Hello Java Jazz festival! Thank you, thank you! screeches the American singer.
It’s so good to be here!
Your city is so beautiful!
The last comment is met by a bemused silence from the Indonesians and handful of westerners in the audience.
She clearly hasn’t looked around the place at all, someone nearby says.
Probably thinks she’s in Bali, someone else jokes.
Jakarta is a disgusting place; it’s polluted and noisy. Overcrowded with people, rats, motorbikes. A browner-than-brown river of shit parades through the middle of the city. There are few pavements; instead at the side of the road is rubble, mud, tar and mystifying puddles that stay there when there is no rain. You could easily slip into the open, frothy sewers and in fact doing so seems to be a right of passage for new teachers (I haven’t yet). Everything seems half-built or half-demolished except the conspicuous giant shopping malls, like numerous palaces in a dark swampland.
And I absolutely love it. I already have a deep-set, illogical love for Jakarta.
Within three hours of my plane touching down in Indonesia I was backstage at a gig talking to a band and ended up going to their house/mansion for a jam and some beers. Also met an amazing girl who works for a magazine and she gave me and some other teachers free tickets to Java Jazz festival the following weekend. An instant social group on my first day. The band invited me back to their place any time to use their personal recording studio.
I think I might be in the right place!
I’m living in Kalimalang which is in east Jakarta and there’s not really a lot here. A main road runs past the school and it’s the most mental road I’ve ever seen. It tops anything I saw in Thailand. The most amazing thing about the traffic in Jakarta is the mutual understanding between all the idiots who are driving. A car pulls straight out into a stream of oncoming traffic and the mass of vehicles just somehow slot around it without any fuss. Moses wannabes in plain clothes stand in the middle of the road with whistles, flapping their arms and shouting, escorting vans out from the side roads, graciously and smoothly accepting tips from wound down windows of moving vehicles, one fluid motion of bribery. And as a pedestrian crossing the road, you simply walk out into the traffic with your arm out, palm outstretched as if you’re pushing the traffic back one-handed and sure enough everything will probably stop at the last second rather than run you over.
Travelling around can take anything from forty minutes to three hours. Jakarta is such a big place that sometimes even when the traffic is good it can take nearly two hours on the motorway to get to where you’re going, like driving from one city to another in England.
The options for public transport are taxi, onkot (kind of like a small blue van that everyone crams into the back of) or ojek (a motorbike taxi). I haven’t seen any buses and I don’t think there’s any kind of train line (there’s a half-finished bridge system which was abandoned due to corruption). The best thing to do is make friends with someone with a car, and have lots of patience.
My job is so different from my previous one that I almost keep laughing to myself. Little things, like being allowed to use a photocopier whenever you feel like it, not having to fill in request slips with all the book names, page numbers etc two days before each lesson. No one scrutinises your lesson plans unless you want some help and ideas. It doesn’t matter if a lesson starts a minute or two late (in fact it’s kind of expected because Indonesians are always late anyway). And no ridiculous amounts of paperwork thanks to the computer system where you record all attendance and quiz/test scores. The teaching syllabus follows the school's own course books, but teachers don’t have to use them religiously. The books are there as a guide of what you should be covering and some of it’s pretty dull so you have to jazz each lesson up quite a lot, but it’s great that there’s something substantial to work from in the first place. The main point of the lessons anyway is to have fun, and the older learners in particular are happiest if they can just have a big chat and debate about something in English for the last few minutes of the lesson. It’s so much easier than my job in Thailand and at the same time I feel like I’m teaching a lot more. It helps that the students are all respectful and sensible enough to just get on with what you tell them to do without any stupid battles. I don’t understand why it’s so different here but I’m not going to question it! If I could swap any of my students here for ones that I had in Thailand I would do nothing, change nothing.
The people in general I feel a great connection with. They have a good sense of humour, great taste in music, understanding of other cultures and huge pride in their own. In Thailand people would point, laugh and overuse the word “farang!” The Indonesian word for Westerners is “bule” but so far I’ve not had anyone shouting it at my face, instead they say “Good evening!” or something a bit more human like that. Kids chase me down the street just to say “Hello Mr!” And at a park in nearby Bogor we had to stop a couple of times so that some overexcited teenagers could have photos taken with me and my friend Will.
What a bizarre place. You can be walking home in the early hours, near-full moon overhead, large bats flapping around and the spooky noise of several mosques battling with their calls to prayer over the loud tannoys – close, meandering melodies. Rats scurrying, street dogs howling, that quality of dawn light you can only get when you’re this close to the equator.
It’s so good to be here.
Your city is so beautiful.
Wednesday, 17 March 2010
Saturday, 20 February 2010
No, she went by boat
Everything's changed.
Job
I no longer work in Surat Thani. "The job didn't work out" is the official line I'm using on everyone. I found the place and the job exciting at first, but eventually I was finding everyday life pretty dull and was just living for the weekends. I also had some difficult classes which never really got any easier. My naive hopes about Thai school kids - they would all be quiet, polite, meek and humble - were way off the mark! They're absolutely bonkers. And one high school class was so...stupid that I didn't know what to do with them half the time. After a week of trying desperately to teach them how to say what time it is in English, I finally realised that most of the class couldn't even read a clock-face and say it in Thai!
I also didn't really click with the senior teachers and in the end it was quite a relief to leave, despite forming some good friendships along the way.
Thai people
I'm starting to get frustrated with Thailand in general; the smiley, happy-go-lucky 'mai pen rai' culture belies a people who are actually at times quite narrow-minded. I've learnt enough Thai now to know just how rude, even racist they are being sometimes. Yet Thai people seem to aspire to be white and find dark skin really ugly, and there's no taboo about making this very clear to black people. Why doesn't anyone ever talk about anything real? Why doesn't anyone ever worry about things that need to be worried about? Why is everyone so lazy? After twenty-eight years of fighting against the system, hating money and ignoring politics, I've come to Thailand and it's turning me into a right-wing capitalist. There's something wrong going on, I'd better get out.
Backpacking like a proper backpacker, not a pretend teacher
On the bright side, in my four months in Thailand I've travelled most of the south. I've also now been to a Full-Moon party (which I could have written a whole blog about but there's no time for all that now). I recently spent some time on the infamous Khao San road in Bangkok and made friends with Israelis, Slovenians, a Danish businessman etc.
I went to Kuala Lumpur when my work visa was cancelled so that I could re-enter the country on a 30-day tourist visa and I absolutely loved the place. It's so multi-cultural and somehow sophisticated. I walked around in the loudest thunderstorm ever in the world and looked at massive buildings, museums and a butterfly park. The people speak incredible English and even their own language sounds strangely similar to a Westcountry burr.
Me v Airports
Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a terrible flier. Not because I have a fear of flights, but because of that stupid thing called 'time'. When my work visa was cancelled and I had to be out of Thailand the same day, my bus was delayed by two hours and I missed my flight. The only other flights that evening from Phuket airport were going to strange, far off places like Seoul and Helsinki or whatever. So I bought the next one to Kuala Lumpur which was at 8:00am the next morning. And I waited. For 12 hours. It was a lonely and bizarre experience, in a small airport, just me and the cleaners and a few Spanish travellers sleeping on benches. Then when I finally went through immigration, after no sleep, I got pulled to one side because I was leaving a day late. A stern officer sat me down in front of his desk and asked me several questions, shaking his head disapprovingly at every answer, then he asked if I wanted to pay a fine.
'No', I said.
'No!? Why not?'
'Because I've already had to buy another flight.'
'Hmmm.'
Then he smiled slightly and pointed to a sign which said something about exemption from fines for 1-day overstay.
'So it's ok?' I asked.
'Hmmm. No', he said, his face rigid.
An uncomfortable silence and then he and several of the immigration officers around him all burst out laughing.
Ahh, Thai immigration, those funny, fucking guys.
Then on my way back to Thailand I'd stupidly forgotten that you need to have proof of a return flight or onward journey. So at the check-in at Kuala Lumpur the lady told me to go and buy another ticket. "You have 20 minutes before the check-in closes." I went to the Air Asia ticket office and tried simultaneously queuing and using their computers to book something online. My card was denied and I'd run out of time. I went back to the lady who had already checked my bags in. She spoke with her senior and together they agreed to help me and give me a dummy ticket. They told me what to say if Thai Immigration asked questions and it all felt a bit naughty and illegal. Lovely, lovely, dodgy Malaysians.
So now after all this, am I heading back to England with my tail between my legs?
No, of course not. I'm starting a new job on 1st March in Jakarta. You can expect more regular updates on here from now on, about my time in Chiang Mai where I am now, and then about me struggling to get to grips with another new and entirely different culture. Jakarta!? I've never even lived in a big city before. It's going to be messy.
Job
I no longer work in Surat Thani. "The job didn't work out" is the official line I'm using on everyone. I found the place and the job exciting at first, but eventually I was finding everyday life pretty dull and was just living for the weekends. I also had some difficult classes which never really got any easier. My naive hopes about Thai school kids - they would all be quiet, polite, meek and humble - were way off the mark! They're absolutely bonkers. And one high school class was so...stupid that I didn't know what to do with them half the time. After a week of trying desperately to teach them how to say what time it is in English, I finally realised that most of the class couldn't even read a clock-face and say it in Thai!
I also didn't really click with the senior teachers and in the end it was quite a relief to leave, despite forming some good friendships along the way.
Thai people
I'm starting to get frustrated with Thailand in general; the smiley, happy-go-lucky 'mai pen rai' culture belies a people who are actually at times quite narrow-minded. I've learnt enough Thai now to know just how rude, even racist they are being sometimes. Yet Thai people seem to aspire to be white and find dark skin really ugly, and there's no taboo about making this very clear to black people. Why doesn't anyone ever talk about anything real? Why doesn't anyone ever worry about things that need to be worried about? Why is everyone so lazy? After twenty-eight years of fighting against the system, hating money and ignoring politics, I've come to Thailand and it's turning me into a right-wing capitalist. There's something wrong going on, I'd better get out.
Backpacking like a proper backpacker, not a pretend teacher
On the bright side, in my four months in Thailand I've travelled most of the south. I've also now been to a Full-Moon party (which I could have written a whole blog about but there's no time for all that now). I recently spent some time on the infamous Khao San road in Bangkok and made friends with Israelis, Slovenians, a Danish businessman etc.
I went to Kuala Lumpur when my work visa was cancelled so that I could re-enter the country on a 30-day tourist visa and I absolutely loved the place. It's so multi-cultural and somehow sophisticated. I walked around in the loudest thunderstorm ever in the world and looked at massive buildings, museums and a butterfly park. The people speak incredible English and even their own language sounds strangely similar to a Westcountry burr.
Me v Airports
Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a terrible flier. Not because I have a fear of flights, but because of that stupid thing called 'time'. When my work visa was cancelled and I had to be out of Thailand the same day, my bus was delayed by two hours and I missed my flight. The only other flights that evening from Phuket airport were going to strange, far off places like Seoul and Helsinki or whatever. So I bought the next one to Kuala Lumpur which was at 8:00am the next morning. And I waited. For 12 hours. It was a lonely and bizarre experience, in a small airport, just me and the cleaners and a few Spanish travellers sleeping on benches. Then when I finally went through immigration, after no sleep, I got pulled to one side because I was leaving a day late. A stern officer sat me down in front of his desk and asked me several questions, shaking his head disapprovingly at every answer, then he asked if I wanted to pay a fine.
'No', I said.
'No!? Why not?'
'Because I've already had to buy another flight.'
'Hmmm.'
Then he smiled slightly and pointed to a sign which said something about exemption from fines for 1-day overstay.
'So it's ok?' I asked.
'Hmmm. No', he said, his face rigid.
An uncomfortable silence and then he and several of the immigration officers around him all burst out laughing.
Ahh, Thai immigration, those funny, fucking guys.
Then on my way back to Thailand I'd stupidly forgotten that you need to have proof of a return flight or onward journey. So at the check-in at Kuala Lumpur the lady told me to go and buy another ticket. "You have 20 minutes before the check-in closes." I went to the Air Asia ticket office and tried simultaneously queuing and using their computers to book something online. My card was denied and I'd run out of time. I went back to the lady who had already checked my bags in. She spoke with her senior and together they agreed to help me and give me a dummy ticket. They told me what to say if Thai Immigration asked questions and it all felt a bit naughty and illegal. Lovely, lovely, dodgy Malaysians.
So now after all this, am I heading back to England with my tail between my legs?
No, of course not. I'm starting a new job on 1st March in Jakarta. You can expect more regular updates on here from now on, about my time in Chiang Mai where I am now, and then about me struggling to get to grips with another new and entirely different culture. Jakarta!? I've never even lived in a big city before. It's going to be messy.
Wednesday, 6 January 2010
Lust In Translation 2
Fa comes up to me in the office with a slip of paper. All the other teachers’ names are scrawled on it, alongside mobile numbers and email addresses. Some of the names are misspelt and it’s all in the same curious handwriting.
‘Jooooon, can you write?’
I write my name and number and it instantly looks out of place on the paper.
Sure enough later that day I get a message - ‘Jon what do you do? (Fa)’
It’s a good question and one that I should ask myself more often. But I assume she meant it in the present progressive so I reply ‘I’m at home reading a book’. She replies ‘Me also reading a book. And you?’
And this was the beginning.
She likes to send about 10 messages a day and if I don’t reply quickly enough she rings my phone and cuts off before I answer, just in case I hadn’t heard the message tone.
She came into the office one day with two bits of weird Thai fruit that I hate – the pink sort with sharp green spikes protruding out around it, a bit like the visual representation of the HIV virus. I wrapped them in paper and put them in the bin.
For my birthday I received some of the most amazing gifts – t-shirts that I wouldn’t have picked myself but look great on me, a crate of beer, a cheap but usable toy guitar to entertain the kids with…and a weird plastic inflatable cat-type thing that looked like it was made by a 5-year-old. Obviously most of these presents were from the other teachers who by now know me quite well. Alongside the cat was a note which read ‘I wish you happy always’. I was puzzling over which way up the cat was supposed to be and what it was meant to be used for (it looked kind of like a key ring) when Fa came over and demonstrated that it’s something you attach to your mobile phone. So she attached it to my mobile and I smiled and thanked her in Thai.
On Christmas day I went to a party and the cat ‘fell off’, never to be seen again.
My second date with Fa came about in a similar way to the first. Some miscommunication in the office, some mention of a ‘movie’ but then lots of frantic phone calls after I’d left work. I then realised that she thought I’d agreed to meet her at the Coliseum, so, feeling bad I rode my bike over there. There she was waiting outside. I thought we were about to go inside to the cinema but she tried to explain something else and we went in a tuktuk. By now it was nearly 5:30pm and I’d agreed to go to a boxing day Christmas dinner at another teacher’s house at 8pm. Maybe still time for a movie? The tuktuk dropped us at a main road a few minutes away and we went into a photo developing shop. It turned out Fa was on a quick work errand, putting together some photos of the teachers and students for advertising purposes. 30 minutes dragged by, with her asking my opinion on sizes and frames and whatnot. When we finally got in the tuktuk to go back to the Coliseum I had to explain to her.
‘I’m sorry Fa, I go to Christmas dinner at 8 o’clock.’
She shook her head not understanding.
‘8pm, Christmas dinner. I said to other teachers I will be there. They buy food for me’
She still didn’t quite get it.
I don’t have a watch, so I took my phone out of my pocket ‘Look, now 6:10pm, I go to dinner 8pm.’
‘Where is gift?’
‘What?’
‘Gift?’
She pointed at my phone and my heart sank.
Just you try demonstrating to someone who doesn’t understand your language that something ‘fell off’, rather than ‘was pulled off’. It’s a subtle difference and one which I couldn’t clarify, and even if I could it would have been a sodding great lie.
‘Jooooon, can you write?’
I write my name and number and it instantly looks out of place on the paper.
Sure enough later that day I get a message - ‘Jon what do you do? (Fa)’
It’s a good question and one that I should ask myself more often. But I assume she meant it in the present progressive so I reply ‘I’m at home reading a book’. She replies ‘Me also reading a book. And you?’
And this was the beginning.
She likes to send about 10 messages a day and if I don’t reply quickly enough she rings my phone and cuts off before I answer, just in case I hadn’t heard the message tone.
She came into the office one day with two bits of weird Thai fruit that I hate – the pink sort with sharp green spikes protruding out around it, a bit like the visual representation of the HIV virus. I wrapped them in paper and put them in the bin.
For my birthday I received some of the most amazing gifts – t-shirts that I wouldn’t have picked myself but look great on me, a crate of beer, a cheap but usable toy guitar to entertain the kids with…and a weird plastic inflatable cat-type thing that looked like it was made by a 5-year-old. Obviously most of these presents were from the other teachers who by now know me quite well. Alongside the cat was a note which read ‘I wish you happy always’. I was puzzling over which way up the cat was supposed to be and what it was meant to be used for (it looked kind of like a key ring) when Fa came over and demonstrated that it’s something you attach to your mobile phone. So she attached it to my mobile and I smiled and thanked her in Thai.
On Christmas day I went to a party and the cat ‘fell off’, never to be seen again.
My second date with Fa came about in a similar way to the first. Some miscommunication in the office, some mention of a ‘movie’ but then lots of frantic phone calls after I’d left work. I then realised that she thought I’d agreed to meet her at the Coliseum, so, feeling bad I rode my bike over there. There she was waiting outside. I thought we were about to go inside to the cinema but she tried to explain something else and we went in a tuktuk. By now it was nearly 5:30pm and I’d agreed to go to a boxing day Christmas dinner at another teacher’s house at 8pm. Maybe still time for a movie? The tuktuk dropped us at a main road a few minutes away and we went into a photo developing shop. It turned out Fa was on a quick work errand, putting together some photos of the teachers and students for advertising purposes. 30 minutes dragged by, with her asking my opinion on sizes and frames and whatnot. When we finally got in the tuktuk to go back to the Coliseum I had to explain to her.
‘I’m sorry Fa, I go to Christmas dinner at 8 o’clock.’
She shook her head not understanding.
‘8pm, Christmas dinner. I said to other teachers I will be there. They buy food for me’
She still didn’t quite get it.
I don’t have a watch, so I took my phone out of my pocket ‘Look, now 6:10pm, I go to dinner 8pm.’
‘Where is gift?’
‘What?’
‘Gift?’
She pointed at my phone and my heart sank.
Just you try demonstrating to someone who doesn’t understand your language that something ‘fell off’, rather than ‘was pulled off’. It’s a subtle difference and one which I couldn’t clarify, and even if I could it would have been a sodding great lie.
Sunday, 27 December 2009
Birthdaychristmas
My birthday was just another birthday until Grumbles the elephant came to say hello. I’d had to work during the day and then gone for some food, then on to a bar. The elephant which everyone else simply calls ‘the elephant’ is usually paraded around near the pier where most of the tourists are, but for some reason on that night he had been led to the centre of town and it gave me a suitably exotic birthday surprise when I turned around and saw him neatly filling up the large entrance way to the bar. I’ve taken to calling him Grumbles, he deserves a name and Grumbles is quite fitting.
Christmas was not just like any other Christmas. It was weird, very weird. We were asked to perform for ten minutes at one of the high schools as part of their morning Christmas party. As I’ve discovered, Thailand doesn’t really care about Christmas but any excuse to put on an elaborate show with dodgy technical problems is too much for them to resist. So we decided we’d just make fools of ourselves and sing some Christmas songs. Obviously we would start with Jingle Bells – they all love Jingle Bells in Thailand, I’ve almost forgotten if there are any other carols. Then some bright spark had the idea of doing the Twelve Days of Christmas and between the four of us we could make twelve posters for some students to hold up as we sing it. So my Christmas Eve this year was me splayed out on my living room floor in a jungle of colouring crayons, frantically trying to remember what hens look like. And eleven pipers piping! ELEVEN!? I was so proud when I managed to draw a piper piping but to do it another ten times! To keep myself amused I added variety – fat pipers, midget pipers, stoned-looking jazz pipers etc. I also did seven swans a-swimming and they looked more like white-feathered eels. Suffice to say I was scribbling away until 2am and made Santa very angry indeed.
When we turned up at the school we went into a massive hall and the party was already in full swing. An audience of about 400 kids was watching the current act – eight skinny, promiscuous 15-year-old girls and gays in skimpy Santa outfits were simulating sex on the stage and occasionally doing a kind of ‘electric shock’ dance along to Jingle Bells (of course). It must happen about once a week, that feeling of ‘what the fuck am I doing here?’
Then we went on and did our stuff. Inevitably our backing music wouldn’t work and there was only one microphone. The school already had a karaoke version of Jingle Bells at the ready, which we sang along to atrociously badly, Shaun taking the lead because tone-deaf or not, he is the head teacher. Then somehow I ended up singing solo a-cappella for the Twelve Days of Christmas while Claire choreographed the holding up of our ridiculous posters, and Brandon and Shaun went around throwing sweets at the kids. I started singing and a massive X-factor style scream went up around the room – I felt like I was flying, I was Susan Boyle and everything was going to be alright for the rest of my life. No more sitting at home alone dwelling over awkward social moments from five years ago, no more nightmares of mutant orphans stealing my thoughts as I sleep, I’d broken America, I was high on the acid of self-love, I’d dreamed a dream and the dream was me on a stage in Thailand singing Christmas songs to a few hundred pubescent students. But you don’t need me to mention that The Twelve Days of Christmas is a long, drawn out affair with far too many repetitions and a patronisingly obvious conclusion. When I finally finished I received a pitter-patter of dissenting applause from the fickle crowd and my Susan Boyle career was over.
Later in the day I was a very sweaty Santa Claus at the kindergarten that some of the girls teach at. Then I had to teach for 2 hours, then mark 39 exam papers. Merry Christmas.
Christmas was not just like any other Christmas. It was weird, very weird. We were asked to perform for ten minutes at one of the high schools as part of their morning Christmas party. As I’ve discovered, Thailand doesn’t really care about Christmas but any excuse to put on an elaborate show with dodgy technical problems is too much for them to resist. So we decided we’d just make fools of ourselves and sing some Christmas songs. Obviously we would start with Jingle Bells – they all love Jingle Bells in Thailand, I’ve almost forgotten if there are any other carols. Then some bright spark had the idea of doing the Twelve Days of Christmas and between the four of us we could make twelve posters for some students to hold up as we sing it. So my Christmas Eve this year was me splayed out on my living room floor in a jungle of colouring crayons, frantically trying to remember what hens look like. And eleven pipers piping! ELEVEN!? I was so proud when I managed to draw a piper piping but to do it another ten times! To keep myself amused I added variety – fat pipers, midget pipers, stoned-looking jazz pipers etc. I also did seven swans a-swimming and they looked more like white-feathered eels. Suffice to say I was scribbling away until 2am and made Santa very angry indeed.
When we turned up at the school we went into a massive hall and the party was already in full swing. An audience of about 400 kids was watching the current act – eight skinny, promiscuous 15-year-old girls and gays in skimpy Santa outfits were simulating sex on the stage and occasionally doing a kind of ‘electric shock’ dance along to Jingle Bells (of course). It must happen about once a week, that feeling of ‘what the fuck am I doing here?’
Then we went on and did our stuff. Inevitably our backing music wouldn’t work and there was only one microphone. The school already had a karaoke version of Jingle Bells at the ready, which we sang along to atrociously badly, Shaun taking the lead because tone-deaf or not, he is the head teacher. Then somehow I ended up singing solo a-cappella for the Twelve Days of Christmas while Claire choreographed the holding up of our ridiculous posters, and Brandon and Shaun went around throwing sweets at the kids. I started singing and a massive X-factor style scream went up around the room – I felt like I was flying, I was Susan Boyle and everything was going to be alright for the rest of my life. No more sitting at home alone dwelling over awkward social moments from five years ago, no more nightmares of mutant orphans stealing my thoughts as I sleep, I’d broken America, I was high on the acid of self-love, I’d dreamed a dream and the dream was me on a stage in Thailand singing Christmas songs to a few hundred pubescent students. But you don’t need me to mention that The Twelve Days of Christmas is a long, drawn out affair with far too many repetitions and a patronisingly obvious conclusion. When I finally finished I received a pitter-patter of dissenting applause from the fickle crowd and my Susan Boyle career was over.
Later in the day I was a very sweaty Santa Claus at the kindergarten that some of the girls teach at. Then I had to teach for 2 hours, then mark 39 exam papers. Merry Christmas.
Saturday, 26 December 2009
A Krabi weekend
Making friends with Thai people in a place like Krabi is futile because they’re all trying to sell you sex or boat trips.
Everyone else is German. I’ve got nothing against that per se, but it’s harder to break into a friendship group when they’re all talking a stupid language.
Perhaps I was unlucky that my plan of ‘oh I know I’ll go to Krabi by myself and just see what happens’ didn’t quite work out. Perhaps it’s my fault for being rubbish at planning anything that on the Saturday I just went to Krabi Town and then realised that Krabi town is nowhere near the beach. I spent the night in the sort of rat-infested small hotel you see in films, where you can tell the Hollywood set-designers have been having a field day scrubbing away with light brown paints and rust-coloured stick-ons to give it that incredible authentic shit-hole look.
Spontaneity usually makes for an adventure and I suppose this was no exception, but my mistake is that I had in my mind exactly the sort of spontaneous adventure I wanted; it would involve travelling Irish girls, naïve Americans, and drunk friendly guys from Sheffield, more than happy to invite a quirky posh southerner into their midst. But no, didn’t see any of them. Maybe there was a whole clan of these people circulating all the bars in the opposite direction to me, having the time of their lives; while in contrast I was moping around, a decadent loner with one broken flip flop, getting increasingly agitated at the circling vultures (prostitutes, beach sellers, tailors. Why are there so many fucking tailors in Krabi!? I don’t want a suit, leave me alone). I suppose I never expected this whole year to be one big orgasmic adventure in paradise, there will be troughs. Last weekend was a bit of a trough.
Conversations & attempted friendships
1. I was buying beach shorts from a Burmese guy.
“Where you from?”
“England.”
“Where?”
“ENGLAND”,
“Where in England? Manchester?”
“Um…west…Bath…near Bristol…”
“Manchester?”
“West. South west.”
“Manchester?”
“Yes. Manchester.”
2. I was sat reading on the beach as the sun was going down and two girls who didn’t look particularly Thai walked past taking photos of each other. Japanese tourists? They could be fun. They waved at me and I waved back.
They turned out to be Thai prostitutes. But one of them told me a good place to see monkeys in the morning. Everyone you meet has something to tell you. That’s philosophy.
3. I sat at a bar watching football while a bar girl called Nikha drew on my face with her biro and told me I’m uglier than Cristiano Ronaldo. She was funny and rude, which made me trust her as she didn’t seem like a prostitute. We had something that resembled a real conversation; correctly guessed each other’s age, talked about teaching, she talked about her boyfriend and her family and her mouth ulcer, how she’s from Bangkok originally.
It turned out Nikha was merely someone whose job it is to keep guys sweet until the horde of prostitutes arrives. Our genuine friendship felt a little less genuine when I realised this.
“Look, sexy ladies. You want sexy lady for when you go sleep?”
“No”. I was sullen. “I don’t like those sexy ladies.”
“Why? You gay?”
“Not gay, picky.”
“Whas picky?”
“No no no no no no…YES.“
“Oh.”
3. Chelsea fan in an Irish pub. Friendly twat.
4. I bought an oil painting from a deaf Thai lady. She typed 750 into a calculator. I pulled a face that said ‘I don’t want to spend that much’. She gave me the calculator and I typed 250 and she put her thumb up to say ok. Deaf people haggle faster.
5. I had been walking home to my hotel, drunkenly looking at the stars and feeling disillusioned by all the debauchery that ruins Thailand. Then a girl went past on a motorbike, then slowed. She started tossing her hair, arching her back etc etc etc. I looked the other way. She stopped the motorbike ahead of me and sat on some steps waiting. By this stage I was boiling into a drunken rage at the hollowness of everything and when I realised it was a ladyboy I just felt even angrier.
I don’t remember the exact conversation. I wasn’t very nice.
Everyone else is German. I’ve got nothing against that per se, but it’s harder to break into a friendship group when they’re all talking a stupid language.
Perhaps I was unlucky that my plan of ‘oh I know I’ll go to Krabi by myself and just see what happens’ didn’t quite work out. Perhaps it’s my fault for being rubbish at planning anything that on the Saturday I just went to Krabi Town and then realised that Krabi town is nowhere near the beach. I spent the night in the sort of rat-infested small hotel you see in films, where you can tell the Hollywood set-designers have been having a field day scrubbing away with light brown paints and rust-coloured stick-ons to give it that incredible authentic shit-hole look.
Spontaneity usually makes for an adventure and I suppose this was no exception, but my mistake is that I had in my mind exactly the sort of spontaneous adventure I wanted; it would involve travelling Irish girls, naïve Americans, and drunk friendly guys from Sheffield, more than happy to invite a quirky posh southerner into their midst. But no, didn’t see any of them. Maybe there was a whole clan of these people circulating all the bars in the opposite direction to me, having the time of their lives; while in contrast I was moping around, a decadent loner with one broken flip flop, getting increasingly agitated at the circling vultures (prostitutes, beach sellers, tailors. Why are there so many fucking tailors in Krabi!? I don’t want a suit, leave me alone). I suppose I never expected this whole year to be one big orgasmic adventure in paradise, there will be troughs. Last weekend was a bit of a trough.
Conversations & attempted friendships
1. I was buying beach shorts from a Burmese guy.
“Where you from?”
“England.”
“Where?”
“ENGLAND”,
“Where in England? Manchester?”
“Um…west…Bath…near Bristol…”
“Manchester?”
“West. South west.”
“Manchester?”
“Yes. Manchester.”
2. I was sat reading on the beach as the sun was going down and two girls who didn’t look particularly Thai walked past taking photos of each other. Japanese tourists? They could be fun. They waved at me and I waved back.
They turned out to be Thai prostitutes. But one of them told me a good place to see monkeys in the morning. Everyone you meet has something to tell you. That’s philosophy.
3. I sat at a bar watching football while a bar girl called Nikha drew on my face with her biro and told me I’m uglier than Cristiano Ronaldo. She was funny and rude, which made me trust her as she didn’t seem like a prostitute. We had something that resembled a real conversation; correctly guessed each other’s age, talked about teaching, she talked about her boyfriend and her family and her mouth ulcer, how she’s from Bangkok originally.
It turned out Nikha was merely someone whose job it is to keep guys sweet until the horde of prostitutes arrives. Our genuine friendship felt a little less genuine when I realised this.
“Look, sexy ladies. You want sexy lady for when you go sleep?”
“No”. I was sullen. “I don’t like those sexy ladies.”
“Why? You gay?”
“Not gay, picky.”
“Whas picky?”
“No no no no no no…YES.“
“Oh.”
3. Chelsea fan in an Irish pub. Friendly twat.
4. I bought an oil painting from a deaf Thai lady. She typed 750 into a calculator. I pulled a face that said ‘I don’t want to spend that much’. She gave me the calculator and I typed 250 and she put her thumb up to say ok. Deaf people haggle faster.
5. I had been walking home to my hotel, drunkenly looking at the stars and feeling disillusioned by all the debauchery that ruins Thailand. Then a girl went past on a motorbike, then slowed. She started tossing her hair, arching her back etc etc etc. I looked the other way. She stopped the motorbike ahead of me and sat on some steps waiting. By this stage I was boiling into a drunken rage at the hollowness of everything and when I realised it was a ladyboy I just felt even angrier.
I don’t remember the exact conversation. I wasn’t very nice.
Saturday, 19 December 2009
Bangkok
Now I know where Santa goes for his holidays before the busy part of his year. You can guess already can’t you; of course! he goes to the strip bars in Bangkok. Why wouldn’t he? You would if you were him. There he was, sat all alone on a stool next to the table of dancing girls, occasionally reaching out and attempting to grope one of them. His face was all cheery and red and his long white hair neatly trimmed. Obviously he wasn’t wearing the red Coca Cola costume, he was on holiday! But I knew it was him and on our way out I went up and asked if I can have a bike this year. “Oh ho ho yes!” he gleamed, happily playing along with my rubbish joke.
Bangkok seems like a direct cross between London, Amsterdam and Hong Kong. Amsterdam I’ve always found kind of seedy in a quirky and ridiculous way, but Bangkok is like its intimidating older brother.
Typically, I don’t really remember what we did on
our twelve-hour drinking adventure. All I know is that despite going to some really dodgy places nothing very dodgy happened. We had some thoroughly entertaining tuk tuk rides; it seems to be fashionable in Bangkok to intermittently rev the engine in a crazy manner whilst staring behind at the passengers and cackling. And the drivers all seemed determined to hook each of us up with a prostitute, and seemed confused and distraught when we kept saying no.
Much as it was a fun weekend, I'm so glad I don't live and work in Bangkok, I'd be destroyed.
The next day we were atrociously hung over and
tried to keep our heads low, but then I led everyone off down some side streets and found a random fairground. The thing that took my fancy was 'throw the ball at the target so the girl falls in the slime' or whatever you would call it. Brandon had a shot and it bounced tamely away. “I think you need to throw it harder” he said as I picked up the next ball. So I absolutely launched it and it hit the edge of the target, ricocheted upwards and smashed a massive lantern overhead, shards of glass spraying over everyone, girls screaming, Thai faces glaring at me. It was funny because no one died.
We took a night train home (after flying up there) and it was full of the sorts of hazards I’ve come to expect from Thai health and safety. I was convinced that either I would sleepwalk out of one of the open doorways into the dark, menacing blur outside, or that the juddering train would eventually rock itself clean off the tracks. Didn’t sleep a wink.
Bangkok seems like a direct cross between London, Amsterdam and Hong Kong. Amsterdam I’ve always found kind of seedy in a quirky and ridiculous way, but Bangkok is like its intimidating older brother.
Typically, I don’t really remember what we did on
our twelve-hour drinking adventure. All I know is that despite going to some really dodgy places nothing very dodgy happened. We had some thoroughly entertaining tuk tuk rides; it seems to be fashionable in Bangkok to intermittently rev the engine in a crazy manner whilst staring behind at the passengers and cackling. And the drivers all seemed determined to hook each of us up with a prostitute, and seemed confused and distraught when we kept saying no.Much as it was a fun weekend, I'm so glad I don't live and work in Bangkok, I'd be destroyed.
The next day we were atrociously hung over and
tried to keep our heads low, but then I led everyone off down some side streets and found a random fairground. The thing that took my fancy was 'throw the ball at the target so the girl falls in the slime' or whatever you would call it. Brandon had a shot and it bounced tamely away. “I think you need to throw it harder” he said as I picked up the next ball. So I absolutely launched it and it hit the edge of the target, ricocheted upwards and smashed a massive lantern overhead, shards of glass spraying over everyone, girls screaming, Thai faces glaring at me. It was funny because no one died.We took a night train home (after flying up there) and it was full of the sorts of hazards I’ve come to expect from Thai health and safety. I was convinced that either I would sleepwalk out of one of the open doorways into the dark, menacing blur outside, or that the juddering train would eventually rock itself clean off the tracks. Didn’t sleep a wink.
Friday, 11 December 2009
Lust in translation
A new member of the Thai staff at the school, a girl called Fa, asked me the other day if I like ‘lice’ (she meant rice). I said yes. Then there was an uncomfortable silence and I suddenly realised ‘oh, she means now!’ So I stood up and started following and realised that all the Thai staff were going for lunch and as I was the only teacher in the office presumably they thought they’d better be polite and ask me to come along. But as I made my way outside Fa had a phone call and then everything got confusing. With her bad English and my even worse Thai I couldn’t really understand but she said something like “sorry, farther, tomorrow” so I said “you’re going further? Ok, never mind” and went and got some food by myself.
Then at the same time the next day she came up and fetched me from the office. A tuk-tuk was waiting outside, which I thought was odd because tuk-tuks are never there when you need them, but always aggressively hoot at you when you’re happy walking. Anyway, I got in and we were whisked away and then she explained the tuk-tuk was being driven by her father. Ahh, father not farther. Through the small window to the driver’s seat I could make out a powerful looking man with a long ponytail. Fa and I chatted clumsily in the back of the tuk-tuk and she kept putting her hands on my arm. After what seemed like a bit too long, perhaps about 3-4 miles, we turned up at a restaurant I’d never been to before, with buffet food from disgusting-looking giant bowls. I slowly realised that her father wasn’t just driving us; the three of us went inside together to get food. Fa dragged me by the hand and pointed at all the different foods and tried, bless her, to explain what they were but I ended up just guessing and when I sat down I realised everything on my plate was its own unique shade of green.
Conversation was minimal and awkward so I did my best to instigate some chitchat. I tried, partly using gesture to ask Fa how long she had lived in Suratthani and she responded by showing me her wristwatch. Then, making polite conversation, I tried to ask whereabouts she lives and she started fanning my face. Meanwhile her father just sat there silently eating lots of food, occasionally grunting approval at just about everything, whether he understood it or not.
My brain was ticking over trying to remember as much Thai as possible. Fa asked if I wanted “chaa yen” and I pulled a confused expression before remembering that that means “ice tea”, which normally I don’t like but I was so excited at understanding something that I said yes anyway. Then the woman who had served the food said “arooy mai?” to me and I know that “arooy” means delicious and “mai” is a word Thai people use to turn anything into a question, so that wasn’t too hard to work out. “Arooy!” I said, patting my stomach.
Fa and her father paid for me despite my protests and I got whisked back to the school in the noisy tuk-tuk, this time with Fa sitting in the passenger seat next to her father, me in the back by myself trying to work out what was happening. Did I just have a date? Is that what happened? Did I agree to it? Did I enjoy it? I don’t know. I just don’t know. In all the confusion I hadn’t even considered whether Fa is attractive or not. I still don’t have an answer for that and it seems strangely irrelevant. I’ve barely seen her in the two days since and as long as I don’t do anything stupid like invite her out for dinner to return the favour, then the whole thing might be forgotten within a couple of weeks.
Then at the same time the next day she came up and fetched me from the office. A tuk-tuk was waiting outside, which I thought was odd because tuk-tuks are never there when you need them, but always aggressively hoot at you when you’re happy walking. Anyway, I got in and we were whisked away and then she explained the tuk-tuk was being driven by her father. Ahh, father not farther. Through the small window to the driver’s seat I could make out a powerful looking man with a long ponytail. Fa and I chatted clumsily in the back of the tuk-tuk and she kept putting her hands on my arm. After what seemed like a bit too long, perhaps about 3-4 miles, we turned up at a restaurant I’d never been to before, with buffet food from disgusting-looking giant bowls. I slowly realised that her father wasn’t just driving us; the three of us went inside together to get food. Fa dragged me by the hand and pointed at all the different foods and tried, bless her, to explain what they were but I ended up just guessing and when I sat down I realised everything on my plate was its own unique shade of green.
Conversation was minimal and awkward so I did my best to instigate some chitchat. I tried, partly using gesture to ask Fa how long she had lived in Suratthani and she responded by showing me her wristwatch. Then, making polite conversation, I tried to ask whereabouts she lives and she started fanning my face. Meanwhile her father just sat there silently eating lots of food, occasionally grunting approval at just about everything, whether he understood it or not.
My brain was ticking over trying to remember as much Thai as possible. Fa asked if I wanted “chaa yen” and I pulled a confused expression before remembering that that means “ice tea”, which normally I don’t like but I was so excited at understanding something that I said yes anyway. Then the woman who had served the food said “arooy mai?” to me and I know that “arooy” means delicious and “mai” is a word Thai people use to turn anything into a question, so that wasn’t too hard to work out. “Arooy!” I said, patting my stomach.
Fa and her father paid for me despite my protests and I got whisked back to the school in the noisy tuk-tuk, this time with Fa sitting in the passenger seat next to her father, me in the back by myself trying to work out what was happening. Did I just have a date? Is that what happened? Did I agree to it? Did I enjoy it? I don’t know. I just don’t know. In all the confusion I hadn’t even considered whether Fa is attractive or not. I still don’t have an answer for that and it seems strangely irrelevant. I’ve barely seen her in the two days since and as long as I don’t do anything stupid like invite her out for dinner to return the favour, then the whole thing might be forgotten within a couple of weeks.
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