Love me tender

Maiyuu's birthday present to me

Maiyuu and I are doing well, after a bumpy few weeks in which I thought our relationship had run its course.

Now that we are on a good footing again, our communication has taken a leap forward.

He made charming strawberry cupcakes for my 46th birthday. We send each other tender text messages when we are away from home.

For the past few days, while I have been in Pin Khlao, Maiyuu has been cleaning our place with the aid of a hand-held steaming device.

We are trying to rid our condo of dust, after we developed allergy-related coughs in reaction to the large amount of air pollution in our part of town.

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I still drink with takraw Ball, but haven’t seen slum Ball since he entered the military as an army conscript at the start of this month.

His mother called me last Sunday from his military camp in Bang Khen.

She had gone to visit him there, on the only day of the week when family are allowed to visit during the first three months while conscripts are being trained.

She took with her Ball’s girlfriend Jay, and their baby daughter.

Mum handed over the phone so I could talk to Ball.

'How are you coping?' I asked.

'I am getting used to the physical regimen now...we spend all day outdoors,’ he said.

He told me he had not lost as much weight as some conscripts, who come back a mere shadow of their former selves.

However, he said he looks much darker than normal, thanks to his constant exposure to the sun.

His mother asked if I wanted to accompany them on their next visit, which falls today.

I probably won’t go, as I do not fancy all that time spent travelling with Ball’s family.

I stopped visiting them weeks ago, after the mother asked me to help her pay a power bill.

This farang objected to being asked, and our relations (at least in my eyes) have not been the same since.

Revival in fortunes

'Mum', the owner...

After an absence of 18 months, I have started revisiting Mum’s shop in Pin Khlao.

When I arrived for the first time five days ago, she and her husband had just reopened their corner shop following devastating floods which rose to chest-level.

The place was a mess, and even now large piles of rubbish litter the area, as shopkeepers attempt to resurrect their livelihoods from the damage left behind. Parts of the street look as if a whirlwind ripped through it.

Three weeks before the floods struck, Mum and her husband Pa took over the lease of the Esan-style eatery next to their corner shop, paying 300,000 baht in family money for the privilege.

They had only just opened for business when floods forced an abrupt end to trade.

Three weeks later, the place is now dry, and the rebuilding effort has begun.

The eatery, hours before its opening 

The old corner shop, which is next to the eatery

Pa is a former army soldier who is good with his hands. He rebuilt shelves in the eatery, and extended the benchtop table for the corner shop.

Everyone lent a hand. Mum’s younger sister Issara is in town with her farang boyfriend, Charlie.

We set up tables for last night's grand opening, and cleared tables after guests had left.

The opening night for the eatery was a huge success, with every table sold.

I seldom saw the place so busy when it was run by the previous owners, who sold the lease to Mum after they decided they had had enough.

I entertained hopes that a swish place further down the soi, run by a young go-getter called Wut, would do well.

This eatery had its own bar, air con, modern toilets, entertainment area, even a waterfall.

In the end, it was Mum's place which has thrived - thanks to the injection of life provided by the eatery next door - and it is Wut's place down the soi which was forced to close.

Today, the shutters to Wut's place are pulled, and a For Lease sign hangs out the front.  ‘No one went to the place...it folded ages ago,’ Mum said matter-of-factly.

In the past week, I have also met two of the performing arts students I used to know in the area.

A glimpse at the street in front

 As students, they would gather at Mum's shop after finishing class for the day at their school across the river.

Like Mum, they come from Kalasin in the Northeast. At least five years have passed since they graduated.

Touchingly, they still refer to Mum as mae (the Thai word for Mum, from which Mum draws her name in this blog).

Even after a mere three visits over the past week, I have found my ties deepening with the place, and the family which runs it. We have known each other almost 10 years, and some ties appear not to fade with time.

  

I am happy for them, and admit I am surprised everything has come together so well.

When I saw the corner shop 18 months ago, almost all the regular custom had gone.

For more of Pin Khlao during the floods, when the Chao Phraya River burst its banks, causing mayhem over a large area, see this site (scroll down a bit).

PS: I took some poorly-lit pictures on my way to Pin Khlao of the canal running by our condo in Talad Phlu, the old Chinese market where we used to live.

A glimpse of a canal boat, taken from Talad Phlu in Thon Buri

Bangkok Yai canal,  which runs through Talad Phlu

Some of the housing on the canal shoreline

Magnificent sofa perch, floods stay away, Oil misses Mum

Maiyuu’s magnificent sofa has finally arrived.

A team of three turned up with the sofa a few days ago. It now occupies pride of place in our living room.

For the first few days, we could not get over its impressive size, or beauty. The sofa reminds me of a chaise longe sofa bed.

Maiyuu has posed on it like a 30s actress, stretched out full length, one arm raised in the air as if holding a cocktail aloft.

‘It’s much bigger than I thought it would be, and makes the rest of our place look shabby,’ he observed on the day of its arrival.

Maiyuu found the manufacturer on the internet, and ordered the sofa at the owner's factory, in Theparat of Pathum Wan.

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‘Is it flooded there?  the sofa manufacturer asked, on the day of delivery.

‘Not yet...we have yet to see a drop,’Maiyuu replied.

While the floods occupy everyone’s minds, those of us in the inner city so far have been spared.

This condo is in a low-lying area, and is frequently flooded in heavy rains. If the floods from the North do arrive, I wonder if they will climb any higher than the last floods we had, following a downpour a few weeks ago.

They rose to mid-thigh level, and were gone by next morning.

Maiyuu and I have kept our heads. We have refused to stockpile anything. Maiyuu heads out on his bicycle most mornings as usual, to buy food and groceries.

He has found some trouble locating some of the items he needed for his cooking. The floods have cut supply links for some products, while panicky residents have hoarded others. For the most part, however, he reports no problems.

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Oil, my teen friend from Petchaburi, has gone back to his home province to visit his Mum.

Oil, who comes across as rough as any teen, nonetheless has a soft spot for his Mum. Since he moved to Bangkok a month ago, they speak on the phone twice a week.

Oil lives with his father – his parents are separated – in a slum close to where I work.

His father works strange hours at a nearby hotel. Oil, one of three children, works for a bedding shop about five minutes from his home.

 ‘I am going back because I miss my Mum, want to visit my girlfriend, and play football with my friends,’ he said.

I introduced Oil to takraw Ball the other night. Ball and I were drinking at our usual haunt when Oil, whose place is 50m away down a slum alleyway, turned up.

They appeared to enjoy each other’s company. ‘Even though he comes from the slum, Oil appears a good lad,’ said Ball approvingly.

When I had mentioned my friend Oil previously, he did not look impressed. ‘I know what those guys from the slum are like. They like to take drugs, and get into fights,’ he said.

Oil, however, is different. While Oil spent his early years growing up in Bangkok, he returned to Petchaburi about eight years ago. He has now come back to the big city to work, though I am not sure how long he will stay.

After we finished our drinks, I sent both lads to a karaoke lounge.

One of the first challenges of the evening was to decide in what capacity they should enjoy each other’s company. ‘We can go as friends, rather than senior and junior,’ Ball told Oil, as they worked out what status to accord each other.

Both claimed me as their elder brother. Oil was so impressed with my generosity – I gave him B200 to spend at the karaoke shop, and what remained of our whisky – that he hugged me and gave me a cheek kiss.

The next day, I called him just as he was arriving in Petchaburi by bus.

‘What will you do first – see you friends, or visit Mum?’ I asked.

‘Visit Mum, and give her a hug,’ he replied.

Oil says he'll be back in Bangkok in a few days.

Flood panic in the air

Walling us in

One of the flood walls which the condo management has put up in front of the buildings in this complex. This is the wall in front of my building. Others have motley collections of sandbags which rise to about the same height.

Residents gather outside amid excited chatter. Where normally they gather just before sundown, now they are there most of the day – comparing sandbag sizes, and sharing stories they have heard about the relentless progress of flooding from the north which has hit the city’s outskirts at Don Muang, and is likely to spread further still in the coming week.

The prospect of flooding in our little corner of the inner city – a low-lying area which is susceptible to mid-thigh level flooding even in moderate rains - has drawn our little community closer together.

Well, that’s what I would say if I was a touchy-feely journalist of the modern persuasion, where everything is about community building, coordinating, and ‘hearting’ one another.

Actually, I suspect the chatterers are just gossiping. A flood is as good occasion as any for a chinwag. Nothing they say is likely to make any difference to whether we are doused or not, though residents have done their best to prepare.

Panicky shoppers have stripped convenience stores of most of their bakery and non-perishable edible products, including that old standby, Mama instant noodles. I wandered into a 7-11 store the other day and wondered why the shelves looked so bare.

In the carparking building of my condo, demand for spaces far outstrips supply. Normally, the seven-level building is half empty. In the past few days, owners and tenants have sought shelter for their vehicles so it is now full to brimming.

Some owners have even resorted to double-parking - trapping those vehicles behind - and leaving their cars on the ramps between each level.

The seventh floor, normally all but empty, appears to be the busiest. Were the vehicles merely forced to higher levels because carparks further down had run out, or do their owners actually believe the floodwaters will reach that high?

Maiyuu has refused to hoard food supplies, as he believes we are unlikely to suffer a prolonged or serious flood. In some low-lying parts of the city, such as the western suburbs, waters might rise to a 1 metre, or perhaps 1.5 metres, the media tells us.

The floods could last a month or six weeks overall before they finally drain away through the city's canals out to sea.

I am enjoying the coverage in the Thai language papers, which publish new maps of the city and surrounding provinces every day. I am getting to know the city well -  even some suburbs I barely knew existed before.
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Slum Ball is preparing to enter the army on Nov 1.

He reported to the draft office on Wednesday, where he was told he would serve out his two-year conscription duty in Bangkok.

‘I won’t have to help with the floods like regular soldiers. I’ll just be training,’ he said.

For the first three months, recruits are confined to barracks, though families can pay weekend visits.

Ball's family is prepared for the floods. Someone has erected flood walls, made of the same grey blocks which have sprung up in front of my condo, at both doorways to his two-storey wooden home.

Some of his slum neighbours, despairing of their chances of escaping floods in Bangkok, have fled.

My grilled chicken vendor, a hardy Esan woman with black teeth, has been gone for weeks.

A couple of families who live in an alleyway close to Ball’s place have pulled down the steel shutters in front of their homes. Like Ms Grilled Chicken, they have also cleared off for higher ground.

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‘Listen to the rain...here it comes again,’ sings Enya, as I write this piece.

A woman I know in Thon Buri has returned to her home province of Kalasin in the Northeast, to escape the city flood threat.

Like me, masseuse Muk has noticed a distinct cooling in the air, which suggests the rainy season is wrapping up, though it is leaving the threat of Bangkok floods in its wake.

She also reports much less rain than even a week ago, when three or four downpours a day were not uncommon. ‘The cool season is approaching,’ she says approvingly.

Muk, who cannot swim, has had three near-drowning experiences in her life. She left her home Thon Buri for higher ground in the provinces two weeks ago so she doesn’t have to deal with another one.

One newspaper report predicts 1-1.5m of rain in her Thon Buri suburb of Bang Khun Thian in the next five days. ‘I told the other massage women that Thon Buri would not escape, but no one has listened to me,’ she said.

Lonely in Bangkok

‘Remember...I’m alone.’

That was Oil, a young man drifting in Bangkok, whom I met at my roadside drinking hole a few nights ago.

Oil is a recent arrival in the city from his home province of Petchaburi, though he grew up here as a boy.

He lives in a slum across the way with his father.

A former teen motorcycle racer, Oil has mercifully kept his body free of tattoos, though he wears a large scar running down his stomach – the legacy of a childhood accident rather than a clash with hothead teens.

He works at a bedding shop about two minutes from his home.

Oil told me proudly about the highlights of his home province – the desserts for which Petchaburi is famous, and its love of muay Thai boxing.

In return, I was able to introduce him to some of the delicious Esan-style food on offer at roadside shops in the area. One night we ordered a dish of moo laab (spicy pork salad).

This so impressed young Oil that last night he took two of his friends to another roadside eatery around the corner to order the Esan dish.

Mr Oil is also a fan of Liverpool (the football team, not the place), and teenage girls. His Dad has found himself a new partner, who takes an interest in his welfare.

‘She doesn’t give me hugs – and she can never replace my Mum – but she washes my clothes for me,’ he said matter-of-factly.

I have shared a few beers with him over the past few days. He is paid just B7,000 a month for his seven-day a week job at the bedding shop, so the money quickly runs out.

After giving B500 to his father from his most recent pay packet, which came out yesterday, he quickly spent the rest on beer with friends – one of whom he met yesterday for the first time since Oil left Bangkok, aged about 11.

‘Did you recognise Oil?’ I asked his childhood friend, Utt.

Oil passed his home in the slum, and called out his name.

‘I barely remembered him, as he is now a giant,’ said Utt.

Oil, who has Korean-style features (‘You’re the next Rain,’I told him) is almost 180cm tall. His elder brother – he is the youngest of three siblings – is an impressive 187cm.

He likes to arm-wrestle, and stand alongside me to compare his height to mine.

As a newcomer to Bangkok, he has his lonely moments. Most of his friends - including a bevy of former girlfriends - are back in Petchaburi.

'Last week I sat across the road from you, drinking a can of beer. You were with a couple of friends, but I didn't dare approach,' said Oil.

He saw me drinking with my friend Takraw Ball and his girlfriend Nan, whom I met for a drink the week before.

I didn't see Oil sitting in the shadows opposite, and am sorry he felt so alone. Still, in the space of barely a week, his social circle appears to have expanded rapidly.

I shared a beer last night with Oil, Utt, and a skinny friend of his, Nut.

Like Oil, Nut comes from a broken home, and is a recent arrival in Bangkok.

‘Once I lived the life of a Little Prince, but since coming to Bangkok have run out of money,’ he said.

Nut is scared of cockroaches, but proud of his tiny chest. 'I am scared of being drafted into the military. They will never choose me with a chest as narrow as mine, as I don't fit their specs,' he said.

Another gangly teen, a tall, big-haired friend of Nut’s, joined our circle in the closing minutes. Nut offered him a sip from his beer.

One early discovery I have made about my growing circle of teen friends is that I cannot keep up with their appetite for alcohol.

Oil polished off at least half a dozen bottles of beer last night, and tonight wants more.

‘Call me. Remember, I am alone, and have run out of money,’ he said, holding my arm, and whispering in my ear.

Oil spoke quietly, so his friends wouldn’t hear him begging the farang for money.

What an invitation. Still, I’ll probably go back for more.