Your legs are great - what about the face?

Even as old men, Thais can possess fantastic legs.

Many of the time I am sitting at my regular drinking hole when I see a handsome pair of legs approach.

I am seated, so the first thing I get to see from an approaching Thai is his legs. I gain my first impression of the man from the area beneath the thighs, stretching down to his toes.

I make my initial assessment from his dress – often, colourful boxer shorts, and casual footwear – as well as the physical state of his limbs. Hairy? Smooth?

Ideally, they must be longish and shapely, and not too hairy, thanks very much. Stocky, drum-stick style legs are out.

After 10 years of examining Thai legs from seating position, I have developed good leg appreciation skills.

Once I have surveyed the legs, my gaze moves upward, particularly if I appreciate what I see below the waist.

Yet even after examining strangers’ legs for as long as I have, Thais can still take me by surprise.

My regular drinking hole, just down the road from my office, is in one of Bangkok’s nastiest industrial areas. Trucks roar up and down, mocking our attempts to appreciate the meaning of life over the stillness of a beer.

The drinking hole is frequented by teens, including the notorious dek waen and dek skoi (teen racers), who speed up and down, three or four perched on each vehicle.

Our establishment is run by the patient K Lai, a woman in her 40s, and her husband, who after early valiant attempts to speak to me in broken English, has now given up.

The young visitors notice me sitting there when they drop in for their Cokes and cigarettes. They give the farang a quick once over.

Many young men strike show-offy poses, as they know I am watching them.

Needless to say, many possess great legs. They are young, after all.

The drinking hole is also frequented by a smattering of hi-sos - several large companies base themselves in the area, because rents are cheap - and solid worker types.

Some of these solid types are taxi drivers, who rattle up and down the main road nearby.

They pick up the odd tourist who has lost his way. Many of the drivers are from the provinces and can barely find their way around, but tell the tourist valiantly that they know the way back to Silom.

Others, more sensibly, stick to servicing the seedy Thai-style karaoke bars and other sinister entertainment spots which litter the back streets.

When trade is quiet, the taxi drivers drop in to Lai's shop for a quick beer, or a chat.

They gather with the motorcycle hire guys behind Lai’s roadside shop, which is perched in front of a large truck yard.

Trailer trucks squeeze in and out of the yard at all hours. As the do so, our beers rattle, our bodies shake.

The other night I was keeping vigil over my beer when I saw a great pair of legs approach.

The owner was wearing colourful mid-length shorts. His legs were tanned, firm, and smooth.

At first his face was hidden by the plethora of snack bags strung up at head level around the serving area.

Finally, I caught a glimpse.

The owner of those shapely legs was not a handsome teen, or even one of the hi-sos who drop in for cigarette supplies on their way to more exotic destinations.

He was a ragged taxi driver in his 50s, his face creased and jowelly. He just happened to possess a terrific, well-preserved pair of legs, most out of keeping with the appearance of his face.

How can the legs have stood up so well to the passing of time, when the face shows every passing moment?

His legs were jarringly misleading.

If I could glimpse at the world as this man viewed it when he was young, would it look much different?

Perhaps his life simply carries on, merging one day into the next.
 

But his legs don't. They stand out boldly as evidence that - at least as far as his bottom half is concerned - man can stoutly resist the ravages of time.

The Butterfly Man

‘Do you love takraw Ball?’asked Fang, his girl on the side.

‘Of course,’ I said.

We love each other as friends...nothing more. But I could hardly say ‘No, I don’t love Ball,’ as it’s not what sentimental Thais like to hear.

It was our first meeting. Fang had turned up at our scrubby sidewalk drinking hole, sandwiched between a railway line and a truckyard, in one of Bangkok’s nastiest slums.

It’s not a suitable place to bring a girl, but I was keen to meet Fang, as we had only ever spoken on the phone.

Takraw Ball’s girlfriend, Nan, who I had met previously, knows about Fang, a long-term admirer of his.

She lives with her parents, studies, and works part-time at a hotel.

Fang, who lives close to his office, walked past his company for months before finally plucking up the courage to tell him, through a friend, that she wanted to get to know him.

Ball enjoys the attention, of course, and talks to Fang on the phone whenever he can.

However, he says he is committed to Nan, who lives with him, and who he has known for five or six years.

I don’t know why Fang bothers with Ball. She has pretty, Chinese-style features, and a warm manner. Surely she can find someone who truly cares about her?

When he is with Fang, Ball behaves like a kid, playing around and teasing. If another pretty office girl walks past, he'll call out to her.

'I'm going home,' pouts Fang. Ball consoles her, and they start again.

When he is with Nan, he appears more serious, perhaps because he has more at stake.

Ball and Fang seldom meet, even though she still passes by his office every day.

Ball he is too shy to be seen with Fang at work. ‘I worry that someone at the office will tell Nan we have been seeing each other,’ he says.

Nan is the tolerant type. Ball swears he has ended his relationship with Fang, but she refuses to believe him.

On the night we met, Nan insisted she keep Ball’s phone with her, as she didn’t want him calling Fang behind her back.

He called Fang on my phone instead, and invited her to join us after she finished work.

I last saw Nan about two weeks ago, when she turned up at our drinking hole without warning, demanding to know if Ball had arranged to meet Fang there secretly. The two of us were drinking alone until Nan turned up on her motorbike, and refused to leave.

He denied it, but she refused to believe him. They argued, and she started to cry.

As I wiped tears from Nan’s eyes, the arguing grew more intense.

After five minutes of remonstrating with Ball and making no progress – both hurled abuse at each other freely – Nan stood up, grabbed Ball’s drink, and threw the contents in his face.

Four or five workers at the next table turned around to look.

Ball turned red in the face. Nan stormed off, and refused to take Ball’s calls.

‘If you are not careful, you will lose her,’ I warned Ball.

I like both girls, but hope that they never have to meet, at least when I am around.

Both are entitled to know where they stand in Ball's eyes.

A showdown might be welcome in that sense, but it won’t be a pretty sight.

Trying times of youth

Chef Maiyuu has bought a set of shelves, where the electric oven and microwave now rest. This has freed up space on his kitchen bench, which he wanted for baking.

‘I can spread out and roll pastry there to make pies,’ he said approvingly.

Shown here are some cheese and ham pastries he made the other day.

Maiyuu also has ordered a couch from a furniture manufacturer in a remote part of town, after he saw their wares advertised on the internet.

They are making it for him at their factory. It will be ready in a few weeks.

-

'I have put all those days behind me,’ said Ball Takraw quietly.

He was talking about the ‘shameful’ time in his youth when he would race cars and motorcycles for money.

'I raced cars more than bikes. Some nights I would leave with B300 or more in winnings...and if I was lucky, someone’s girl,’ he said.

Teen racers put their girlfriends up as prizes, if they lacked cash to put up a stake.

Ball has a large tattoo on his back and his right arm – another decision from his youth which gives him cause for regret.

‘They are beautiful, all the same,’ he says, pointing to one particularly ornate tattoo of a large fish.

Ball has never done drugs, he says proudly, though like many youngsters carried – actually, still carries – a paper-cutter for self-protection.

‘The other day someone tried flirting with my girlfriend. If he had gone a step further I would have brought out the cutter,’ he growled.

Fiery Ball starts talking the defiant, violent talk of his youth when work gives him stress, as it was the night we met.

‘My seniors at the office refuse to do any work, but think they can order around juniors like me just because we are younger,’ he said angrily.

We were enjoying a quiet whisky by the sidewalk shop which serves as our regular.

‘When will you learn to put all this fiery-tempered stuff behind you?’ I asked. ‘You’re now 25...it’s time to start growing up.’

‘I am much better now than I was,’ he said, looking at me earnestly.

‘When I was younger I thought nothing of stabbing people with my cutter.'

Ball knows he has a fiery temperament, but says he is getting better at keeping it under control.

‘I was just a normal kid. My friends carried blades, raced bikes, and fell into fights just as I did,’ he said.

Mr Allergy, Mr Old in happy unison

I am sorry I have not been with you much lately. I have taken on a new job, which is fun, but exhausting. I look in the mirror and ask myself: ‘Who is this old man you have become?’

Boyfriend Maiyuu is generally supportive, but finds it hard to understand why I must bring my work stress home with me. ‘Work is over...why can’t you just leave it at the door?’ he asks. I tell him that farang carry these things around with them because work is not just something we do in the allotted hours, for a company which just happens to employ us.

It is in fact an expression of our identity, or the way we feel about ourselves. ‘If I didn’t think about these things while away from work, I could arrive at the office unprepared for whatever the day throws at me,’ I say.

-
A farang engineering friend for whom I did some website work a few weeks ago showed me his iPAD 2, which convinced me to buy one for Maiyuu.

I am not a fan of technology, but these things are too beautiful not to have. He went into town a few days ago with a couple of friends to buy one.

He bought it from an Apple dealer at Central department store in Rama III. ‘The staff were utterly indifferent, perhaps because we were not dressed as hi-so Thais, but as ordinary customers,’ he said.

The Apple store did not furnish them with even a basic instruction manual on how to use the thing, nor simple advice on Sim cards, or how to open an account with Apple for buying on-line applications, songs and the like.

The rot might well extend to other Apple stores as well, in which case, I am sure they will suffer for it in the end. No customer deserves to be treated with contempt, no matter how plainly he is dressed.

-

The mother and youngest son of my friend Ball from the slums have been injured in road accidents, neither seriously.

The accidents occurred within a day of each other, and were probably set off by the rainy conditions. Youngest son Beer hit the road when his motorcycle skidded and flipped on a wet surface. He suffered abrasions to his arm and leg.

His mother, injured a day later, was sitting in the back seat of a taxi which hit the car in front. She suffered injuries to her leg and sternum.

Mr Ball, girlfriend Jay and baby Min are well. Ball has just two months to go before he starts life as a military conscript. He plays football occasionally with friends, but other than that takes little exercise.

He will need to do better before his departure for the army camp arrives, or the long days of training – conscripts spend the first three months performing arduous physical drills – will come as a shock.

-

Out with the old...

Maiyuu and I are preparing to buy a couch, after he developed an allergy to the dust in our place.

We bought our present couch two years ago, which sits next to double doors leading on to a narrow veranda.

A pair of mesh screen doors provides partial protection from dust which enters our place during the day, but it is not enough. The veranda looks over the posh side of our neighbourhood, where construction activity is a constant bugbear.

Someone is always having his condo done up, or building a new one. The construction work throws up dust, which enters our place, embeds itself in the furnishings, and gives Maiyuu his allergy. He coughs and sniffs daily.

The couch is hard to clean. The next one will be better.

We have decided to buy him a new couch (so-fa in Thai) , so at least he can rest in peace. Maiyuu sleeps on the couch, which is outside my bedroom, rather than his own bedroom, so he can be closer to me at night.

That’s a sweet thought, but also leads to his allergy condition, as it's ridden with dust. A new couch might help, especially if we can clean it regularly. However, ultimately we may be forced to move, as the dust menace just will not be stopped.

Cryptic - slum - tales

Slum Ball’s mother has an odd way of talking.

Thai language is already vague enough where the subject and object of a sentence are concerned.

Quick-thinking Thais leave them out, and assume that the listener is just as adept at working out who is doing what to whom.

Ball’s mother, however, takes this language peculiarity to extremes. Visiting her home is like being hit over the head with a basket of words as soon as I walk in the door.

‘Stand – fall – hit over head –smash – lost everything,’ she said as I entered her place.

Ball’s place has two doorways facing the slum alleyway. Both have wooden planks nailed over them at ankle level, which serve as child barriers to keep the household's two toddlers indoors.

‘Which stand? Who?’ I thought, trying to find a way into the conversation, as I clambered over one of the barriers.

Mum seldom expects a response from me; it is enough for her just to unload.

I sat on the floor. Ball, who had just noticed my arrival, smiled as he rocked his baby daughter in a swinging bed.

‘Fresh [toddler] – pulled down stand – hit on head – smash,’ she said, attempting to explain her initial verbal onslaught.

Slowly I started piecing it together. I looked at toddler Fresh, who sat in my lap for a cuddle.

Her head looked fine. I looked at the ‘stand’ I thought she was referring to – actually, a small set of bamboo shelves on which she keeps drinking glasses.

It looked fine too, as did the glasses. Ball pulled down a couple of glasses and poured a beer for both of us.

So what did Fresh pull down, what broke, and why does the girl show no signs of injury? Did any of it actually happen, or is it all a dream?

‘...Glass pieces...put in bag...throw away,’ Mum said.

‘Ah,’ I said sympathetically. I shall put the conversation down to some vague drinker's tale. I may have heard it, or I may not...it's hard to tell, as my head was cloudy at the time.

Even if I knew what she was talking about, what difference would it make? The deed is done, the damage repaired, and life carries on.