The calm before the storm

Note: This was supposed to be posted the day it was written, two days ago, but then the storm hit.

Tomorrow will be a busy day. I’m pretty much relying on getting my deposit back when I check out tomorrow and move to my new place. Still, it plays on one’s nerves since the Thais have this reputation for doing a lot of fast talking at that crucial juncture. Everything went smoothly when I moved out of my last place and am hoping my luck holds again. That’s because I’m pretty much hand-to-mouth in my wonderful Asian adventure. In any case, that’s tomorrow.

Did some printing today for my English friend, Daniel. He’s been in Asia for years but has recently re-located to Cornwall temporarily. His Thai wife was unable to accompany him this time because of a typical consular snafu. Though they’ve been married for many years and she’s legally resided with him in England before, in the post 911 world there are continual signs of an insatiable lust for control and a predilection for rejection. Really quite disgusting. (I, too, have personal experience with these bureaucratic crazies as I tried on two separate occasions to acquire a visa for my Ukrainian wife to visit Canada; both visa applications were summarily rejected on the grounds that they didn’t believe she would respect the visa’s residential period. And they don’t have to have any reasonable evidence for suspicion. One’s nationality is sufficient grounds.) Consider the details of today’s favour. I went to the internet cafe today to reproduce hard copies of every page in his passport along with pictures of him with his wife and pictures of her taken with members of his family in England. Unbelievable bullshit.

Anyway, time for a well earned Chang beer at Daeng’s. Haven’t been down for a couple of weeks, and it’s close to where I was getting the printing done. It’s nice going there in the early afternoon. I always have to open the gate myself, grab a Chang from the fridge and a bag of ice from the freezer. I’m always the first customer at this time of the day. In time, Daeng staggers out of the shower, hung over from the previous night. I’ve seen this clip so often I know it by heart.

I’m waiting for Oi to appear and collect the hard copies for her six-month visa application and, on Daniel’s orders, for her to buy me a beer. While waiting, I settle in with Wednesday’s edition of the Bangkok Post, may favourite because of its Data Base insert dealing with all things computer related — surprisingly professional in light of the Post’s general production standards. Oi eventually shows up and buys me my second big bottle of Chang and is pleased with the colour photocopies. Subsequently on the phone with Daniel we iron out some last minute kinks. And now I’m feeling good; even in the calm before the storm I’m feeling productive.

Oi takes off fairly quickly as she still has tasks to perform before going back to the British Embassy in the morning. I dive back into the paper.

A tap on the shoulder reveals an extended arm replete with a burning joint — the best kind. Ok, the place is a dump. The water that goes down the drain of the sink next to my table just goes through a garden hose and runs out onto the concrete floor about five feet away. There are still empty beer bottles on the tables from the night before, and some lower class Thai women are ogling me from the alley. But the beer is cheaper than any place around here, and in the early afternoon I’m already being offered a toke. Fortune 500 companies take note, *that’s* customer satisfaction!

Daeng has a few rooms with TV and air-conditioning which he rents out for the very reasonable rate of 500 baht a night (about $16). If you ever want contact info, I can provide it. He has a loyal word-of-mouth clientele so booking ahead is advisable.

Finally, a Swedish guy joins me with his Thai girlfriend. We eventually talk a bit. He was a chef for years who got into the garment trade. Been exporting Thai rags back to Sweden for a few years but is looking forward to opening a restaurant in Bangkok and cooking again. I find myself reminiscing. My first wife, well, she could flat out cook, I tell him. Using my customary sensibility I spare him the details about how she and I went at it like rabbits for the first few years. I just get a knot in my stomach thinking about her — no, it’s hunger pains! — and I begin to tell him eloquently about how that woman could cook! I give him some examples and he smiles knowingly. It almost brings tears to my eyes. Really. Well, almost.

Morning after the storm note: Successfully moved all my stuff to the new place in one taxi ride. My main goal in life is to maintain this portability. And to think that I used to consider moving to be almost as bad as looking for a job! No more. I’ve my priorities straight now. The new place is smaller than I remembered, however. It looked fine when my stuff wasn’t in it. But now I can see that I’m definitely going to have to organize this shit. It’s a typical tiny Thai one-person flat. It’s a small room with bed, closet, vanity stand and chair, separate bathroom and little balcony. Bare bones, baby. It’s so small I have to drink condensed milk! Since I’m out a ways on Sukhumvit (101/1) and am a bit in on subsoi 48, I was absolutely amazed at how quiet it was when I got up this morning. Just like being in the country. I’m putting up a picture taken from my balcony. I think I could get used to this serenity.   

Bangkok’s Bar Girls

No writing from these environs could nary approach completeness without some mention of Bangkok’s infamous bar girls. Ok, here’s the disclaimer. The reader should not place too much credence in these observations for the same reason the writer is reluctant to broach the subject — very little exposure in this area. That ain’t modesty. Nor is it some moral judgment or squeamishness on my part in partaking of Bangkok’s supposed delights. It’s just damned practical. How many times do I have to tell you I’m poor!? I’m broke; I’m not broken.

Oh, how I fondly recall the big bottles of beer in Ukraine which cost about a buck apiece! In Bangkok, if you see bar girls, you see clip joint. They serve you these toy bottles of beer (about 300 ml) for $2-$4 a crack. Give me a friggin’ break.

So who’s gonna drink at these ubiquitous joints? Ex pats with more money than brains. Primarily burned-out middle-aged or older men who couldn’t land a woman on their own merits. Very poor representatives of my culture parading some false bravado. Actually, they *are* representative of my culture, now that I think about it. Most of them I’ve met here are a constant reminder of why I don’t miss the West one bit.

In my early days of being here, an old friend wanted to put me through the normal tourist shit and took me around to some of these bars. He’d been a longtime resident of Bangkok and proceeded to lay out the bare logistics of their operations. Like how the various cops got paid off directly or how they elbowed their way into partial ownership. That the girls generally come from Issan (a northeastern province of Thailand). What bar fines are (a fee that is paid to the bar — aside from what you negotiate with her for her time — if one of the girls leaves with you) and such. Also described the free-lance joints where there are tons of local women but they aren’t employed and thus no bar fines are involved.

The most famous trio of free-lance bars that I’ve heard of is the following group: The Beer Garden, Gulliver’s, and Thermae. The horny mid-day crowd goes to Beer Garden. Late in the afternoon the shift is to Gulliver’s and the late-night crowd goes to Thermae which doesn’t have a soul until about 11:00 pm. Every couple of months I used to contact this guy I met here and tell him I was up for a Thermae freak show. He would always accommodate me since it was on his beaten path, anyway.

I didn’t go there for sex. Sleeping with strangers has never appealed to me. I went there to drink and laugh and watch. And it was indeed one of the best freak shows ever. And a touch of ganja before entering is a good thing. A lot depends on your own state of mind at the outset, however. Remember all those stories you’ve heard about people having had bad acid trips? Well, I never had one. And that’s an area where I had a lot of experience, too. I think it’s because I’m not afraid of the unknown and I know who I am. To appreciate some things, you have to be comfortable in your own skin. You can’t be judgmental or hyper sensitive. You just have to live in the moment and relax. Let the stream carry you. You can’t control everything. That’s a myth. Anyway, Thermae is this cavernous, subterrainian space with absolutely no ambiance. There’s kind of a meandering, half-enclosed central seating area. And a lot of booths butt up against each other at the outer edges of the room. And in this area between the two seating areas stand all the free-lancers. Well, most of them. You can’t sit down unless you’re drinking, so all these women are just standing and trying to make eye contact with anyone who dares. And there are at least a hundred of them. It’s really a show that defies description.

If the lighting was better in there, and I thought I could get away with it unscathed, I’d probably provide some pics or a short video clip. But I’m afraid I value my life too much. Maybe I’ll think again about surreptitiously trying it. Stay tuned. It’s all so weirdly entertaining and far better than TV.

I’m going to make some comments that may not go down well with the politically correct crowd. Believe me, I’m choosing my words fairly carefully because I’m generally quite sympathetic to the principles behind the theory. There are very significant differences between Thailand and the West when it comes to the sex trade and its workers. The women here don’t have pimps. They’re not battered. They aren’t drug addicts. And I really don’t think the work is unpleasant for them. In fact, quite the opposite. The demeanor they project, which truly is difficult to characterize in any other way than unabashed gaiety, is something which I don’t think can be so completely faked. I also wonder how much Buddhism has affected social mores and attitudes here. This is obviously a very different culture. These women like to have fun and their numbers strongly suggest that they happily choose to leave working in the factory or ten hours in the rice fields for eight bucks a day. Try as I might, I just can’t see them as victims.

I don’t profess to know what’s in people’s hearts. I only suggest that you need to see that your culture is one culture. It is not the standard-bearer for all civilization. Open your eyes. Open your mind. Stop clinging to everything. I once asked a Buddhist monk what was the most important truth. He said don’t identify with anything!

Smoking in Thailand

Nope, this topic is not about whacky tobaccy. It’s about the conventional kind. Like the stuff Sir Francis Drake and his rowdies brought back to Europe in the mid 17th Century.

I always heard that smoking was pretty heavy duty in Asia. That may be so, but Thailand strikes me as being at the low end of the spectrum. My impression is that fewer Thais are smoking than Americans or Canadians. Also, the variety is fairly limited, too. I’ve been in this country for more than thirteen months and I’ve yet to encounter a pipe or cigar smoker. Just cigarette smokers. And like I said, not a heck of a lot of them, either.

You’ve doubtless heard a lot about the subject of “face” and its importance in Asia. Generally, I tend to not place too much stock in the concept of a regional application of the idea. After all, it may have more formalized or institutional properties here but let’s face it, no one in any of the world’s cultures is going to take kindly to being disrespected and everyone wants to be liked. And this is generally the basis for all issues about losing or saving face.

Having said that, I do find the explanation of the demographic distribution of smokers in Thailand to be an interesting one. It’s said that smokers in the lower and upper classes are disproportionately represented. Why would you think that is? Well, according to the theory, members of the lower class can’t sink any lower. So face is hardly an issue. And what about the smokers in Thailand’s elite caste? They’re upper class and nothing can diminish that!

Also, there is a decided demarcation along gender lines. As one might expect, more men are smokers — at least in public. I’d not seen a woman I’d characterize as a hard core smoker until just the other day. Sure, some of the bar girls sneak out for a quick smoke. But this woman I photographed at Daeng’s Bar was a first, but the picture does not do her justice. I tried to take a little video clip with my mobile phone but the light just wasn’t good enough. Anyway, it was quite remarkable. She was jabberin’ away with the fag in her mouth bouncing all over the place as she talked. The hardened dockworkers I worked with had nothin’ on her. No sir, nothin’ on her. Made me laugh out loud.

The Political Situation in Thailand

It’s kind of strange to live in a country with an unstable political environment. But I should be getting used to it because I’ve been here for more than a year. And then again, I lived in Ukraine for a whole year before coming here. And they’ve continued trying to sort things out there ever since the “orange revolution” a number of years ago.

But in a way, it’s actually reassuring to be in the developing world. Because there’s a very direct and open struggle for power, it somehow seems more honest, more real to me. While what’s happening in the States is not real, it’s surreal. They can’t face up to living in the real world. The vast majority of Westerners, especially Americans, are living in their own little fantasy world. Firmly belted into a world of safety, affluence, insulation, entitlement. Complaining about the most inconsequential of things. Incapable of even imagining taking any real risks in life like changing jobs or boyfriends or direction, much less taking to the streets. And the party goes on. They don’t have a clue of what’s coming. The Yanks’ 800 billion dollar annual trade deficits, its trillions spent on military adventurism, its arrogance and constant lecturing of the world (as Japan and China continually bail out American budget deficits with their bond buying, so afraid they are of losing the American “consumer”), its hollowed out and exported industrial base, its ratcheting up of the fear factor in its propaganda and the resultant decline in human rights (its Constitution now considered quaint and outdated), its devalued dollar circling the drain, its perpetual lurch toward fascism — and the list goes on and on. A veritable house of cards. And when push comes to shove, when they do finally wake up, it’s gonna be ugly. I’m so glad that North America is geographically detached from Europe and Asia.

I think American smugness is one of the biggest ironies in the world. You see, I actually feel quite safe in Thailand. Much more so than I would in the USA. And this is a country that’s had more than a dozen different coups and as many constitutions in just the last thirty or so years! Government House here in Bangkok is currently surrounded twenty four hours a day by thousands of PAD demonstrators (People’s Alliance for Democracy) as they attempt to force the collapse of the Samak government. But it’s invigorating. It is not a country in denial like the States. The demonstrations started over a month ago and have now converged on Government House. Originally they were going to stop them from getting that far, the authorities having set up a grid of roadblocks to keep people at a distance from the seat of power. But they pretty much walked right through them without incident: the power of numbers and the pervasive Buddhism doesn’t hurt, either. And once again I thought: What a civilized country. For years ago at the WTO meeting in Seattle, I remember the black squads of security forces and their pikes and armour and was stunned to see them beating the shit out of people who had merely assembled and were stationary. At one point the order was simply given, and that was that. They just descended on the crowd in an orgy of violence. I’ll take this country with all its coups any day.

The political dynamic here is difficult to fathom. The Monarchy, the Army, the oligarchy of powerful business families, student activists, paid activists, you name it. Much of it is in the light of day, much of it is not. The Thais have their own brand of political intrigue. In September 2006 the latest coup ousted Thaksin from power while he was abroad. Under the military government Thaksin’s party was outlawed, and many of its members were forbidden to run for office for a period of years. Finally in December of last year new elections were held. The current government are said to be essentially Thaksin’s old party in new clothes. And it’s alleged that they are ensuring billionaire Thaksin will escape all charges against him. Add to that the very poorly managed economy since the elections and the very determined opposition forces and their puppeteers… Well, this thing seems to be rapidly moving to a climax. Samak and perhaps others will step down in the near future. Or perhaps things will get violent.

But life goes on. And the Thais continue to smile, as always. And they don’t try to blame the world. Or rule it.

Motorcycle City

Bangkok is teeming with motorcycles. Although most of them look like modern motorcycles, their engine sizes are that which we associate with motor scooters — almost entirely 125s and 150s. (The enclosed picture of a sport bike is a 125cc, believe it or not.) And they’re literally everywhere. They even routinely use the sidewalks which is perfectly legal here.

The roads are swarming with them. They are not only in what Western bikers describe as proper lane positions, but so-called lane splitting is also perfectly legal and acceptable here. In other words, they thread themselves through every imaginable space they’ll fit — between all four wheel vehicles and between vehicles and the curb. They move briskly through traffic like water through a sieve.

Having ridden motorcycles for many years in the West, it’s very bracing to see a completely different form of co-existence on the roads in Asia. Riding a motorcycle here doesn’t mean that one is an outcast; nor does it make one inferior and the object of scorn. It is merely a very efficient way to navigate the limited amount of tarmac in a very densely populated city. And everyone has the good sense to know it. So there are never those unpleasant memories of Western ego. No drivers in expensive cars being outraged because they were passed when the light turned green. Or were passed as they sat motionless in gridlocked traffic for twenty minutes. Everyone here seems to know instinctively that if everybody drove a car, it would take at least twice as long to get anywhere. And that’s if you were lucky. To me, it’s little things like this which I see every day that make me realize how fucked up the West is. All about money, status, ego.

There are a lot of regular cabs in the city. And the pricing (apart from coming into the city from the airport!) is among the most competitive in the world. Only occasionally will you have to be firm and tell some cabbie that you wish to use the meter. Do that and you will find that they are a very good deal here. But Bangkok also has a huge motorcycle taxi business which is thriving. One sees tons of bikes parked everywhere as their riders in their distinctive orange vests mill about, talking or smoking or playing checkers or Thai chess.

These motorcycle taxi riders are primarily short-hop specialists, taking their passengers between their residences and the nearest main bus stop or skytrain station and between those respective transfer points and their places of employment or to their meets with friends or to shop. These short hops usually cost between 10 and 20 baht (35-70 cents). It’s a wonderful service to have in the tropics, where even a quarter mile walk or less can leave one pretty sweaty.

And I never tire of something I see every day in Bangkok. And that’s all the women passengers who primarily ride side-saddle on these motorcycle taxis. It looks precarious, and I know from experience that a motorcycle is not as stable when the passengers feet aren’t on the pegs, but they sit there daintily in this fashion like they don’t have a care in the world. To the manner born, as it were. Anyway, it always makes me smile.

These two-wheeled taxis are also very handy when you have to be somewhere in a hurry; their ability to thread congested traffic is amazing. Just think of that scene from the first Star Wars movie and you won’t be that far off! So when you come to Bangkok, you’ve got to take at least a 40 baht hop down a stretch of Sukhumvit Road. Then you can check that off your list. It’s sort of an Asian rite of passage!

Daeng’s Place

Daeng’s Place in Bangkok

Where?    Buried in a subsoi in the heart of Bangkok

What?    Farang short-time hostelry and open air bar

Who?    The proprietor, Daeng, is a middle-aged Thai pot head and mood shifter.  Tread with care.  He was deported from the States in the good ole days.

Clientele?    Brits and western European farangs mostly, and some assorted hangers-on.

Key players?   George, whose many years in Asia have  him wistfully proclaiming to have forsaken the “real world” many years ago.  Card-carrying luddite who refuses to even use a mobile phone.

Fred and Dallie, from different continents, who’ve joined forces to reinvent their destinies in this steaming city.

Daniel, a computer whiz kid who left school at 16, can make money anywhere in the world.  Getting to know him had me formulating Bangkok’s first Certainty Principle:  Daniel + beer + computer + internet connection = money.

Daniel (the other one), successful photojournalist and long-time resident of Asia.  Very bright but paradoxical.  In many ways a vanguard intellect, yet still exhibits manifestations of the English imperialist mindset.  Extremely volatile.  Tread very carefully.

And the others?  Of course there are others, but there are constraints on how much time I can spend there.  And I’m no alcoholic.  Let me rephrase that.  I can’t afford to be an alcoholic.

Ups?    Very casual (what an understatement).  Cheap beer.  Fold-up chess board on top of the paperbacks in the corner.  Often very good music, albeit of another era (some say another century).  Free-flowing herbal remedies….if you get my drift.

Downs?    What I call Daeng’s Uncertainty Principle:  Is he goin’ to freak out and throw everyone out at 9:00?  Will he mournfully wax on and on about not having a woman?  Or will he thankfully adopt his more customary drunken Buddhist role?

Postscripts:    You never know who you’ll meet there.  Perhaps a hyped up steroids laden bodybuilder or an ex military contractor fresh from Afghanistan.  The sky’s the limit, baby.

Feed the skinny cats in Daeng’s subsoi.  They really go crazy over fried chicken.  Don’t feed the orange cat with the bobbed tail.  He’s the neighbourhood rapist.

And beware of the white-haired guy in the crisp white short-sleeved dress shirt sitting outside 50 meters down the alley.  He’s a Nazi.

Everybody gets their cut

WTF!?

I just have to tell you this story. I was making a visa/border run to Laos a few months ago. And was pretty excited about seeing its capital, Vientiane, for the first time. I booked a hotel room in advance and was going to share expenses with a friend who would be arriving a few hours after me. I got there and checked in and decided to pay for the three days right away. With my money situation, I thought I might as well pay and then have to live with what was left. I told Terry that the desk would be expecting him and just to tell them that he was with me. We would hook up later.

I absolutely loved Vientiane and will doubtless make more observations about it in future postings. And it was so nice to escape the thundering chaos, the swarming madness of Bangkok, even if only for a couple of days. But more about that another day.

We decided that we were not going to use the phone in the room or incur any other expenses related to the hotel bill. Keep things nice and simple. Check-out time was noon but neither one of us planned to leave Vientiane that early on our final day. But it was cool; they would allow us to leave our bags behind the counter for the rest of the afternoon.

So we’d come down from the room and stowed are bags. My friend was moving to an exit to hunt for a coffee next door. And I was turning in our keys, thanking them and telling them that we would be back for our bags later in the afternoon. And with a smile and a little wave, I began to head for the door. But I was told to wait, and the woman was waving a piece of paper at me and had a very determined look on her face. I was a little surprised, as the bill had already been paid. I walked back and looked at the paper.

“What the …,” I muttered and then started laughing. And then, “Uh, TERRY!!”

I let him go up to the desk and stumble around. Knowing him, I figured he’d try to talk his way out of it. But it was a no go. Who really wants to push their luck in The People’s Democratic Republic? So he reluctantly couphed up ten bucks. For me, it brought back some advice I received on a Jack Golf run for a tourist visa last year in Laos. They weren’t exactly clear what they were warning against. I just remember them saying that it was not Thailand and taking a woman to your room could be very problematic if not downright illegal. Well, it wasn’t even that clear. Anyway, I got a really good laugh about it and after the bill was stamped Paid (in red), I decided to photograph it for posterity. Life is like a box of chocolates…

Women. Can’t live with ‘em. Can’t mate ‘em.

The international chess community, believe it or not, has been trying to make chess “cooler,” for lack of a better word. I guess it sort of goes along with another recent trend to make geeks cool, too. But don’t be fooled. The chess community by and large is not glamorous. And believe me, less can be said about their women. Typical was Lisa, on my university team. Ok, she wasn’t the homecoming queen, but she could play the Sicilian Defense like a true Corlioni! Why else would I have allowed her on the team!?

Yep, the world chess community is trying to pimp out their better looking women players. But trust me — and hundreds have — most of their women look like Chiburdanidze and Gaprindashvili and Menchik. See attached photos which are, if anything, more attractive than the actual people they portray.

But there really are some hotties out there, too.   But you’re not going to find them down at the YMCA on Wednesday night in Gary, Indiana when the chess club meets. Not bloody likely. But they’re around. After all, there are a lot of countries where it’s actually acceptable to be a serious player. Don’t laugh. Try crackin’ those jokes in Armenia, Argentina, Russia, Cuba, etc. They’ll be looking at you with bemusement because they already think that north americans are a bit insulated and backward and not without reason!

I’m no perv, so I’ll just mention a couple of the many women masters who’re quite easy on the eyes. If you’re into the totally wholesome look, you can’t go wrong with Anna Sharevich of Belarus. Yeah, Belarus has Lukashenko (“Europe’s last dictator”) but they’ve also got Minsk and Anna Sharevich. I still want to go back to Minsk! It’s full-contact vodka chess; not for sissies.

But the broad who’s getting most of the attention in the chess world these days is Australian women’s champion, Arriane Caoili. Ok, she merits two pictures! They are calling her the Anna Kournikova of chess. You be the judge.  

As far as any of the local lovelies playing chess here in Thailand…? Please… <rolling of the eyes> They may be into playing games. But not this one! Besides, they play Thai chess here, which is quite a departure from the world game. Probably unhinged itself from the mainstream game well over a thousand years ago.

Where’s the middle ground between the quaint photos of the earthy Soviet women masters of yesteryear and the new hotties? How about this fragile looking, owly creature named Anye Corke. I took this photo at this year’s 8th Bangkok International.  Anye is a woman grandmaster and twice champion of Hong Kong before she was 18. NOT the Hong Kong women’s champion but THE Hong Kong champion. I know, I know, she looks like she came right off the set of a Harry Potter movie. How did she make out in the tournament? I don’t know; I was too busy watching two really cute Chinese masters.

Down and Out in Bangkok

Rants, dilemmas, observations, serendipity, pics, chess…at the end of the line.

How did I get to this crazy place? Let’s just say the route was circuitous and tortuous. And I’m a long way from what used to be home. It was said once that all roads lead to Rome. But it seems to me now that none lead out of Bangkok. The end of the line.

Today I try to rouse myself. Too much Chiang beer last night has given me a real “chiangover” this morning. Ok, it’s not the kindest Thai beer. But it’s cheap, and at 6.4% it gets the job done. She’s not the prettiest girl at the party, but she makes up for it with enthusiasm.

My head hurts. I’m virtually broke. The rent is due. My monthly stipend is microscopic. And my credit card is more beaten up than Hillary Clinton. Sometimes it just seems like this time it’s really over. Forget redemption. You’re never gonna get that far. That’s over the hill and through the woods. And you’re gonna get your ass kicked now. When you show up with a knife at a gunfight, it doesn’t matter how you got there. You’re not even gonna get your lumps in. You’re gonna die.

Or are you? At times like these, I have to smile. Ok, it’s a sick, twisted smile. Or better yet, a grimace. But sometimes you don’t die. Even when you should. Check out this position. White can’t stop black from queening. And doesn’t have time to queen himself. And yet he will not die. How does white continue so that he will escape with a draw?