Well, that was predictable

Small brown ants have invaded my keyboard. I must have been eating food over it. Bits and pieces have fallen into the cracks between the keys, and now the ants are having a feast.

A friend says I should just leave them, as they are cleaning the keyboard for me. But it is disconcerting to hit the keys and find ants running in all directions.

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After prompting, Anonymous (I assume it is the same one, though it could be one of his spawn) - has given me an example of the kind of post I should be writing.

‘Silom Farang just posted a VERY INTERESTING tale about some of the dishonest practices unsuspecting Thai tourists are falling prey to.. so far it has elicited 12 COMMENTS.. not one of which he had to beg for.’

I am delighted to get this response, as I was thinking about this airport corruption saga just the other day.

The story about duty free staff/tourist police entrapping foreign tourists has been well covered at webboards such as thaivisa.com and 2Bangkok.com, not to mention the letters page of the local papers. Overseas newspapers have run it, as have Thai political/news blogs.

Broaden your reading horizons, pal – not all Thai news starts and ends with gay blogs!

Anonymous wants me to cover the same topic that he can read about everywhere else – and in the process, to become yet another farang bleater whingeing about this, that and the other.

No, thanks. If you want to read Farang Tales Inc, then you know where to find them.

The idea of writing a blog should be to offer something different, which readers can’t find elsewhere; or as the blog author, to at least offer my own perspective on Thai life, which no one else is likely to share.

I don’t care about what Anonymous would like to read on this blog, because

(1): He can read it elsewhere.
(2): I don’t want to sound like everyone else.

For the time being, I have switched on the comments moderation feature, so I can weed out Anon’s nastier remarks before they are published here. I am tired of his negativism, so shall now delete him on sight, unless he says something useful.

Gorodish's puzzle

Gorodish, from Diva

The puzzle takes shape

Who can recall New Age guru Serge Gorodish in Jean-Jacques Beineix's arty French film, Diva,  from the early 1980s? It was one of my favourites when I was young, has enjoyed a revival of interest in recent years, and now has a cult following.

Above, he is creating a big blue jigsaw wave, accompanied by his ever-present 

cigarettes. 

In the opening moments of the film, his Vietnamese-French lover Alba tells  young postman Jules, Gorodish's co-lead in the movie, that her boyfriend has entered a phase in his life when he wants to "stop the waves". True enough; he's stopped them, freezing them as an image by way of a jigsaw. 

In this cult thriller, two recordings propel the plot along. At a deeper level, it is supposedly a tale about the interplay of intransigence and permanence, though I am more attracted to the way characters of different ages are portrayed in the film. Some critics believe both male co-leads are feminine; more of that unusual argument below. 

The story is adapted from the novel of the same name by Zen master, writer and poet Daniel Odier. In the story, young opera fan Jules makes a bootleg recording of Cynthia Hawkins, an American soprano who has never allowed her singing to be recorded. Later, as his romantic obsession with her blooms, he steals her gown.

Hawkins, played by real-life diva Wilhelmenia Fernandez

He also comes into possession of a recording incriminating a senior policeman, Jean Saporta, in a trafficking and prostitution ring.

Saporta sends his henchmen  (the "West Indian" and the "Priest", aka L' Antillais and Le Curé) after Jules, who is also pursued by a couple of Taiwanese hoods who want his valuable recording of Hawkins' voice. 

Beleaguered Jules turns to his new friends, Gorodish and Alba, to help get him out of trouble. 

Gorodish does all the thinking on behalf of the kids, as they seem too young and distracted to solve their own problems.

Saporta's hoods: the West Indian, and the Priest

Fast forward for a moment to the racy climax, when Saporta's two henchmen kidnap the young couple and take them to Jules' apartment. 

Here, the witless Saporta meets his come-uppance. Gorodish pulls off this feat, as one of the film critics below notes, without ever laying a hand on him. 

He has previously blackmailed Saporta over the tape linking him to the trafficking and prostitution ring. 

He lured him to an abandoned factory where he hands over cash in exchange for the tape. In this scene, the Taiwanese hoods pursuing the Cynthia Hawkins tape interrupt them and mistakenly seize the prostitution tape. 

They drive off in Gorodish's ancient Citroën Traction Avant, to which Saporta has attached a car bomb. Saporta detonates it, thinking he has killed Gorodish. 

In one of the film's many surprises, the unflustered Gorodish, who seems to have seen all this coming,  drives away in a duplicate version of  his Traction Avant which he has stashed away.

In the climactic scene at Jules' apartment, the two foes meet again, when Gorodish douses the lights and tricks Saporta into stepping into an elevator shaft, sending him to his death.

Previously, after Jules is chased through the Paris Metro and shot, Gorodish saves the young man when he knocks out Le Curé, the bald hood, with self-defence spray, once again without ever having to exert himself physically.

On the romance front, meanwhile, a repentant Jules has returned the gown to Hawkins, and the two embark on a one-night courtship. 

Young Jules treats her with a detached reverence (he holds an umbrella high over her head on their early morning walk through Paris, as if she is some kind of untouchable beauty).

It looks like idol worship rather than the makings of a genuine love affair. I thought their scenes together were sad, as she didn't seem that interested in being courted by someone so young and witless.

When I was young, I fancied I saw myself in Jules - naive, innocent, and a hopeless romantic inclined to think too highly of people.

As I have grown older, I have identified more with the mysterious figure of Serge Gorodish, who is able to call on cunning, hidden resources such as his duplicate Citroën Traction Avant cars and an isolated lighthouse to outfox his foes. 

He deploys both to elude Saporta's henchmen with whom he must deal as a result of his relationship with Alba, who has a habit of bringing problems home to his giant and almost empty industrial loft.

Gorodish, Alba and Jules flee to the safe house

Gorodish sets the tone of their relationship early when he shows Jules how to butter a baguette.

Gorodish at work in the kitchen

'Some people get high on airplane glue, washing powder, complicated things. Me, my satori is this ...zen in the art of buttering bread. There's no more knife, there's no more bread, there's no more butter...there's only a movement which is repeated...a movement...space...emptiness!'  

Gorodish is the experienced elder figure to Jules' naive innocence. Yet who would know that, in critical commentary of the film at least, neither is seen as particularly manly?

Some feminist criticism of the film argues director Jean-Jacques Beineix thwarts viewer expectations by portraying the male leads, Jules and Gorodish, as having feminine characteristics. First, from 'Jean-Jacques Beineix' by Phil Powrie:

He cites Ernece B Kelly's "Diva: High- tech sexual politics", who notes that Gorodish overcomes Saporta's hoods without ever laying a hand on them, displaying feminine-style wiles rather than blokish brute force.

Regardless, they are both man enough for me. For more about the film, see here and here. 

Update: As time passes, I am losing heroes from my youth.  Director Beineix, who could never match the success of Diva again, died on Jan 13, 2022 in Paris. In more sad news, diva Wilhelmenia Wiggins Fernandez, who turned to teaching in her later years, died in Kentucky on Feb 2, 2024.

Your blog comments

Thank you for the response to yesterday’s post inviting more reader comments.

Readers have weighed in with ideas about where this blog has gone wrong lately, and what it’s doing right.

I have responded to almost everyone, in the comments section of the post. Let me put up a few highlights here, positive and negative. They comprise the name of the poster, a quote from what he/she said, and my response:

Anon 2:

--'As to what to write about, I believe that the majority of readers are interested in the daily life of Bangkok. For those of us who live in Farangland nearly EVERYTHING you see and do daily is different and unique to us. When I am in Thailand I feel like I am on a different planet. If you write using a little descriptive style, I believe virtually anything about life in Bkk holds interest.'

You make good points. I have to remind myself that life here is very different from what I could expect should I still be in the West. Sometimes I take it for granted, especially when I spend the day cooped up at home.

As you say, even humble excursions to the doctor can be interesting, if they are written up with a little style - highlighting those little details which point to the differences between life as we would expect it in the West, and what we get here.

Kriz:

'All I can say is that maybe you should get out of the house more often and explore your surroundings and take us along with you.'

I agree. I should.

I still believe that a story about a visit to the doctor (say), well told, is better than yet another humdrum post taking you on a tour of some part of Bangkok.

I am more interested in people, and what makes them tick, than I am in places, and I suspect most readers are the same.

Inbkk:

'I live in Thailand myself, and I like to read about other farang experiences. I see some new interesting blogs sprouting and some others losing steam...I am sorry to say yours is not in the first group...’

I am sure you do. Let me guess: Another cynical tale about Thai bureaucracy at the airport? The hopelessness of Thais in the classroom, as seen by a foreign teacher?

Why do so many foreigners living here just want to hear about other foreigners and their experiences of living in this place?

I would rather hear about Thais, thanks very much - I don't know about you, but that's why I'm here.

Many foreigners who live here are on a tourist visa, endlessly extended. Do they have much commitment to the place? They never know from one 90-day extension to the next how much longer they can stay.

Even those foreigners who work and live here legally are but migrant labourers. We are cut off from Thai life. Most of us get to meet few people of any note.

But if I was to write about those foreigners who stand out here, and have made a success of their lives, would you be interested in their stories, or would you try to take them down a peg (as so many other foreigners do) for having the effrontery to fit in?

Foreigners who 'fit in', or who lived here a while and are happy with their lives, might have less to say. Maybe I have been here too long to contribute anything much more interesting to a blog. Time will tell.

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Please keep the comments coming. Reader reaction shapes what this blog is.

A few readers reckon the blog has become more boring since I moved to my new place. I get out less, and meet fewer Thais.

I looked up my blog tracker to see if readership has declined in the four months since we left. Google Analytics tells me it is steady. It still pulls an average of 900-1000 unique visits a day.

Thank you for your support.

Pork steak, pay day ritual, more blog chatter wanted

Chef Maiyuu's pork steak and pasta, which he made for lunch yesterday. I went out for a run, and came back hungry.

Normally, I would go down to an eatery close to our condo to buy food. Yesterday, I didn't have to, as dear Maiyuu had made steak instead.

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It's pay day, and all is merry in the land.

We've been looking forward to this day, as we do every two weeks. 'We'll be rich again tomorrow,' Maiyuu joked last night.

One of my favourite rituals about pay day is one I am never awake to see. Maiyuu rises at 5am, and goes shopping, to avoid the crowds and traffic.

He stocks up on regular supplies and buy a few goodies as well.

I am asleep when he rises to go shopping. Often, when I rise a couple of hours later, he is still out.

Sometimes he goes out and comes back again several times, especially if he is shopping at different places.

Today he has been out twice so far, to buy grocery items; clothes (underwear for wearing around home, for him and me); and bakery.

This afternoon I want to visit the Carrefour megastore on Pra Ram 4, to get my glasses tightened.
We are likely to go together, so we might do more spending over there.

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Talk to me!

Please allow me to issue another appeal to readers to respond to blog posts.

The last time I issued such an appeal, a few months ago, you honoured me with plenty of feedback.

Readers offered plenty of comment on the blog, and respond to each other's remarks too.

Thai mind-reader, flat heads and big ears, 50 words on my condo

I swear Thais can read minds. When I left the condo to catch a motorcycle down the road to the doctor's clinic, my motorcycle guy knew where I wanted to go.

'Doctor?' he asked.

'Yes. How did you know?' I replied.

'I have taken you before.'

This was not strictly true: the motorcycle guy drops me close to the place, usually on the other side of the highway.

Then I walk across a couple of overhead bridges to reach the clinic.

On the previous occasion, I might have asked him to take me a little closer, but still...

Last time I might have told him I was seeing a doctor, just for something to say. Yesterday I had uttered not a word.

Yet he knew.

At the moment I get a motorcycle guy virtually daily. They drop me close to work, and I walk the rest of the way. Yesterday, how did he know that I wasn't just getting off for the walk to work, as I normally do?

The medical clinic, down a narrow soi inside a slum area, was busy.

The waiting room contained 10 people. In a small examination room off the doctor's office, I saw a woman stretched out with electrodes attached to her chest.

In the waiting room, I passed a curtained-off area where a middle-aged male patient was also on his back, being inspected by the sole doctor in the premises.

I know he was there, because I heard them muttering, and the patient's toes were poking out the curtains.

I told the two nurses that I had accidentally tossed away my fungal rash pills. Then I took a seat.

Seeing how many patients still had to go in before me, I changed my mind, and approached the desk again.

'Do I really need to see the doctor?' I asked.

No. They asked me which pills I wanted, and spooned them into small plastic bags. The bill was B120. I thanked them, and left.

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My post of yesterday complaining about the absent-mindedness of old age appears to have wound up some readers.

Some guys reach their 60s, and still go to the gym regularly. That's great. I run up the ramps of the condo carparking building for exercise. It takes just 15 minutes a day, but is enough, I tell myself, to keep my heart and lungs in good shape.

I don't care about the rest. I go through phases when I look at myself in the mirror and worry about my growing tummy, or the fact that I appear to be growing smaller, fatter, and wider with age.

Thankfully, I appear to be in no-worry phase at the moment. I can't remember the last time I examined myself critically in the mirror. Most of the time, I am trying to escape the heat.

I can't do much about the ageing process, which we all know is unflattering (well, those of us who are not 60 year-old gym-bunnies, that is).

I don't like the flat head, big, hairy-eared look which comes upon many men as they get older, but am pleased to see that it is not confined to foreigners. It happens to Thais, too.

I walk past my middle-aged colleagues at work and think to myself: 'You're a member of the flat-head, big-eared club!'

I walk past younger ones in the office (the youngest foreigners we have are probably in their early 30s), and tell myself: 'And you'll be there soon enough!'

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An Asian literary journal has asked me to write about life in Thailand.

They want to know about Thai life from the point of view of a foreigner, or even a Thai, as long as he writes in English.

I asked them to they give me a topic, as I can't write on spec.

'I can write about the inside of my condo,' I suggested.

What else is there to say, if you've been here too long as I have.

I live with Thais, in this fabulous land called Thailand, but spend most of my time thinking about the life I left behind - and this is on good days!