You not like? Offer a few thoughts, then

Writing under the courageous 'anonymous' monicker, a reader leaves the following response to yesterday's piece on the foreigner-owned gay cafe in Silom:

'It seems you have moved from a location with at least a bit of reality to one which is nearly entirely back in the foreigner/tourist/sexpat ghetto.'

I must admit, that's not quite the response I was expecting. I thought readers might chip in with something along the lines of the following:

'I know of another gay farang who owns a cafe/bar/restaurant in Thailand...his experience was suchandsuch...'

I do not intend filing reports on the gay haunts in central Bangkok, as I won't visit them regularly. I have only just moved in to my condo, and am still getting to know the neighbourhood.

My friend farang C and I almost didn't end up in the gay-foreigner tourist area at all.

I wanted to take a look at leafy Lang Suan nearby, which has coffee shops and bars patronised more heavily by Thais than foreigners.

However, at the time farang C and I went in search of a place to relax, Lang Suan's bars weren't yet open.

But why should I apologise anyway?

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My thoughts on the gay cafe I mentioned yesterday?

I like the idea of providing for my Thai boyfriend, but would not consider opening a business here, as too many potential problems arise.

Neither of us are social butterflies, yet to be a good host of a cafe or restaurant, especially a small, intimate place, demands a high level of people skills.

These are people who come to eat at your place but who you may never see again. Why open your life to a perfect stranger? It feels too invasive to me.

Cafe owner farang J and his Thai boyfriend P run the place together.

Farang J provides jobs for his boyfriend's family as well, including his parents. They cook, and help run the business while he is away.

Farang J's family in his native Europe did not approve of his relationship with Mr P, so perhaps farang J enjoys the relative warmth he gets from family in Bangkok.

Yet I am sure there were times when he felt like a guest in his own home and business, with family members and their hangers-on coming and going constantly.

It would be an unusual experience, and he was an interesting man to meet.

It's all UK to me; the farang cafe provider

Farang C was horrified at the size of his phone bill: B5,000. 'I must cut down on calls to my family in the United Kingdom,' he said.

We went to the Central Department store yesterday, so he could pay his bill.

He pays by the month. I pay on a top-up basis, B100 a time, which means I never have enough money to make expensive overseas calls.

On his behalf, I asked the sales staff what farang C should do to save money on overseas calls. Should he be on a different pay plan?

A girl behind the counter pulled out a form which gave the calling rates for various countries.

We looked up ‘UK’ on the list. For good measure, the saleswoman also told me how much calls to the Ukraine cost (more than B20 a minute).

Eh? Maybe she thought they were both the same thing.

I wanted to know about the UK, and the Ukraine starts with the same two letters. No wonder she was confused.

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The Central Department store was too far away for boyfriend Maiyuu and me to visit regularly when we lived in Thon Buri.

From our new place, however, it is just a five-minute taxi ride away. We are also close to Tops supermarket.

At Central, I went past a Starbucks coffee shop, which brought back memories...Maiyuu used to take me there to relax after we finished shopping. If I could turn back time, I'd love to eavesdrop on that nine-year-old conversation ...I wonder if we sounded much different than we do now.

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On the way home, farang C and I stopped at a small gay-owned cafe/restaurant in Silom.

The owner is a gay farang. His Thai boyfriend Mr P is the host, and greets guests as they arrive.

Two gay serving staff were also there. We met them briefly, along with the boyfriend’s parents, who help cook.

Mr P has two teen brothers who appeared to regard the eatery as a second home; they walked in and out of the place, and an internet shop next door, most of the night.

It looks like a family affair, though without farang J's large pockets, none of it would exist.

Farang J and his boyfriend Mr P met seven years ago at the pool of the Babylon Hotel.

Back then, farang J visited Bangkok on his holidays. He was in the pool one day when Mr P grabbed him for a laugh.

Was it love at first sight? Who knows. Maybe they grew on each other.

Farang J invited Mr P to Europe. They married in a civil union, and lived there together for seven years, where Mr P learnt his excellent English.

Recently, farang J quit his job in Europe, and the couple returned to Thailand to live.

Now in Bangkok, he has opened his own business. The cafe where we were sitting has been open two months.

He relies mainly on word of mouth, though he has also left leaflets about his gay cafe at his old stamping ground, the Babylon Hotel, and other places where gay tourists stay.

Most customers are gay, though he would like to expand his customer base to include straights as well.

‘We have four regular customers now,’ Mr P told me proudly.

We sat on a small terrace next to the street, watching the evening traffic.

The two lads who serve tables stood stood behind a glass door at the front, watching us.

If I chatted to one, the other would shoot me a look to see if I was showing too much interest. Then he would go back to preening himself.

‘He needs to find a boyfriend badly,’ I told farang J.

How do you tell your gay waiting staff to stop flirting with customers? Maybe you can’t.

Farang J says running the cafe is more fun than his old job, working for a multi-national company.

Despite the huge financial investment in this place – the cafe alone must have cost a couple of million baht – farang J still lives here on a tourist visa.

'One day, I would like to upgrade to an investor’s visa, which gives me superior residency rights,' he said.

For that, however, his business must bring in a healthy income every month, and that is some way off yet.

'When you married P, did you expect you would have to marry into his Thai family as well?’ I asked him, referring to his parents' presence at the shop, and his teen brothers passing in and out.

‘No,’ farang J admitted, while pointing out it also has its positive side: the boyfriend and his family have contacts here, and can help him get things done.

Farang J cannot speak much Thai, so relies on the boyfriend and his family to help him communicate.

His plans do not stop at a mere cafe. He is also turning the building, a converted five-storey shophouse, into short-stay accommodation. Farang J will live with his boyfriend on the top level.

I wish him luck. Another half dozen customers, including a middle-aged farang man and a young Thai guy, turned up to dine at the cafe while we were there.

Furniture man

Scene from Talad Phlu, circa 2020

Boyfriend Maiyuu has found someone who wants to buy our furniture.

He is meeting the guy at our old condo in Talad Phlu this morning.

Talad Phlu, circa 2020

The second-hand furniture trader, who has offered us B6,000 for everything - including a glass dining room table, double wardrobe, computer desk, and reclining leather chair - will turn up with a team of workers. They will dismantle the furniture, and take it away.

Maiyuu is happy with the price, though still feels a little exploited. The glass dining table alone cost more than B6,000, the price we are now being offered for everything.

He will use the money to pay the final power and phone bills at our old place. I have not asked him what he intends to do with the rest; as a reward for his efforts, he can keep it.

He has also asked the condo office how much of our B10,000 deposit we can expect to get back. They have asked us to wait a bit longer: they will ask the condo painter and builder to inspect the place first, to see how much repairs will cost.

The Tha Phra intersection; the mall is off to the right, Talad Phlu to the left

Our humble condo (circled)

We occupied our place for almost nine years. On thing I won't miss is the route 205 bus, a 45-minute journey on a good day which I took to work and back.

The Talad Phlu-Klong Toey bus

Bedroom oasis, crooked taxis, broken footpaths

Maiyuu's new mattress arrived yesterday. It's for the single bed in his room. Later, he went out to buy a fitted sheet, and pillows.

The cost was B2,000. It was all-cotton, so more expensive than some of the other brands, but not as expensive as some of the imported sets - up to B7,000 for a small size.
No wonder Thais like sleeping on the floor!

After work last night, I joined him in his room to inspect his purchases. His bed set is grey. As well as a fitted sheet, he has cases for his tube pillow (a long sausage-shaped thing), and an ordinary pillow. They go with the grey/brown theme he is establishing for his room.

Maiyuu doesn't like me snooping about his room, so to be invited in there was a treat.

I sleep in a double room - designed for a couple, with its own twin wardrobe - while he lives in the spare room, or child's room as he puts it.

Even in the confines of that small space, he has made his bedroom look attractive: he has put up lights, paper mache masks, and colourful boxes which once contained bottles of after-shave, to decorate the place.

My bedroom, by contrast, looks like a typical male environment - plain and unadorned, because I don't know how to make my living surroundings look appealing.

The most I can do is make the room functional, and keep it looking tidy. Maiyuu can make a room practical and aesthetically appealing - even striking to the eye - at the same time.

'I will do up your room soon,' he promised, when I mentioned how lacklustre it looked.

It was close to bedtime, and we were tired.

'This must be the first time you have slept on a real bed for ages,' I told him, as we sat on his mattress.

'Half my life,' he announced.

What? Maiyuu is 30.

At our last place, Maiyuu slept on a fold-up mattress, spread on the floor. It was uncomfortable, but he never showed interest in sleeping on a mattress with its own base. I urged him repeatedly to buy a 'real' bed, but he declined.

'This will do,' he said.

Then he said something else which surprised me.

'This is the first time in my life that I had my own room to sleep in.'

Maiyuu has an elder sister. Maybe when he was growing up, Mum, Dad, his sister and Maiyuu slept in the same room; communal living is common for Thais. Or maybe he shared with his sister.

I reflected on this words, and how happy they made me feel.

I am sad that Maiyuu has had to wait this long to get his own bedroom, which he can close off to the world when he wants time to himself, or time away from me.

However, I am delighted that the day when he gets his own personal space has finally arrived.
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I have been walking to work this week. I don track shoes for a 15-minute trek which takes me from my condo in suburbia, over a railway line, and down the slummy side of a highway.

I carry my work shoes in a bag. When I get to work, I change from the jogging shoes into work shoes.

Track shoes, I have discovered, are better for negotiating the uneven, potted sidewalks in Bangkok. My ankles stay in one piece, as do the soles of my shoes.

I bought my leather work shoes only recently. The sole of one shoe is already split, thanks to the poor state of the sidewalks.

If I step into a hole accidentally, or fail to negotiate a tree stump sprouting from the footpath, I could lose everything.

Last night, I left my jogging shoes at work by mistake. I realised I had forgotten them as soon as I arrived home, and took a taxi back.

The old guy at the wheel didn't appear to know Bangkok; I had to direct him every step of the way.

On the way back, he went down two side-streets by mistake. Idiot! We are in the centre of town. How can you not know it?

Ten minutes later, we arrived outside my condo.

I gave him a B100 note. The fare came to B70.

'I have no change,' he said.

Nonsense. I wanted to complain, but I saw a tall foreigner standing outside the taxi, waiting to get in. A woman in her 20s, she emerged from the condo opposite.

I hopped out, and held open the door for her, as she leant in and told the taxi driver where to go.

'Pee, krub...' she said.

Don't bother being polite, I thought, Within a few minutes, this old man will take your B100, just as he did mine, and again claim he has no change.

I held open the door until she hopped in, and closed it for her. She didn't glance at me, still less offer thanks for my gentlemanly conduct.

'These days, young foreigners have no manners,' I complained to Maiyuu later.

'Don't help them, then,' he said.

'And next time a taxi tries to exploit you, call me, and I'll come down with change.'

Putting pride first

First, the computer at home was working; now it's not.

We spent two hours in the stifling heat getting the internet connected yesterday, after waiting for the man from the telephone company to arrive, then a technician from the condo to tweak something else.

I used the computer for half an hour before it was time to go to work.

Today, the internet connection appears to be working, but the screen refuses to light up. I am undecided whether to call someone in to look for it, and lug the hard-drive to a computer repair shop at Pantip Plaza.

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On the slummy side of my condo, I dropped in to a laundry business. A young woman there told me that she services many tenants from my condo. In fact, her boss, the laundry's owner, started her business there.

Back then, she had four staff, and worked from her unit at the condo, picking up laundry around town which she washes, irons, and then returns.

Now, the business has grown so big that it employs 40 staff, and had to move to new premises - the shophouse where we talked that day on the slum side of the condo.

At my condo, some tenants have bought their own washing machine, but many have not, so send out their washing to be done elsewhere. The laundry charges a bit over B10 a piece, which is reasonable.

Not 10 metres from her shop is a bank of coin-operated washing machines. I don't know who owns them, but anyone can use them, and I have noticed Thais who live on that street taking their clothes in a washing basket there to be washed.

Which to choose?

At my old condo, the office provided four coin-operated washing machines in the carpark. At my new place, the office provides no such service, so owners (or tenants, in our case) are left to their own devices.

I am an independent type. I am not used to sending out washing to be done by a stranger, as it all seems too personal to me. If I could, I'd rather carry on doing it myself.

A large vacant lot separates the condo from the slummy side. Stray dogs and slum dwellers roam there...people who live in flimsy wooden dwellings with tin roofs.

I would like to lug my basket of clothes across the vacant lot, and wash it using the coin-operated machines which the Thais use, but am worried about it would look too down-market.

The Thais might look at me in a bad way: another farang drifter with no money! Any foreigner residents who spotted me carrying my washing basket would think the same thing.

Boyfriend Maiyuu says the coin-slot washing machines are probably dirty, and wants me to use the pick up and delivery laundry service instead. I might be independent, but I also have my pride. If I carried my washing basket around in public, then everyone would get to see my dirty clothes, not just the women at the laundry service.

I will probably give up my do-it-yourself quest, and do as he suggests.

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Maiyuu has bought a mattress for his bed, which will be delivered today. For the last few years, he has slept on a flimsy padded mattress which folds up.

I had never seen the things before I came here, but they are a common sight in Thai mattress stores, for those who lack a bed base or want to sleep close to the floor.

I feared Maiyuu would carry on sleeping rough at the new condo too, but thankfully not.

At the new place, he has a wooden bed base in his room; back at the old condo, which was unfurnished, he did not bother buying a bed base or mattress, so he slept on that wretched padded thing instead.