half a dozen farmers camped next to the railway line. They brought with them live chickens in cages, for slaughter ahead of wan sat jeen, part of the Festival of Hungry Ghosts.

I am lucky Thais are such a tolerant and understanding bunch. None of the shoppers laughed at the farang who was silly enough to order half a duck, not a whole one - and with the intention of buying it to eat, not offer to his ancestor's ghosts.

Praying to the canal gods

Down at the canal, a group of men in their early 20s was playing football in a fenced court area under the bridge. A few children and their grandparents mingled about. Otherwise it was quiet.

I had been sitting on the pier for about 15 minutes when I heard the sound of laughter overhead. I looked up at the overbridge to my right. One head popped up, like a daisy. Then another, followed by another...

A group of five teens was leaning over a large water mains pipe, which runs along one side of the overbridge, looking down at the canal. They were trying to decide if it looked appealing enough for a swim.

Two minutes later, they had joined me on the rickety pier.

I have seen a warning on the pier about safe passenger loads. The sign has long gone now, but from memory it said 20 adults. So, we were still safe.

'Hello,' said a couple of boys, as they stripped off their shirts, jeans and shorts, which they left in a pile on the benchseat next to me.

The air filled with the scent of under-arm deodorant as they took off their tops, and jumped in.

The young men, who were aged 15 or 16, kept me entertained for the next hour or more. As tourists whizzed by in long-tailed boats, they waved and called out.

One cheeky young man with a tattoo on his chest jumped in alongside the boats, in the hope of sending up a plume of water to douse the tourists.

Tourists laughed and waved. Some female tourists wai-ed the boys.

A few male tourists were holding camcorders, filming activity on the bank of the canal. They managed to hold the camera steady in one hand, while waving with the other.

When Mr Tattoo jumped in, divebomb fashion, they hastily pulled the camera back into the boat to avoid getting wet.

Before entering the water, Mr Tattoo, who acted as the group's ringleader, wai-ed the klong (canal) gods, to keep him safe.

The other boys teased him, but one or two followed his example.

When not jumping off the pier, they stood about me puffing on cigarettes aggressively. They lit one cigarette at a time, which had to go around five boys.

When they were thirsty, the boys went off in a group to get a Pepsi, poured into a plastic bag with ice. They ran off wearing just their boxer shorts...no T-shirts, no flip-flops on their feet.

They did not bring much money. As they were taking off their jeans, one lad lost a 10-baht coin, which set off a mad scramble as his friends tried to grab the coin before it fell through the cracks of the old wooden pier into the water. Plop!

I suspected that might have been this young man's bus fare home, so I gave him 10 baht of my own, while pretending I found it under the benchseat.

The young men wai-ed me in thanks - then raced off to spend the money on cigarettes.

For the ultimate challenge, these young daredevils climbed the steps next to the bridge, and jumped off the water mains pipe down into the canal below.

It must have been much higher up there than it looked from the pier, as they were nervous.

They slid gingerly over the pipe, one at a time, until they were sitting, side by side, along the side of the bridge, waiting for a chance to jump.

If a long-tailed boat was coming, they would have to wait.

However, if they saw a boat coming, they would call out, in the hope of getting the tourists' attention, so they could give them a wave.

One young man, who did not want to jump, stayed on the pier, and called out when the coast was clear.

Before jumping, I saw Mr Tattoo give the river another wai. For goodness sake, man - you went up there to jump, so jump!

Sploosh! He jumped, and the others followed, while being careful to avoid the tangle of overhead power lines which cross the canal at bridge height.

When they clambered back onto the pier, they teased each other about how scared they had been. 'He was shaking,' said Mr Tattoo, about one of his friends.

They pushed each other off the pier in the water, then helped each other back up again. One young man was much bigger than the rest - fat, to speak plainly - and needed help pulling himself back on to the pier. The others gave him a hand.

After more than an hour of play, I heard a few say they were tired. 'I did not bring any dry clothes. When the farang goes, I will get undressed,' said Mr Tattoo.

When I heard that, I left. I didn't want to spoil their fun.

Mr Friendly at the 7-11 (2, final)

Mr Friendly at the 7-11 and I have now broken the ice. We now chat freely about anything - or as freely as we can, with customers entering the 7-11, and me standing in front of the busy counter.

Yesterday when I paid a visit, Mr Friendly, whose name is 'T', reached for the cigarettes. I stopped him, as I had come in for something else.

'Today I would like a card to top up my phone,' I said.

No sooner had I told him what I wanted than his questions began.

'Do you live in that condo just around the corner?' he asked.

T was standing behind the counter next to a young woman, who listened to our conversation.

The staff at this 7-11 are a chatty bunch. Often when I walk in, T is having animated conversations with them.

'I do. Where do you live?' I asked. I thought one personal question deserved another.

'I live in the soi [small street] just around the corner. I left school in the sixth form and am working here for a year to save money. I want to study local government at a university in Bangkok next year,' he said.

'Why don't you ask your parents to support you?' I asked.

'I have three brothers and sisters, all younger. I can't ask them to support me when the others are still studying,' he said.

T, who has pale skin, bright red lips, and a wide smile, is from Chiang Mai. 'I am a northern boy,' he said proudly.

T is attentive to customers, anticipating their wants and needs. He is good at talking to the children who enter the shop. In fact, he is so bubbly that I suspect he is good at chatting to everyone.

'What is your name?' I asked.

He crossed one finger over another to make a 'T' sign.

'T'.

I told him my name in return.

'Why did you come to Bangkok, and how did you end up working here?' I asked him.

'I came with a group of friends. I didn't think I would stay. They have all gone back now. But I want to carry on studying.

'In Bangkok, apart from the staff at the 7-11, I have no friends, no relatives, nobody,' he said.

For a Thai, being alone in a strange city is a big deal. Mr T feels lonely, and talks to people to get over it.

'Do you go out much?' I asked.

'I hardly go out. Most of the time I sit outside the 7-11, talking to the motorcycle-taxi guys, or I play games at the internet shop across the road.

'Apart from that, I like to sleep, as I get tired legs standing in the shop all day,' he said.

I said a hurried goodbye, and left the shop.

You can have too much of a good thing. I don't want T thinking I am being nosy, or to get another attack of the jitters which presumably kept him from chatting to me long before now.

I am twice T's age, and work the wrong hours. When I am free during the day, he is working, and vice-versa. Still, I am sure we will talk again. One day I will ask him to talk to me in the northern dialect.

I knew a young hairdresser once who came from the North. He was gay, and like T, used to miss home. When he called his sister, I liked to listen to him talking in northern dialect, which has an even prettier sing-song lilt than central Thai.

I am not sure if northern boy T stays with anyone, or lives alone. For his sake, I hope he has friends at his place. They could help keep his loneliness at bay, and the misery of a solitary existence far from his home out of his mind.

Mr Friendly at the 7-11 (1)

A young Thai man in the local 7-11 serves me almost every day, when I order cigarettes.

I buy them not for myself, but for the boyfriend.

Sometimes young women serve me. The staff know what kind of cigarettes I buy, so I do not need to mention them by name any more.

'The cool ones,' said the young man yesterday, meaning a menthol brand.

'They are not for me,' I added. I don't want people thinking I smoke when I do not.

A brief conversation followed.

'Do you smoke?' I asked.

He looked embarrassed, as I was asking him a personal question, but quickly recovered his poise.

'No - I am too scared of what could happen!' he said animatedly, pointing to the pictures published on cigarette packets, of various smoking-related cancers.

I don't know the young man's name, but he lives in the area. On his days off, I see him walking about with a young woman.

He has a broad Esan-style face, but pale complexion and bright pink lips, which makes me think he might have Bangkok blood in him after all.

While easily excited (hormones, I suspect), my young 7-11 friend is gripped by bouts of shyness, so I keep a respectful distance.

Today I returned to the 7-11.

'That's a packet a day!' he exclaimed.

'Yes...too much,' I said.

He plucked up the courage to ask me about my life.

'Where are you from?' he asked.

'How long have you lived here?'

'Who asks you to buy the cigarettes?'

I dodged the last question. Just as I don't want people thinking I smoke, I am not keen on them knowing I have a boyfriend either.

The girls know who sends me on these trips to the 7-11. Boyfriend Maiyuu visits the same branch, and orders the same brand of cigarettes for himself when I am not around to buy them for him.

They must have figured out that we live together. Girls just know these things.

I suspect the young man knows I like men too, but I don't care. We can play a cat and mouse game of pretending to chase each other. Some Thai guys like to be admired, even when they are straight.

Next time, I might have to ask him his name. He has started asking me about my life, so why not?

now, see part 2

Tae: Proud activist

'Tae' Sattawat (เต๊ะ-ศตวรรษ เศรษฐกร), taking part in a rally by the anti-government protest group, People's Alliance for Democracy.

Tae has given a lengthy interview to the Manager newspaper, which is owned by a PAD co-founder.

Tae, who divides his time between acting in Thailand and Taiwan, says he has been a fan of PAD for two years.

Initially, he thought politics was not for him: it all seemed too remote from his everyday life.

Then people started doing bad things to the country, and he realised there was actually something in politics, even for the 'teenage generation'.

Teenage? Surely you are not talking about yourself, Tae. Judging by these pictures of you wearing your protest headband, you have seen better days. Let's hope you brush up better when you go back to Taiwan, where you can't join PAD protests - just read about them longingly on the net.

These days, he is proud to be counted among PAD supporters. 'I don't mind telling you that that at my first rally at Chon Buri the other day, it poured with rain. I did not do military training, and I have not been a soldier...even today, I still feel ill.'

Tae says he is just another member of the public when he joins PAD rallies. As an actor he can help raise Thailand's profile abroad, but believes he can still do more. Nothing is as important as coming out to defend and protect the nation, which soldiers do every day - and which, as a PAD protester, he can do, too.

The Manager says tears welled in Tae's eyes as he talked about his love for King and country. He would be prepared to die for the King, he said, and he can't understand Thais who would show disrepect for the Monarch by refusing to stand when the anthem is played in cinemas.

'I would like to meet them. I don't want to do them harm, I just want to ask: Are you Thai? Were you raised on Thai soil? If so, how can you not love our father?'

Tae asks: 'If someone spoke ill of the King, and I went over and hurt that person, would I be doing wrong?

'I am not some bad guy, but it's like someone has just done harm to our father.'

Many Manager readers praise Tae for his views. No surprise there, as many will be PAD supporters themselves. However, one strikes a different note.

'I saw you in the audience at Academy Fantasia concerts. AF is over now, so maybe you are craving attention. Are you sure you are not turning up at PAD rallies just to get more publicity?'

I doubt it. Tae sounds way too intense for that. Does he get enough attention from his parents? He sounds in need of a father's shoulder to cry on.