Generous offers

Visiting the canal, I met a young man who asks me for food money. He sells goods at Klong Thom market during the day, and turns up at the canal in late afternoon.

He was fishing off the rickety pier when I met him yesterday. It had been raining all day. A group of school students in uniform – blue shorts, sweat-soaked white shirts, bare feet - were playing football in a fenced playing area next to the pier.

On the opposite side, the local eatery was doing busy after-work trade.

We exchanged a few words of greeting.

‘I am hungry,’ he said.

‘Where are your friends?’ I asked, as I gave him B25 for a meal.

‘They have gone to the funeral for a friend. He was our age...he was shot while trying to protect a woman,’ he said.

‘Did they catch the guy who did it?’

‘A group of young guys who knew the victim kicked him to death,’ he said matter-of-factly.

The young man lived on the Thon Buri side, as do we all. He thought of going to the cremation, but the rain put him off. No doubt his friends will tell him what happened. The victim died just a few days ago.

-

Ten metres down the road, I stopped outside a place that used to be an internet shop.

The owner, a man in his 50s with white hair, was outside. I stopped to chat.

Two years ago or more, I used to teach English on the footpath outside his shop.

He spread the word at his internet shop. Youngsters who were interested could turn up in the afternoons to get free English lessons.

Classes were open to anyone. A mix of school and university students came, plus a few office and sales workers.

Two afternoons a week, we would pull out a couple of tables and chairs, sit outside the shop and learn English.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked my white-haired Thai friend, whose name I have forgotten. Let’s call him Uncle.

‘I am teaching maths to a couple of students. They live in the area and come here to study with me,’ he said, pouring me a red drink in a bag of ice.

I don't know if he charges them for the service. ‘No one in this area has any money,’ he said sadly.

‘Do your parents send you money from overseas?’ he asked.

‘No...I do not bother them. I work full-time, and make enough to support myself,’ I said.

‘That’s great!' he said, sounding impressed.

Inside his shop, two or three secondary students were sitting at computers.

‘Would you like to teach English again at this shop the way we used to do?’ he asked.

‘I would. I do not have any students at the moment. I miss them,’ I said.

Uncle will ask among students who visit his shop. He has teenage children of his own who might also be interested in joining lessons.

'Do you have any new approaches to teaching?’ he asked, no doubt thinking back to the last time we met for lessons at his shop, which petered out after a few months for lack of interest.

‘Yes...much more conversation, and less book work,’ I said.

That should please the students, if any come. Many Thai teachers focus on grammar because they don't trust themselves to speak the language.

Assuming Uncle can rustle up enough interest, our first lessons will start next week.

Traitor in Thai market (2, final)

For several weeks, I put off the big day when I would make the switch from our regular supplier of Thai food in the market to the other couple down the way.

The food was always there when I returned from work. Why not just take it, swallow my complaints, and carry on as normal?

The do-nothing approach might have worked, if their food improved. But if anything, it was getting worse.

If I switched, I would have to tell this loyal couple that I had decided to take my business somewhere else. Ouch! To add insult to injury, I was proposing to switch to another couple just metres away.

All the traders in the market know each other. If one is busy, sometimes another trader will take payments for him, or give change to customers on his behalf. They settle up at the end of the night.

It would only be a matter of time before these faithful and loyal Thai traders discovered I had decided to buy food elsewhere.

They would probably wonder: Why has he switched? What is wrong with the food we make? Did we not deliver good service all these months?

I asked boyfriend Maiyuu how we might best go about the switch. At first, he wanted me to be the one who told tell them it was over.

Eventually, I brought him around to the idea that as the one who pays their bill every month, he should cancel our arrangement, next time he settles our account.

The other day, Maiyuu went down to talk to them. 'We will stop ordering at night for the time being, but if we change our mind we'll let you know,' he said.

Another night market scene

We will pay their final bill next week.

That left one last problem: How do we order food from the new couple without being seen?

We can't just walk up to them, order, and walk away with three styrofoam boxes. It would look too obvious. Our regular couple would see us and might get hurt.

Maiyuu devised a solution. The same night, Maiyuu asked two gay friends to take a note to the new couple, on which he wrote down an order for three boxes of Thai food. He gave them cash to pay for it.

When they finished making the order, the couple brought it over to our condo and left it with the security guard. They do not know who wrote the note. All they know is that we live at this condo.

Maiyuu did the same the next night. He asked his two gay friends, who live in the area but are not regular visitors to that market, to take to the new couple another hand-written note.

Unfortunately, his gay friends had a dizzy gay moment. By mistake, they took the note to the couple nearby instead - the same ones with whom we had just cancelled our three boxes-a-night arrangement.

They dutifully made the order, then delivered it to the security guard at the condo. Maiyuu asked his friends to get their phone number, which they wrote on top of the box. 

He meant the number for the new couple, with whom we have yet to enter a formal arrangement asking them to make food for us every night.

As he was punching the number into his phone memory yesterday, Maiyuu's phone told him that he already had it. That's when we discovered that the traders who made our order the night before were in fact the regular couple.

I opened the boxes for a look.

'Can you tell the difference? 'Maiyuu asked.

I had one box left over from the night before, which the new couple had made.

'See - the rice which the regular couple uses is like glue...white, with big grains. It is tasteless. The new couple uses much better rice - fine grains, and present it in a different way,' I said.

Maiyuu called his friends and asked them why they took the note to a different couple. Oops! Just as he suspected - they were having a dizzy, distracted gay moment, and took the note to the wrong traders.

'You are lucky you did not call that number,' I said to Maiyuu.

'I wonder if they recognised my hand-writing on that note?' Maiyuu wondered.

I am looking forward to paying the regular couple their final bill, so we can start a arrangement with the new traders, regardless of any hurt feelings we might encounter from the other side.

They may prefer we pay each night in cash, of course, as Maiyuu's gay friends have done for the last two nights on our behalf. That's okay - just as long as we can drop the deception and do it openly, as this subterfuge is exhausting.

Traitor in Thai market (1)

Dining in a Thai restaurant overseas once, my parents asked me if there was such a thing as bad Thai food.

In Australia, the country where I was born, Thai food is popular if you are dining out.

Since I lived there, it has supplanted Chinese and Japanese as the Asian takeaway (or even eat-in) menu of choice.

Why? Thai is cheap, light, and tasty. And you don't have to struggle with chopsticks if you would rather use a knife and fork (or even a spoon and fork combination, if you want to look really Thai).

'Yes,' I said. 'You can buy poorly-made Thai food from street vendors, almost anywhere,' I said. 'But mostly it is well-made, because Thais love their food.'

We were eating at a 'Thai' restaurant in provincial Australia where not one cook in the kitchen was Thai, or even Asian. They were young farang, working from Thai-cuisine cookbooks.

They used local ingredients as a substitute for 'real' Thai ingredients which are hard to find there. The dishes had also been modified - made more bland - to appeal to Western tastes.

I didn't complain. When I visit my parents every year, we go to a Thai restaurant the night before I am due to return to Bangkok. I get to recommend the dishes, which is fun.

For the rest of the time, we eat Western food, which is a welcome change from the all-Thai diet I normally get in the Land of Smiles.

But back to poorly-made Thai food. Even Thais can be lousy cooks of Thai dishes.

For the last few weeks, I have been trying to wean myself off one of them.

Every night after work, I pick up three boxes of Thai food from a husband and wife couple who run a shop under a tattered tarpaulin in the market opposite my condo.

Talad Phlu at night

This same generous couple once offered to lend me money for a taxi when I had run out of cash to get home from work.

They have made food for me every night for at least 18 months. Normally we pay them once a month.

Lately, perhaps because they rush to get my order finished before midnight when my bus arrives, the quality of the food they make has deteriorated.

When I heat it in the microwave the next day, some is so awful I can barely eat it.

They know what I like, and vary the dishes they make for me each night. But when I open the lid of their white styrofoam boxes, some dishes look so off-putting that I toss the lot in the rubbish.

Clearly, this could not go on. The monthly bill comes to B2,500. That's too much if I am not enjoying it, or not even eating some of it.

Twenty metres away from their stall is another Thai couple who make similar dishes, which they sell in similar white boxes.

I had bought from them a few times before, when our regular outlet was closed.

They use superior rice. Their food is also tastier, and the price is the same. So why not switch?

now, see part 2

Step forward, Mr Geography

I was sitting by the canal yesterday when a group of tourists went past in a long-tailed boat.

They saw me sitting on the rickety pier, and came back for another look.

Actually, I suspect they spotted the eatery behind me, and decided they would drop in for a bite to eat.

The eatery has open sides, juts into the canal on wooden stilts, and is so ramshackle that when you tread on floorboards inside, they open at the ends to expose a glimpse of the water beneath.

The tourists asked the man helming the boat to reverse, which he did.

'Welcome to Thailand, man!'

Whaa? That wasn't me. I don't call out greetings to perfect strangers. That hip-sounding greeting came from a Thai man sitting at a table inside the eatery.

He was sitting with a couple of friends, drinking, and was evidently in an internationalist (ie chatting with foreigners) mood.

The tourists, who were Europeans, looked excited. Here, someone who talks English!

They climbed off their boat, filed past me without saying a word, and entered the eatery, where they took a table and tried to order.

The Thai staff in there lack English. I tried not to listen as the tourists struggled with the menu, which is written in Thai.

Mr Thai Internationalist grasped that they wanted Coke. The word in Thai is the same, but with a funny accent.

'Coke!' the chatty Thai called out to the girl serving.

How helpful.

The foreigners started a conversation. This was Mr Chatty's chance to show his Thai friends that he shines at English.

I saw him lean into the conversation at the foreigners' table, the way a dog might snatch a ball from your hand when he knows you're willing to play.

In any conversation with foreigners, knowledge of geography is useful. Thais, of course, are known for their profound grasp of the subject.

'We come from Vienna, Austria - you know it?' asked one swarthy-necked tourist.

'Sydney? Sure, man. What city do you come from?' asked the Thai.

'No...Vienna, Austria,' said the European.

'Perth?' asked the Thai. 'I worked in Perth, man...for a company,' he said.

''No...Austria...not Australia,' said the European.

'Aus-tra-lia,' said Mr Chatty to his Thai friends.

'It's in Europe,' the foreigner volunteered.

The Thais sat their silently.

I gave up listening. Many tourists leave Thailand remarking on the friendliness of its people.

This Thai was amiable , alright - because he wanted to impress his drinking friends.

These tourists were the unfortunate vehicle for his boasting.

Should Thais' keen sense of geography (or ear for simple English) let them down, then they can always fall back on their equally firm grasp of history.

By way of example, take this quote from a recent post [post deleted - it's about politics] with a political theme.

'Salang has likened the PAD's broadcasts to brainwashing, the way Hitler used to brainwash Chinese youth.'

Remember that?

Salang is a former deputy police chief who criticised the protest group, People's Alliance for Democracy, for spreading propaganda - just like Hitler did to the poor Chinese.

Ah, yes, the Chinese. They will remember him well.

I am sure the Europeans took away good memories of their experience in the canalside eatery.

Thais come across to foreigners as charming and innocent. No mystery there, given the conversation above.

So, here's to Australia - or, er Austria!

Growing old together

A couple of readers have asked why Thai boyfriend Maiyuu and I sleep in separate beds. Because we are both crabby old men!

Actually, he would dispute the fact that he is getting irritable in his old age. But my increasing crotchetiness as I get older is the favourite topic of conversation when we are together.

Last night, despairing of anything decent to watch on television, I turned on the radio. The first station I chose plays 'easy listening' music - sappy, bland stuff, the kind which plays in aircraft, to pacify passengers before the plane takes off.

'Are you trying to kill me slowly?' asked Maiyuu, he prefers his music to sound more lively.

'Soon, I won't be able to stand it any longer. I shall have to send you to an old person's home.'

At 1am, a show started on TV which he wanted to watch, so he turned the TV back on.

'I am going to bed,' I announced.

'Of course - old men go to bed in early evening, and wake in time for the bird call,' he said.

Speaking of birds, the chickens who live along the railway line below still cause me grief. As I write, I have turned up music on the computer so I can't hear them squawking.

When I get desperate, I stand on the small veranda outside my room and curse the birds and their ignorant owner.

Yesterday, the sound of a woman screaming started mixing with the chicken noise. I walked out on to the veranda to take a look at the chicken hutch from hell.

The bare-chested owner, a small mean-looking man in his 40s, was in there with his beloved birds, watching a portable television. Honestly, he spends more time in there with them than he does with his wife.

He was watching the protest group People's Alliance for Democracy, who spend their days hectoring the government from the site of their illegal occupation at Government House. A woman was on the stage, screaming abuse.

Get in line, dear. Here on the rustic Thon Buri side of Bangkok, we have more pressing problems to consider - like bothersome chicken noise, which rises and is magnified in what seems like a tunnel effect, all nine floors to my place.

Maiyuu does not approve of my anti-chicken antics. 'Spare some thought for the tenants below who have to listen to you bellowing,' he says.

My boyfriend ribs me mercilessly. 'Try feeling ashamed for the neighbours (น่าจะอายเค้าบ้าง) - think of how they must feel when they hear you carrying on.'

Maiyuu says he has told his Thai friends about how I like bellowing at the chickens. One of his woman friends, Mai, is even closer to their dirty, overcrowded hutch than I am.

'Doesn't Mai mind the noise?' I asked.

'She doesn't pay any attention,' he said. 'Mai and the others laughed when I told them. They asked: ''Do the chickens pay attention?''

'I told them: ''Are you crazy? They are just chickens!'' said Maiyuu.

I wait outside my condo for a bus to work, where another scruffy, skinny-looking chicken lives in an upturned rattan basket. Occasionally the owner lets it out.

It struts about, bobbing its head, eyeing me with its beady chicken eyes. I would like to throttle the bird by its spindly neck, but I am too afraid to touch the thing, in case I catch some awful chicken disease.

I understand the need for chickens to get out and mingle ocasionally, but this is too much. If a chicken walked up to you while you were waiting for a bus in the West, or even in civilised parts of the East, how would you feel?

So, to go back to the original question: why do we not share the same bed?

Because we sleep better in our own beds. We slept together in the early days of our relationship, when we lived in a single room with just the one bed.

Bangkok is too hot for cuddly stuff between the sheets. Besides, Maiyuu reckons I leave old-man's slobber on the pillow.