Keeping the riff-raff out, gay search by Thai cop

Tiring of youngsters on motorbikes and taxis passing through this condo on the way to the main road, the owners of this complex have now erected large metal green doors at one entrance.

After 11pm, they close the doors to stop vehicles getting through, so that residents inside are no longer bothered by the noise, and can sleep in peace.

The security guard abandons his post at that end, and goes to sit at the other entrance, manned by a wooden barrier. He keeps that closed, too.

If residents return after 11pm they must open the doors to let themselves in, which is fine if you are on foot, but less convenient if you have to get out of your car.

Still, it’s better than letting the public in.

During the day, non-residents are also being fined if they want to pass through the condo precinct – 10 baht for motorcycles, 15 baht for cars.

-
Maiyuu met a policeman as he left the condo on foot. He was carrying a tap fitting, which he had just bought at Klong Thom market, when a passing policeman stopped him.

The policeman asked him where he was going. ‘I am walking out to the main road to get a taxi, to see a friend,’ Maiyuu replied.

It was after midnight, and Maiyuu was in a residential area, so perhaps the policeman was suspicious.

Or maybe he just wanted to subject Maiyuu to a gay body search, which Thai police have down to a fine art.

I have seen police search young motorcyclists by the side of the road. They don’t just pat their pockets, or frisk them, but rub, as if trying to get themselves aroused.

‘Lift your shirt,’ the policeman ordered.

Maiyuu did as he was told.

Rub, rub over his chest.

Then he started on his pants.

Feel, feel.

The policeman, whom Maiyuu reckons was drunk, then asked to see his identity card.

Maiyuu handed it over, but still the policeman would not let him go.

‘You should come with me for a urine test,’ said the cop.

‘I am not going anywhere for a test, as I don’t drink and am going about my business. What is it that you want...money?’ asked Maiyuu.

‘I don’t want money,’ said the policeman, who was wearing uniform.

‘So why don’t you let me go?’

The policeman asked to search Maiyuu a second time. He refused, and walked away.

‘Hey...I said stop!’ barked the cop.

‘I am not stopping. If you want to take my ID card, then take it. But I am carrying on,’ said Maiyuu, who left, leaving the policeman standing there with his card.

At home, Maiyuu was angry.

‘He talked about calling a police friend to help him search me,’ he complained.

The encounter left my boyfriend feeling nervous. He peered out the window of our condo, and made several trips down to the forecourt to see if the policeman would come back.

‘The card is just about to expire, so I will make a new one,’ he said.

‘I might also ask the motorcycle taxi guys if they know the policeman, or where he works,’ he said.

Police here are a menace, because some act as if they are a law unto themselves.

Maiyuu has decided against visiting the police station to lodge a complaint, as that could provoke them.

He was needlessly harassed, lost his card, and subjected to a gay body search. But that was minor, by the standards of some Thai police.

Next time he could lose money or worse, so why tempt fate.

Nervous driver/cook, skinny-leg jeans

‘When is the last time you were behind the wheel of a car?’ asked my father, pointing at the family vehicle.

‘More than two years ago,’ I admitted.

The last time was on a previous visit to see my parents. I drove their car on the dirt roads around a large historical park and picnic area close to home, with Dad in the passenger seat.

Dad gets me to try out driving when I am staying with them because it is the only chance I get to exercise whatever remains of my driving skills.

In Thailand, I do not own a car. In the past nine years, I have probably driven a vehicle for no longer than half an hour in total, and always when I am overseas with my parents.

Here, I get about in taxis, or friends take me.

My parents want me to keep up my driving skills, as one day I might return to the West to live. There, I would have to be more independent. In my last life I owned a car and drove regularly.

‘Would you like to have a go?’ he asked.

I climbed in behind the wheel, while Dad took the passenger seat.

I should join a reality show on mastering real-life challenges. The previous night, I tried cooking a meal, again for the first time in more than two years.

It’s not nerve-wracking; it’s just depressing, realising how much I have forgotten, and how lacking in confidence I had become. Once, I cooked regularly.

This time, Mum was my instructor.

Just as Dad is worried about whether I can still recall how to drive, Mum is concerned that in the Land of Smiles, I rarely make food.

In Bangkok, cooked Thai food is available for sale on the streets. I no longer have to provide for my own needs. Apart from that, boyfriend Maiyuu enjoys cooking, so I rarely feel the need to pick up a saucepan or chop up a clove of garlic myself.

‘Let me make dinner tonight. I want to give you a break,' I said.

‘What do you want to make?’ Mum asked.

‘Well...whatever you like, as I might need your help,’ I said.

We made a lamb chop casserole, made from one of Mum’s recipes, which she had inherited from her own mother years before.

She assembled the meat and vegetables on the bench, found the fry pan and saucepans, and lit the gas.

‘When you cut the onions, look out for your eyes,’ said Mum helpfully.

The evening meal was a success, though most of the credit has to go to my mother, who had planned the meal the evening before, and knew we had everything we needed to make it.

‘This is delicious,’ said Mum approvingly.

‘Really, it was all your work,’ I replied.

That was just the warming-up exercise in showing me how much I have forgotten since I left the West for Thailand. Next day, as I say, I was to dust off a few skills outside home, as Dad attempted to show me how to drive.

Behind the wheel, I started the engine, but the gear would not shift from parking mode.

‘How do you get the thing to move?’

‘Put your foot on the brake. It releases the gear,’ he said.

We crawled down the driveway, and on to the road outside, which was deserted.

I drove for 50m, when double lines suddenly appeared on the road.

‘This doesn’t feel good. The lines in the middle make my lane feel too narrow,’ I said.

Dad had asked if I wanted to take the car down the road to fill up with petrol. I decided against, as I might have to share the road with other vehicles. Avoiding other cars might be too hard.

Dad suggested it might be time for him to take over.

He didn’t bother praising my driving, because both of us knew I was no good.

Mum, however, provided words of comfort, as she too feels uncomfortable on the road.

‘When I drive, Dad gets feels just an anxious,’ she said.

‘Will you try cooking when you get back to Bangkok?’

‘I will have to ask the Master of the Kitchen,’ I said, referring to Maiyuu.

Back in Bangkok, I asked Maiyuu if he would let me cook for us occasionally.

I used to enjoy cooking simple evening meals when I lived in the West. I reckon I could get those old feelings back again, I told myself.

In any event, I owe it to myself and my parents to try, right?

‘If you cooked, I’d have to spend all my time cleaning up the mess,’ said Maiyuu.

The next day, I tried again.

‘Can I cook?’ I asked.

‘Unless you are a chef of professional standard, access to the kitchen is forbidden!’ he declared.

I will have to save my enthusiasm for cooking for future visits to my parents.

My visits overseas provide an escape from the narrow, at times suffocating life I live in exciting Bangkok.

I am like a child, learning how to take first steps in the adult world again. My poor parents are having to show me how to do things again which they long ago must have hoped I had mastered, such as chopping up the vegetables.

Despite that, my parents and I enjoy each other’s company more as we get older. We should make the most of the opportunity while we can.

-

The skinny low-rise look

Low-rise jeans which cling to the hips and the legs are popular with the young, including Maiyuu, who turned up at the airport to greet me in a pair.

I can’t see the appeal. On skinny legs, they make men look spindly. On fat legs, they make them look even bigger.

Writing at the popular Pantip webboard, one daring poster is wondering why young men bother.

‘I know these are the fashion, but just how are they supposed to make me look fashionable or trendy?’ he asked.

‘It depends on the wearer,’ readers replied.

Condo gets make over, boyfriend goes bohemian, Mr Graceful says goodbye

I walked into my condo, and barely recognised it.

Boyfriend Maiyuu has taken advantage of my absence over the last 10 days to revamp the place.

Gone are the writing table and bed base in his room. He is now sleeping with the mattress on the floor.

The computer, which used to sit on his desk, is now on the floor. He has even bought a dinky fan to keep himself cool while he is using it.

Maiyuu switches into busy gear when I go away. He appears to relish the freedom which my absence provides. He can go to work on ‘big picture’ stuff, as he can suit himself what he does, and at what pace.

'I can do a much better job at cleaning and decorating when there are no farang around nagging me to clean this and do that,’ he told me on the way back from the airport.

We took a taxi home, but he took a bus out to the airport to greet me, to save money.

Maiyuu has also cleaned the place top to bottom, and hung pictures on the walls.

But the highlight of his welcome home was undoubtedly the changes he made to my room. Maiyuu moved the bed sideways, so it is now parallel to the green-tinted windows rather than at a right angle.

The headboard is now in front of where I used to sit at the computer. My old built-in table has now become an extended headboard, where I have placed framed pictures of my family.

Maiyuu also bought a two-tiered study desk for my computer, which you can see in the picture. Now, when I am working, I can turn to my left and watch him in the sitting room.

Before I had to leave my work station if I wanted to talk to him.

This is the first big shake-up of the furniture and other arrangements in our place since we moved in six months ago, and our condo looks much better for it.

If I want to know how much Maiyuu has missed me, I need only look around at the changes he has made. It’s all there, in the many hours he must have spent cleaning and transforming the place.

-
At the airport, Maiyuu turned up looking fashionably depleted – a faded pair of jeans, cardigan over a T-shirt, and bright green sneakers without socks.

‘You look sir-sir...in a good way, ‘ I said, referring to the Thai word for fashionably bohemian, or rough.

‘Run down and haggard, more like it,’ replied Maiyuu, though his face was beaming.

When I am away Maiyuu rarely looks after himself properly, as it is no fun to eat alone.

‘I make food for myself, but it does not taste as good,’ he told me in a text message while I was away.

-
The graceful one has gone. Silom Farang wants a break from daily
blogging, and has stopped filing regular updates to his blog, Gay Boy Thailand.

The story of Silom’s adventures in the Land of Smiles was pulling in
3,000 or more readers a day by the time he pulled the plug last week.

It was much more than just a picture blog, Thai novel or diary of life with his Thai boyfriend, though it was all of those as well.

It was him; Silom’s ‘voice’ came across clearly in everything he wrote.

He treasured his interaction with readers, perhaps even needed it,
which gave his writing an earnest and vulnerable quality which is
lacking in many other Thai blogs, mine included.

He wrote in a personal manner, like a friend. At times I wondered what Silom might have made of some of my Thai encounters. In the manner of any good friend, he appeared to be there, watching.

By nature, Thais are gentle and self-effacing. The same qualities come across in
Silom's writing, which made his blog better suited to his subject matter than perhaps even he himself realised.

He is Gentleman Silom, and we are fortunate for having known him
through his blog.

Western breakfast send-off, my elephant protector

Chef Maiyuu has made me a Western breakfast – a full-on affair with Paris ham, sausage, eggs, fried chips drizzled in farm honey, wholesome looking bread...

He cycled to the market this morning to buy the ingredients. Normally we eat Thai, but as I am about to go away...

Maiyuu cooks me farang food on my last days here so that while I am away, I think of Thailand.

I know...perverse.

I am going overseas to see my parents, which I do every year. On our last night, my parents and I eat Thai at a local restaurant. We eat Thai so that when I go back, I think of the country of my birth.

Yes, as I say...odd.

The last time I was there, I stole a look inside the kitchen of the farang-owned Thai restaurant we visited on our last night.

I saw a young farang man standing before a large pot. He was holding up a Thai cook book, for instructions on what to do next.

The chicken curry which came out was laced with coconut milk. I think they even added banana, to make it more 'exotic'.

Occasionally we visit Thai-owned restaurants. My parents urge me to speak in Thai to staff, but I try to avoid it, as I don’t know how good their Thai will be.

-
As a thank-you gift for my parents, Maiyuu has bought a carving in leather of an elephant, gilded in gold. Next, he will get it framed.

It took him days to find anything he liked. ‘I went to Suam Lum night bazaar. It has changed so much...I saw many more clothes sellers, though fewer tourists. But I did find the leather elephant there.'

My parents don’t want too much Thai clutter on their walls, as it reminds them of the country which took their son away.

But the elephant, hand-carved on leather, does look uniquely Thai.

If they have not yet tired of telling newcomers that their eldest son is lost to the wilds of Thailand, then they can point to the elephant and say: ‘He’s probably riding around on one of those.’

Postscript: This blog is taking a two-week break. While I am away, the moderating bar will be in place, to keep out spam. I promise to take it down as soon as I return.

Lonely boyfriends, Thai family in spares

Maiyuu's tuile desert...the boat-shaped part is plain tuile, and the sail-like wafer slice sticking out the top is tuile made with thin slivers of almond.

-

I am going overseas to see my family this month. Maiyuu is looking for a present for my parents. ‘People your parents’ age are so hard to buy for,’ he complained. ‘They must have everything they want by now.’

Maiyuu is not looking forward to my departure.

When I am here, he pedals to the market every day to buy food.

‘When you go, I won’t have to go any more. I will be alone in the condo, and missing you.’

‘I will call, and send many text messages,’ I said.

-
Two days off from work lie ahead. What to do with them?

Maybe I should do something young and energetic, like going to see friends (I still have some of them, don’t I? Let me check).

I live in a big, exciting city after all. But I doubt I can be bothered.

At midday we will watch Mamma Mia on television. That should kill a couple of hours.

-
I hate the internet in the mornings.

About 9am, when I like to post, my internet service is intermittent at best, presumably because everyone is getting into work and switching on their computers.

Bugger them...they should just wait. Can’t they see an artist is at work?

-
‘Mama...Do this. Ma...Do that.’

That’s my Thai-Chinese student, Bass. I teach him English.

We meet at his family’s shophouse for lessons.

One day I walked in to buy something. A young man jumped to his feet to serve me, speaking in English.

This was unusual. Most Thais I meet are too shy, or gave up on the language years ago. But here was a young man who enjoys learning, and was keen to talk.

I asked him simple questions in English, to test his skills. He understood everything, and replied promptly and politely.

‘Would you like to teach English conversation to Bass?’ asked Mum, who was listening.

And so we began. We meet most days in the afternoons for English lessons.

Mum likes to watch us talk, but Bass would rather she do jobs about the home.

‘Ma...fetch more paper, please. And a pen?

‘Ma, please answer the phone.

‘Mama, a customer needs serving.’

Mum does as she is told.

Middle-class Thai parents indulge their offspring. But their kids are also expected to pull their weight, at school if not at home.

It is school-holiday time. Bass, who is 15, helps his mother in the shop, but spends most of his days playing computer games, and talking to his girlfriend (‘No, she's just a friend,’ Mum insisted, when I let the dreaded ''girlfriend'' word slip).

He spends hours a day talking to the girl, whom he met on the internet.

Mum lets him get away with it, because it’s part of the deal she has made with her son to keep him on the right path.

She can tolerate his self-indulgent behaviour at home, as long as he works during the school term. Where girlfriends or other potential sources of academic disruption are concerned, Bass must keep his sights set low.

‘He is too young for girlfriends...still a baby. He must finish school, go to university and get a job before he can think about such things,’ said Mum.

‘That’s a long way off yet,’ I reminded her. 'I don't think of him as a baby.'

Bass's comprehension of English excellent. His Mum, by contrast, has none.

Bass, who ahs an elder brother at university, attends an all-boys state school; but before that, he studied at private single-sex school where most instruction is in English.

His academic record is excellent.

After school, he takes extra tuition classes. Every Monday, he takes military training.

Mum, Dad, and their two sons might do something as a family - go the shops, play sport - once a week. But for the rest of the time, it’s work, work, work.

My student's rigorous academic regime reminds me of the one I myself suffered at secondary school. But that was in the West, at a private school which charged high fees.

Mum and Dad could probably afford to give him more freedom and independence without risk of spoiling the goods.

While I am teaching, Mum brings me fruit, Chinese tea, home-made chrysanthemum juice, and other treats.

If I started issuing orders to Mum too, would she jump just like she does for her son?