Today I visited a temple (not)

Bags aplenty in Talad Phlu

Cart-dining, subdued at night

A gift-wrappng shop

Temple in Talad Phlu

Want a travelogue-style account of life in Thailand?

Most blogs written by foreigners in Thailand fall into that category.

I need only glance at the sidebar of a typical blog to tell me how me about the author’s experience of the place.

If the author posts links to the local English-language papers, and other helpful ‘resources’ for the foreigner finding his way around, I know he’s still painfully new.

As the blog author spends longer here, his stuff becomes more esoteric. He develops his own interests.

I seldom provide travelogue accounts of anything. I write about common, everyday stuff, like a walk to the market with the boyfriend. 

The Thai stuff is almost incidental. I can write like that, because I've been here a while.

Streetside in Talad Phlu...want a travelogue?

Readers appear to enjoy such stories, as they can ‘relate’, to use the jargon. The other day, this blog had 900 unique visitors. So why is everyone so quiet?

Until recently, posts about life with the boyfriend (the most popular ones) attracted an average of eight to 10 responses each. Now, hardly anyone comments. What happened?

My lengthy battle with Anon the Shrink might have put readers off commenting.

I am also happier with the boyfriend these days, which might have put some readers off.

If I wrote more about my problems with him, readers might be more inclined to comment. Readers like to offer advice. And I don’t mind getting it, as long as it’s polite.

Most good stories have a start, middle and ending. This one has a start and a middle. I can't provide the ending, as that's up to you. So, what about it?

Ticking-off over breakfast

‘When will you eat that beef dish?’ asked Maiyuu.

He pointed at a dish we bought at the market yesterday. It is full of bones, and has no meat. It is also laced with chili.

‘I don’t like the look of it,’ I said over breakfast.

‘Well, you insisted we buy it...it cost B30!’ he said.

This is a good illustration of why, as I was saying yesterday, I should leave the food buying to Maiyuu. He knows when he is getting quality. This dumb foreigner doesn’t.

‘You farang always go for dishes you think look attractive. You don’t look at them carefully,’ he said.

’I don’t know how they have the nerve to sell it. There’s no meat on those bones, and it is stringy and sinewy,’I said.

‘Some Thais like to suck the bones,’ he said, passing me a dish of dried fish.

‘Here, eat this. Fish is good for your brain,’ he said. ‘You can do with the help.'

Flirtatious watch, market spend-up, cute car dreams

Maiyuu and I bought food at the market...enough for two days, he assures me.

The market is about 10 minutes’ walk from home and opens twice a week. Stall-holders set up on a large piece of vacant land next to a dormitory.

Maiyuu walks in front, as the space between the rows of stalls is narrow. I call out when I see something which appeals. Tonight it was fish.

Maiyuu turned up his nose at most of my choices. ‘It doesn’t look tasty enough,’ he said. Or: ‘Not fresh enough.’

I trust his judgement, as Thais know their food.

One vendor was selling minced chicken, cooked in red curry powder. Yum. I about to call out when I felt Maiyuu’s firm arm on mine, pulling me away.

‘That’s enough! We'll have no space left in the fridge.’

-
‘We should buy a small car,’ Maiyuu announced, as we were trudging towards the market.

A cute red Mini passed us, but they are expensive, so we considered other makes.

‘A Proton from Malaysia – they are cute too,’ said Maiyuu.

Cuteness rather than reliability is the crucial factor for us – though I would add another condition, that Maiyuu also learns how to drive.

‘Of course I’ll take lessons – how else will we get around?’ he asked, as if I was stupid.

‘What about your teeth?’ I asked. We are saving to get his teeth done, so the car might have to wait.

‘We will make saving for the car a project for next year,’ he said.

-
I put on my watch before I went out. Lately I have been feeling frisky. If I see a wristwatch on a man, it tells me he is available.

If I see a young man outdoors without a watch, particularly if he is in the company of someone, I know he is probably settled, and not looking. Why wear a watch, if you have a boyfriend and are not trying to impress?

I rarely put on my watch when I venture into our neighbourhood, unless I am going to work. Tonight I did slip it on, because I am feeling restless and want to meet new people.

The leather strap is fraying at the edges, as is the body wearing it, but with darkness gathering outside, hopefully no one would be able to tell.

I paused. ‘Will the boyfriend notice if I put on my watch?’ I wondered.

Outside, I put my worries to rest. My boyfriend was himself wearing a watch, a smart one with a silver band. Maybe he’s on the prowl too.

Guard perks up, Kew calls in

I thought I'd try talking to the condo's security guards, one on each entrance gate, to see if coordinated action was possible to stop teen racers from the slum getting access to the compound.

‘Both security guards need to work together. If one of you lets the kid through on the bike, the other will have to lift the barrier too,’ I said, appealing to reason.

One of the guards was a new face, so I thought I would let off steam about the young man who lives in the slum section next door, and likes to pass through our condo many times a day, revving his noisy engine.

He usually approaches from the entrance closest to the slum, on the posh Yenakkart side of the condo, but if he's heading back home from the wilds of Klong Toey via Rama III, can also cut back through the condo by using the entrance closest to the main road.

Guards at both ends have asked him not to use our condo as a short cut; he ignores them.

If one security guard raises the traffic barrier blocking access to the road, the other is obliged to follow suit, if only to ensure he leaves the condo precinct.

I suspect the first guard he meets can't be bothered dealing with the problem, so just lifts the barrier to let him in.

The barriers are now fitted with a sign saying, ‘Access forbidden if you don’t live here, as this is a private road.'

Last week a guard in his 60s told me that he lifts the barrier because he is afraid that if he resists, the teenager will round up his mates and come back in the middle of the night to assault him.

The guy I spoke to today was more helpful.

‘We need to get together to discuss how to deal with his lad. He has passed through the place many times already this morning,’ he said.

Next up: a conversation on how he intends to achieve this step.

-
‘I really miss you, na,’ said bad boy Kew.

The other day he called, and we spoke for the first time in many weeks.

Kew’s 25th birthday passed last weekend, but he spent it alone, as no one was around to help him celebrate.

‘I just went to work, and went home to bed,’ he said.

He asked if we could meet again for a few beers.

‘Try me again this weekend,’ I said.

Since my visit to the Thon Buri side of town to visit farang M, I am keen to stretch my wings.

I want to see more of my Thai friends outside work. Since we moved to a condo in town, I have barely ventured out of the area.

‘I miss you – jing jing, pee,’ he said, sounding almost pleading.

If I could reach over the phone to give Kew a hug, I would have done so. I miss Kew, and am touched he still remembers me.

Visit to the 'real' Thailand

Wat Sang Krajai

I went to see a foreigner friend who lives in a remote part of town, near Sang Krajai temple in Issaraphap Rd.

It took me only 45mins to reach it, but then I set off in the middle of the day. My friend, farang M, lives with his Thai girlfriend at a house owned by her boss, a property owner in the Khao San Rd area.

This was my first trip across the river to see any friends in the six months since I moved from the Thon Buri side of town to our new place close to the city centre.

Farang M, 48, who is in poor health, looked little different than the last time I saw him, which is a good thing.

However, his house and garden were in a shabby state. ‘The owner rarely comes to do the garden, and I am not strong enough to handle it myself,’ he complained.

Farang M does not work, so lives on his girlfriend’s meagre earnings as a receptionist. We have known each other for years, since the days when Mum’s shop in Thon Buri, where we used to socialise, was still a busy place.

Back in those days, farang M lived just down the road from Mum’s shop. Since then he has moved, so rarely sees it.

In fact, he seldom gets out at all, as he doesn’t have the money.

'My girlfriend went to see her family in the provinces a while ago and I dropped into that shop for a drink. It was my first time out in five weeks,’ said farang M.

We sat in his overgrown garden, drinking whisky and watching the sun go down. A storm came and went, and I left for home.

The main road outside his place looked dilapidated, as if it was barely holding up against the recession. But the Thais I met were charming.

On my way to farang M’s place, I dropped in to a store to buy a bottle of whisky. The young man serving me asked where I came from.

‘I live in town, but I come here to see a friend,’ I told him. I also chatted briefly to his Mum, who gave me directions.

Later, as I went to fetch a Coke, a young man in another shop held up one finger of one hand, and two fingers from another.

He couldn't, or wouldn't speak English, so sign language had to do. ‘What’s that – 30 baht?’ I asked him.

He laughed and turned to a guy sitting behind a computer. As I left, I saw him tell his friend about our small encounter.

As I waited for a taxi home, I parked myself in front of another shop, where three youngsters in their late teens were chatting. They smiled, and one said hello.

Before moving to our new place, I contemplated looking for a house to rent in this neighbourhood. I decided against, as it is even further away from my office than was my old condo, itself a good 30-minute's bus ride away.

The road is barely wide enough to walk down, and in peak hour is packed. However, the temple is attractive, and the atmosphere lively.

Youngsters gather in hairdresser’s shops or email cafes. Issaraphap Rd is close to several tertiary outlets, so the place has a vibrant ‘demographic’.

Families live in shophouses, which have a basic shop at street level, and sleeping quarters above. When they get home from school, youngsters help Mum and Dad run the shop.

This part of town has a lively provincial feel, in contrast to the safe, middle-class neighbourhood I inhabit at my inner-city condo, where neighbourhood dogs mill about more often than the well-heeled residents.

‘I’ll come back again soon, as this place is fun,’ I told farang M.

His neighbourhood is more like the 'real' Thailand which I came here to experience nine years ago, but which lately appears to have slipped through my grasp.