Where heroes are made

Bangkok Yai canal, which runs through Talad Phlu 

'Can't you just polish the old ones?' the boyfriend asked the optician hopefully.
She shook her head. No, you can't.

He tried again.

'Can't you just put the new lens in the old frames?'

'No - I want new frames,' I said.

Maiyuu and I visited an optician at the local shopping mall yesterday. I need a new pair of prescription glasses. He was determined to part with as little of my money as possible.
Of course he asked the questions in jest. However, if they had replied 'Yes', I might have had an argument on my hands.

For someone who has good eyesight like Maiyuu, all this fuss over glasses is hard to understand. I buy a new pair every 12-18 months.

I chose a new pair of frames, with his help. Actually, he went straight to the cabinet where the cheapest frames are kept, chose one for me, and pronounced they would look 'perfect'.

Actually, they do not look too bad, if a little on the trendy side.

'I am too old to wear these,' I said.

'They will make you look younger - and they are cheap,' he said approvingly.

We did try on a few others, but settled for the pair he liked which will set us back the least.

The young woman serving us enjoyed our exchange: the farang urging the Thai to spend a little more on his eyes, the Thai keeping his purse strings closed.

They also tested my eyes. My eyesight has grown worse in my right eye, as I suspected.

My new eyeware, with a new pair of lens, will set us back B7,300, which is not so bad really.

Maiyuu put down a B4,000 deposit. 'You can find the other B3,000,' he said.

I talked him down from that lofty position by agreeing to buy him a present at the local bookshop - two cooking books, worth B600.

-

Long-tailed boats bring tourists with their bikes to canalside eateries

I met bad boy Kew at the riverside eatery for a drink.

He wanted to meet in Pin Khlao, where he could pluck my guitar moodily on the banks of the Chao Phraya River, but we decided the local eatery by the canal running through Talad Phlu would be easier.

He turned up shortly after 2pm, the first time we had met in four or five months. The last time I saw him, I brought along a straight friend of mine, farang C.

At his request, Kew took us that day to a forlorn part of town where men pick up girls off the street.

Yesterday, Kew was in a subdued mood. His mother had bought a desktop computer, and then a laptop computer, for the use of his younger sister, who is still at school.

'My sister wanted the laptop so she could show off to her friends,' Kew complained.

Kew knows he is his Mum's favourite, but is having trouble communicating with her. He says she should have saved for a rainy day the money she spent on the laptop. Kew's parents left each other years ago, and his mother is not well off.

My young friend is close to his younger sister, who shines academically - or did, before she became hooked on her friends.

'She told me to butt out of her business. I cried,' he said.

Kew's former girlfriend is also causing him problems. She is 18, and has made herself pregnant with a man she befriended in the provinces. Kew worries about her, as he fears she is too young to raise the child herself.

'I tell her to stop smoking and drinking, so the child has a chance of being born normal,' he said.

I felt sorry for my friend, who came close to tears a few times as he told me the sad stories of his life.

Kew, a security guard, works for a local car firm. He can look after his own needs financially and is even managing to save money, he says, so life is not all bad.

While we were drinking, a fight broke out at a nearby table. A small man in his 50s started shouting at a woman. I don't know what the fight was about. Kew could see more of what was happening from where he sat.

'If I intervene, will I get thumped?' he asked.

'Don't do anything - just sit,' I urged.

However, we were both on our feet a few seconds later when the man pulled out a paper cutter. The sound of the blade sliding out of its metal sheath is unmistakable.

One of the women at the table was trying to restrain him.

I was the first to arrive. 'That's enough,' I told him firmly.

Kew did much more. He put himself between the man with the blade and his female target, and threatened to take the knife off him.

The little man with the fiery temper agreed to put his cutter away. The woman he was scolding fled the restaurant, and life returned to normal.

I was proud of Kew. On his feet, coming to the rescue of a woman, he looked tall and strong.

'You are the hero of this shop today,' I told him after we had returned to our table.

'You're my hero as well.'

Kew and I have known each other since he was 18. He is now 25, looks harder in the face, but is still handsome.

While we were drinking, three long-tailed boats pulled up at the pier outside the eatery - a small restaurant with open sides perched on the banks of the canal - and disgorged their passengers and bikes on to the rickety pier next to us. 

Under the bridge, close to the canalside eatery

They were tourists, who had come on a bicycle ride around the market. Before their ride, they drop into the restaurant for a bite to eat.

I spoke to one of the guides, a tall Thai woman in her early 20s.

'I like girls like that - if I didn't have Maiyuu, I might be with her - she suits my specs,' I announced.

I would like to think it could be true. Who knows.

Kew, for his part, decided he liked the look of one of the Dutch girls in the tour group.

An hour later, as another tour group was getting back on a long-tailed boat by the wooden pier, having finished their ride and their snack, a Thai tour guide chatted to Kew through the open sides of the eatery.

She was on the pier, piling bicycles onto the boat.

After she left, a member of the waiting staff told Kew that the girl had left her phone number.

She must have liked the look of Kew, but was too shy to ask for his phone number herself.

Kew called back, but did not sound interested, as his moods were still flat.

My young friend has depressive tendencies, but I am not sure how to help him feel better.

'Can I kiss your forehead?' I asked. 'It looks sad.'

'No - you're mad,' he said, laughing.

Postscript: Happy New Year to readers.

Khao tom reunion

Farang C went for the Thai option last night, choosing to drink at a humble khao tom shop rather than a trendy, tourist-style place nearby, as he did not want to sit indoors.

In Klong Toey, where we met, I gave him a choice of two places to drink, which I had last visited years before.

One was an indoors eatery which looks like it belongs in the tourist district, with soft lighting and trendy furniture.

The other place, next door, was a khao tom shop whose good name stretches far and wide among Thais, but which to many farang might look too basic.

Without hesitating, Farang C chose the khao tom place, whose owner and family remembered me from last time.

I introduced farang C to the owner, Jay. If we decide against returning to Mum's forlorn hole-in-the-wall in Pin Khlao, the khao tom in Klong Toey might even become our new local.

That should please Jay and her family, as the place was quiet.

Several young men turned up late to order food, probably for their girlfriends. A few couples also dropped in for a meal, but other than that, the place was empty.

I drank whisky, farang C drank beer. About midnight, he left for a girly bar in Silom, and I went home.

-

The Mall Tha Phra, our local mall

Maiyuu and I are visiting the local shopping mall, our first social outing in months.

I want to buy a new pair of prescription glasses, and need Maiyuu on hand to pay the deposit.

First, I shall have an eye test. Maiyuu can sit next to me in the little booth where the optician places lenses over my eyes.

'Can you read the letters on the bottom line, please...'

Last time we did this, about 18 months ago, Maiyuu was surprised at how poor my eyesight had become.

After the eye test, I will seek Maiyuu's help in choosing a pair of frames.

As my eyes get worse every year, so does the bill for new prescription glasses go up. I hope he doesn't mind.

Daddy elephant and the naked ascetic

An elephant walking through Bangkok

A young man escorting a large elephant through town asked me if I would like to buy bananas for him (the elephant) to eat.

'Dad (Ah Pa)...elephant? ' he asked.

This is the first time I have been called Dad.

Many Thais have called me uncle, but an uncle can start his duties at any age.

In real life (outside the blogosphere), I am now an uncle many times over, though I seldom see my nieces and nephews.

I was a little shocked, and shook my head to say no.

Boyfriend Maiyuu says the term does not have to mean Dad. Traders can use it as a term of endearment to refer to customers generally. Still, when I heard it, I felt old.

Before I was Uncle (Lung). Now I am Dad.

Still, it's better than being called Aunty - which, but for the tone, sounds very similar to the word 'Pa' meaning Dad.

-

'Mum's place is dead...where else shall we drink?' I asked my work friend, farang C.

He and I have drunk at Mum's shop half a dozen times. I introduced him to the place one night, to show him that life outside the tourist zone in Silom, where he lives, can be just as rich and colourful.

In Silom, he does battle with mamasans, drunken foreign friends, and bargirls who steal money.

On the Thon Buri side where I live and drink, he can take in the family side of Thai life - Mum and Dad arguing with kids, street dogs, drunken Thais...

I prefer mixing with Thais rather than foreigners, so no surprise if I should have stuck by Mum's place all these years.

But the place is now barely a shop at all. When I see it, I think of Charlie Brown's lemonade stall. Why would you bother, unless you felt sorry for the kids, or were absolutely parched?

'Let's try Klong Toey,' said farang C.

Klong Toey, which is closer to where he lives, contains an odd mix of the super-wealthy and ultra-poor. It is home to mansions and slums alike, separated only by a motorway.

As it happens, I know two places where we can drink on nearby Pra Ram 4, which span both sides of the wealth divide.

One is indoors, and looks like a boutique eatery, similar to the smart joints he frequents in Silom, or in trendy Thong Lor.

It has plenty of golden woodwork, and subdued yellow lighting, but is probably empty most of the time. Few tourists dine in Klong Toey, and most young Thais who want to be seen stick to the central city.

The other is just around the corner - an outdoors khao tom shop which also serves booze.

I haven't been to either in years. Tonight, I shall catch a bus into Klong Toey to meet farang C.

I will take him to these two little shops I know, and ask him how he would like to drink - like a farang tourist, indoors at some wannabe Thong Lor establishment - or at a humble khao tom shop, staffed by youngsters from Esan, who are tired, overworked, and thinking of home.

Which way will he choose?

-

Chee Plueay Jao Leh (ชีเปลือยเจ้าเล่ห์) is a short story in Thai for children about the dangers of entrusting secrets. A merchant is washed ashore after his ship sinks at sea. He has no clothes, and locals assume he is an ascetic. They shower him with gifts and ask for his advice.

The King of the Garudas and King of the Serpents are among his followers. Because he is a nosy, fickle type, he extracts a secret from one, and passes it to the other, in the hope of getting some benefit.

Disclosure of the secret has potentially disastrous results, for the two are lethal foes.

However, when the two kings realise they have been deceived by the naked ascetic, they reconcile, and get their revenge.

Sound interesting? A Thai woman has translated one version of this ancient story into English, and asked me to check her work.

She wants to publish this story and about 50 others related to Buddha's birth in a book for young children.

A mutual friend has asked me to help her. 'My friend wants to make merit...please check her English,' he asked.

I doubt there is a market for such books. At that age, few Thais are interested in English. I am about to finish her story on the naked ascetic. Hopefully, she will then lose interest, or find some more productive way to occupy her time.

Am I being mean?

Apple pies all over

Maiyuu made two apple pies yesterday - a large pie, and a baby one. Today he has made bacon and cheese sandwiches. It is good to see the kitchen back in action, after a quiet few days.

Maiyuu hardly talks these days, which is odd - just cooks, and watches television. Perhaps he can't be bothered conversing any more.

I do most of my talking at work. When I come home, I remind myself I am entering a no-chat environment. Occasionally, a farang work friend calls. Perhaps Maiyuu resents the fact that I talk to the farang much more than I do him.

-

I am ploughing through this blog to correct the English and otherwise tidy it up where needed.

I don't often read my own blog, which sounds strange. Still, it's relatively painless. My memory is so poor these days that I can pull up a post from six months ago and barely recognise it as my own. I am working backwards, and have now made it to early October.

That's a mere two months. Even back then, my posts were too heavy. I don't know how readers tolerated it. You should have sent me a message: 'This is getting boring!'

Bare under the Christmas tree

Christmas in Bangkok

The streets on Christmas night were unusually lively.

Outside my condo, I picked my way over a group of five or six teens, sitting on the footpath chatting.

They looked at me curiously. Other raced around on motorbikes; madness was in the air.

A streetside karaoke bar was full to bursting. Thais do not observe Christmas as such, but have heard that for farang it is an occasion for drinking, so do the same.

I took a taxi to Mum’s hole-in-the-wall shop in Thon Buri in the hope of sitting amid a throng of excited young people, jostling on heaving streets.

Of course I exaggerate, but I thought I might have detected at least a little Christmas spirit in the air.

Wrong! Christmas is a central Bangkok thing, something which tourists celebrate. Out here, it was just another night.

A few customers dropped in to buy cigarettes. No one stopped for a drink. On the sidewalk, Mum’s son played chess with Pao, who works at the eatery next door.

I cleared the counter of used glasses, and emptied an ashtray, as no one else had bothered.

Mum ducked out the back of the shop to make a quick snack of crabsticks and mayonaisse, then rejoined me at the front counter.

Creak, creak! My swivel chair is in need of oil. It's base is wobbling, and it's probably on its last legs. I said nothing, as we do not get too fancy around here.

Mum was her usual cheerful self, if quiet. No one mentioned Christmas, but then I didn't expect anyone out here to exchange season's greetings.

'In a few days, we will shut up shop and take the family truck back to the Northeast to celebrate New Year,' Mum said.

We tucked into her crabsticks. The boys joined us, and Mum's husband helped himself to a few.

'We'll take the dogs in the back of the truck and stay with my mother,' she said.

Farang J, boyfriend to Mum's younger sister, and on a visit from Britain, is already there.

He did not bother stopping in Bangkok when his flight arrived a couple of weeks ago, but took a taxi to Esan straight from the airport.

The truck belongs to him, or rather, he bought it. Mum's husband keeps it in Bangkok to buy supplies for the shop.

Farang J is popular when he visits, because he has money and can help Mum's family pay the bills. They can go out for meals, or maybe hold a family bar-b-que.

This year, however, he has had to tighten his belt like the rest of us. Farang J, a contract painter, has lost his job.

'We won't do much, as no one has any money,' said Mum matter-of-factly.